Dead of Winter - James Goss [11]
Maria giggled.
Nervous, I patted down my best wig (there is something about the curls on it that never quite sits right, damn it). ‘Ah, Maria is… well, she’s very much our pet.’ I tried laughing, but it didn’t sound funny. How to explain the child to him?
Dr Smith raised an eyebrow. ‘A pet?’ He turned to Maria, dropping his voice. ‘You don’t look like a pet to me, Maria.’
‘I like puppies,’ said Maria, proudly. ‘I have two in Paris.’
‘Her mother has left poor Maria with us,’ I explained hurriedly. ‘For the winter. For her health.’
Maria nodded solemnly. ‘Mother is all better now.’
‘I see,’ said Dr Smith. He looked at me sharply.
I nodded, swelling with pride. ‘Indeed. That surprises you doesn’t it, my dear sir, but it is true. A complete recovery. A cure for consumption! But shall we eat? Maria, my dear, if you’d care to…?’
Maria bobbed slightly and went to a sideboard to fetch plates.
Dr Smith turned to me, curious.
‘Oh, Maria likes to wait on us,’ I said hastily. ‘It’s like a game for her, and the Dear Lord knows there are few enough games for her here.’
Maria continued laying the table, banging down heavy plates and cutlery with enthusiasm, if not neatness. She trotted backwards and forwards, humming some silly little tune. ‘It’s like arranging a tea party for my dolls, monsieur,’ she explained, staggering under a soup tureen, ‘although a little heavier.’
Dr Smith rushed to help her, settling the soup on the table with a loud crash and a spill. Maria stifled a laugh, damn the child. Honestly, she was making such an effort out of the whole thing. But Dr Smith didn’t seem to mind – I wonder if he deals a lot with children back in England? Or, having met Mr and Mrs Pond, maybe he just specialises in the simple-minded?
‘This is very nicely done, Maria,’ whispered Dr Smith, stooping slightly.
Maria stood up on tiptoe and whispered into his ear: ‘Don’t worry, monsieur, I do not do the cooking as well.’
Dr Smith looked genuinely disappointed. ‘Oh that’s a shame. What would you cook for us? I’ve a friend who likes fish custard. Have you ever tried that?’
Maria shook her head solemnly, but pulled a face. Truly, Dr Smith had just confirmed all the terrible things one hears about English food!
‘No, no, I guess it’s not to everyone’s taste,’ admitted Dr Smith. He looked like he could prattle on for hours.
Enough of this. Frankly, it had been a long day and I was hungry. I stepped up to the table, rubbing my hands together. ‘My, my, what a spread,’ I said. ‘My dear wife will not be joining us, alas. Mildly indisposed.’
‘Perhaps some other time?’
‘Oh indeed.’ I turned to Maria, dismissing her: ‘Well done my dear. Now, if you hurry off to your room, I’ll have a nurse come and read to you. Would you like that?’
Maria nodded solemnly, then turned to Dr Smith and shook her head slightly.
Dr Smith winked back at her. Confound him!
After she’d gone, it was just two medical men together, enjoying a pleasant evening’s company. How remarkable, I thought. It’s been so long since I have sat down with a fellow student of Hippocrates. A chance to really show off my quite remarkable work. I decided to tell him everything. Where could the harm be?
Instead, the foolish man just wanted to talk about that dratted Maria! ‘She’s a very bright child.’ He smiled at me. Waiting.
I just nodded. ‘Indeed, she doesn’t miss a thing. I fear we are very dull company for her. But, sadly, we must wait… wait for her to be called home.’
‘How is she?’ asked Dr Smith.
I shrugged. So he was curious, was he? Well, let him remain so! ‘She is passing well, sir, passing well. It’s always so hard to tell in these infant cases.’ I helped myself to the wine jug and turned to business. ‘But tell me, Dr Smith, and speak freely – what do you think of my clinic?’
‘Ahhhh…’ Dr Smith sipped his wine carefully. ‘Har. Well…’
I scented disapproval. He was going to be as sceptical as one of those Swiss dullards. ‘You do not approve?’
‘No, no,’ Dr Smith said hurriedly. ‘Consumption is a terrible disease. Considering what you are up against this place is a