Downtime - Marc Platt [22]
‘You!’ she whispered.
His white stick touched her.
The figure faltered. Its voice, the voice that had been in her head for so long, was fierce and tortured. ‘Find me the Locus!’
it commanded.
She heard the tinkling of bells, the fluttering of prayer flags and a surge of demonic laughter.
The darkness forced itself into her head. It devoured her thoughts and senses. It swamped her consciousness. She sank under its weight.
‘Well,’ said Charles ‘you’ve led us a fine dance, I must say.’
To her drowsy eyes, he looked like a hovering angel, his yellow hair shining. She closed them again and went back to sleep.
When she woke again, she saw that he was still sitting close at hand. Beyond him, the ceiling and walls were a sort of municipal conformist cream colour. There was a strong smell of something clinical. Very soothing.
This time, the third time she woke, he said, ‘Well, are we going to have a conversation for a change?’
She groaned and felt a sharp pain in one of her arms. But at least it would keep her awake.
‘Hello,’ he said very gently.
She tried to talk, but her throat felt like a cheese-grater.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re in hospital in Kathmandu. Everything’s fine now.’
She managed a vague smile and was content to lie and let him talk, although everything he said seemed to get jumbled up in her thoughts.
She had been flown back from Lukla. That was two days ago. Did she want a drink? Tundu and Sonam had brought her out, carried her back. She was managing a bit of solid food now. They had all been very worried. She was doing well.
They thought it was altitude sickness. He had squared it with the British Embassy. She shouldn’t move too much. Did she want a drink? The burns were healing quickly.
‘That’s good,’ she murmured drowsily.
‘Iodine,’ she said and managed to sit up. ‘That’s what I can smell.’
Charles looked startled. ‘Well, you’re much better, aren’t you?’
She slid back into the sheets. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘About ten days on and off. Mostly off. We were very worried.’
‘Yes. I remember, you said.’
He sighed. ‘They want to fly you home as soon as possible.’
‘Good. I don’t think I can manage that by myself...not at the moment.’ The grin that spread across his face puzzled her.
‘Don’t you ever take things seriously?’ she said.
‘Not if I can help it. Too depressing.’
She smiled at him. ‘Was I badly burned?’
‘Yes.’ He seemed cautious. ‘On your hands and feet mainly.’
‘Hmm. I can’t think how that happened.’ She saw him shrug.
Then a Nepali nurse appeared and said, ‘Hello. Good to see you awake at last. The doctor’s here to see you.’
‘Really?’ She started to sit up again. ‘That’s amazing. I’d been thinking so much about him lately.’
But the man who came through the door was tall and Asian with thinning hair and a white hospital coat.
The postcard arrived just as she finished packing her bags. It was battered and had been forwarded from Lukla. The picture showed Trafalgar Square. How typical of Mrs Cywynski to send a postcard from home to someone who was on holiday.
‘Hope you are having a wonderful time,’ it read. ‘The cats say you should come home soon. I say so too. The ether is very strange. Regards, Roxana.’
She plainly knew nothing about the accident.
‘I wish Tundu was here. He might tell me what happened,’
said Victoria. She sat nervously in the passenger seat as Charles drove her to the airport. The Kathmandu traffic was a dusty nightmare. ‘I’ve been so frightened, Charles. I keep thinking I should go back to Det-sen.’
She gasped as Charles slammed on the brakes to avoid an errant cyclist. ‘You can’t be serious?’ he joked. ‘Even I can’t afford to pay for you again.’
‘I’m sorry. I will pay you back, I promise.’
‘No problem.’
‘Will you see Tundu soon? When you do, give him my love.’
‘Sometime. I’m flying to Paris tomorrow, once I’ve got you packed off