Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [79]
He stirred and opened his eyes. At first he looked terribly frightened, like a small boy waking in strange surroundings; but, very quickly, his expression became relaxed, and he looked about him sharply, his gaze resting briefly on Lucy, David, the window, the door, and the fire.
Lucy said, “We must get him out of these clothes. Fetch a pair of pajamas and a robe, David.”
David wheeled himself out, and Lucy knelt beside the stranger. She took off his boots and socks first. There almost seemed to be a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched her. But when she reached for his jacket he crossed his arms protectively over his chest.
“You’ll die of pneumonia if you keep these clothes on,” she said in her best bedside manner. “Let me take them off.”
The man said, “I really don’t think we know each other well enough—after all, we haven’t been introduced.”
It was the first time he had spoken. His voice was so confident, his words so formal, that the contrast with his terrible appearance made Lucy laugh out loud. “You’re shy?” she said.
“I just think a man should preserve an air of mystery.” He was grinning broadly, but his smile collapsed suddenly and his eyes closed in pain.
David came back with clean nightclothes over his arm. “You two seem to be getting on remarkably well already,” he said.
“You’ll have to undress him,” Lucy said. “He won’t let me.”
David’s look was unreadable.
The stranger said, “I’ll manage on my own, thanks—if it’s not too awfully ungracious of me.”
“Suit yourself,” David said. He dumped the clothes on a chair and wheeled out.
“I’ll make some more tea,” Lucy said as she followed. She closed the living room door behind her.
In the kitchen, David was already filling the kettle, a lighted cigarette dangling from his lips. Lucy quickly cleared up the broken china in the hall, then joined him.
“Five minutes ago I wasn’t at all sure the chap was alive—and now he’s dressing himself,” David said.
Lucy busied herself with a teapot. “Perhaps he was shamming.”
“The prospect of being undressed by you certainly brought about a rapid recovery.”
“I can’t believe anyone could be that shy.”
“Your own lack in that area may lead you to underestimate its power in others.”
Lucy rattled cups. “Let’s not quarrel today, David—we’ve got something more interesting to do. For a change.” She picked up the tray and walked into the living room.
The stranger was buttoning his pajama jacket. He turned his back to her as she walked in. She put the tray down and poured tea. When she turned back he was wearing David’s robe.
“You’re very kind,” he said. His gaze was direct.
He really didn’t seem the shy type, Lucy thought. However, he was some years older than she—about forty, she guessed. That might account for it. He was looking less of a castaway every minute.
“Sit close to the fire,” she told him. She handed him a cup of tea.
“I’m not sure I can manage the saucer,” he said. “My fingers aren’t functioning.” He took the cup from her stiff-handed, holding it between both palms, and carried it carefully to his lips.
David came in and offered him a cigarette. He declined.
The stranger emptied the cup. “Where am I?” he asked.
“This place is called Storm Island,” David told him.
The man showed a trace of relief. “I thought I might have been blown back to the mainland.”
David pointed the man’s toes at the fire to warm his bare feet. “You were probably swept into the bay,” David said. “Things usually are. That’s how the beach was formed.”
Jo came in, bleary-eyed, trailing a one-armed panda as big as himself. When he saw the stranger he ran to Lucy and hid his face.
“I’ve frightened your little girl.” The man smiled.
“He’s a boy. I must cut his hair.” Lucy lifted Jo onto her lap.
“I’m sorry.” The stranger’s eyes closed again,