Twisted Root - Anne Perry [62]
Michael looked at Hester, frowning a little, his lips drawn tight.
"I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Monk." He hesitated, the battle within him clear in his face. "And I’m sure my grandfather will enjoy your company."
"And I his," Hester replied. "I shall look forward to coming by whenever I am able to. I am frequently at the hospital, not far away. It is no journey at all."
"Thank you." He must be sensitive to what a relief it would be to the old man to have company and assistance he could look forward to without the anxiety of knowing that he was keeping Michael from his job, and that every minute spent there was in some essence a risk for Michael. But the young policeman was still angry beneath the gratitude, for all its sincerity.
"It is not a trouble," Hester repeated.
Michael moved towards the door, indicating that she should go with him.
"Good-bye, Grandpa," he said gently. "I’ll try not to be late."
"Don’t worry," Robb assured him. "I’ll be all right." They were brave words, and he said them as if they could be true, although they all knew they might not be.
Just outside on the step Michael lowered his voice and fixed Hester with an intense stare.
"You’re a good nurse, Mrs. Monk, and I surely appreciate the way you look after him, better than I can. And you didn’t make him feel like it’s charity. You’ve got a way with you. I suppose that comes from being out at the war, and all that."
"It also comes from liking him," she replied honestly.
There was no indication in his eyes as to whether he believed her.
"But don’t be thinking anything you do here will make a difference, because it won’t," he went on levelly. "I won’t stop looking for Miriam Gardiner. And when I find her, which I will, if she’s guilty of killing James Treadwell, I’ll arrest her and charge her, whatever you do for my grandfather." His face tightened even more, his voice a little hoarse. "And whether you tell the police station or not." He colored slightly. "And if that insults you, I’m sorry."
"I’m used to being insulted, Sergeant Robb," she replied, surprised at how much the suggestion hurt. "But I admit, this is a totally new manner of saying my work is worthless, incompetent or generally of morally questionable nature."
"I didn’t mean ..." he began, then bit the words back, the pink deepening in his cheeks.
"Yes, you did," she contradicted him, making the most of his embarrassment. "But I suppose I can understand it. You must feel very vulnerable, coming away from your post to care for your grandfather. I swear to you that I have no motive for being here except to offer him some care, according to my profession, and to talk with him over old memories I can share with no one who has not had the experiences from which they spring. You must believe me, or not, as circumstances prove me." And without waiting to see his response, she turned and went back in through the door, leaving it ajar behind her for the warm air to come in. She was only half aware of Michael’s footsteps as he walked away.
She remained far longer than she had originally intended. To begin with she had talked comparatively little, answering a few questions about what life had been like for her in the hospital at Scutari, and even describing Florence Nightingale. Robb was interested to hear about her, what she looked like, her demeanor, her voice, even her manner of dress. Such was her reputation that the smallest details held his attention. Hester was happy to answer, feeling memory so sharp she could almost smell the blood and vinegar again, and the sickening odor of gangrene and the other acrid stenches of disease. She could feel the summer heat and hear the buzzing of flies, as if the mild English sun coming in through the windows were the same, and it would be a Turkish street outside.
Halfway through the afternoon he fell asleep, and she was able to stand up and tidy the kitchen