Allie didn’t know where she was when she woke up a while later. She sat up with a start, then noticed Neal and managed a weak smile. Then she leaned over and threw up into the bucket Neal had put there for the purpose.
“I love morning, don’t you?” Neal asked, receiving a muttered obscenity in reply. He tossed her a damp cloth to wipe her face.
She tried to get out of bed, but her legs were wobbly. Neal grabbed her elbow and helped her up. They made a shaky trip down the stairs and he plunked her down in a chair in front of the fireplace. It took him a couple of minutes to get the fire started, and then he carried a smoldering stick into the kitchen and lit the wood-burning stove. He put the water on for tea, and spooned a large dollop of honey into Allie’s cup. “You okay in there?” he yelled.
“Terrific.” He took the sarcastic tone as a good sign. “Be right in.”
“Yip yip.”
He looked out the window while he waited for the water to boil. Up the hill to his left, he could just make out a small dog hustling a herd of sheep along the crest. He wondered where the shepherd was and how far away he lived. Surely he’d notice the smoke from Simon’s chimney and maybe stop by for a cup and a chat. Neal started to work on some lies to tell in that eventuality. Lost in mendacity, he was startled by the shrill whistle of the kettle.
He dumped what he figured was a couple of teaspoons of smoky, black tea into the bottom of the pot and poured the boiling water over it. Then he swished the pot gently a few times and let it set. He found the strainer and a tray and took everything over by the fire, where he poured Allie the first cup.
“Drink,” he ordered. “Yummy.”
“Ill throw it up,” she warned.
“Jesus Christ, we wouldn’t want you to throw up!”
She took the cup and sipped. “Sweet enough.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch.”
“That’s what I am.”
Neal shook his head.
“What? I’m not a bitch?”
“Yeah, you are. But I think it’s more of a habit than a permanent condition.”
“I like being a bitch.”
“Are you hungry?”
Her look of total disdain answered his question.
“I am,” he said.
“Then eat.”
He found some oatmeal cookies in a cupboard and took them back in.
“Is today going to be as bad as yesterday?” She looked like a scared child. It reminded Neal how young she really was.
“No. You won’t get as violently sick. You’ll be real jittery, though, and you’ll get the aches again. But not as bad.”
“How come you know so much about this?”
“I read a lot.”
“Can I have a cookie?”
He handed her the bag. “Knock yourself out.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then she said, “I don’t suppose there’s like a radio in this hole.”
“There’s like not.”
“Sure, make fun.”
She got out of the chair. Slowly. It looked as if it hurt. She walked over to the front window and looked out. “Pretty.”
“Yeah.” More brilliant repartee, Neal thought.
“I stink.”
“Don’t get so down on yourself.”
“No, I mean I smell. Like bad.”
So much for Dr. Carey and positive reinforcement. “Do you want to take a bath?”
“Like yes.” She smiled back at him. If you can make fun of me, she was telling him, so can I.
“Like okay.”
“Where’s the bathroom? I don’t remember…”
“Outside.”
“Get real.”
“That’s as real as it gets.”
She lookod at him real hard. “Next time, I pick the hotel.”
Next time?
“C’mon. I’ll show you where it is.” It took them a good five minutes to walk the hundred feet to the tub. She was like an old lady. They stopped twice while she bent over to ease the soreness in her lower back. He hadn’t planned to heat water for her, but then he figured it would make her feel better.
“I’ll get a chair, you can sit outside for a while. Air’ll do you good.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Heat the goddamn water.”
“How come you’re being so nice?”
“I’m a jerk.”
“Then can I have more tea?”
He took the cup from her and strode back into the cottage. Student, private eye, butler. May I help you?
It took forever to heat enough water for even a shallow bath. He’d check on her every few minutes, look out to see that she was still in her chair and not gimping in the direction of the village to get the next bus back to London and the needle. Never trust a junkie, he thought. But she stayed in her chair, dozing off from time to time, or watching the sheepdog work his flock.
The awkward moment came when the water was ready. Neal poured it into the tub, saving a bucket to rinse off with, handed her a towel, and started to walk away to give her privacy. She got up, stared at the tub, stared at Neal, stared at the tub, and then back at Neal again.
“What?”
“I don’t think I can get in.” She tried lifting her left leg to demonstrate. She could barely lift her foot to knee level.
“You want me to help you?” he asked, without the trace of a leer.
“I’d have to get undressed,” she objected. “In front of you.” A shy hooker? he thought. The proverbial new wrinkle.
“Alice, don’t you get undressed in front of men all the time?”
“That’s different. They’re strangers.” He appreciated the inverted logic that made what she said make sense.
“Okay. I’ll turn my back. You get undressed. I’ll help you into the tub as quickly as I can, then I’ll go away. You call me, and we’ll reverse the process.”
“I don’t know.”
“The water’s getting cold. If you’re not getting in, I will.” She thought about it for a second. Neal checked her out to see whether this was just a hooker game, a little hide-and-seek seduce-the-cop game. But she looked shy just then. She really did.
“Okay. But don’t look where you don’t have to.”
“Think of me as your doctor.”
“I could tell you stories…”
He turned around and heard her fumbling with her clothes. Her hands being none too steady, it took a couple of minutes. Then he heard a long sigh before she said, “Ready.”
He tried to focus on her eyes, but you know what it’s like when you try not to look at something. Her body was beautiful, and Neal quickly dismissed the sinking feeling in his gut.
“Come on, before the water gets cold,” she said. She was blushing, and the gooseflesh must have come from the crisp morning air. She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked away from him. It might have been the sexiest gesture he had ever seen.
“Turn around,” he said.
“What?”
“So I can lift you into the tub, idiot.”
“You don’t have to get mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You sound mad.”
She turned around and Neal made a determined effort not to look at her as he held her around her waist and struggled her into the tub.
She let out an unholy shriek as she hit the water. “Getting cold? This is boiling!”
“It’ll feel great in a minute.”
“I thought you were going to go inside.”
“On my way.” He talked as he walked. “Now don’t try to get out on your own! You could fall and hit your head!” He realized he sounded like somebody’s mother.
I have to get out of this business, he thought. He went inside and drank two cups of tea and ate six oatmeal cookies.
“Neal!”
“What?”
“I wanna get out!”
“Okay!”
She had spent a good half hour lying in the bath. He had looked out every few minutes (well, she was in a tub, you couldn’t see anything) to make sure she hadn’t drowned or run away. When he came out of the cottage, she was sitting up, her hair full of suds.
“Rinse me?” she asked. “I can’t bend over to get my head in the water.”
He poured the bucketful over her head, and she shook her hair out like a wet dog.
She held her hand out and he turned her and lifted her out of the tub. Their bodies touched as he set her on her feet on the ground. He let go of her quickly and wrapped a towel around her.