At five minutes before the hour a car turned into the drive. Grey regarded the sight of its silver roof and sky-reflecting windows with fatalistic certainty that it was Susan. He waited.
She appeared on the terrace with one of the nurses, Sister Alicia, and the two women walked across to him.
“They’re serving lunch now, Mr. Grey. Shall I wheel you in?”
Looking at Susan, he said, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I can’t stay long,” she said, looking not at Grey but at the nurse.
“Shall I tell them you’re staying for lunch too?”
“No, thank you.”
“Now you mustn’t miss a meal, Mr. Grey,” the nurse said, looking from one to the other of them. She walked away.
“Richard, I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before.”
“Where have you been?”
“I was delayed.”
“Was it the car?”
“What? Oh no—I hired that last night.”
“I’ve been waiting for you all morning,” he said.
“I know. I’m really sorry.”
She sat down on the low concrete parapet of the terrace. Her fawn raincoat fell away on each side, revealing her lower legs. They were thin, and clad in ankle socks over her stockings. He noticed that she was wearing a flowered skirt.
She said, “I had to telephone the studio this morning, and all sorts of problems have come up.”
“Studio?”
“Where I work. You must remember—no, I’m sorry. I’m a freelance artist, and I work three days a week for a design studio. It’s my only regular job.”
She leaned forward to take one of his hands. Grey stared at the ground, realizing dismally that for the second time he was feeling hostile toward her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“And, Richard, I have to go back to London today.” He looked up at her, quickly. She added, “I know … but I’ll come back next week sometime.”
“Can’t you come before then?”
“I really can’t. It’s very difficult. I need the money, and if I let the studio down they’ll find someone else. It’s very hard getting the work.”
“All right, all right.” Struggling against his disappointment, Grey tried to get his thoughts straight. “Let me tell you what I’ve been thinking since yesterday. I want to look at you.”
He had already noticed that she rarely turned her face fully toward him, always presenting a quarter profile or keeping her head lowered. Her hair fell about her face, obscuring her features. It had seemed an attractive mannerism at first, a shyness, a reticence, but he wanted to see her properly.
She said, “I don’t like being looked at.”
“I want to remember you.”
She tossed her hair back with a light shaking motion of her head and looked straight at him. He regarded her, trying to remember or see her as he might have done before. She held his gaze for a few moments, then cast her eyes downward once more.
“Don’t stare at me,” she said.
“All right.” They were still holding hands. “But you see, I believe that if I can remember you then I’ll remember everything else.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I know … but it’s so difficult for me. I’m always being told what to do by the staff, the newspaper keeps trying to make me tell my story, I’m stuck in this chair, and all I want to do is to get back to normal. The truth is, Susan, that I don’t remember you at all.”
She said, “But—”
“Let me finish. I don’t remember you, but I feel as if I know you. I honestly can’t tell if that’s because I really do know you, or because I’d like to … but whatever it is, it’s the first real feeling I’ve had since I’ve been here.”
She nodded mutely, her face hidden from him again.
“I need to see you as often as you can manage it.”
“I can’t afford it,” she said. “I’ve already spent most of what I have, just renting the car. And I’ve got to pay the train fare back to London.”
“I’ll pay for it all—I’ve got money. Or the newspaper can pay. Something could be arranged.”
“It’s just not very easy.”
“Are you going out with someone else now?” She was staring down the length of the empty terrace, and he wished she would face him.
“No,” she said. “There’s no one else.” Her hand was fidgeting, the fingers stroking the material of her skirt as if trying to tease up a fragment of the cloth. “There was someone else … but not anymore.”
“Is this why you haven’t been here before?”
“Partly. He knew how much I was missing you, but now it’s all over.”
Grey felt excitement in him, a tightening of muscles, a feeling he had not known since before he could remember.
“Susan, tell me what happened between us. At the end. Why did we part?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“No.”
She shook her head. “It seems impossible you could forget.”
“Can’t you tell me?”
“Well, it no longer matters. Now I’ve seen you again it’s as if it didn’t happen.”
“But I want to try to remember!”
“It wasn’t any one thing. I suppose it had never really worked from the beginning.”
“Was it a row? What was said?”
“No, not a row. It had been going wrong for some time, and we both knew we couldn’t carry on as we were. It was complicated. This—other person was around, and you were unhappy about that. You wanted to stop seeing me, but nothing was resolved. Then the next thing I heard was that you’d been hurt by the bomb.”
“Can’t you tell me more than that?” Grey said.
“Do you remember the cloud?”
“Cloud? What sort of cloud? What do you mean?”
“Just … the cloud.”
One of the stewards had appeared on the terrace, a napkin folded over his arm. “We’re about to serve the main course, Mr. Grey. Will you and your friend be requiring lunch?”
“I’m missing lunch today,” Grey said, and turned back to Susan. She had stood up. “What are you doing? You can’t leave now!”
“I’ve got to. I have to take the car back to Kingsbridge, then there’s a long bus ride to Totnes to catch the train. I’m already late.”
“What were you talking about just now? What did you mean about the cloud?”
“It was something I thought you’d remember.”
“I’ve no memory of anything. Tell me something else.”
“Do you remember Niall?”
“No.”
“What about those people sunbathing? Do you remember that?”
He shook his head. “Should this mean something?”
“I just don’t know what you want to hear! Look, we can talk properly next time. I’ve really got to go, and you should be having lunch.”
She was leaving; already she had turned away from him.
“When will you come again? Next week?”
“I’ll come as soon as I can,” she said. She crouched down by his chair and squeezed his hand very gently. “I want to see you, Richard. I’d stay with you now if I could. Do you believe that?”
She brought her face to his and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He raised his hand to touch her hair, and turned his head, finding her lips. Her skin was cold, from the weather. She held the kiss for a few seconds, then drew back from him.
“Don’t go,” he said quietly. “Please don’t leave now.”
“I really must.” She stood up and moved away from him. Then she stopped. “I nearly forgot! I brought you a present.”
She came back to him, reaching down into her deep canvas bag. She drew out a white paper bag, folded over and sealed with a strip of clear tape.