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| Nancy's Oxfords |
‘The
serious sort,’ she replied, ‘the sort that adheres to a strict routine and puts
up with no nonsense.’
Stu
responded with a quizzical gaze. Nancy bit noisily into her toast which spurred
a hearty chuckle. ‘I like you, Nora,’ he said. ‘I like you very much.’
What
Mr. Cuban Heels didn’t get was that Nancy wasn’t joking.
Nancy
pulled up in front of Vince’s gates at nine prompt. She idled the Punto and
pointed her device. To the command of Millie, the gates, clicked, the gates
whirred. Stately elms drifted by on her right; rippling lawns receded to her left.
Vince’s mighty chapel door loomed ahead. Nancy parked on a space normally
occupied by a Lamborghini. Her Punto required but half the surface area.
Nancy
straightened her coat and made her approach. She paused before foraging in her
pocket. The gates had closed behind her. The air fell still. Would Vince be
waiting behind the door, she wondered? She inserted E1 key. Would he be
watching her from the surveillance room, his finger resting on the green
button? The lock disengaged. Would she find him seated in the meeting room, his
face sly in the knowledge it was just a matter of time? Nancy pushed her way
through. Silence descended upon her. She glanced about; the place appeared
deserted. The stairlift remained at the foot of the Newell post; the access way
remained closed.
Nancy
took a stroll up the stairs and knew an instant before Vince’s slumped form
drifted into view that he had not moved. In a blink, she could see Sheila lying
there. Nancy approached. Scotch and sweat made a faint bouquet above him.
Nancy’s Oxford depressed a floorboard near Vince’s head and found a squeak. She
gratified in it. ‘Did you sleep well, Mr. Jonas?’ she asked.
The
sight disappointed her. Pride had impeded his efforts and perhaps alcohol too.
The twitch of his right thumb indicated a coming-to, albeit groggy. Nancy
didn’t dwell to take in his rumpled clothes, his mouth ajar. The spectacle was
nothing new. Nancy went down to complete the first task of the day. The
star-shaped button now on override, Nancy reclined in the swivel seat within
the surveillance room and rested her heels upon Vince’s wheelchair. She poured
a flask of tea. The flavours of Vince’s food, like the comforts of his spare
bedrooms would remain guessed at; as one employed here, she would not impose
herself in that way.
Her
coat pocket rippled against her thigh. Her fingers encountered a smooth edge
whereupon a recollection flickered. She fished out Vince’s phone to encounter
the bearded face of Mr. Bronwyn James. She ended the call and switched the
phone off. Nancy savoured her second sip. Unsteady clunks started up from the
landing. Nancy swiveled on her seat and placed her rump on the table top. A
smart buzz stopped her. Above the monitor, an amber light flashed. Another buzz.
Movement on the screen drew her eye. She neared.
Top
left informed her a snowy-haired man in a black overcoat was standing outside
Vince’s gates. Beside him, a blue Bentley ticked over. The man’s head dipped
off-screen. Another buzz. Nancy gazed at the figure as a fox caught in headlights.
Clunks above kept pace, or was Vince’s rump sliding down each riser? Snow Hair
persisted. A third buzz. Nancy would have to blag her way out of this or Snow
Hair could bring company next time. Her finger slid across the amber light and
pressed. She coughed and neared her lips to the speaker. ‘Hello?’
Snow
Hair’s head remained still. ‘Amy?’ A constrained tone, as though from a tight
windpipe.
‘Yes?’
‘Amy,
dearest, it’s Paul Coffman. The gates are not responding here. Is Vince not available?’
Dearest?
‘Paul, I’m so sorry, Mr. Jonas will not be taking callers today. He is
receiving care.’
Coffman’s
mouth drew down. ‘Oh,’ his gerbilly jowls pulled sideways. ‘Well, that’s rather
unprecedented. I thought the consultant from the clinic was not due until two.’
The
footfalls had stopped. The air fell still. ‘It’s not a consultant,’ Nancy
informed him, ‘it’s a nurse.’
Coffman
did not seem to take this in. ‘A nurse?’
‘Yes.
Nurse Nora Clements. She’s very good.’
The
handle of the access door rattled. Nancy’s stomach bounced against her
diaphragm.
Coffman’s
head continued to occupy the lower corner of the screen. ‘So when will he be
free?’
The
door was now oscillating against Vince’s wheelchair. Nancy replied smoothly,
‘next week.’
‘Next
week?’
The
rattling stopped. The door took a jolt. ‘Like I said,’ Nancy continued, ‘Mr.
Jonas is under the nurse’s care and should not be disturbed.’
Another
jolt.
‘Coffman
lowered his head to the speaker. ‘What’s that noise?’
Nancy
could feel the vibration in her tailbone. ‘What noise?’
‘That…that
banging.’
‘I
don’t hear anything.’
The
room fell silent. Nancy realised now was the time to make her move. ‘I’m so
worry about all the inconvenience, Paul.’ Nancy tried to sound even. ‘Mr. Jonas
will be in touch with you as soon as he is able to.’
