Vince
nodded. A small nod. A mere slit of eyeball was visible beneath an indifferent
lid. Nancy couldn’t tell whether Vince hung onto the suited man’s every word or
was not really listening. Vince’s forehair clung to his brow in small fronds
and his skin possessed a pomegranate tinge.
He had nodded. He had understood.
‘What
the hell do you think you’re doin’?’ Angry Spice gusted into Nancy’s ear.
Nancy
didn’t turn. She clutched her bag. ‘Mr. Jonas?’ Her voice did not sound her
own.
‘I
asked you a question, Cheap Shoes!’
‘Mr.
Jonas.’
The
besuited man, silver-haired and clipped beard did a take. His hawkish eyes did
a disdainful meander from Nancy’s head to her toes. The physio, lost in his
task, proceeded to lift Vince’s right leg again for a repetition. Vince
remained in an apparent fug. But in a gruff whisper, his words gathered. ‘Amy,
I told you no one from the press is to disturb me.’
‘I…I’m
sorry, Mr. Jonas.’ Amy Spice betrayed a quaver within her customary
self-assurance. ‘I can promise you this will never happen again.’
The
pressure in Nancy’s chest exploded. Her eyes steadied upon Vince’s dressing on
his throat and gravity kept shifting from one foot to the other.
Amy
cut Nancy’s reverie. ‘You just got yourself a P45, Missy,’ she spitfired. ‘Time
to meet your fate in the form of Mr. Blakemore downstairs. He’s dyin’ to meet
you.’
‘Not
now, Amy,’ Vince grunted.
Momentary
silence before Amy piped up, ‘But Mr. Jonas…’
‘My
solicitor has enough on his schedule at this time.’
The
besuited man, Vince’s accountant, Nancy presumed, drew his eyes away, seeing
nothing more of interest here. The physio continued to manipulate Vince’s right
leg in a wholly proper manner.
Amy’s
superior tone regrouped. ‘It’s time to sling your ‘ook, but if I ever see your
cheap shoes here again, I will call the police myself and have you up for
trespassing.’
Throughout
Amy’s threat, Vince continued to stare ahead, eye slitted with indifference.
And then feeling Nancy’s scrutiny, he rotated his torso and looked at her. His
expression did not change yet his gaze had transmuted to a skulking appraisal.
His red-rimmed eyes were haunted, his pupils huge.
How deep is your love?
Nancy
shuddered. This time he took her in. He would know her from this point on. But
Nancy stood on a knife edge of wanting him to recognize her and not wanting him
to recognize her at all. His trip to the unknown had imposed a vigilance upon
him. He had been to hell and now he appraised her from haunted eyes, violet-rimmed
and hooded.
Vince
restored his former posture, unceremonious to rest his shoulders upon the
cushions. ‘Check the schedule, Amy. Cancel the two-o’clock meeting. No more
visitors today.’
Amy’s
tone was crisp. ‘Sure thing, Mr. Jonas.’
Nancy’s
speech centre short-circuited; her windpipe became a tube of elastic bands
pulling inwards, tighter, tighter.
Amy
took her by the elbow but Nancy’s leg muscles had numbed over with apathy. Her
right ankle keeled over.
The
doorframe, floor and Amy’s clasp offered no support. Nothing here could stop a
brickload of desolation from tumbling upon her. She could imagine nothing more
repugnant than uttering the words, ‘do you not remember me?’
Nancy
clenched her teeth and allowed Amy to usher her past the wheelchair and back
down the stairs. Nancy cared little that Amy thought Nancy was a stalker or a
crazed fan. Let Amy see Nancy’s hair tumble, let Amy hear the soft hitching at
the back of Nancy’s throat.
Once
Nancy’s heels had landed upon the marble tiles below, Nancy managed to raise
her had. The elastic bands encircling her throat constricted her words. ‘I can
take it from here,’ she uttered. And Nancy pulled her elbow away.
Amy’s
black eyes remained unimpressed but she walked in front and grabbed hold of the
handle before opening the door.
Nancy
let herself out.
