Abrupt silence caused her eardrums to buzz. Henry’s hand froze in
pre-wipe. Silence expired to a round of detonations more significant in weight.
Henry’s hands proceeded to burrow into the cloth, his eyes not leaving hers. The
menacing andante instilled a wish to be anywhere but here. But Henry did not
appear phased, even when Spartan thuds flourished out into a crashing
dissonance. Nancy didn’t like the complicit nuance of his level gaze. She
didn’t like being couched into looking away and how this could be misconstrued by
one who spent hours shaving the space above the box hedge. Naïve and
easily-bossed Henry had latched onto her somehow. To what end, she couldn’t be
sure.
In
a chill of unease, Nancy shifted away and retreated from the kitchen. She
stepped through the threshold into an airspace rammed with thunderous booms.
Nancy froze in place. The griffin-headed Newell post continued to gaze
indifferent; the lights above Vince’s door continued to flicker from left to
right. The explosion to end all came with a searing crack.
A
low clatter sent her morning’s coffee rippling against the wall of her stomach.
She backed into the under-stairs recess as the gallery door squeaked. A shadow
lurched into view. The hem of a bathrobe flapped above feet out of step with
the crutches. Black ankle hair, wine-blotched legs, nodule-ridden shins and
meandering scars scorched her sights. Vince’s robe barely concealed his
abdomen, glistening, pink and hairy. The rest of his colour converged upon his
face, berry-hued and atopped with a flattened mop. Overshadowing brows denied her
view of his eyes but his downward grimace told her he had a mission. His
nostrils flickered on spotting her beneath the stairs. In ecstatic frenzy, he
dropped his crutches and made a lurching saunter her way. The flanks of his
bathrobe lapped against hinged knee braces. One step. Two steps. Navy boxers flashed.
Three steps. Four steps. His breaths hissed. Nancy emerged from her trance and
darted for the surveillance room.
…
Nancy
had not encountered Henry’s magnified eyes in the kitchen and was grateful. For
half-an-hour, she dare not step outside; she dare not enter the foyer. She also
knew better than to peek through the window in search for Henry. He wouldn’t be
found; Henry had his rake and his strimmer and his garden duties for camouflage.
Nancy also knew Henry had granted her access through Vince’s gates this morning.
Vince
had taken four steps without the crutches. She mulled over this as she listened
out for movement and conjectured that Vince had retreated somewhere to rest his
legs and recover his pride. Her hands idled as she sat on the rocker by the
stove. Nancy could achieve a lot with minimal effort, like her twelve-year-old
shoplifting self. Don’t try. Own the objective. Nancy discovered a handy little
app that provided a mini version of the four-image composite on Vince’s
monitor. Nancy no longer had to sit in the surveillance room to see what the
monitor saw. Most applications were password protected but Vince’s contacts
weren’t. She spoke to a nice man called Magnus Elbers who understood her
concerns completely and would convey the message to all concerned.
Nancy
prepared cheese and pickle sandwiches, coffee and custard creams. She walked
the tray to the drawing room. The hem of Vince’s bathrobe wafted in a draft as
she entered. Carefully, she shifted Vince’s untouched breakfast to deposit his
lunch on top of the drinks trolley. Vince’s stony profile remained in profile.
Post fury had left his forehair skewed and his skin a-glow.
‘I’m
sorry about earlier.’ Nancy uttered and meant it. She presented his pills. This
spurred Vince to turn his head. ‘But you won’t be needing these, Mr. Jonas.’
Vince’s
eyes flicked upwards to meet hers.
‘Your
prescription,’ Nancy forged on. ‘It says to apply liberally to the affected
area once a day. It is unopened, as are your antibiotics.’
Vince
gave a contemptuous snort. ‘You are funny, Nora, really funny…after you almost
broke my legs…’ His sneer dropped like a stone leaving his eyes cold. ‘I don’t see why I should let
you near me.’
‘And
yet I saw you take four steps without the crutches, Mr. Jonas.’
Vince
responded only by presenting his profile to her. She pushed the trolley toward
him. ‘Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Jonas. I will return to apply your prescription.’
