tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61776500875235784122024-02-19T05:41:25.130-08:00Nora by Charles J HarwoodA serialised free novel available on this blogUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-2951817065035369362014-03-16T00:19:00.003-07:002014-03-16T00:21:00.671-07:00Nora by Charles J Harwood Prologue<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">IT
HAD all started with a look: blue eyes from an English father; ebony hair from
an Italian mother. Once he had not cared that his eyelashes cast long shadows upon
his cheeks, that he had the Cupid’s bow of a cherub or that his cheekbones
chiseled out at a geometric angle, but when he did, he became what the English
termed a wanker or a prick. Perhaps they confused the expression for a heartbreaker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
camera loved him at least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
could recline on silk sheets for cologne or seethe in a sportscar. His life
became the silk sheet he had once reclined upon: smooth, compliant and without
substance. In pursuit of something, he enterprised. His upbringing on Lake Como
receded as he found himself sipping sangria on a Monte Carlo balcony, basking
on his cruiser in Cannes or cheering Chelsea within a glass suite above the
terraces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
choice expanded with his acquisitions: hotels, leisure centres, nightclubs, a
recording studio. Those he found company with complied to fulfill their talents,
wit, resource and diplomacy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
convinced himself he’d fallen in love and got bored. He got high and watched
endless sunrises. American girls were fun, the English rose, a tease; Europeans
were flamboyant but he knew how to let them all down easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
reinvented himself. No longer just a playboy but a mind turned industrious. He
managed and delegated. The routine grounded him and his prosperity burgeoned.
He hosted charity events to satisfy his guilt but concealed his disdain for the
unfortunate. Soulless, someone had gibed about his lifestyle, but that was fine
by him. Those that gibed would never be seen next to royalty, pop stars or
politicians. The alternative was unthinkable. And he wouldn’t have it any other
way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Until
the day he had glimpsed her face in the half-light, unrepentant and not of his
world. As the black void engulfed him, his worldly achievements counted for
nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
thought he’d never wake again.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-11.html">Next page</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-44594485700715615662014-03-05T14:32:00.000-08:002017-06-02T10:21:37.215-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 27.3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The night clawed at her temples. She
faced-off the dark in a feverish quest. For what, she wasn’t sure. The box
hedge stirred in the dark; the couch grass whispered. What company did Rodin’s <i>The</i> <i>Kiss</i>
keep? What about the dreamy amble? The security light had provided the perfect
stage. She had given a spectator something to look at. A shudder slithered up
her spine and pooled at the base of her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
fingers trembled as she grappled for his other crutch resting against the back
door. The upper spindle slipped through her fingers. She had the notion the
thing was trying to evade her. In her smart clothes, she felt a sham. She was
still daughter of Sheila.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
had barely moved when she returned to him. ‘Mr. Jonas.’ Her voice came low and
insistent. ‘It is time to get up now. I have your other crutch.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
could feel the eyes within the box hedge, his boot planted in the grass, his
glasses reflecting. Nancy neared her mouth to Vince’s ear and the word <i>please</i> teased at her lips. Vince’s
wheezing had lessened and his eye made a weary blink. He swallowed noisily. <i>Please</i> wanted to leave her lips but she
wouldn’t let it. Despite the shame burning her chest, she conjured the nurse
within. ‘It’s time to get up now, Mr. Jonas,’ she said quietly so the box hedge
wouldn’t hear. Vince’s eye flicked her way. She proffered his crutch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For
a moment, Vince didn’t respond, seemingly locked within a cocoon of inertia.
She would wait and she would keep offering the crutch. ‘It’s time to get up now,
Mr. Jonas.’ Gentle yet firm. When had he raised his trembling hand? Nancy
couldn’t be sure, as time had dissolved behind a screen. His second crutch came
to life. His journey to a standing position involved no further hand from her. Phases
in deliberation made a simple maneouvre look graceless and difficult: the
flexing of a knee, the twisting of a shoulder. The security light carved out
his wretched form as he battled gravity. His crutches trembled, his crutches
slipped, his heel twisted. He grazed his elbow, saliva dribbled down his chin,
he snorted balls of condensation. Cords contorted his neck and sweat soaked his
collar. Sightless, he groped his way to the top of his crutches. Nancy did not
intervene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
box hedge continued to watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
eyes remained on Vince. He tucked the crutch-pads beneath his armpits; his
fingers took position at the crossbars. Both soles came to rest upon the patio.
Unceremonious, Nancy entered the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">An
eternity later, the limo flickered around her as Vince’s pallor bleached to
ashen. His blanket whispered between her fingers as she straightened it over
his abdomen. His lungs submitted to another wheezing ripple before his pillow
consumed the back of his head. Throughout his journey, his wheelchair remained
in the rain, the screws to his stairlift in her satchel-bag. He didn’t ask for
them. He didn’t ask for anything. Only her presence assisted his lurch throughout
the house. Her presence became the needle that wouldn’t let him settle. The
stairs arrived at the dead of night. Each riser taunted his twisted form. But
Vince had endless attempts as the minutes grinded past. And all the while, his
sweaty grasp inched up the banister.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before
straightening his blanket, Nancy helped him out of his sweatshirt. He collapsed
onto his back. She slipped off his slacks. Heat radiated from his body. She
unfastened his knee braces. A maze of shadows obscured the sight and she was
grateful. She went into the bathroom to find a cabinet devoid of painkillers.
She filled a glass with water. When she returned, she found sleep had pulled
all tension from his face. He continued to wheeze, though softly through his
mouth. Shame prickled her again. She could barely look at him as she deposited
the glass on the dresser. She stepped to Vince’s window to encounter an inkblot
of oak-tops splintering the sky. The box hedge lurked somewhere to the right.
But the lone apple tree proved a favoured prop for Henry’s garden tools. In the
gloom, Nancy could make out a pole. Nancy knew before exiting the premises that
Henry had set the gates on automatic again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-281.html">Next page</a> (end of preview)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-272.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-92071042286512908532014-03-05T14:30:00.004-08:002017-06-02T10:21:55.958-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 27.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy had completed Big Ben by the
time dusk descended. She would leave the sky for him. The sky was nothing but
blue – an expanse of blue. She took his crutch for a walk across the meeting
room for its reunion with the other. The wind had dropped by the time she had
reached the back door and she made out a lurching shadow beyond the box hedge.
She hoped he could see her silhouette against the backlight. She would stand
here until her knees tired. The shape seemed to stop and then she realised he
was shifting his crutch to the other side. The shape did several motions at
once without really moving – a sort of hobble, a sort of hop, a shuffle. Nancy
did not think the shape would ever make it past the garages. The CCTV above the
lintel would be sending the feed to the monitor right now; a shape morphing
from the shadows, moving yet not moving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
crossed her arms. The security light flicked on. His ghastly form bleached her
eyes. Sweat left a sickly patina on his face; grass stains tarnished his sweatshirt.
Canted hips skewed his legs. How many times had that crutch served his left
side, and then his right? How many times had he crawled? No one inhabited his
face for the death of muscle tone. His eyes had all but closed; his lower lip detached
from the upper, a murmur skulked within each wheeze. His crutch skittered
against the patio slabs. He stopped, he lurched, he staggered onboard. He grasped
his crutch with both hands as though to push it into the ground, and proceeded
to lower himself down. A wall of defiance surged inside her. ‘Don’t you dare!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
pleas timed-in with each exhalation. ‘You took my crutch…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yes,
Mr. Jonas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
crutch fell with a clatter. Vince’s hands sought out the patio floor. His
elbows trembled. ‘My legs…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Don’t
give me that!’ Her tone could not be sharp enough. ‘I’ve heard all the excuses
in the world.’ The space between patio and sweatshirt continued to lessen. Fury
shot up from within. She stepped towards him. ‘Get up.’ Vince was finally
prostrate on the floor, his limbs spread-eagled across the slabs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
wasn’t moved. He had brought this on himself. ‘I said, get up!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
profile came to rest upon the slabs, his eye now closed, his mouth open. She
had seen that face before, atopped a slumped form in various positions and
locations: on the stairs, on the living room carpet, at doorways. <i>You know I love ya, Nancy. </i>She grit her
teeth as the image of him kissing his palm flooded her brain. ‘You loser!’ Her
hands shook. ‘You stinking lousy loser! I knew you’d sell-out in the end! I
knew you’d give in! I hope it rains on you!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
brought the tip of her Oxfords to the tip of his nose. She arrowed her palm at
his head. ‘Hand them over.’ The insensate, she had learned, complied little
more than the sober, using their state to be awkward. She decided she hadn’t the
time and her fingers slid with practiced ease into the back pocket of his
slacks. As her fingers encountered the container, she revisited the betrayal in
the drawing room along with a chain of betrayals converging into the distance.
Nancy’s life had taught her lies can be dressed up in creative way, like shit
in a multi-coloured coat. Sheila had a rack of excuses for her only daughter
and right now, Nancy would rather not hear Vince’s version of events. She
clutched the pill bottle; she clutched the hipflask. She unscrewed the top of
the former. She upended it, just as Vince had done so by the oak tree and white
pills spilled into her palm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘What
are these, Mr. Jonas?’ she seethed and flung them into the night. A hiss
returned as the pills rebounded against the slabs like dried peas. Vince’s leg
twitched. ‘And wasn’t it a little early in the day for this?’ She uncapped the hipflask
which bore a Jack Daniels logo. She took a sniff and detected none of the
nectar to remind her of home. She sneered and took a nip. The dregs coated her
tongue with orange juice. The floor tumbled. A ten-ton arm brought the pill bottle
to reading distance and she recognized the label immediately; one that had
caused her to preserve its contents from her dispatch down the toilet along
with his scotch: paracetamol. And by the amount she had hurled into the night,
he had not taken much.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
emitted a groan. The security light picked her out. The CCTV picked her out. The
monitor screen exhibited her on the lower right holding an empty paracetamol
bottle and an empty hipflask that had once contained fruit juice. Vince’s
prostrate form and a single crutch lay at her feet. This wasn’t very nurse of
her. She had lost the Nora. She should have known. She had permitted the
shabbiness of Glebe Hollow to sneak in. What had she become?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-273.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-271.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-87542977477128789522014-03-05T14:28:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:22:08.672-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 27.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">NANCY changed Vince’s sheets, she
administered his antibiotics and wheeled the trolley beside him. She cut, she cleansed,
she applied. Vince took everything she gave. She pulled the dressings tight.
She could see by his glower that she had been thorough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
wheeled the trolley to the kitchen to wash her hands and paused on seeing Henry
at the sink. He glanced her way. ‘Oh, hi, Nora.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 195.05pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
smile felt stretched. ‘Hi, Henry.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
saw Nancy wanted to use the sink and moved aside. ‘Er…Sorry.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
stepped forward and flicked the tap. ‘Wasn’t that somethin’?’ he began as Nancy
dispensed liquid soap onto her hands. Nancy glanced round to see Henry lift a
mug from the table. He blew into the steam. ‘It’s just what the bossy cow
deserved.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
massaged the soap between fingers before letting the hot water surge over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Did
you…did you give Mr. Jonas his treatment?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
bubbles disappeared into a vortex. ‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Were
you thorough?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
could picture Henry sipping his tea, awaiting her answer. ‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I…I
couldn’t help but notice you don’t have latex gloves with your other stuff here.
I suppose they just get in the way, don’t they…of being thorough, I mean.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
let the water cascade even though the soap had vanished. Her fingers nestled
beside the whirlpool and decided they would stay there while Henry stood behind
her. She heard him plonk his mug down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Well,
I suppose I’d best get going,’ His boots squeaked. ‘I’ll be down by the elms if
you need me.’ He moved to the back door and paused with a little smile before
leaving. ‘Quiet day today…no visitors.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
had neglected to close the drawing room door earlier. She had forgotten to take
vigilance as she cut, cleansed and applied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
elms couldn’t be seen from here. She would have to stand on the Lakeland slabs
at the front of the house to see him. She wasn’t about to make herself visible
only to him. Instead, she assembled cheese sandwiches, tea and chocolate digestives
to find the drawing room empty. She glanced out to see Vince lurch across the
lawn. At first she thought he had seen Henry but quickly realised Vince wasn’t heading
for the elms. It seemed Vince was taking a walk. Brows knit, she returned to the
kitchen to pack the food in a Tupperware box and brew fresh tea for a flask.
She placed everything in a bag and grabbed her coat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No
leaf blotted the lawn, no wind stirred the trees. Abrasions on the turf divulged
of Vince’s passage to the copse. From here, only the tops of the oaks could be
seen. Was he going this way to prove he now could? She trudged past the box
hedge to gaze upon the elms behind. The grounds appeared well-kept yet she had
seldom seen Henry at work. This unsettled her for some reason. Nancy continued
past the willow walkway with the dreamy amble. By the time the slope had opened
out to her, the sun had disappeared behind cloud. A breeze set the oaks
creaking. Vince rested at the base of the Y-shaped oak she had occupied
previously. She could see only the back of his head. As she entered the dip,
his crutches shifted into view. They did not rest beside him, but against the
trunk of an oak on the opposite side of the pond. Had he walked unaided for
this distance?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
eased her pace, reluctant to proceed further. His blue sweatshirt rippled in
the breeze, his shoulders square; from here, a non-cripple. She wanted to see
his fifty paces crutchless. Nancy stopped at a trunk directly behind his
location to lower her picnic bag. He bowed to the fields in front to disclose
three Shetlands. Ripples scoured an inverted sky behind him. At bow’s end, the
wind fondled his hair and a hand grasped a bottle. She had seen a bottle like
that in his drawing room. The other hand teased the lid and pulled it off. The
cylinder upended to liberate a quantity. He opened his mouth to kiss his palm
and the white dots vanished. Inverted sky disintegrated in a gust. Bottle
pocketed, he flexed a shoulder to retrieve a second vessel. This one winked
against the sky as though metallic. Thumb twirled cap – a silver hipflask, she deduced.
Vince brought the mouth to his. A brisk appreciation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
sweatshirt continued to ripple in the breeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thunder
burgeoned from deep within. Nancy’s lower lip trembled. His image blurred in
response. She contained an urge to kick his lunch across the grass but nothing
could dispel the cutting sensation inside. She made herself small at the base
of the trunk. Nettles prickled her thighs. A thousand nettles would not be
enough. Ground-moss became a patch of carpet at the back of the sofa when she
was seven. The betrayal. The lies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How could he?</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
stitching of her coat grazed the couch grass skirting the trees; grit pierced her
palms. The pond lapped gently against the clay-soil bringing a brackish aroma.
Ahead, the scuffmarks at the base of his crutches grew clearer. She was
probably to blame for every scratch. Still the past few days had fulfilled the bearers
and they remained serviceable. Her fingers encircled the shaft above to
separate one from the other. One crutch, not two.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
crossbar came to rest upon her shoulder before she sought out the shelter of
the oak of earlier. Without looking back, she straightened up and took a brisk
walk back to the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 219.95pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-272.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-262.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-87524611783366793002014-03-05T14:27:00.001-08:002017-06-02T10:22:25.303-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 26.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A mere minute seemed to pass before
Vince’s door opened again. Amy emerged, her face purple. Gently she closed the
door and daggered Nancy with that Cleopatra glare. ‘He says he will be down to
take his treatment after breakfast.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
thumbs stopped twirling. Wild orchid revisited as Amy stepped past. Violet
glinted from her doughnut bun before she presented her glower. ‘Nora Clements.’
Her expression fell still. ‘I can’t find anything about that name to
substantiate the stuff you told me the other day. I don’t reckon you knew Mr.
Fairchild and I don’t believe you helped him quit smoking.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
throat tightened. ‘I knew Mr. Fairchild.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amy
snorted. ‘I’ve heard my share of bullshit from opportunists and blackmailers
out for somethin’. I’ve just gotta figure out how you got your hands on those
business cards.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
knit her lip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Go
give Mr. Jonas his treatment. I’ll be here to serve your medicine soon, Nora
Clements, sooner than you think. You can bank on that.’ Amy slid her bag into
the fold of her armpit and continued down the stairs. Before Nancy had reached
the top, Amy had slipped from sight. Henry loitered at Vince’s desk but Nancy
did not wish to encounter him. She backed herself into the utility room and peeked
out of the window. Only once his denimmed figure had emerged from the back of
Vince’s garage did she enter the foyer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amy’s
convertible had gone. The gallery’s row of casements presented an aspect unfettered
of vehicles. Cubist shapes of light and dark channeled her sights to the
Edwardian door at the bottom of the gallery. Curious, she approached what
appeared to be a sun-dappled fig tree on the other side of the glass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Within
a huge conservatory, black leather couches and a view across the copse hinted
at design bent on music appreciation. Racks of LPs and CDs one day collectable
accompanied the mandatory upload – thousands of albums, according to the teak
music system with five-foot speakers. A favoured playlist informed Nancy that
in spite of his passion for the new, Vince had a thing for the eighties, disco,
soul, Motown and the female voice. Nancy pressed a button to be engulfed by Joan
Armatrading’s <i>Love</i> <i>and</i> <i>Affection</i>.
She killed the power feeling somewhat guilty. She forwarded the selection to
find the evocative title, <i>Hurts</i> by
Johnny Cash and played the first few bars. Someone had put a message within an
album sleeve of Aretha’s, <i>Lady</i> <i>Soul</i> ‘to the Adonis of <i>Notturno</i>.’ Vince’s first taste of
success, Nancy recalled: a model for men’s cologne before launching a brand of
his own. He had then conceived Nexus nightclubs, beach resorts, hotels and a
record label. Vince had grown notoriety for his playboy lifestyle which would
appear to conclude with his engagement to Honor Palance, a bond-like female
lead in action movies. The pap wagered on wedding bells before Vince dumped
her, allegedly by text. He had dalliances with models, a diplomat’s daughter a
baroness and countless respectable hopefuls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That
look, that sidelong leer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
closed the door to appraise the photos on his gallery wall: parties, yatchs,
entourages, resorts. Leon toasted the viewer in one shot. A rare photo of Vince
sitting alone arrested her. The lens seemed an intrusion to one who stared
fiercely, his hair slicked back, his brows arched in condescension. Ruthless
intelligence lurked behind that look; torment beyond his supremacy where few
could get past. What did he think about when he was alone at night? A draught
fondled her cheek. She glanced aside. Light from the foyer etched out his form,
imposing yet encumbered by the crutches. Nancy lowered her gaze, abashed he had
caught her looking at his picture. Sunlight shimmered on the wall as his
crutches clunked. His shadow slid into view before stopping. She pinched her
lip. ‘You don’t stay here much, do you, Mr. Jonas?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
tone was quiet. ‘It’s where I entertain guests.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
made a retreat for the music room. His crutches started up behind her.
Discomfiture coloured her cheeks to assume a casual pace, as speedy as casual could
be. His tempo fell in with hers. Photos and casements glided past. Her Oxfords
got smart, as though between duties. The fig tree neared ahead. His crutches
creaked, his crutches clacked. Air caressed her knees and Vince leveled up.
Light and shadow, light and shadow, as a passenger on a carriage. From casual
to brisk, her toes arrowed ahead. To her left, she glimpsed his crossbar within
his grasp. She knit her jaw and extended her palms to bounce against the glass
at the end of the gallery. She twisted neatly to face him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
stopped before her, his breaths steady and his pallor fresh, like the
toothpaste on his breath. Nancy lifted her chin and realised defiance likened a
prelude to a kiss. Her throat opened out and her pulse drew his eyes. Shackled
to his crutches, he would have to explore her by mouth. Her top button
fastened, he would have to taste both cotton and flesh. But he had the liberty
to push his tongue beneath her collar and fill the depression at her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Without
taking his eyes from her pulse, he rested his crutches on the wall either side
of her. He then planted his hands upon the doorframe to fence her in. Nancy
kept her eyes on his; her fingernails pinching her palms. He leaned in. A fresh
dressing enclosed his throat, which twitched when he spoke. ‘My legs,’ he
uttered. ‘They don’t hurt so much…I can keep up with you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
crisp tone wavered. ‘That’s good, Mr. Jonas. It shows what a good night’s sleep
can do.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
eyes hooded over. He gathered his crutches and retreated from her. Nancy
kneaded her hands as Vince disappeared into the foyer. He would await her in
the drawing room to receive a fresh dressing. She would cloak herself in nurse
to cleanse his legs with the rigor he should now expect from her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-271.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-261.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-42219270465886229722014-03-05T14:25:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:22:36.854-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 26.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BEFORE falling asleep, Vince had
asked Nancy if she had seen the film Misery. The remark stung. ‘No,’ she had
replied to his sleeping face. ‘But did anyone tell you, Mr. Jonas that you
snore?’ she had then gone down to wheel his chair behind the bins to get wet in
the rain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
had not moved when she served breakfast the next morning. Cannes would not have
found him in a more wholesome state – no narcotic, no alcohol to taint his
bloodstream, only the surrender of a heavy head to a soft pillow. She liked
seeing him like this. She quietly lowered his tray onto the dresser and went
downstairs. Once in the kitchen, she went over Vince’s drinks trolley with
disinfectant. She did not hear the approach until soft cockney broke the
silence. ‘How’s Mr. Jonas doing?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
paused in spraying again. ‘Okay,’ she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry’s
garden boots shifted to her right. ‘Good.’ The smell of engine oil wafted over
her. ‘Y’ know, I…I don’t like the stuff that goes on here…I don’t like the
yes-people that buzz around Mr. Jonas like flies round shit. But you got him
outta bed. You’ve got him biting. That’s gotta be good.’ Henry coughed and his
voice took a lower cadence. ‘What I’m tryin’ to say, Nora, is I’m gonna do my
best to take care of stuff here. I’ve worked for Mr. Jonas for years. Nobody
will be bugging you.’ No shift in boot this time. ‘You can continue giving Mr.
Jonas his treatment. You needn’t worry about a thing.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
muscles in her shoulders stiffened. Nancy gave the trolley another spray and
drew the cloth over the lower shelf. Henry’s shadow retreated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ladened
with fresh dressings and antiseptics, the trolley rattled back to a spot
overlooking the fragmented face of Big Ben. The child within itched to connect
a few pieces, but resisted until Vince jointed her. Nancy went back up to the
utility room to gather fresh towels. Vince’s room remained silent on passing.
She approached the window. Would she spot Henry’s rake, his strimmer, a spade?
No but this did not guarantee Henry wouldn’t cross paths with her again. She
hoped he would busy himself in a plot of Vince’s grounds to make the prospect
unlikely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
backed from the window in time to see a shadow next to her Punto. Her breaths
condensed upon the window, where the front grille of a red BMW convertible
emerged. A buzzer sounded somewhere downstairs. Nancy dropped the towels and
darted to the head of the landing just as Amy entered the foyer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Angry
Spice draped her leopard-spotted coat over the Newell post and as though by
magic Henry appeared from beneath the stairs. He glanced Nancy’s way in a
complicit signal. Amy unwound her silk scarf to join her leopard-spotted coat
as though the mistress of these premises. The Tudor walls amplified her nasal
exhalations to convey that the job of Mr. Jonas’ PA a busy vocation. Her hair
now in a doughnut bun glinted violet, like her lipstick, which stretched into a
formal smile on spotting Henry. ‘Good morning, Henry,’ she breezed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
cupped the elbow patches of his jumper in an attempt to appear casual. ‘Good
morning, Amy. I…I didn’t expect you today.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Traffic
was bloody murder. Put the kettle on will you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
lingered, torn between Amy’s request and the present situation. Amy didn’t
notice. She opened her handbag and reapplied lipstick through a small mirror on
a flap. She glanced up and her eyes latched onto Nancy’s form at the top of the
stairs. In mid-application, Amy’s face froze. The lipstick continued to complete
a slow lap of her lower lip before the cylinder fell into her bag. Amy engaged
the clasp with a rap. ‘What the hell is she doing here?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
continued to pet the elbow patches of his jumper. ‘This is Mr. Jonas’ nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amy’s
heavy-lidded eyes did not move from Nancy’s ‘I think we both know that’s
questionable, Henry don’t we?’ And then her eyelids lowered to a Cleopatra
lour. ‘I thought Mr. Jonas was supposed to be in Cannes today.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
returned a smile she didn’t feel ‘I decided he should not go. He is sleeping
and should not be disturbed.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amy’s
lips pulled tight. ‘Don’t give me that. He never sleeps past six.’ She gathered
her bag and boarded the first riser. Nancy rested her palm upon the upper
balustrade. Amy read the signal and took a pause. ‘You’d better move it,
Nursey.’ To her left, Henry’s eyes continued to flirt with Nancy’s, his moist
lips twirling. Wild orchid body spray prickled the air preceding Amy’s ascent. After
a deliberate trek, Amy rounded the corner. Nancy realised she could do nothing.
Amy’s gait conveyed the belief PA outranked nurse. Amy apparently outranked
everybody here except Mr. Jonas. Still, Nancy didn’t step aside as Amy’s eyes,
like her form, brushed past, seeing this nurse unworthy of words or a glance.
Only Vince’s door now existed in Amy’s eyes. Angular knuckles rapped upon wood.
Amy and her polka dot dress slunk into Vince’s room. Nancy watched her go.
Below, Henry’s presence weighed heavily. Nancy kept her eyes lowered; her
twirling thumbs the only movement in the room. Nancy was not finished here unless
Vine himself authorized the phone call.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-262.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-251.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-13343364682192111132014-02-27T09:04:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:22:47.887-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 25.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">HE
WANTED to fuck the righteousness out of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
knew moments before she had left the room with his drinks trolley that she
would be preparing supper for him. A fare not to be found in his fridge, she
would rustle up something poignantly plain like always. Marmalade sandwiches no
less and a mug of warm milk. Her deed remained unspoken. No taxi had pulled up
outside his gates; no escort awaited him at the airport. The French Riviera
complete with sun would have to do without him. To pique his despair, the night
had brought rain. Smatters plagued his windows underlying what she’d taken from
him. Vince’s palette grasped for anything to savour within her offering but
orange peel and milk left a sour aftertaste.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
hands had taken everything out of him, but he would never beg her to stop. In
the wake of her treatment, his legs had felt battered yet cleansed. Countless
nurses had treated him since the crash. Only Nora seemed to mean it. She
laughed at him, raged at him and despaired at him without actually changing her
expression. She had the gall to enter his study with the choice of Monopoly or
a thousand-piece jigsaw to console his missed flight. He made his choice and
she instructed him to do the edges first. Sky, grass and buildings can then be
distinguished. The remaining pieces can be found to fit somewhere. Pieces of
similar colours and/or patterns can be used to fit en-masse to the remainder of
the puzzle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
questioned her sanity. Somehow she had tricked her way into his home. She had
sent his visitors packing and confiscated both the convenient and the essential.
He sorely missed his phone, not to mention his wheelchair. Vince wanted to
believe and could easily believe she was indeed crazy. He had met plenty of crazy
people in his life and her actions, on face value, would indicate the same. But
shrewdness and self-possession oozed from her being. She didn’t want anything his
contacts wanted. She had cheated the gates simply by not taking anything. But she
still wanted something from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once
he had completed Big Ben’s face and part of the sky, Nora administered his
antibiotics. His hedonistic past latched onto her role as a bossy nurse. He’d
partaken in sexual role-play in the past based on master and servant themes spiced
with bondage. A real life situation differed from role-play in insomuch as
describing a taste and actually tasting it. Her hands personified her attitude:
square, clipped and impeccably clean. Vince had a thing about hands. He
couldn’t abide by a woman with gnarled, stubby or pudgy hands, even if she had
the face of Venus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nora
didn’t help him to bed as nurses should. Nora-like, she waited at the top of
the stairs. Vince braced-up the pork chops that passed for knees and sweated
his way past the stairlift. His left knee begged him and begged him. His right knee
dragged behind like a plank of wood. Quadriceps rattled within his skin. Bees
swarmed about the ligament-cluster of both knee joints. A million prickles
converged upon the apex of his shinbones and jack-hammered their way down to
his ankles. Sweat trickled down his spine. His teeth clenched, the dressing at
his throat bobbed with each snort. Clearly, he could see her square, impeccably
clean hand around his cock. His left knee juddered. Another brace. Her thumb,
gentle yet firm, drew a circle around his foreskin. The upper landing opened
out. Vince’s eyes sought out her hands. And there they were, clasped at her
front, neat, clean and without encouragement, without praise. She infuriated
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
shuffled across the landing to encounter her mockery of a sleeping space upon
the floor. With his bare foot, he gave the blanket a little kick. His eyes met
hers. She seemed pleased without changing her expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
continued to lurch and snort his way to his bed. Nora folded his bedcover outwards.
On lowering himself, Vince tore open the Velcro of his knee-braces and cast
them aside. He brought his body parallel to the bed-frame, his knees singing.
Vince wouldn’t be needing painkillers tonight. The back of his head fell
endlessly, not on a pillow but onto her hand. If he tried to counter the force,
her fingers would clamp shut, entrapped his hair. He did not want to fight it; in
fact he found the sensation erotic. His eyelids weighing like wrecking-balls
permitted one last appraisal of her as she gazed down upon him. No, he wasn’t going
to die tonight.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Did
you ever see that film, Misery?’ he asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: right 265.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next page</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-243.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-11.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-60478604627067257042014-02-26T15:49:00.002-08:002017-06-02T10:22:58.633-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 24.3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vexation stung as she left the room. Somehow Vince still managed
to have the last word, even when he didn’t. Vince still managed to prescribe
his arrogance without his scotch, his silk sheets or even the use of his legs.
She dropped his pillow at the foot of his bedroom door and added a blanket. She
would aid his campaign in his refusal to sleep in his room. He could sleep on the
floor and continue to be the Vince that scoffed at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Towels
and a bowel of warm water in arm, she descended the stairs. At this moment, she
felt more nurse than ever. She relished the shield of her outfit and the rap of
her shoes. His arrogance brought out the Nora within her and she sort of liked
it. Vince appeared expectant as she entered the room. He had taken off his knee
braces and put them in the corner. Nancy paused before depositing the bowel on
the floor. She unrolled the towel over an adjacent, more capacious couch that
enabled Vince to recline horizontally. He did so, using the crutches in this transfer.
Nancy washed her hands without helping. The couch gave a squeak as he rested
his head upon the arm-support. She unfurled the bottom of his bathrobe. ‘I
couldn’t help noticing your legs are undressed.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
tone emerged short yet throaty. ‘The stitches itched like hell last night. The
damned dressing got in the way.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
breath caught in her throat at the sight. She tried not to let it show in her
voice. ‘You obviously needed a fresh dressing.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
voice came back flatly. ‘A nurse was due to change it yesterday…but you took
care of her.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
refused to admit fault. She seized a hand-wipe from the trolley’s lower tray
and worked the tissue between her fingers. A clinical tang cut through Vince’s aromatic
fusion of seashell and well-water. She raised the bottom of Vince’s bathrobe to
pipe antiseptic lotion along the ridges of his wounds. The shock of what she
was seeing began to sink in as she spread her fingers over his knees. Vince’s
right leg twitched. Notches that had no business being there protruded from
both kneecaps in ugly asymmetry. Sunset hues blotched out from ridged scars
that ran down the flanks of Vince’s knee joints. In places, bruised skin
appeared to bank up against the line of scar, bringing the illusion of patchwork.
Within these folds, flaky skin had partially curdled. A line of stubble
separated the injured area from his lower legs. Below this line, muscle and
sinew from a former life had proved the best sculptor. Now the aesthetic and
the deformed vied for attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
worked the antiseptic cream over the broad areas of Vince’s legs. A tic
developed within Vince’s right knee. Nancy maintained pressure for the benefit
of the pores. Her fingers enclosed the force of his spasms. Vince grunted.
Nancy brought her thumbs to the sides of his kneecaps and pushed the cream into
the seams of his scars. Vince cried out. Her thumbs continued to make a
circuit. ‘Just being thorough, Mr. Jonas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
hissed through gritted teeth. ‘What sort of mother did you have?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
fingertip exorcised the curdled skin from his scar tissue. ‘She made me what I
am.’ At her periphery, his left hand groped at the edge of the couch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Do
your best, Nora…won’t you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
eased the pressure before letting go. Without delay, she enclosed her index
finger within a clean cloth. She then excavated all traces of dead skin that
dared to evade her. Double-Barreled Nurse with her falsies could not have equalled
Nancy in thoroughness. Vince’s right thigh now joined kneecap in a spasmodic
dance. His voice came out a strangled whisper. ‘Soon, Nora… very soon… I will
be adrift somewhere… miles from this grim climate… and your grim company. I
will be sipping wine with good friends… watching the sun go down… the water
lapping at my feet… and above all… I will be with someone who will please me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Residual
dead skin gathered at the cloth’s leading edge. ‘I’m sorry you find my company
grim, Mr. Jonas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Don’t
be sorry, Nora. You have made me appreciate the good things in life.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
paused in her task and felt an imperative to look ahead. Her sights fixated
upon the door leading to the foyer. Beyond the doorframe, the gloom shifted.
Her nape hairs twitched. Was someone watching her? Nancy lowered her gaze not wanting
to draw attention. The ambiguity tormented her but she wouldn’t look again. She
hoped she had simply neglected to close the door or imagined what she’d seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
turned to encounter the full force of Vince’s glare. Sweat speckled his brow
and his fevered eyes demanded an answer. Nancy suppressed a gasp. ‘Lay back,
Mr. Jonas. I have not finished.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
dressing at his throat jerked as he swallowed. Mouth firmly-seamed, he
complied, the couch whispering against his bathrobe as he lowered his head onto
the armrest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Clothed
finger poised, Nancy set her sights upon a seamed scar below his left kneecap.
She didn’t want Vince to cry out anymore. She didn’t want him to make a sound.
But a pink gash intersecting the wound warned this may not always be possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Clothed
finger touched down; a sweep across the seam. Vince submitted to a choked whimper.
Another sweep. Vince’s leg jerked. The gloom beyond the doorframe continued to
survey her. A cherry-sized portion of antiseptic cream slowly departed from her
fingertip into the recesses of Vince’s scars. Vince made small sounds along the
way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
task done, Nancy washed her hands. Vince’s cries had satisfied the gloom beyond
the door. The gloom beyond the door can now retreat with the memory and dwell
upon it. Clean towel failed to cleanse her soiled hands. The gloom had latched
onto her purpose and made it dirty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
groped at her run of tasks. She applied a light dressing below the knee. She
applied another just above. She repeated the procedure on Vince’s other knee.
The emergence from her trance brought her to silence. The creases of Vince’s
bathrobe shifted with each breath. Nancy folded the towel. ‘Your wounds
shouldn’t itch tonight, Mr. Jonas,’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
grasped the edge of the couch and levered himself up. His fevered state had
passed, leaving his hair damp and his eyelids heavy. With a clatter, she placed
everything on the lower tray of the trolley. ‘You haven’t eaten since
yesterday,’ she remarked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
shifted onto his tailbone. ‘I think you should know, Nora that cheese
sandwiches and custard creams are not really to my taste.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry, Mr. Jonas. You’ll get a taste for it.’ She
poised herself behind the trolley ready to wheel it out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Nora.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
paused, looking at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heavy
shadows flickered over his face. ‘Nothing.’</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-251.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-242.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-14056423282265704362014-02-26T03:16:00.002-08:002017-06-02T10:23:17.235-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 24.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘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.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
eyes flicked upwards to meet hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Your
prescription,’ Nancy forged on. ‘It says to apply liberally to the affected
area once a day. It is unopened, as are your antibiotics.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘And
yet I saw you take four steps without the crutches, Mr. Jonas.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.’</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-243.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-241.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-50617584817046597852014-02-26T03:14:00.002-08:002017-06-02T10:23:32.277-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 24.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BREAKFAST at the Cheap Sleep saw Nancy swipe the screen of her
slimline Samsung which vomited a string of texts. ‘Where R U?’ ‘Where the FK R
U?’ ‘Call us, N 4 FKS sake!’ ‘Cop asking Qs about U.’ ‘Your job on the line.’ ‘Sheila
going mad.’ ‘Ring us, you bloody mong!’ Alongside each text, mug shots appeared
to pull faces intended or not. The gurning mouth of Sheila, the goggle eyes of
Cora, the puckered sulk of Bex. Nancy’s own was little better: a premenstrual
cob-on that passed for a smile. Nancy had an off button that did not change who
she was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr.
Cuban Heels approached the only nurse of the establishment to lower the ribbed
sock of his right foot. ‘Dodgy ankle,’ he explained. ‘What is this
couch potato to do to replace squash?’ Nancy suggested he put his Cubans to bed
and drained her coffee. Just Call Me Stu wanted very much to be her patient but
Nancy explained her books were full.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
gates gave no sign anything was amiss as Nancy pointed her device. The gates
complied. Nancy knit her lip. She parked her Punto on a marked space in front
of Vince’s garage. Henry’s land rover could not be seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Moments
later, Vince’s drinks trolley ferried tea, toast and jam to the drawing room.
She knew moments before pushing the trolley through that an empty couch would
greet her. Something nagged her despite everything appearing as it should. The
stench of betrayal gathered in the air. Nancy hoped she was wrong but many
times Sheila had proved her right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
eyes made a scan of the room before lowering herself. A scavenge along the maw
of the couch brought her fingertips against plastic. Through layers of
upholstery, she dragged out three pill bottles. Her mouth twisted at the sight.
She dropped the bottles into her jacket pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
stench of betrayal clung to her like a wet mantle as she made her way to the
gallery. First door to the right surprised her with a warm waft of seashell.
She nudged the door to find a tiled area with a footbath, towels, shower and
coals in a bucket. Steam bubbled from beneath a wooden door. Such arrogance
from another human being left her aghast. He should have been awaiting her at
the gates this morning or busy in the surveillance room prying out her gum with
a paperclip or engaged in some similar activity that gained him an advantage.
But no. Such efforts were beneath Mr. Vincent Jonas who enjoyed his morning
saunas and a pop of uppers of an evening. Mr. Vincent Jonas had a scheduled
flight to Cannes this evening. Amy with the override code would transcend
Nancy’s gum. Dapper, even with crutches, Vince could order with clipped tone to
have this sick fraud removed from his home. Desperation was not Vince’s style;
no imposter was worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
proceeded to the maintenance room. She pushed Vince’s wheelchair aside and
grasped the end of a yard-brush. She made her way back to the sauna and pushed
the shaft into the closed space of the door handle. The gap below belched
another steamy thermal. Nancy proceeded to the foyer to shortcut through the
surveillance room. She could forgive his arrogance; she could not forgive the
pills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Movement
on the monitor screen snagged her progress. The bottom right feed informed her
Henry was talking to the black man of the white Mazda. The front wheel of
Nancy’s Punto flickered in the corner. Both men would see her if she stepped
into the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
snuck a hand into his jeans pocket and used the other to nudge his glasses to
the bridge of his nose. Mazda Man continued to twirl his lips around syllables.
Henry kept nudging his glasses before leaning in. His brand of arm-crossing
emitted a restive signal. Mazda Man liked to talk and he wasn’t listening.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
resonant barrage oscillated beneath her feet. Nancy jerked away, almost
slipping over the swivel chair. She planted her hand against the wall and
elbowed the access way door ajar. Suddenly, the thudding sharpened in frequency
to a round of clacks that caused her knuckles to rattle against the
doorframe. In a panic, Nancy reversed through the surveillance room, but she
had forgotten herself. Amid the din, water percolated through a single faucet
over the sink. Below, Henry’s ruddy hands writhed. Mazda Man had gone from the
window but the pounding continued. Henry killed the flow and gave his hands a
flick before grabbing a cloth. He turned and his slightly magnified eyes came
to rest upon hers.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-242.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-232.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-61648122330106500062014-02-26T03:13:00.001-08:002017-06-02T10:23:44.110-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 23.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
the foyer, mock candles switched to night mode. A shadow reared within.
Nighttime always did this. Where did she now belong, but the limo on the night
side of the train station? To her, Weaver’s Street represented a past she could
no longer touch. The crash felt real and it was still happening somewhere in
her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Behind
Vince’s desk, she noticed a walnut door bearing carvings which blended into a
panelled wall. She reached for the doorknob and pushed the trolley before her.
A flame-effect fire sent capering shadows around what appeared to be a drawing
room. Vince’s crutches rested against the edge of a red couch in front. The
upright axis of his head implied vigilance. She wheeled the trolley into the
room and pulled level with the couch. Vince had changed into a grey sweatshirt
and slacks. On him, even the baggiest attire creased at the right places. She
surmised he had scaled the stairs to shower or perhaps used another washroom on
the ground floor. Either way, she would refrain from praise or even an
acknowledgment. Vince slowly turned his head and his shadowy eyes brushed
against the revised contents of his drinks trolley. No scotch, no bourbon, but
antibiotic cream, scissors, bandages and hand-wipes. On top he would find
fish-fingers, chips and mushy peas; digestive biscuits would provide a suitable
dunker for a glass of milk – all her own offering. Disdain skewed his face as
his eyes levelled with hers. ‘Where’s my scotch?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
replied only by wheeling the trolley beside him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
tone gathered menace. ‘I said, where’s my scotch?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I
will be back once you have eaten, Mr. Jonas. You wounds are overdue a fresh
dressing.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
jaw clenched. ‘Sure thing, Nora...’ His eyes narrowed. ‘…once I’ve stuck pins
into my eyeballs.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
guessed Vince had yet to grow accustomed to her officious tone. She quietly
left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
vowed she would impose upon Vince only as an employee here and she kept to her
word, finishing off her ham baguette and a flask of coffee prepared at the
Cheap Sleep. But in disabling the automatic mode of the gates, she had rendered
her device useless. She could no longer enter or leave the premises. But Henry
had the override code. Nancy finished her coffee and approached the window. The
wheel of Henry’s truck could still be seen behind Vince’s garage. Nancy
encountered a thousand questions on Henry’s reasons for not raising the alarm.
Was he pretending all was well in a fit of indecision? Was he pretending he
hadn’t seen her in fear he would lose his job? Had he retired into that naïve
side of himself that could cope only with pruning the trees? Their meeting in
the maintenance room meant his word against hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
cleared her leftovers and returned to the drawing room. Dusk had closed in and
Nancy should soon be heading off. Her final check on Vince presented a setting
as before, his form unmoved, his supper untouched. Nancy grasped the handles of
the drinks trolley, deciding to forgo the leg treatment this evening. ‘Not
going to bed?’ she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
face, immobile, glimmered in the half-light. Nancy nudged the trolley forwards
which sent the castors rattling out of the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Punto grunted into life. Beige headlights warned a new battery overdue. Worn
tyres crunched up the drive. At the gates, Nancy pointed her device. To her
bafflement, the gates opened. Only Henry could have done this. Would he grant
her access tomorrow? Their meeting in the maintenance room left her uncertain.
Either way, Nancy would not be stopping the night; she was here as a nurse
after all. Oncoming headlights blurred her vision but no rain smattered the
windscreen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-241.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-231.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-60429994818235934592014-02-26T03:11:00.005-08:002017-06-02T10:23:55.714-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 23.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">THE INSTANT Nancy’s eyes settled upon
Henry’s china blue stare, Vince’s wheelchair morphed into a million needles.
She prospected for words. A ball of anguish crippled her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
door crashed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heat
slithered via her collar to her neck, sending her cheeks a-tingle. Her tongue
weighed a ton. Muffled clunks ensued. Another crash. Henry continued to
scrutinize. The moment had gone on too long. Now was the time to raise the
alarm. Instead, Henry’s eyes shifted to a spot above her head. Nonplussed or
cogitation? Nancy couldn’t decipher. Time had shifted out of gear; the before
and after had plummeted out of the rulebook. Nancy’s finger made a seismic
track over the armrest of the chair. That’s when Henry’s eyes returned to hers.
The foyer had fallen silent. Henry took the scent of grass with him and left
the room. Instead of turning left towards Vince’s location, Henry made a right
for the Edwardian door at the bottom of the gallery. His gait unhurried,
implied a task awaited completion within a schedule with time to spare. Nancy
watched him go, her flush quickly dissipating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
found herself within a maintenance room to suit the upkeep of a place like
this. Amidst the shelves of fuse boxes, tools and switches, she parked Vince’s
wheelchair. She made her way back up the gallery and snuck into the foyer. Vince
had gone. Part of her wished the police were now on their way. She wished
someone would cuff her and her misplaced rage and take her out of harm’s way.
She ascended Vince’s stairs and unlocked the utility room. Out of the nook
window, Vince’s extensive lawns fell away to a row of elms ahead. Her breaths
condensed onto the window and scanned for an Aaron-sweatered form. A rake emerged
from the mist, propped against an apple tree. The pane chilled her cheek, but
the apertured view gave nothing else away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
carried Vince’s drinks trolley down to the foyer. The objects on top pointedly belied
the unit’s intended purpose. The castors made a soft rattle as she wheeled the
trolley into the meeting room. The cavern complete with suite, appeared empty.
She made the long traverse into the kitchen. The marble-topped table had been
shifted a foot from the recess wall. Her encounter with Henry revisited. With
knit lip, she parked the trolley in front of the stove. This time Henry had
locked the key cupboard. Unmanned, four apparently frozen images fed back to
the monitor screen. From here, all appeared in working order but Nancy felt
uneasy. Henry could only have moved the table after his encounter with her in
the maintenance room or Vince would have noticed. What this implied remained
ambiguous. Still, Nancy hoped Vince assumed she had reopened this shortcut
after she had applied her gum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
retraced her steps through the kitchen and opened the back door. The front
wheel of Henry’s land rover protruded from the rear of Vince’s garage. Her eyes
made a steady track across the panorama. The lowering sun cast turreted shapes
towards the box hedge. To her left, the base of the apple tree had been cleared
of dead leaves. The rake had gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
next objective took precedence. She closed the door and made her way to Vince’s
fridge. On the reverse side of the six-foot silver door she found little to
justify such a large utility. But she would not be requiring pesto sauces,
caviar, gherkins, fish roe or jars of condiments she could not name.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Half-an-hour
later, she grasped the handles, determined to reunite Vince with his drinks
trolley. The soft rattle of the castors ensued on her journey back across the
meeting room. Her knuckles whitened. <i>Come
on, Nance gis a life, will yer! You can’t expect your mam to live like a nun,
f’r fuck’s sake.</i> The soft rattle continued.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-69134004587357862122014-02-20T11:07:00.001-08:002017-06-02T10:24:08.059-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 22.4<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She backed the chair up, pulling the door handle on doing so.
Golf no longer interested her. The siege had ended and Vince may yet be triumphant.
She toggled the stick of the wheelchair and the heel of Vince’s crutch came
into view. The sight unsettled her. The foyer opened out. Vince had barely
moved from the spot. Jitters plagued the muscles in his legs but his resolve
would forbid him from falling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
didn’t meet his gaze as she cruised the wheelchair though the doorframe; she
wouldn’t offer him his chair. She paused, turning in time to see him shuffle
towards the surveillance room. She put the chair in drive and made a right turn
past the Newell post. The entryway adjacent to the meeting room led into a
gallery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sunlit
casements on the right hurled cubist shapes upon the opposing wall. Doors and
photos drifted past as the motor idled forwards. At the terminus, an Edwardian
door made steady approach. Succulent plants on the other side promised an ideal
retreat, a conservatory overlooking fields, perhaps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘No-r-a!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Suddenly,
the Edwardian door couldn’t arrive quickly enough. A door crashed. On her
command, the wheelchair gained speed. Nancy kept her sights ahead but didn’t
think the Edwardian door would provide the answer to her problem. Escape was
not the objective, but to take her person from Vince’s sight. On impulse, she
veered left, hitting the windowsill. Reverse. She backed into one of the doors
behind her. Her stomach in her mouth, she depressed the handle and the door
gave way. She disappeared from the gallery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
door drifted closed and her wheelchair continued backing up. Too soon, an
obstruction impeded her progress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
twisted round; she glanced up. The reflections on his spectacles made his eyes impossible
to read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-231.html">Next page</a></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-82308353484411428802014-02-19T12:04:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:24:28.083-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 22.3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdt7AEx-GOcBazjJcamNS6ljFBGs2BrhLsAthI7jRZ7ZyVHeyRDAlL1Gq6RYuwJaofs3cVisUxNIUgVPvZZsOqHdTGDUN6TdYSReSkj0UIXs1fY3oJzkOUcOVErfXI1vL07qFa4rGsBY/s1600/Nurse+Walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdt7AEx-GOcBazjJcamNS6ljFBGs2BrhLsAthI7jRZ7ZyVHeyRDAlL1Gq6RYuwJaofs3cVisUxNIUgVPvZZsOqHdTGDUN6TdYSReSkj0UIXs1fY3oJzkOUcOVErfXI1vL07qFa4rGsBY/s1600/Nurse+Walking.jpg" width="137" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nora's Visit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s thumb gave a twitch and Vince’s wheelchair went flat-out;
the footplates crashed against the architrave. Fury scorched her veins. She
nudged the lever again. Vince’s desk tumbled into a blur. His roomy foyer gave
her free reign. Vince’s shifting crutch made progress at her right, but not
enough. Her knees bobbed on speeding past. Air lapped against her face as she veered
towards the stairs to cut across the tiles. The lever nudged into reverse. Her rear
wheels crashed against the access way door. A hundred bolts quaked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
form fell still. The head of his crutches vanished into the drapes of his shirt,
pallid against his now burgundy complexion. His tone clipped her ears with
economy. ‘You have no idea, Nora.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
fingers trembled over the lever. ‘Yes, I do, Mr. Jonas. More than you will ever
know.’ Vince gaze remained resolute. He owned his self-denial and he could do
what he liked with it. Nancy raised her fist for the door knob. ‘I could grant you
access to this room, if I wanted Mr. Jonas. The police and all your payroll
riffraff could barge in and give you back your scotch and your TV and your CT
room and your phone and your wheelchair and your stupid silk sheets. But you
will never walk again.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
right crutch twitched. For the first time, his voice surrendered to rage. ‘That
is my business, Nora! Not yours!’ The plaster at his throat quivered with the
force.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
twisted the knob and nudged the door. The wheelchair clunked against the panel.
She reversed into the surveillance room. Her footplates clear, the door closed
in front of her. Vince’s canted yet stanch form complete with unwavering lour
slid from view. The green button sat at the corner of her vision. Her hands
shook. She didn’t care if the black man with the Mazda burst through the main
entrance. She didn’t care if the assigned police officer from Kirkby Magnor
station read out her rights and cuffed her. She only cared about the white hot
pulsar spinning within her gut. Lungs tightened, permitted but shallow sips of
air. The four-image composite on the monitor screen told her no one now waited
at Vince’s gates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But
Davenport had remarked that there appeared to be a communication fault. Nancy
pushed the wheelchair aside and vertigo pulsed at her temples. Consistent with
Vince’s other applications, this security system typified the pinnacle of
design. All components ensconced within reinforced steel, no prying hands could
tamper. She would bet that any breach in connection would spur an alarm –
anything would spur an alarm. She foraged within a cabinet above to find funky
gadgets; remote control swat helicopters, magnetic levitators; anything to
while the hours of the surveillance staff. Plastic pieces toppled over the
desk. Amidst the plastic detritus, a mini golf ball </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">bobbed yet
remained on the tee. She took to her seat. She strongly sensed Vince’s presence
on the other side of the door. Was he gazing at her if not for the barrier? In here,
time was arbitrary. He had her. She gave the ball a flick. Only after the third
go did the tee relinquish the ball.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
zipped compartment within her satchel bag came in handy for small things like
keys, change, gum. Nancy unpeeled the wrapper and stuck an oblong into her
mouth. Spearmint spurred saliva overload. Her molars pummeled plasticity into
the gum. A second put. This time the ball rolled to the fourth flick. She stuck
another oblong into her mouth. The foyer on the other side remained quiet. Was
he still there? She attempted a third put. The ball came to rest at the edge of
the green. Golf proved not her forte after all. But she could chew. Chewing was
something she did to deter people from approaching her. She ejected the gum via
the tip of her tongue and pinched it between finger and thumb. Davenport’s
communication fault would soon become a prophesy. She pressed the gum over the
grid of holes next to the amber button. As though by magic the gum’s volume
decreased by half. One piece of gum became forty-five morsels. Gum could fill
the smallest space and liked to stay there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With
her thumb, she scraped the surplus and rolled that into a second ball. She
pushed it into the seam around the star-shaped button. On doing so, override
became automatic, and back again. Gum liked narrow gaps. Gum tended to mushroom
out on the other side, creating a cushion for any object. This button now had a
cushion that liked to stay there. Nancy may still have wasted two sticks of
gum; how Vince keyed his chief code or alerted the station remained a mystery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-224.html" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Next page</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-71422747717389505922014-02-19T11:44:00.000-08:002017-06-02T10:24:45.041-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 22.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lime Tree Avenue had exhausted its
supply of supercars for now. Nancy depressed the amber switch and spun in her
seat. The shadows beneath his eyes had returned but without the irony. No
muscle mobilized his face, no frown, no smirk. He simply watched her. Sweat
speckled his sallow skin, his hair hugged his scalp. Nancy grew acutely aware
of the table between them and feared it may be insufficient. But no. His
crutches had become his shackles. He could not possibly scale this lofty
plateau cut from marble. ‘You made it,’ she simply said. Below the tabletop, her
fingers twirled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
did not appear out of breath. She had not heard the clack. How long had he been
standing there? Why hadn’t he called out during her discourse with one of his
callers? The answer came immediately: because her finger would have slammed the
amber switch before he could make sense. Vince made a slow retreat, such an act
not his style. The kitchen darkened as the sunlight plunged behind cloud.
Waiting her out would have achieved nothing, she realised; he had the ideal
stakeout but she still commanded the surveillance area. She had done her best
to make her lie into a truth and his powers to alert Kirkby Magnor station
remained out of his reach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But
then he could still hobble down to the gates and wait for someone to greet him,
like he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
buzzer rankled her. Nancy turned. The amber light flashed again. A
tall black man in a taupe suit loomed over a white Mazda. Off screen, the right
handlebar of Vince’s wheelchair no longer conjoined its shadow on the door
panel. The buzz resounded. Her heart gave a sickening stutter. Nancy was
certain Vince had noticed. She no longer saw any point in pushing the chair
back into place. Vince was on his way through the meeting room to force his way
in. Her actions seemed to time-lag behind her wishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fingers
clutched the grips too late as did her grapple for the door handle. The draught
from the foyer offered no relief for her panic. The footplates of the
wheelchair slammed against the panel. The shock tore into her shoulders. The
footplates slashed through the doorway. She had expected to see his canted form
beneath the stairs but a mere instant had passed. She wheeled the chair to
Vince’s desk. The access way door clicked closed behind her. Once an armor, her
outfit impeded her motions as a straightjacket. A clack no longer emerged from
the meeting room but a thud. The pulsation informed her Vince had only one
thing in mind. On the other side of the access way door, the amber light buzzed
in a three-beat stutter. Her mouth bunched into a hard seam. The black man with
the Mazda was still waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
had not viewed the passage of her surroundings from this height since the age
of eight. The small of her back nestled against a bolster in the seat. Right
thumb caressed a lever. She could override on manual if she wanted. The steel
rims made easy reach of her palms. Footplates rendered her ankle muscles
redundant. Her entire lower body became redundant. She took aim for the archway
into the meeting room. No ticking of wheels made sneaking possible. Strands of
her hair drifted in the breeze. How could she do this? She was wearing someone
else’s clothes, using someone else’s toothbrush, comb, underwear – only much
worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beneath
the seat, a motor whirred like the limo, silent, powerful. She nudged the lever
right. The rear wheels clouted a bureau in the corner. She nudged the lever
left. The cavernous room pivoted about her. Paintings by de Kooning, Chagall
and Albers roiled into a blur. She pulled back. The arched windows drifted and
came to rest on her right. Dead centre of the meeting room, Vince’s crutches
had fallen still. Earlier he had watched without expression, yet borne from
muscle tone. Now all tenor had vanished, his face slack in a mask of inertia.
Nancy had come this far and now she could not go back. She scooted forwards and
into self-loathing. ‘It’s rather comfortable.’ She scooted backwards,
concluding with a pirouette. ‘Comfortable and convenient.’ She made a
ninety-degree to face the doorway. ‘I could get used to this.’ And now to face
front. ‘Is this what you want, Mr. Jonas?’ She made a ninety-degree to face the
window. ‘To be stuck in something convenient for the rest of your life?’ The
wheels made a reverse with a skid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
hadn’t moved. The shadows on his face hardened. This CEO of Nexus Corporations
had never expected to see the display before him. A decibel from silence, his
voice strung syllables together as though one word. ‘Give-me-back-my-chair.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
sound depressed her. She closed her eyes and nudged the lever. The wheelchair
skidded forwards driving ripples through her hair. She counted to two. She
stopped. Her sights confirmed a hand-width of airspace separated Vince’s right
crutch from her arm-rest. A count of three would have driven his crutch from
beneath him. As a malevolent child, she peered up to meet his glower. Sweat and
cut grass leached from his shirt. She wrenched the lever to reverse, the chair
scooted backwards. The moment her rear wheels knocked the bureau, the thud of
his crutches resumed. Lumbering progress weighed with dogma, as heavy as her
despair. His shoulders pitched, his feet dragged, his crutches slammed. As
surely as the ebb and flow of the tides, he staggered through the archway. His
thuds rang out against the walls of the foyer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 2.85pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-223.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 2.85pt;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-221.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 2.85pt;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-71569359080393700042014-02-19T11:36:00.006-08:002017-06-02T10:24:57.938-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 22.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SHEILA had been right about Aunt Millie but not in the way Nancy had
expected. Millie didn’t seem to know the difference between rhetoric and an
actual question. If Nancy moaned, ‘why is this road so busy?’ Millie would
explain that the lights at the bottom of Leopold Road couldn’t filter the
volume of rush hour traffic properly. If Nancy remarked that school holidays
were too short, Mille would explain that school holidays amount to fifteen
weeks a year which is quite a lot actually. Nancy is lucky not to be born in
North Korea or Ghana. Millie spent half her waking hours picking up bits from
the carpet despite vacuuming every morning. She kept to her word and provided a
solid meal per day. Nancy didn’t meet Mark as arranged on account of the rain,
but didn’t do so even when the sun filtered through her curtains. In a sneaky
way, Nancy liked it. She liked the routine, the square meals the warmth,
Millie’s squareness, Millie’s morality etched into her wind chimes and her
kitsch wall prints. But this would not stop Nancy from spurning Millie’s
squareness if Bex or Alexis asked about her stay in Leighton Buzzard. Nancy
would agree that Sheila’s holiday in Magaluf had sounded miles more stirring
and wished she were there. Millie had a fetish for board games and cards and
quiz shows; she still monitors paperclips for her beloved crown court. Yawn,
yawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On
returning to Sheila’s at the end of the Easter holidays to find Sheila’s new
boyfriend Graham had moved in complete with heart-shaped balloons, ribbons, roses and silk cushions, Nancy ran away. She
spent two days making up for lost time being outside before the police picked
her up at the West Orchards shopping centre in Coventry. Nancy didn’t see
Millie again until she got sacked from her job at the Weston Hill Care Centre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Hello,
I’m Mr. Jonas’ nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
eyed the woman on the top left of the screen standing next to an Audi
convertible. Nancy had been wrong about the cars nurses drive. Nancy cleared
her throat. ‘I think you might be mistaken, I am Mr. Jonas’ nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
woman towered over the speaker system. She petted her silk scarf atop a blue
and white striped coat, sixties retro. She breathed a deep contralto. ‘I do not
understand. You say you are Mr. Jonas’ nurse?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That’s
right.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘There
must be some mistake. I am Nurse Geraldine Wilson-Clark. I am here to
administer Mr. Jonas’ treatment before he takes his flight to Cannes this
evening.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
had forgotten about that. ‘I think you are mistaken. I am Nurse Nora Clements.
I have been contracted here to oversee Mr. Jonas’ care.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
woman’s hair cascaded in saffron waves attainable only from a top salon. ‘I am
sorry, Ms. Clements, Mr. Jonas never said anything about another nurse in his care.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Oh,
no,’ Nancy asserted. ‘Mr. Jonas will only require one nurse.’ Nancy’s eyes hooded
over. ‘If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look like a nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m
sorry?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘You
are wearing falsies.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘What?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘False
fingernails. Isn’t that counterproductive in light of what you do?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Double-Barreled
Nurse appeared to freeze on screen. ‘Look I am Mr. Jonas’ nurse simply wishing
to administer his treatment for today.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘No,’
Nancy asserted. ‘I am Mr. Jonas’ nurse and I suggest that you get those falsies
removed.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘But,
I am Mr. Jonas’ nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘No.
I am Mr. Jonas’ nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nurse
Geraldine Wilson-Clark drew back from the speaker. She betrayed a small wobble
as though torn between two options. Finally, she stepped away from the gates.
She got back into her Audi convertible and started up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Truman
Davenport, I’ve just told you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
swivelled her seat sidelong to the speaker and reclined. ‘I’m sorry, what was
your business?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Davenport’s
stocky form filled the right quadrant of the screen. ‘It’s a private matter
between Mr. Jonas and myself.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
picked her fingernail. ‘Tell me, does everybody address him as Mr. Jonas?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
sun rebounded against Davenport’s pink scalp clashing against his mulberry
plaid jacket. ‘What is the meaning of this question?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s
just that if it’s a private matter, I would have expected you to address him as
Vince or Vincent.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Davenport’s
head froze in place. ‘Is there a communication fault here?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘A
communication fault?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s
just when I say something, little sense seems to come back.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr.
Davenport had a point. Nancy would action this as soon as the call ended. ‘I’m
sorry, Mr. Davenport. It’s just been a very long day and Mr. Jonas has filled
my schedule to bursting point before he leaves for Cannes this evening.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘He’s
going to Cannes?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yes.
Didn’t you know?’ I have to oversee his care before he takes his flight.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
sun faded, darkening Davenport’s dome from pink to cerise. ‘I have been trying
to call him all day but his phone is switched off.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Well,
I don’t know what to say. You could send him a text.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Davenport
shifted from the speakerphone before Nancy had the chance to bid him farewell.
The door of his yellow Ferrari could not be discerned from the bodywork until
Davenport opened it and let himself in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-222.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-212.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-42914432817756346702014-02-19T11:22:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:25:09.336-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 21.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy depressed the amber button which cut the call. Coffman’s
snowy head remained on screen. Nancy screwed the cap of her flask and shoved it
into her satchel bag. A steely plane brushed against her thigh. Nancy twirled
round to see Vince’s wheelchair drifting from the door. Vince’s final salvo
must have jolted the brakes and spurred the propelling force. Vexed, she seized
the handles and pushed the wheelchair back in place. She surmised Vince not
realising he had cleared the obstruction was making his way through the meeting
room. Somewhere she could comprehend Vince’s rhythmic clack. Coffman’s snowy
head remained on screen. Why doesn’t he buzz off?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
grabbed her bag. On a final thought, she checked the brakes of Vince’s chair.
The bar was lowered but this offered no assurance the barricade would hold if
Vince fancied another go at the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
slid over the tabletop and took a route across the kitchen. Vince’s crutches
clacked against the meeting room floor to her right. Nancy didn’t look. The
lock obliged, the scent of wet leaves beckoned. The autumn air eddied around
her ankles. Nancy decided to take a walk. She hoped Vince would too. The box
hedge made neat oblongs against the skyline due to Henry’s tenacity yesterday.
She paused at a secluded seat honed from granite overlooked by a replica of
Rodin’s <i>The</i> <i>Kiss</i>. She wouldn’t be sitting here. Nancy passed a walkway
fashioned from willow. A sunny day would spawn a profusion of sun dapples and a
dreamy amble. She didn’t pass through. The manicured turf skimmed beneath her
feet. Desiccated leaves scurried down the slope towards a copse overlooking a
pond. The lawns gave way to the rough. Hillocks scuffed her heels; field grass
whipped her calves. Bumpy terrain caused her feet to pitch and her knees to
brace. The slope propelled her forwards. Exertion seeped through her collar in body
heat. She unfastened her top button. On reaching the copse, she took her post
next to the hawthorn hedge shielding Vince’s electrified fence. Beyond,
farmer’s field provided fallow for what she thought were Shetlands. She nestled
within the crook of an oak. Nancy wished for the thigh-deep grass,
thigh-burning slopes and tricky footholds. She wanted the landscape to swallow
her whole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
grass behind her made a dry sough. She didn’t turn. Pressure converged at her breastbone in unpleasant anticipation. The breeze finally conveyed his laboured
breaths. ‘My phone,’ his growl came, ‘my fuckin’ phone.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
twisted on her tailbone. Vince eyed her from the foot of an oak twenty feet
behind her. Heavily propped by his crutches he appeared to be in mid-tumble. He
head was lowered as a stalker of prey. ‘You have taken my phone, just like you
have taken my TV, my drinks trolley, the contents of my cabinet, my wheelchair,
my stairlift and my CT room. You have taken everything right down to my silk
sheets!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Gis a life, Nancy, what sort of gal would expect her
mother to do without a tot? </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Slowly Nancy lowered
her heels on the grass and faced him. ‘You need to go back to basics, Mr.
Jonas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
chin jutted in truculence. His lips quivered. She appraised his rippling shirt,
damp at the armpits and yellowed at the collar. He seemed to detect her scrutiny. ‘I expect you to return my
kitchen table to its former position and I expect you to bring me back my
wheelchair.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘You
fell asleep in the landing, Mr. Jonas. You were drunk and you fell asleep.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
tone submitted to a sibilant croak. ‘I have news for you, Nora. If I can walk
to this point, I can walk to those gates. Once I am done with you here, I am
going back inside to freshen up. I will then take a walk to the checkpoint. At
some point of the day, one of my visitors will greet me there. I will then
request that a call is issued to the station and have you removed.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘But
not before you freshen up.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
brows twitched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘You
don’t want to go to the gates looking like that do you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once
again, Vince appeared to wisen up too quickly. His eyes grew intent before
doing a deliberate wander over the open neck of her blouse. His eyes continued
to make a downward track via each button of her coat until he reached the
waistband of her skirt. His upper lip did a little incline on checking out her
stockings. She couldn’t help herself. Her self-assured heels did a coltish
shift over the grass. Shadows formed beneath his eyes as his flicked up to hers.
He was laughing at her like on that night in the limo. An inner turmoil impeded
her smile. ‘You will have a long wait, Mr. Jonas,’ she said. Nancy straightened
up, squaring her heels. ‘You will be expecting no visitors today.’ She gave her
coat pocket a little pat, alluding to his phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
pulled the flanks of her coat together and made her way to the pond. ‘Have a
nice walk, Mr. Jonas.’ She turned in time to see the shadows fade out beneath
his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From
here, Henry’s box hedge appeared small; Vince’s fortress bearing down atop a steep
slope seemed miles away. Even in her sturdy heels, Nancy’s calves pulled like
catgut. Nancy had wanted it this way. Vince could enter her watch post by the
oaks, but may not be returning for some time. The advantage hers, Nancy could
get busy in the surveillance room, turning her lie into the truth.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-221.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-211.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-28864244171117423072014-02-14T14:05:00.002-08:002017-06-02T10:25:20.778-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 21.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxpAX0C9yOcUYx6EhokV9HfCN62i19FzP4v1Tf5hyphenhyphen_huJM3vnqfm-e8gk44HcB1CX2MgRWaDBcrsc1hyWjH6vQ_I0xpjQdsa5DXwxR6s0tSmwTUoAM6HZM_TUdEn0P_mk1x9oTC4rAco/s1600/Nurse+with+Job+to+Do.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxpAX0C9yOcUYx6EhokV9HfCN62i19FzP4v1Tf5hyphenhyphen_huJM3vnqfm-e8gk44HcB1CX2MgRWaDBcrsc1hyWjH6vQ_I0xpjQdsa5DXwxR6s0tSmwTUoAM6HZM_TUdEn0P_mk1x9oTC4rAco/s1600/Nurse+with+Job+to+Do.jpg" width="147" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nancy's Oxfords</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">JUST Call Me Stu commented that Nancy was the best dressed lodger
the Cheap Sleep had ever seen. He asked what business had brought her here.
Nancy thought he wanted to park his torso next to hers and told him she was a
nurse. This piqued the interest of Mr. Cuban Heels. ‘What sort?’ he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘The
serious sort,’ she replied, ‘the sort that adheres to a strict routine and puts
up with no nonsense.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What
Mr. Cuban Heels didn’t get was that Nancy wasn’t joking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Snow
Hair’s head remained still. ‘Amy?’ A constrained tone, as though from a tight
windpipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yes?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Amy,
dearest, it’s Paul Coffman. The gates are not responding here. Is Vince not available?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dearest?</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
‘Paul, I’m so sorry, Mr. Jonas will not be taking callers today. He is
receiving care.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
footfalls had stopped. The air fell still. ‘It’s not a consultant,’ Nancy
informed him, ‘it’s a nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: center 137.05pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Coffman
did not seem to take this in. ‘A nurse?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yes.
Nurse Nora Clements. She’s very good.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
handle of the access door rattled. Nancy’s stomach bounced against her
diaphragm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Coffman’s
head continued to occupy the lower corner of the screen. ‘So when will he be
free?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
door was now oscillating against Vince’s wheelchair. Nancy replied smoothly,
‘next week.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Next
week?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another
jolt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Coffman
lowered his head to the speaker. ‘What’s that noise?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
could feel the vibration in her tailbone. ‘What noise?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That…that
banging.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I
don’t hear anything.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-212.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-203.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-33795349930411733032014-02-11T12:14:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:26:23.691-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 20.3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Incapacitated he may be, Vince could still move the unbroken with
exactitude. He rested his elbow against the balustrade without letting his crutch
slip. He dipped his right hand into the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. Was
he about to present his silver bottle-tops, she wondered? No. He tweezed out
his mobile phone. The hollow at the base of her throat twitched against her top
button. Vince’s flicked his index finger over the screen. Evidently, he had
done with the small-talk. Blue ray rebounded against his face as the phone came
to life. He paused, perhaps noticing Henry’s text message.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
voice box stiffened into a rusty hinge. His finger loitered before making
contact. His tip then embarked upon a slow and deliberate lentando she found conceited.
Nancy’s satchel bag took a life of its own. Her hands still attached, the bag formed
a perfect arc in the air, connecting with Vince’s right hand. A leathery clap
echoed against the Tudor walls. The phone took flight from his palm, twirling
as a rotor above Vince’s opulent candles and his nightclub shoots. Silicone
clattered against a Cubist print on the opposite wall whereupon the phone
plummeted. In hectic cartwheels, the phone connected with the tiles before
coming to rest at the foot of his oak desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amber
constellations drifted past until her sights came to rest upon Vince’s lour. He
had not followed the phone’s trajectory. Nancy cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry,
Mr. Jonas. I cannot let you do that.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
expression did not change. ‘Who the hell are you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I
told you.’ Nancy fingered the top button of her blouse. ‘My name is Nora. I’m a
nurse.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
lour remained yet shifted in tone as though in thought. She guessed the
territory of the A-lister would encompass a trail of the aggrieved. But he had
got it wrong. Any name he was likely to conjure from his lips would be wrong. He
twisted on his crutches as though another thought occurred to him. His eyes
latched onto each door between them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘They
are all locked,’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
gaze came back to her. Shackled to his crutches he may be, Nancy didn’t fare
her chances if she stepped too close. His eyelids hooded over in a wily look
Nancy didn’t savour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
seized the tops of his crutches. His face adopted a mask of tranquility as he
cast his crutches aside. They fell with a clatter to the floor. His palms
slapped the balustrade on their way down. A ganglion of tendons tremored on the
backs of his hands. Sweat beaded his face as he fed the spindles through his
grasp. The back of his jacket rode up, his knees buckled. A strangled grunt clawed
up from his throat. Discomfited, Nancy shifted her sights to nearby framed
photos – Vince attending the Brit Awards with moguls of the music industry; the
opening of Vince’s leisure complex, Dreamland in Monte Carlo; charity dinner
speeches with linchpins and pop icons. Vince had looked casual in an Armanai
suit, chinos or a sweater. Irony had cavorted about his eyes, at times an
incisor catching the light. Big names had shared his airspace, yet Vince commanded
the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
low gasp preceded silence. Nancy returned her gaze, unsettled by the contrast
in reality. Here, Vince’s form appeared contorted, his face flushed. His right
hand took a downward grope towards the seat of his trousers. A flattened palm
massaged the back of his knees as he lowered his rump to the floor. His feet
rocked from side to side as he did so. For the first time, she wondered at the
injuries he had sustained in the crash. The right to ask did not feel hers; she
dare not step closer. Instead she took a lofty tone. ‘There’s no need to play
games with me, Mr. Jonas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
did not respond. Now seated and his hands liberated, he whipped off his jacket.
Snorts gusted from his nostrils as he folded the sleeves of his jacket inwards,
creating a bolster. He placed the
cushion at the foot of his door. Without looking at her, he lowered his head
and shifted onto his side. The manner in which he gazed at the lower panel of
his door said he was done with her. He closed his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
lips moved, verging on a question. She decided not to ask. His rebuff, like his
exactitude earlier was precise and cut as a shard of glass. Still, she could
hardly blame him. ‘Sweet dreams, Mr. Jonas,’ she simply said and stepped
towards the head of the stairs. The cap of her right Oxford clipped one of Vince’s
crutches. She paused and hoofed it against the skirting with a clack. He didn’t
move. Vexation prickled the back of her throat, but wouldn’t let it show in her
gait. Nancy descended each riser in a pendulous lope. Vince’s photos lodged in
her mind; his self-possession, his glinting incisor, his effortless charm.
Nancy didn’t have this gift. Vince could make the other feel on top of the
world, but he could switch it off at will. Vince had never looked at her with
that smile and she should be grateful. Vince had been cut down, but this
ability remained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
picked up Vince’s mobile phone and put it in her coat pocket. Vince’s
wheelchair caused her to pause. An alternative existence would see her fingers
enfolding rubber grips like these as she had baths and hot dinners. Without
looking up, she wheeled the thing through the access way into the surveillance
room. She closed the door and backed the wheelchair against the panel. Brakes
engaged with a click.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
composite image on the monitor continued to illuminate the recess. Kirkby Magnor
station would be receiving the remote feed, but one Nora Clements would soon be
expected on screen at this hour. Nancy depressed the star-shaped button. The red
light came off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
slid her rump over the marble-topped table and fastened her coat. The thing had
emitted a truculent grumble in transits of an inch until the base had frictioned
across ten feet of floor to barricade off the surveillance room. Vince’s sweaty
finger may still find its way to the green button but at small odds – and
rightfully so. Still, she could barely stand to think of Vince’s form on the
upper landing, rebuffing her and all her efforts with his inertia. She returned
to the kitchen, palming Vince’s bronze keys. She inserted E2 with anticipation.
The lock gave way. Grateful, she opened the back door and let herself out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-211.html">Next page</a></span><br />
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<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-82336620080511663912014-02-10T13:54:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:25:32.550-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 20.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s other
hand sought out the best spindle from which to grab onto. The immaculate
creases of his suit were gathering a more wayward kind. Another grunt. Another
brace. Another string of invective. The scene below propelled her into an
unknown realm. A desire to laugh roiled with shame, distaste and pity. Was she
cruel or kind? She couldn’t decide. The shadow in which she stood formed a
junction of where each emotion ended and began. She was cruel and she could
laugh; she was kind and could feel shame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr.
Vincent Jonas took a respite upon the middle section of the stairs. His brow
glistened with sweat, his lower lip hung open admitting a gasp, ‘<i>Oh</i>, <i>God</i>.’
Without opening his eyes, he groped for the crutches at his sides. On by one,
he fed them over the risers to a point above his head. Nancy could decipher a
sort of rhythm in Vince’s movements: the clump of his bodyweight sliding over
each riser, the clatter of his crutches, a series of snatching breaths and the
chafing of fabric against wood. This sequence may shift but the rhythm remained
much the same. Another clump. She was cruel, but wasn’t she entitled? She had
seen Sheila’s form as Vince’s now, slumped upon the stairs, her body devoid of
Vince’s animation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
grunted again. ‘<i>Oh</i>, <i>dear</i> <i>God</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
was kind. She had to inflict this effort upon him. Let him grunt, let his
knuckles whiten. This gratified her. The collar of her blouse encircled the
base of her throat in rectitude. She had earned the right to watch him like
this. She had grown adept at watching things she’d rather not see. Still, she
didn’t like the way her pulse scuttled as he advanced. His lumbering form
gathered menace. Mr. Vincent Jonas was determined when he chose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
crutches levelled with the upper landing where Nancy stood. He didn’t see her.
The downward force of each riser had untucked his shirt from his now canted
waistband. His tie liberated from its pin fell loosely about his middle. He
grappled at the upper Newell post, forcing his form upwards. His tie lapped
against an engraving at the base. With his free hand, he snatched at both
crutches with a harsh rap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
lips quivered: fear? Laughter? Neither. Her insides rebounded against her
breastbone as though at sea. His right crutch did a little jive of its own
accord as if objecting to the duty of propping Vince’s armpit. He grappled at
the crossbar. The soles of his brogues buckled, his knees sagged. He reigned in
the crutch and forced it to his will.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well
done, Mr. Jonas, she thought. Was she scoffing or being sincere? Nancy wasn’t
sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And
then as though she had spoken out loud, he turned and saw her. His already
stony expression did not morph into shock or surprise, as might most people.
The sight of a strange woman standing in the shadows did not perturb this
self-made billionaire. He had seen it before, she believed; stalkers, spurned
ex-lovers. Sensing something amiss, he turned to his right. The dressing at his
throat shifted beneath his shirt collar. His crutches creaked as he shuffled to
his bedroom door which permitted a view of what she had done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That
hooded leer came at her when he took her in, only this time from a sidelong aspect.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ His rasping tone dripped with menace. He
alluded to her day’s work. ‘And what the fuck is this?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Words
tumbled away. Mr. Vincent Jonas was angry at this namesake of Mrs. Millie
Clements of the weird little bungalow in Leighton Buzzard. Mr. Vincent Jonas was
demanding an answer from this sneak of Glebe Hollow reared on jam sanies and
milk. Because of her, scuff marks streaked this magnate’s jacket; ridges likening
an Andean geographical map afflicted his shirt. Nancy guessed dozens of women
would relish the sight before her. But this sort of revenge did not interest
her. Nancy made a nervous little cough. ‘Like I said to you yesterday, Mr.
Jonas, a bedroom is a bedroom. It is for sleeping in.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pomegranate
rouged up from his collar. ‘Where’s my stuff?’ he spitfired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘In
safe storage.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
lugged at the knot of his tie in a bid to loosen it. ‘I think…’ he said with a
harsh tug, ‘…that you…’ He pulled the knot loose. ‘…should get my things right
now…’ The tie fell loose about his neck. ‘…and then I think you should put them
back...’ He whipped his tie off. ‘…exactly where you found them.’ The task now
done, he unpopped the top buttonhole of his shirt. He faced her squarely. ‘What
do you reckon, <i>Nora</i>?’ His leer
narrowed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Don’t
be like that, Mr. Jonas,’ she said quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
gaze grew fixed. ‘You tampered with the stairlift.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yes,’
Nancy affirmed and lifted her chin. ‘I think you’ve earned yourself a restful
night’s sleep. You’ve had a long day.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
didn’t retort as expected. His dark blue eyes did a meaningful meander over her
attire. He didn’t do so sneakily, but overtly, as an insult. Were her tights
laddered; her shoes scuffed? He may try to buck her will, she wouldn’t look down. Only when he was done, did he breathe, ‘I’m not going in there.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That’s
a shame,’ Nancy uttered and could feel her colour rising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.com/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-203.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-201.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-62188932468209161652014-02-10T13:53:00.001-08:002017-06-02T10:25:42.594-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 20.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
GREEN light flickered above the door. Henry had left almost two hours ago in
his land rover. Nancy wished he had noticed Sheila’s errant keys; she wished he
had not stopped her at the gates. Nancy’s self-belief and poise it seemed had breached
Vince’s security system more effectively than an opportunist of the night. A
two-beat buzz cut the air. Nancy retreated into the shadows at the top of the
stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Headlights
drifted towards an arched window below. Strands of light stretched out in
contortions. Her nerves did the same; she could feel them pulling at her inner
skin. The headlights came to a stop. Disembodied in the dark, they etched into
her vision. A low thrum pervaded but she could sense movement just outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Keys
scratched into the door. A slither of light cut across the floor. The rhythmic
hum seeped into the enclosure. Mock candles on the landing cast an amber glow
over the foyer, but shadows shielded her from view. She retreated. A clicking tempo
echoed against the walls. A draft lapped against her ankles. She sensed the
door closing. She trained her vision upon the entry below and the sight burned
into her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
starched triangle of his shirt collar cleaved the centre of his dinner jacket;
his trousers primly-creased at the shins, his brogues buffed to mirrors. His
hair clipped and brylcreemed around a face of habitual condescension few could
dislodge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
had been cut down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince’s
aide, the driver she reckoned, wheeled Vince towards the stairlift. Crutches bobbed
from the rear handles of Vince’s wheelchair. The driver, a stout, bald man in a
raincoat and leather boots unhooked the crutches once he had parked Vince
parallel with the Newell post. He offered the crutches to Vince. Vince seized
them, unthankful. The driver wrung his hands as Vince attempted to straighten
each crutch against the flanks of the wheelchair. The tip of one crutch clanked
against the spindles. The driver lurched forwards to assist. Vince quickly
straightened the crutch and grunted, ‘Get out.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
driver backed off but continued to loiter at the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vince
did not even look at him. ‘I said, get out!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
driver reeled on one foot before pausing. He ambled for the door. Nancy could
sense the driver’s discomfiture. He wanted to apologise or say something but no
words would fit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
bald man made his leave, pulling the door gently to. Vince leaned into his
crutches. Alone in the foyer, Vince could now nurse his dignity without prying eyes.
A car door made a report outside. The engine gassed up. The headlights at the
window veered slowly away. Did Vince reserve his transits in the stairlift for
his eyes only, she wondered? Did he equate being seen like this as being caught
naked in public? Vince transferred his weight onto his crutches before lowering
himself onto the chair of the stairlift. He slotted the ends of his crutches
into a receptacle beside the seat, not bothering to belt up. He depressed a
button which activated a motor. Nancy admired the elegant hum. The Vlot 2000
Tilt-in Mobility Stairlift certainly proved to be the finest of its kind. At
this admission, however, Vince’s seat refused to budge from the foot of the
stairs. He depressed the button again. Nancy revisited her admiration of this quiet
motor. But in transferring the drive to the seat, it failed. The missing
screws, she believed would remain in the front pouch of her satchel bag along
with her beloved device and the mysterious E keys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
hoped he would flick out his mobile phone to get help –not only for him, but
for herself. But no. For one who wore such pride, any act of humility did not
seem possible. He unthreaded his crutches and lowered them onto the steps. And as
predicted, he clambered from the seat of the stairlift without reaching for his
phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
watched gravely as Mr. Vincent Jonas, magnate and proprietor of the Nexus
nightclub chain, heartbreaker of countless socialites and associate of
A-listers got onto his hands and knees. His shiny brogues chafed the bottom
riser. He cursed, she believed, an Italian vulgarity <i>fottere.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
grappled at a riser above his head and pulled. Now Nancy could see the yields of his dumbbells. She praised him grudgingly with a still expression. Mr.
Vincent Jonas was making progress up the stairs without mechanical assistance.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-202.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-193.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-12177919897086983522014-02-10T13:35:00.000-08:002017-06-02T10:26:35.120-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 19.3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
thoughts did a little stutter before her index finger depressed the letters,
MILLIE. She ended with the hash key. The screen asked her to repeat the
password. Shards of glass scoured at her ribcage as she did so. She adopted a
smooth tone. ‘I’m done now, Henry,’ she said and deposited the thing on the tabletop
before him. Henry’s square hands engulfed the device. He turned for the surveillance
room once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
sensed a pivotal moment approaching. She could back out now and return to her
world with little consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now
was the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Electronic
bleeps resounded from the surveillance room. Nancy’s stomach lurched. She could
not go back. There was nothing to go back to. Sheila’s house had become the
dark side of the train station. Sheila would do what she wanted with her denial
and Nancy would allow her mother to morph into a wheelchair-bound parasite of
the national state. Nancy found her knuckles trembling with rage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
clink of keys duetted with three short pulses. The reinforced steel lid snapped
shut. The keys engaged, another bleep and Henry’s soles squeaked. Sheila’s
rusty splinters had been overlooked, it seemed. The pivotal moment had passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
re-emerged and offered the device. ‘Done.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
shards of glass kept scouring. She stood, taking the device.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
pushed his fingertips in his jeans pocket. ‘Mr. Jonas is not taking visitors
until ten am tomorrow and not after four, so the gates won’t respond even if
you point the device. Some physios from the clinic are expected in the
afternoon. I won’t be here, but Naomi or Judith will let you in.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
suppressed another quaver in her breath. ‘Thank you, Henry. I think I’ve
imposed upon you enough for one day.’ Nancy tried to temper her initial judgment
of him. She placed the device into the front pouch of her bag alongside E1, E2
and F3. ‘I’d best get on.’ She lifted the strap. ‘I still have some work to do
on Mr. Jonas’ room before he gets back from London.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry’s
brows pulled together. ‘Oh.’ His expression skirted that distilled glower of
earlier. ‘I’ve come to the end of my shift now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
offered her most ingenuous smile. ‘I’m sorry, Henry, I didn’t realise I’d kept
you. I’ll let myself out once I have discussed the finer points with Mr.
Jonas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m
not sure I’m allowed to do that, Nora. Whilst Amy is away, it is my job to
ensure all guests have left the building before locking up and deactivating the
gates.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
flexed her fingers to ease the trembling. ‘It has already been arranged that I
see Mr. Jonas before he goes to bed this evening. I have made some vital
changes to his room, including the location of his pills.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry’s
moist lips pulled mulishly inwards. ‘Well, that put me in a difficult
position.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
suppose I could call early tomorrow and hope he comes to no grief in the night,
but it goes against my principles.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘As
I’ve said before, Mr. Jonas will be accepting no visitors until after ten am.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
smile was feeling more plastic. ‘Fair enough, Henry.’ She stepped from the
table. ‘Well, I’m rather looking forward to using my new gadget on the gates.
I’ll call by tomorrow after ten. Have a good evening.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
appeared distracted. ‘Yeah, sure.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
made a track for the door leading the meeting room. Her boots echoed over the
terracotta tiles, now lit with wall lamps and a glimmer in the hearth. The
foyer, possessing Tudor overtones, looked brooding this late in the day. Nancy
pushed the lever of Vince’s mighty door and exited the building. Infrared
cameras would be tracking Nancy’s route up the gravel drive. She fished out her
device, grateful the floodlights enabled her to see. Soon after, the system
would be expecting Nora Clements’ device to active the gates prior to her
passage. Henry would then switch the gates to override for the night. She
lifted her keypad, readying her index finger for the password.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Crunching
footfalls closed in from behind. ‘Wait.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
turned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
building’s floodlights leached into Henry’s silhouette, causing her to squint. ‘Look,
I really shouldn’t be doing this.’ He sounded edgy. ‘And anyway, it’s not as if
you could take anything...’ He shrugged. ‘All of Mr. Jonas’ effects are tagged.
Nothing can possibly get past those gates.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘You
don’t have to do this, Henry.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Mr.
Jonas does not accept telephone calls during his business trips but I can text
him; let him know that you’ll be here when he arrives.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy’s
smile resurfaced. ‘Thank you, Henry.’</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next page</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Previous page</span><br />
<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-11.html" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Back to beginning</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-44806762524801405132014-02-06T13:13:00.003-08:002017-06-02T10:26:02.349-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 19.2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy fastened
a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Yes. Since I will be overseeing Mr. Jonas’
care here, I will need access to his property during his rehabilitation. Do you
happen to have the code to his gates?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry’s
face was difficult to read in the dark. His ivory jumper appeared almost
disembodied. ‘Well, some of Mr. Jonas’ guests has an electronic key.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘What’s
that, exactly?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s
a handheld device with a built-in code. You point the device at the gates and
the security programme makes a recognition.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘So
the cameras are not always manned?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
crossed the strimmer over his chest. ‘They are manned at random times.’ He
shrugged. ‘Surveillance is pretty tight here anyway; the alarms are hotwired to
Kirkby Manor station just two minutes away. If Mr. Jonas is not accepting
guests, the gates are set on programme override. No one can get in, even with
an electronic key.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
green button, Nancy thought. ‘So you got in by overriding the gates?’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A new vigilance seemed to descend upon
him. ‘Er, yeah but only a provisional override code is given to me when Amy is
away. Normally, only Mr. Jonas, his PA and an appointed watch-guard at Kirky
Manor station know the override code.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
knit her lip. Once a groundsman, always a groundsman.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
seemed to detect the meaning of her silence. He licked his lips. ‘If you need an
electronic key, I can get you one, but it will only get you into the grounds. I
will need to be present to let you into the house.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
sensed she should show esteem of this power. ‘You can do that for me?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Henry
paused in raising his strimmer. ‘Sure. If you wait in the kitchen, I’ll get one
for you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Thank
you, Henry.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
turned and made her way back to the house as Henry restarted his strimmer and
continued shaping a layer of air above the hedge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
cut a route through the kitchen, pausing at the recess leading into the
surveillance room. She had almost forgotten. She moved swiftly to the panel on the
wall. The keys glinted dully within the box. Nancy foraged for the FF keys
within her pocket. Henry would soon return, expecting to see a complete set
before closing the lid and locking up. She returned each key to their
respective hooks. Her sights idled over the central row: G1, G2, G3, G4 and G5.
And the bottom row: E1, E2 and E3.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
unzipped the front pouch of her satchel bag and fished out her car keys.
Sheila’s front and back door Yales hung redundantly from a secondary keyring.
Her fingernails pinched, the double coil snatched within her grip. Once
liberated, the keys underwent an aesthetic appraisal: staggered shafts
terminating at hooped tops of tarnished brass. Doubts lurked as she held one
against E2. Sheila’s offering was no match for an artifact of burnished bronze
bearing the seal of an eagle’s head. Hung within the box, Sheila’s key looked
more like a rusted splinter. Nancy unhooked E1 and placed Sheila’s other key
beside the first. Two rusted splinters. Well, they were less conspicuous than
one, and in this poor light would not draw the eye as would vacant hooks. Nancy
could only hope Henry would not notice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
dropped E1 and E2 into her satchel bag. In time, she would discover what they
unlocked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next page</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-191.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-11.html" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Back to beginning</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-9962945492620421532014-02-06T03:59:00.004-08:002017-06-02T10:26:48.265-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 19.1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SHEILA’S mound
of bedclothes had remained untouched the day of Nancy’s departure. Sheila’s
bottles beneath her bed would continue to collect dust along with her postcards
to Ibiza, her snow-globes, her cheeky mugs from Great Yarmouth, her TV and her
cascade of clothes over the bed-board.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Here,
Nancy began by stripping Vince’s bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
housekeeper had done a change of sheets since Nancy’s last visit – satin of
honeydew. Nancy dumped the bedclothes and several pillows in the hallway just
outside his door. She added his barbells, his ledgers and his suits. Nancy
found the utility room, possessed more than enough space for storage. She wheeled
out his drinks trolley, his flat-screen, a laptop and his retro American mini
fridge. She paused looking out of his window offering an elevated view of the
pond nestling within the copse. She unfastened the opener and permitted the
scent of mulched bark. With that, she unhooped his Owen Jones curtains of
geometric mustard and white, and replaced them with pale blue cotton. White
linen stretched over the mattress brought notions of clean driven snow. Two
pillows and a navy blue blanket completed his bedding. She took down box canvas
prints showing diametric designs of Frank Stella, a series of voluptuous
figurines attributed to Gaston Lachaise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
noticed no nightclub shoots in his room and reasoned those on display in the
foyer were for the benefit of his guests. But on a dresser, she found a small
grouping in semicircular formation. A stately woman who could pass for Raquel
Welch smiled for the viewer – his mother? Like the actress, she wore thick
eyeliner, stressing the upward cant of her eyes, not unlike Vince’s own. Rolls
of lavender converged in the distance towards an idyllic homestead, Umbria
perhaps or at least Italy. Another photograph appeared to show Vince’s parents
and his twenty-something self, lanky, cocky and stupidly good looking. His presumed
father bore a similar carriage to his son, a greying figure, yet imposing and
implying prosperity. Another family shot, back-dropped with hanging baskets of
huge begonias within his childhood home, she deduced. All photos oozed
sunshine, a diet of olive oil, sundried tomatoes and fruit of groves, a life
Nancy could only comprehend. Nancy allowed the family shots to remain albeit
with sour sentiment. He could never have known.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
entered his ensuite bathroom and caught her reflection in the cabinet mirror. A
pale face gazed back. An English rose, yes, she could still be seen as a farm
lass or a waitress as Kew, but her eyes had darkened with suspicion and her
full mouth had grown set in a manner of one who suffered no fools. She could
see why Henry and Naomi had never questioned her authority.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beneath
the sink, she found a hoard of spirits. This English rose unscrewed the cap and
watched the dekuyper bottle hemorrhage its contents into the toilet pan. The
smell of hops blossomed into the air; a second bottle, this time with the
astringent bouquet of gin. The toilet water paled to honey. Bourbon darkened
the concoction to caramel. Southern comfort resulted in no perceivable change
in hue. Nancy depressed the flush system; an instant blank canvas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
placed the empty bottles into a flip-bin and pulled out the innards. The trash
bag sagged in her grip as she ferried it through Vince’s bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
utility room bore now the appearance of a storage area. She inserted FF3 and locked
the door. Dusk had crept upon the windows once Nancy had finished, and with it,
a prickling sensation in her chest. She would have to speak to Henry again. The
thought bothered her without a definable reason – his distilled glower,
perhaps; his moist half-smile? Her trepidation angered her. She descended the
stairs, taking solace in her smart rap and the sway of her satchel bag. In the
meeting room, she caught sight of Henry’s form in the gloom still strimming the
box hedge. The thing had barely altered shape in three hours. She would have to
go out to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
cut a route through the kitchen, pausing at the recess leading into the
surveillance room. Nancy took a detour. The keys glinted dully within the box.
Nancy foraged for the FF keys within her pocket. Henry would soon return,
expecting to see a complete set before closing the lid and locking up. She returned
each key to their respective hooks. Her sights idled over the central row: G1,
G2, G3, G4 and G5. And the bottom row: E1, E2 and E3.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
unzipped the front pouch of her satchel bag and fished out her car keys.
Sheila’s front and back door Yales hung redundantly from a secondary keyring.
Her fingernails pinched, the double coil snatched within her grip. Once liberated,
the keys underwent an aesthetic appraisal: staggered shafts terminating at hooped
tops of tarnished brass. Doubts lurked as she held one against E2. Sheila’s offering
was no match for an artifact of burnished bronze bearing the seal of an eagle’s
head. Hung within the box, Sheila’s key looked more like a rusty great splinter.
Nancy unhooked E1 and placed Sheila’s other key beside the first. Two dirty great
splinters. Well, they were less conspicuous than one, and would not draw the eye
as would vacant hooks. Nancy could only hope Henry would not notice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
dropped E1 and E1 into her satchel bag. In time, she would discover what they unlocked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next page</span><br />
<a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-183.html" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Previous page</a><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-11.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6177650087523578412.post-57448588987358348642014-02-06T03:24:00.001-08:002017-06-02T10:26:12.098-07:00Nora by Charles Jay Harwood Chapter 18.3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy stalked
through the foyer, passing the oak desk and found herself within a meeting room.
Terracotta floor tiles glimmered at the foot of a large recessed fireplace
fashioned from, she reckoned, the stones of the original chapel. In the centre,
two leather corner suites enclosed a glass coffee table. Nancy half-expected to
see ropes skirting the walled areas. But no, she was free to gaze at and to
touch modern art credited to weird names such as de Kooning, Chagall and
Albers. Brash colours, knotted figures and symbols. She didn’t like them
perhaps because she didn’t understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Through
an Edwardian-style window, she spotted Henry strimming a box hedge. A hiss of
air caused Nancy to turn. The pinnied housekeeper drew a cloth in large sweeps across
the glass top. A student perhaps or a traveler paying for board. She busied in
her task taking pains not to engage. Nancy could see herself in the housekeeper:
young and unaware. <i>He had tracked his
finger along her arms, her waist, at her throat. At the crease, Nancy, it’s all
about the crease.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
broke the spell. ‘Er…excuse me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
housekeeper’s jade eyes flicked towards her in surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I
don’t mean to disturb you. I’m Mr. Jonas’ nurse. Do you happen to know where
the keys are kept?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
housekeeper gazed upon her from a cloud of guilt. She reminded Nancy of a bird.
‘The keys?…er...’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
cosmopolitan cadence; French, Nancy decided. Nancy attempted to put her at ease
with a small smile. ‘I’m rearranging Mr. Jonas’ room. My name is Nora Clements.
I am the appointed nurse here.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
housekeeper’s mirroring smile emerged bemused. ‘I am Naomi Siddoux.’ She
pointed to a door adjacent to the fireplace. ‘The keys…they are in the kitchen,
beneath the pantry. The box is usually locked but I think Henry has left it
open while he does the lawns.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
nodded. ‘Naomi, do you work on daily shifts?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Naomi
straightened herself. ‘Weekdays, yes. Judith does the laundry on Fridays.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
adopted a tone she would have believed herself. ‘You may be aware that Mr.
Jonas will be away in a few days time. He has left it to me to oversee things
here, so you might as well take a week or so off. I would like you to convey
this message to Judith.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Naomi’s
finely-shaped brows lifted. ‘Oh.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Once
you have finished your task here, you may as well go home.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Naomi’s
expression brightened as the news sunk in. ‘Yes, thank you, Nora…Miss.
Clements.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Please,
it’s Nora. Have a lovely weekend.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Naomi’s
dusting hand geared up a notch on resuming her task. ‘Yes. You too, Miss…Nora.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
took a tour into the kitchen and remembered she had left her satchel bag
upstairs. A spacious square room bearing a grand chimneybreast and lintel forming
the reverse side of the meeting room’s fireplace, the kitchen would have suited
any celebrity chef. A large circular window overlooked lawns sloping to a pond
nestled within a copse. Distressed pine chairs enclosed a block of Venetian
marble with overhead hob. Cabinets boasted wine, spices and condiments of every
description. A Rayburn stove provided a warm glow for the occupant of a nearby
rocker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
strode across the oak floor to find a recess on the other side of the chimneybreast.
She glanced at the window just in time to see Henry move to the rear of the box
hedge with his strimmer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
grey metallic box hung from a panel. Her fingers did a meander of the bronze
cuts; FF room 1, FF room 2, FF room 3 and FF room 4. First Floor? Nancy
unhooked all four keys and put them in her pocket. An overhead utility light
buzzed on; motion-sensored, likely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before
her, the passage opened out into a wide nook. A fisheye view of Lime Tree Drive
lit up the gloom. Next to it, a patch of grass at the foot of the Vince’s mighty
gates. A view of a Lakestone garage and lastly the lawns looking down to the
copse completed a two-by-two grid composite image. Nancy approached the monitor
presenting these four views. Nancy could picture herself within the upper left waiting,
her satchel bag swinging at her side and cogitating over tea and biscuits. Amy
must have been spinning on her swivel seat at the sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On
the wall facing the desk, she noticed a security panel bearing a grid of
numbers and a speakerphone. Nancy tracked the raised buttons with her index
finger which came to rest upon a silver square. She guessed the button would
either open the gates or open communications with the person outside. Either
way, she couldn’t determine yet. All four views appeared motionless, which was
what Amy no doubt preferred. A star-shaped green button drew her eye: ‘gate
override/ gate automatic.’ Her brows drew together at this obscurity and the
tip of her index finger did a few circuits before depressing. A red light
came on. Nancy quickly depressed and the red light went off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Within
a palpitation surge, her hands grew hot. She unfastened the top button of her
mandarin collar which suddenly felt tight. She closed her eyes and took a
breath. An afterimage of the four-square composite pressed upon her eyeballs. On
the lower right, she saw the huge Cycloptic bin-liner resting upon Vince’s lawn
waiting to take her back to the night side of the train station. She shouldn’t
be here. Vince had not recognized her. She shouldn’t be here. She could no longer
recognize herself. Nancy pushed the chair from beneath her and a whimper
escaped from deep within her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To
her right, she noticed a door. In desperation, she stepped towards it,
simultaneously depressing the handle. A cool breeze wafted over her face on
finding herself back in Vince’s foyer. She stepped through and allowed the door
to drift back towards its moorings and clicking shut. No doubt, Amy would have
taken this access point beneath Vince’s stairs in her surveillance duties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nancy
straightened her collar and walked towards the foot of the stairs. She could
see herself pressing that little green button when it suited her. Nancy
ascended the stairs once again. She returned to Vince’s door. FF2 had turned
out to be the missing piece. She entered Vince’s room.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-191.html">Next page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-chapter-182.html">Previous page</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://charlesjharwoodfreebie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nora-by-charles-j-harwood-prologue.html">Back to beginning</a></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com