The man who came back Read online

  there at all.

  "Well!" Harriet exclaimed, squatting on her slender haunches and looking completely bewildered. "It's not here!"

  Dr. Drew, bending to prevent his head being split open by one of the stout crossbeams that helped to support the roof, looked down at her peculiarly.

  "I suppose you didn't imagine that you saw the portrait?" he suggested coolly. "I mean, it wasn't something you thought you saw?"

  "As a result of having you in mind?" She looked up at him angrily. "Of course it wasn't!"

  "Well, the gentleman appears to have vanished." He, too, crouched on the dusty floor, and he lighted a cigarette. "How big did you say it was, together with frame?"

  "I didn't say." There was something about his cool disbelief that infuriated her. "I simply told you that I'd found a picture that looked�"

  "Like me?"

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  "It was more like you than anyone else I've

  ever seen."

  "Well, they say we all have doubles, and mine could have been a gentleman of the Regency. But I was looking forward to meeting him, and

  now apparently he's dissolved into thin air. Any

  way, how big was the picture?" "The.one I thought I saw?" "The one you thought you saw!" She made a descriptive gesture^with her arms. "It was too big to be easily removed from the

  attics. But it could have been removed. "I suppose you didn't remove it yourself, and

  have got it cosily tucked away inside your wardrobe, where you can gaze at it whenever someone who looks like the original�me, apparently!� is not around?"

  �His tone was merely gently jibing, but she didn't realise that he wasn't deadly serious, and stood up so suddenly that she cracked her head against the crossbeam, and for a few seconds saw nothing but stars. Then the water welled from her eyes, and she leaned against the beam rather helplessly for support. "Harriet!" It was the first time he had called her by her name, and she blinked at him owlishly in surprise. "Oh, Harriet, you little Idiot! Why did you have to do such a stupid thin? as that?"

  "Because I am stupid." The tears continued to stream from her eyes, and she wiped them

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  away with the back of her hand. For the second / time that day her face was streaked with dirt., "Haven't you already arrived at that conclu

  � ^199 sion? Tenderly he wiped away the dirt from her face with his own pocket-handkerchief, and then his fingers explored the area under her hair that had come into contact with the beam. Although his touch was light as a feather she winced and bit her lips. Because she appeared to be swaying slightly he put an arm round her and drew her head to rest against his shoulder. "Idiot!" he accused her again, in a slightly muffled voice. "But I'm the criminal one, because I neglected to warn you!" "I ought to have had more sense:" Her wet eyes damped his collar, but he didn't seem to mind. He was apostrophising himself in no uncertain terms, and tenderly smoothing her cheek at the same time. Even in such an extraordinary and unlooked-for moment -she realised that he was betraying the very maximum amount of concern, and as a professional man he ought really to have been concentrating on the growing lump under her hair and, while reassuring her about the size of it, and even making light. of it, suggested their immediate removal from the attics and treatment downstairs. Or, if he considered she was not yet in a condition to make the return journey from the attics �and she certainly seemed a little stunned and

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  confused�suggested that she simply sat down on the floor, or a packing-case, and put her head between her knees while he slipped downstairs himself and fetched some smelling-salts and a bottle of arnica.

  But he didn't do any of these things. He sat down himself on a packing-case and drew her down .beside him, and while the faintness receded gradually and her wits returned�and a little of the pain vanished�crooned over her like a mother hen with a wounded chick, and occasionally uttered remorseful sounds that implied he held himself entirely responsible.

  At last she looked up at him in a faintly embarrassed way and detached herself. "What a fuss we're making!" she declared. "It was only a bump on the head!"

  "Only a bump on the head? But why should you suffer a bump on the head just because I insisted on bringing you up here?"

  Her eyes were still smarting, and they were as bright as jewels in the dimness of the attic, but she couldn't refrain from dimpling.

  "I was under the impression that it was I who actually brpught you up here... to look for a picture! But perhaps that crack on the head has prevented me remembering correctly what happened !"

  "It's entirely my fault." Apparently nothing would stop him blaming himself. "Do you feel up to making a move yet? If I could get you

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  downstairs I could deal with that bruise that's going to make it impossible for you to wear a

  hat, or anyming in the nature of headgear, for the next few days. I doubt whether you'll even be able to lie on it in bed."

  "I never wear a hat, and I always lie on my left side in bed." She didn't know why, but now that the faintness was passing she felt inclined to

  -giggle hysterically. "I'm perfectly all right!" She stood up before he could prevent her to prove it, narrowly avoided cracking her head again, and subsided beside him on the packingcase, laughing a trifle breathlessly. "Well, almost all right! I will be in a minute."

  It took them some time to leave the attics behind them, for he was disinclined to trust her to make a move on her own, and his excessive care and watchfulness delayed their progress considerably, and when they finally arrived downstairs in the drawing-room the clock on the mantelpiece informed them that they had been upstairs amongst the discarded treasures of Falaise for nearly an hour.

  The doctor was startled because he had a patient to visit who lived several miles from Falaise, and it would take him at least twenty minutes to reach the patient's house. But he insisted on applying a cold compress to Harriet's lump, and rang the bell for the housekeeper to bring him the materials and a tray of tea for the patient since she refused anything in the nature

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  of a stronger stimulant Then, while the housekeeper looked on with considerable interest, and lent him all the assistance she could, he cut away a little of the hair from Harriet's head and applied his compress, afterwards deploring the fact that he had had to interfere with her hair, and looking quite doleful as he deposited the

  -pale gold lock in an ash-tray.

  Harriet, still feeling a little inclined to unusual mirth, asked him whether he wouldn't like to take it home with him in his wallet, and he directed at her a long, straight look that had the instantaneous effect of starting her blushing wildly.

  "I�I was joking, of course," she said, as the housekeeper withdrew from the room. "Naturally, I wasn't serious!"

  Philip Drew started pacing up and down the drawing-room floor, and although he was in a hurry he seemed distinctly loth to take his departure. He paused beside the ash-tray, picked up the pale gold lock of hair and examined it [with a detached air, but in a way that convinced ^Harriet he was looking for bloodstains and, possibly, trying to assess her blood group; then he returned it to the ash-tray as if he had suddenly jtost all interest in it and crossed to her where she |at comfortably throned in a deep armchair.

  | She had been careful to avoid Gay's couch, |for the simple reason that it was Gay's couch... |nd she had already been stretched out on it in

  r- .'

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  a dead faint on one occasion about which she remembered little, except that she had recovered to find him kneeling on the floor beside her and looking as if he thought she might have had more consideration when he was going out to dinner.

  The two sisters had certainly claimed quite a lot of his attention between them, taking into consideration the fact that they had known him for such a short while. And now it
/seemed he was taking this business of a bump on the head more seriously than old Dr. Parkes would have taken it, and actually suggested that she went to bed early with sedatives.

  "You could take aspirin," he said. "But I'll bring you some tablets that I think will be more suitable."

  "Really, Doctor," she protested, "aren't you making rather a lot of something quite trifling?"

  He disagreed with her.

  "It was not trifling. It could have knocked you out." "But it didn't. I must have a remarkably tough head."

  He walked towards the door, and then turned

  and looked back at her. She received the im

  pression that, despite the fact that he was in a

  hurry, and had several times admitted that he

  would be late for an appointment, he would

  have lingered if he could... and was even try

  ing to think up some excuse for lingering.

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  "Of course, if the tablets don't work, you'll have to let me know. I could come and see you tomorrow. In fact, I think I'd better."

  -"Thank you. Doctor." She smiled a little. "You really do take the maximum amount of care of your patients, don't you ?" He frowned.

  "Well, naturally... when they are my

  patients. I do my best."

  "I'm sure you do."

  Her head was aching too much for her to pro

  long the conversation, although she did feel a

  curious desire to provoke him. And she wasn't

  quite clear about anything, just then, as a

  matter of fact, and she wished he would leave

  her alone so that she could ring the bell for

  another cup of tea ... a really strong cup of tea

  this time. Her head felt as if it had been opened

  up with a metal saw, and she winced every time

  it touched the cushions behind her.

  "Well," he said finally, "I'll be going."

  "Good-bye, Doctor."

  She hoped the housekeeper would show him

  out Her legs wouldn't permit her to stagger to the door and do so, and he would probably be angry in any case if she attempted to.

  CHAPTER VI

  SHE went to bed about a couple of hours later, and he still hadn't returned with the tablets.

  The housekeeper tried to persuade her to drink some soup before she went to bed, but she refused. She wasn't actually suffering from nausea, but she felt a little squeamish whenever she thought of putting on an act and facing dinner in the dining-room. Besides, it would be silly to dine alone when she wasn't interested in food.

  She managed to take a bath, and felt slightly more refreshed after it, then she crawled into bed with a bottle of aspirin tablets clutched in one hand, and some hot milk on her bedside table. She wasn't afterwards quite clear how many aspirins she did take, but she wasn't the type to be reckless, and they couldn't have been very many. But she sank almost immediately into deep and dreamless sleep which must have lasted for several hours, for when she awakened the moon was high in the sky, and the house was very silent.

  She stayed awake for only a few minutes, and

  then went off to sleep again, and this time she

  dreamed without cessation, and her dreams were

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  curiously vivid. She thought she was up in the

  attics again, and had discovered the portrait that

  looked like Philip Drew. It was propped against

  the wall, as it was when she first saw it, and it

  seemed to have increased in size and was posi

  tively a mammoth picture taken together with

  its frame.

  Then the frame disappeared, and it seemed to

  her that she and the portrait were actually face

  to. face, and the man who looked so much like

  Philip Drew was talking to her, and the hard lines of his face were so hard that they frightened

  her. He had, as it were, stepped out of the por" trait and was pacing up and down in her room

  and lecturing her... scolding her.

  He wanted to know why she was so stupid,

  and why she hadn't moved more warily and thus

  avoided bumping her head.... And then he

  came very close to her and his eyes looked deep

  into hers, and she felt as if she was drowning in

  deeps of absolute blackness. She could feel his

  fingers close round her wrist, and he shook her. He wasn't accusing her of stupidity now, he was angry with her. She could feel his anger biting deep into her being, like a red-hot iron, and she wanted to cry because she felt she didn't deserve it. And in any case, her wrist was being so badly bruised by his fingers that she couldn't think. She only knew it was absolutely intolerable he should think so badly of her, and she could do nothing

  about it Nothing�nothing at all!

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  "I didn't do it, Philip! I didn't mean it, Philip! Philip."

  She made such a violent movement in the bed that the pain shot through her head again, and she opened her eyes to find the man in the portrait bending over her, only instead of a cravat

  and sideboards he wore a neat collar and tie and was clean-shaven. With a gasp of relief she recognised Dr. Drew, and furthermore his eyes were alive with concern, and his voice quivered with it as he spoke ... and it was warm and deep and gentle, and she knew she had no reason whatsoever to fear him, and indeed every instinct she possessed dictated the move she made

  to clutch at him. She sat up in bed, clinging on to his hand. "I thought�I thought... you were someone else!" "Well, I'm not'" He sat on the side of the bed, and his voice was deliberately, wonderfully reassuring. He lifted the hot hair off her brow and smoothed it back so that she felt cooler and more comfortable almost immediately, and although she knew he really was the man in the portrait it didn't matter, because he was also Philip Drew.... And only that afternoon Philip Drew had drawn her head to rest on his shoulder when she was feeling faint and bewildered, and now he was lifting her in the bed and plumping up her pillows behind her. "I said I'd come back with the tablets, but unfortunately I got held up. I thought you'd

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  have the sense to go to bed, and apparently you

  did."

  "Yes, and I think I've been asleep for hours."

  She was still clutching at his hand. "What time

  is it?"

  "It's after ten. Fortunately the house wasn't

  locked up."

  "And you just came up here to my room. I'm glad you did, because I was having such a�horrible� dream."

  "What was it all about?" He looked down at her smilingly. "Not me, I hope? I mean, I hope I didn't figure in an unpleasant way in your dream. But you did call my name. You said 'Philip, Philip!'"

  "Did I?" She stared up at him with dilating eyes. "But it wasn't the same Philip... I mean, it wasn't really you! It was the man in the portrait ... and he wasn't a bit like you! That is, he was and he wasn't."

  He ran a gentle finger down one side of her cheek, smoothing it, caressing it.

  "Well, I'm glad there was a difference." His attractive mouth curved upwards at the corners. "Very glad!"

  Her eyes dilated again. "But he was so real. He�he shook me! He was furiously angry with me!"

  Dr. Drew frowned.

  "Forget him," he advised. "It was just a nightmare."

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  "But it wasn't! It wasn't!" Frenziedly her fingers clutched at him. "You won't go away just yet, will you?"

  "No." There was a faintly worried look in his eyes. "I'm going to give you a sedative that will really send you off to sleep, and then you won't dream.. � and in any case, that portrait you came across in the attic was just a portrait. Since it appears to have vanished, it could have been an hallucination, due to fading li
ght. That sort of thing."

  She shook her head, remembered, too late, that she shouldn't have done such a thing, and winced.

  "I saw it I examined it very carefully... and if it's gone it's because someone's shifted it." She looked at him with over-bright eyes, full of determination. "I mean to find out when I get the opportunity. And if necessary I'll search the whole house."

  "Well, I'd wait until you're feeling much better than you are at the present time," he replied, humouring her. But the faintly worried look remained in his eyes. "Tell me, how is the head?" he asked, probing very gently with his fingers in order to discover how her lump was progressing.

  "Much better."

  "Good." Once more he smiled at her. Then his smile grew a little whimsical. She was wearing a very pretty nightdress, and it was half off her shoulders, and she looked very young and en

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  chanting. Despite the fact that there appeared to be a certain amount of confusion concerning him in her dream she refused to let him go, and he had actually to give a little tug before he could release his fingers. Then he bent lower over her, and without either surprising or perturbing her in any way he laid his cool, shaven cheek on hers. Then, very, very lightly, he kissed her brow.

  "That's for a good girl," he said. "A good girl who's going off to sleep."

  Huskily she asked him:

  "Do you always kiss your patients?"

  "Oh, always!"

  "I don't believe you."

  "Neither do I. Do you always take such a tight grip of your doctors that they have difficulty in getting away from you?" She dimpled, and the flush was dying out of her face, and the unnatural brilliance from her

  eyes.

  "Oh, always!" she answered.

  He seemed to make a supreme effort and tore himself away from the bed, and then provided her with a glass of water and the sedative tablets. When she had swallowed them she settled down with an extraordinary feeling of contentment on her pillows, and he stood looking down at her in the rosy-pink light of her bedside lamp which streamed across her and her wildly disordered hair. But somehow the disorder didn't detract from the infinite charm of her appearance, and

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  her hair on the pillow had acquired a weddingring gold which seemed to intrigue him.