And since she was denied any of that, Linley had nothing to do but think.
She thought about Patrick a great deal. Obviously, he was not in the camp. Perhaps he stayed behind with her father. Patrick never was one to undertake such a dangerous journey, and the Indian wilderness in monsoon season was as dangerous as they come.
But she could not help but remember all the times she awoke to find him at her bedside. He said such sweet things to her, and he had rubbed her feet. Linley found it hard to believe that Patrick would choose to stay with her father. If he were a real man, he would have made the journey.
…Unless he was not a real man at all.
Linley remembered a great many things from when she had been sick. And some things she could not remember at all. Her mind was like a puzzle with some of the pieces missing. Or two puzzles all in the same box that one has to pick through and sort out before it can even be put together.
The funny thing about delirium is that one never knows what is real and what is false. What has been made up. Created.
Linley remembered things she knew never happened. She’d never been to Kyre, never seen Wolford Abbey, yet she could see it in her own head as clear as day. And she could recall going swimming, but that was impossible, she had been unconscious for weeks. And the thousands of places she and Patrick made love. In her mind, they were as real and as tangible as the hair on her arms or the feel of the crisp, white cotton bed sheets against skin.
But she knew none of that had ever happened.
Had she even made love to him at all? Could the nurses tell if she was no longer a virgin? Could the doctor?
Linley remembered saying goodbye to Patrick in London. That much she knew was factual. And she recalled him arriving so unexpectedly in India, in the most remote train station, at just the right moment to run into her. Was that memory real? Or had her mind created the encounter? It was all too perfect to have actually happened…
Maybe Patrick never existed at all.
Was she the kind of woman who invented men inside her head and then fantasized about them? Made love to them over, and over, and over.
Linley had to know for sure.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
She sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. After more than a week of rest, she’d grown much stronger, but it still felt awkward to be moving on her own two feet. Linley held onto the wall for support, making her way one step at a time out of her room and down the covered walkway separating the ‘actually contagious’ patients from the ‘probably contagious’ ones.
Rain pounded on the roof, running down the eaves, and splashing into the ankle deep puddles threatening to spill over onto the wooden walkway. Wind whipped her thin cotton nightshirt, and Linley clenched the fabric to her legs to keep it from exposing all of her to the elements.
By the time she made it to the next row of rooms, she was exhausted. While trying to be as discreet as possible, Linley peeked in each doorway as she walked down the open corridor. The first room was occupied by an Indian man, and the second sat empty. The third room was also empty, but the bedcovers were turned back, and it looked like someone had been sleeping there.
At the fourth doorway, Linley paused. She saw Patrick sitting up in the narrow metal bed. It took him a moment to look up, but when he did, he smiled.
So he was real.
Her mind was a little more reliable than she thought it was.
“May I come in?” she asked. Her voice wavered—from the illness? Or was it nerves?
“Please do.” Patrick scooted over and patted the empty spot on the bed.
Linley walked across the room, suddenly feeling much weaker than before. She sat down beside him, trembling.
“The hem of your nightgown is soaked,” he told her. “You ought to know better than to come out in this weather.”
“I—I wanted to see you.”
Patrick moved closer to the wall, giving her more room on the bed. “Get under the covers.” When Linley moved to slip under the warm blankets, he winced. “Be careful of my feet. They are still very sensitive.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“I went too long in wet boots and socks,” he explained. “Almost caused my feet to rot off. The doctor wanted to amputate three toes, but I said to hell with him.”
“Patrick!”
He laughed. “Otherwise, I’ve been a model patient. I eat when they tell me to, sleep when they tell me to, use the pot when they tell me to…I feel like a child in the nursery again. But this,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Is a very welcome surprise.”
“What is?”
“You, here, up and about on your own. Really, just seeing your face with a little life behind it is…well, let’s just say there were many times I thought I’d never see that again.”