“The doctor already came,” said Daldry. “On Christmas Day, no less. A very dedicated man.”
“No, not a doctor.”
“Well, he certainly seemed like one to me.”
“I saw the man that’s waiting for me.”
“We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. Get some rest now. I think the fever might be starting to break.”
“He’s much more handsome than I imagined.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second. Maybe if I catch the flu, I’ll have a vision of Esther Williams. She was positively ravishing in Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
“Yes,” whispered Alice from her delirium. “He’ll take me to the ball.”
“And while you’re doing that, I’ll just take a little nap.”
“I have to find him. I have to go there.” Her eyelids drooped.
“You might want to wait a few days. I’m not sure you’d make a good impression in your current state.”
Alice was asleep. Daldry sighed and returned to the armchair. It was four in the morning. His back was aching from having slept in the chair, and there was a crick in his neck, but the aspirin seemed to be working, and Alice’s fever was beginning to subside. He turned out the light and tried to sleep.
A deafening snore woke Alice from her sleep. Her arms and legs ached, but the chills were gone, and she felt relaxed and warm. She turned her head to see Daldry sprawled across the armchair, an afghan at his feet. Alice watched his right eyebrow rise and fall with each breath. Suddenly, she realized he had spent the night watching over her, and she felt terribly guilty. She wrapped herself up in a blanket and did her best to prepare herself some tea without waking Daldry. His snoring grew so loud that it finally woke him. He shifted position and slid out of the armchair and onto the floor.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked with a yawn.
“Making tea,” said Alice, pouring two cups.
Daldry sat up and rubbed the small of his back.
“Get back in bed this instant.”
“I’m feeling much better. Really.”
“You remind me of my sister, and that’s not a compliment. Don’t be stubborn and careless. You’ve barely got your strength back and you’re already traipsing about barefoot in a drafty flat. Get back into bed. I’ll take care of the tea. That is, if I can make my arms work. I think my whole right side has fallen asleep.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” said Alice, finally obeying. She sat in bed and gladly received the tray Daldry placed on her lap.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“No. I don’t feel like eating.”
“Well, you should eat something anyway. Feed a fever, they say.”
He went across the corridor to his flat and came back with a biscuit tin.
“Is that real shortbread?” she asked, peering at its contents. “I haven’t had shortbread in ages.”
“As real as can be. Homemade,” he said, proudly dipping one in his cup of tea.
“Well, they look delicious.”
“Did I mention I made them myself?”
“Amazing. Really.”
“There I have to draw the line. What could possibly be amazing about shortbread?”
“Certain flavors can take you back to your childhood. My mother used to make shortbread on Sunday, and during the week I’d eat it with hot chocolate when I was done with my schoolwork. I didn’t think much of it then; I just let it form a sludge in the bottom of my cup. Mother pretended not to notice. During the war, when we were waiting in the air-raid shelters for the sirens to stop, I remember thinking about that shortbread. Dreaming of childhood treats with the bombs going off all around us . . .”
“I don’t think I ever shared something that intimate with my mother,” said Daldry. “And I doubt my biscuits can live up to such fond memories, but I hope you like them anyway.”
“May I have another?”
“Speaking of dreams, you had quite a series of nightmares last night.”
“I know. I still remember some of them. I was walking barefoot down a dirt road. It felt like something from another age, but also strangely familiar.”
“There’s no logic to the impression of time in dreams.”
“No. It was a place I felt I knew.”
“Probably just old memories. Everything gets mixed up in nightmares.”
“Well, it was terrifying. I was more at ease during the Blitz.”
“Was the war in part of the dream?”
“No. I was far away from London. I was being hunted; something wanted to harm me. Then a man appeared, and my fear vanished. I felt like nothing could hurt me.”
“Who was it?”
“A man standing in the street. He smiled at me and waved goodbye, and then he was gone.”
“You speak of it as if it really happened.”
Alice sighed.
“You should get some rest, Daldry. You look exhausted.”
“You’re the invalid, not me. But I will admit, your armchair is not a particularly comfortable place to sleep.”
There was a knock at the door. Daldry opened it to find Carol in the hallway holding a large wicker basket.
“What are you doing here? Don’t tell me that Alice disturbs you when she’s all alone.” Carol came into the room and was surprised to find Alice lying in bed.
“Your friend has a bad case of the flu,” explained Daldry, smoothing the wrinkles out of his coat, visibly ill at ease under Carol’s inquisitive gaze.
“Well, I arrived just in the nick of time, then. I’m a nurse. Alice is in good hands now.” She showed Daldry to the door. “There now, Alice needs to get her rest. I’ll take good care of her.”
“Ethan?” called Alice from her bed. Daldry craned his neck, trying to see around the insistent Carol. “Thank you for everything.”
Daldry forced a smile and retired to his flat.
The door closed, and Carol went over to the bed, put her hand on Alice’s forehead, felt her neck, and told her to stick out her tongue.
“You’ve still got a bit of a fever. I brought you all sorts of wonderful things from the country. Fresh eggs, milk, jam, and even some fruitcake that Mother made yesterday. How do you feel?”
“A bit overwhelmed ever since you came through the door.”
“Thank you for everything, Ethan darling,” simpered Carol teasingly as she filled the hot-water bottle. “Your relationship has certainly taken a turn for the better since my last visit. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“That you’re nosy and your insinuations are completely off the mark.”
“I wasn’t insinuating, I was observing.”
“He’s my neighbor.”
“He was also your neighbor last week. But back then things were decidedly more formal. You weren’t on a first-name basis; it was still Miss Pendelbury and Mr. Killjoy. What broke the ice?”
Alice refused to talk. Carol looked at her pointedly, one hand on her hip, the other holding the kettle suspended in midair. She raised her eyebrows.
Alice finally gave up. “We just went back to Brighton together.”
“That was your mysterious Christmas invitation? What an idiot I was. And I thought you’d just made something up to throw the boys off your trail. I kept kicking myself for letting you stay behind in London alone instead of insisting you come along with me to see my parents. And the whole time Miss P was out on a seaside romp with the boy next door.” Carol paused. “Has it ever crossed your mind to buy some real furniture?” Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Wait a minute! Don’t tell me that when he barged in last time it was just an act to get rid of us and spend the rest of the evening together!”
“Carol!” hissed Alice, pointing toward Daldry’s flat. “Stop talking and sit down. You’re more exhausting than the flu.”
“Oh, you don’t have the flu; you’ve just got a bad cold,” said Carol, fuming.
“I hadn’t planned on going back to Brighton. It was an unexpected and generous offer on his behalf. And you can stop smirking—there’s nothing between Daldry and me apart from a civil, reciprocal appreciation for each other. Besides, he’s not really my type.”
“Why did you go back to Brighton?”
“I’m too tired to go into it now.”
“I’m touched to see you so affected by my care and empathy.”
“Oh, give me a slice of that fruitcake and hush,” Alice said, just before sneezing.