After a moment Edmund got out of the car, and went through the gate and along the little path. The house, seen closer to, was neat and clean, and the gardens were tidy. But there was a quiet feeling to it; the feeling you got from a house that had been empty for a long time, or that had only had one inhabitant for several years. Nothing stirred as Edmund went through the gate and down the path to the front door.
He plied the old-fashioned door-knocker and waited. For several minutes nothing happened and another possibility occurred to him. Perhaps the owners had moved out, and the Land Registry had given him out-of-date information. That would explain a good deal. But then there was a flurry of footsteps from within, and the door was opened.
A plump, no-nonsense lady with short hair and weatherbeaten skin, but with the faint tilt of the cheekbones that suggested a dash of Eastern European ancestry, stood in the doorway, looking enquiringly at Edmund.
She was dressed plainly in a skirt and sweater but there was just the suggestion of hospital starch about her, and of thermometers and stainless steel bowls. A nurse? No, but something close to it. At once the plan that had been shifting its contours in Edmund’s mind dropped into place, and he saw his way forward.
‘I’m sorry I was a few minutes coming to the door,’ said the brisk lady. ‘Can I help you at all?’ She spoke English smoothly, but there was a slight inflection that emphasized the faint foreign air.
Edmund’s whole body was thrumming with nervous anticipation, but he smiled Crispin’s smile, and introduced himself as Mr Edwards, apologizing for intruding. A business journey from London to a place just north of Rotherham, he said, and he happened to have mentioned it to his good friend, Michael Sallis, earlier in the week. Michael had suggested he might break his journey here since it was only a few miles out of his way. And, said Edmund, he understood that visitors were always welcome.
‘Oh, how very nice,’ said the woman. ‘I always like to see a new face. Mr Sallis comes up about once a month, but of course he phones as well, just to see if there’s any news.’
‘So I believe,’ said Edmund, picking his way carefully, but thankful that he seemed to be striking the right note.
‘A bit of company always helps as well,’ said the woman. ‘Come along in. There’s very little change, of course, but we stay positive. Would you like a cup of coffee? – I was just thinking I would make some for myself.’
‘That would be very kind.’
‘We’ve converted one of the downstairs rooms,’ said the woman, leading Edmund along the hall. ‘Friendlier, somehow, than being tucked away upstairs. And it’s at the back of the house, so we can open the French windows on to the garden in summer. I’ll take you through.’
It was a large room, and in the summer it would be filled with sunshine from the garden beyond. But on a dark autumnal day the shadows clustered everywhere, and there was a feeling of immense quietness, as if hardly anything had happened here for a very long time. A high, narrow, hospital-type bed stood near the window.
Edmund paused just inside the door, waiting for the woman’s footsteps to die away. Had she gone back to the kitchen? Yes, that was the sound of a door opening and closing. Then he was on his own for a brief space.
Except that he was not on his own at all. There was someone lying in the high narrow bed. Someone who lay very still, and whose light papery breathing barely stirred the covers. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he began to make out colours, shapes, features…
There was no movement from the bed, barely even any indication of life. Sleeping? But as he moved to stand by the bed, he could see that this was deeper than sleep. You’re very far away, said Edmund silently. You haven’t quite died and I don’t know if you’re drugged or in a semi-coma, but you’re not really in this world any longer. Beneath all these thoughts, an immense tidal wave of emotion was sweeping over him because he knew, definitely and unquestionably, who this was.