The air ambulance men brought a stretcher, and between them they put Luisa on to it and fastened straps around her. Michael had located her bedroom by this time and had put washing things, together with hairbrush and comb, in a sponge bag. The bedside cabinet had two or three medicine bottles and a small spray of pink liquid. He tipped these in as well so the hospital would know what pills she was taking, then wrapped everything in a dressing gown.
Luisa was still semi-conscious, but Michael leaned over, explaining what was happening, hoping she could hear and understand. He thought she roused sufficiently to look towards the panelled door, and he said, very quietly so the paramedic would not hear, ‘I’ll lock that up for you. Don’t worry.’
‘Key—’ One hand went to the pocket of her woollen jacket.
‘I’ll look after the key until you come back,’ he said. ‘Is that right? Is that what you want me to do?’
When she nodded, he took the key from her pocket, and she gave a grateful half-smile, then in a suddenly urgent voice, said again, ‘Stephen—’
‘Stephen won’t hurt me,’ he said, taking her hands. ‘It’s all right. I know about him, remember? I can deal with Stephen. You can trust me.’
‘I know I can,’ she said. ‘I’ve written it all down. It’s in my book.’
‘The book in the underground room?’
‘Yes.’ She seemed grateful for his comprehension and unquestioning of how he knew what she referred to. ‘Michael, you need to know – to understand … I want you to be the one who knows the truth.’ Her hands closed tightly around his, and a spasm of pain crossed her face.
Speaking carefully, hoping she could still hear and understand him, Michael said, ‘If it seems necessary, I can look at what you wrote in your book? Your journal? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You can read it— I trust you … I didn’t think there would ever be anyone, not till you came here—’
‘You can trust me,’ he said as she broke off again. ‘I promise I’ll do whatever’s necessary.’ This seemed to satisfy her. She gave the half-nod again and sank back against the blankets.
When she had been carefully stowed on to the helicopter, Michael turned to the paramedic who was preparing to set off on his motorbike.
‘Is there any news of whether the road’s cleared yet? I was hoping I could go with her to hospital, but—’
‘I should think it’ll be tomorrow before they get the tree off the road,’ he said. ‘The storm brought a couple more down, but they’re on the main roads, so they have priority. You’ll be all right here, won’t you?’ He glanced at the house. ‘Odd old place, isn’t it?’
You don’t know the half, thought Michael, but he said, ‘It is, rather. But it has an interesting history. Thanks so much for all you’ve done this evening.’
‘All in a day’s work,’ said the paramedic, smiling. ‘I’ll give you the number of the hospital where they’ll take her.’ He handed over a small card. You could phone in a couple of hours to find out what’s happening. They’ll be wanting next of kin details and so on.’
‘I don’t know who her next of kin is,’ said Michael. ‘But I’ll phone anyway.’
‘You’d better have the number of the local police station as well, while I’m about it. They’d know the situation about the tree.’ He scribbled a number on the back of the card.
Michael waited until the helicopter had taken off and watched it wheel itself around and head off. The motorbike growled its way down the drive and turned on to the main road. He stood in the doorway for a moment, then took a deep breath and went back into the house, locking and bolting the main door. Then, in accordance with his promise to Luisa, he locked the panelled door and put the key in his pocket again. But, crossing the hall, he was conscious of Fosse House’s silence – haunted and watchful – pressing in on him.
‘You let me in,’ Stephen had said.
Michael frowned and went systematically through the ground floor rooms, switching on lights. He located a radio and a television in a small sitting room on the side of the house and switched the radio on. With lights and music one could surely drive back any amount of ghosts. Feeling slightly better, he searched the kitchen for an evening meal, hoping Luisa would recover sufficiently for him to apologize for raiding her fridge. He had a sudden wild image of himself taking her out to lunch as a thank you. The prospect of sitting opposite Morticia Addams in a local pub restaurant and hearing a waitress reel off the day’s specials pleased him immensely. Dammit, thought Michael, taking eggs and cheese from the fridge, I’ll do it. Get better quickly, Luisa, because we’ve got a date.
He managed a reasonable plate of scrambled eggs with grated cheese, which he carried into the TV room, where he watched the evening news. This had the effect of making him feel slightly more in touch with normality, even though normality took the form of soaring inflation, wars in various countries, and battling politicians.
But after he had washed up, even with lights switched on, and Classic FM playing a lively Mozart concertante, Fosse House seemed to be filling up with soft rustlings and whisperings.
‘I’m still in the house …’
I don’t care if you’re swinging from the light fittings, said Michael to Stephen’s image, and went into the library and phoned the hospital to find out how Luisa was.
‘We can’t really give out information other than to family—Oh, you’re the gentleman who called the paramedics, yes, I see. Well, I’m afraid she’s still rather poorly. Can you give me any details about next of kin?’
‘I’m afraid not. I don’t even know if there is any family,’ said Michael. ‘I think you’d better use this number as a contact for the moment.’ He gave Fosse House’s number, then his own mobile.
‘We’ll let you know if there’s any change in her condition, but if you do trace any family for her, give us a call.’
It was still only a little after nine o’clock, and the evening stretched rather emptily ahead. Michael phoned Nell, explaining what had happened.
‘Poor Luisa,’ said Nell. ‘I hope she makes it – I rather liked the sound of her.’