It had seemed like a perfectly ordinary day. But in the weeks that followed, Laura scoured her memory searching for missed clues and portents that might have gone unheeded. Surely she should have known that something terrible was going to happen? Laura often felt that she should have been a Catholic. She did guilt so well.
That morning, Anthony went for his walk as usual. The only thing that was different was that he didn’t take his bag. It was a beautiful morning, and when he returned Laura thought how happy he looked; more relaxed than she had seen him in a long time. He didn’t go into the study, but asked Laura to bring his coffee to the garden, where she found him chatting to Freddy about the roses. As Laura placed the tray down on the garden table she deliberately avoided catching Freddy’s eye. Perhaps it was because she found him attractive that being in his presence made her uncomfortable. He had an easy confidence and was blessed with both charm and good looks, which Laura found rather unsettling. He was too young for her, in any case, she thought, and then immediately ridiculed herself for even considering that it would ever be an issue.
“Morning, Laura. Lovely day.”
Now she had to look at him. He was smiling at her, and held her eyes in a steady gaze. Her embarrassment made her sound clipped and unfriendly.
“Yes, lovely.”
And now she was blushing. Not a flattering, rosy tint, but a vivid, scarlet mottling that made her look as if she had just had her head in the oven. She hurried back into the house. The cool calm of Padua soon restored her equilibrium and she went upstairs to change the flowers on the landing. The door to the master bedroom was open, and Laura went in to check that everything was all right. The smell of roses was overpowering that day, even though the windows were closed. The clock downstairs in the hall began chiming midday, and Laura automatically checked her watch. The long case clock had been gaining time, and she had been meaning to arrange to get it fixed. Her watch said 11:54 A.M. and suddenly a thought struck her. She picked up the blue enamel clock from Therese’s dressing table and watched as the second hand ticked rhythmically round the dial. When it reached the twelve it stopped. Dead.
Anthony had his lunch in the garden room, and when Laura collected the tray she was delighted to see that he had eaten almost everything. Perhaps whatever it was that had been troubling him in recent months had been resolved, or perhaps his visit to the doctor had resulted in some improvement to his health. She also wondered if finally sharing with her his story about Therese had helped in some way. Whatever it was, she was glad. And relieved. It was wonderful to see him looking so well.
Laura spent the afternoon sorting through Anthony’s accounts. He still received some royalties from his writing and would occasionally be asked to do a reading for some local book group or branch library. After a couple of hours poring over the paperwork, Laura leaned back in her chair. Her neck was sore and her back ached. She rubbed her tired eyes and made a mental note, for the hundredth time, to get them tested.