Dark Mosaic, page 3
'Well...' Leonie gazed at him frustratedly. 'I just don't see '
'That's right. You don't,' James interrupted her flatly. 'Let's change the subject, shall we?'
James went to the hospital the following afternoon. He had spoken to Toby Langley, the family solicitor, in the morning, and ascertained from him the opinion that a visit to see his late cousin's daughter might not come amiss.
'The lass is in quite a state, mentally,' the older man essayed ruefully. 'As if the accident wasn't enough, to lose your memory as well must be pretty scary.'
James's dark brows drew together. 'She's lost her memory?' he echoed.
'Yes. Didn't Laura tell you? Apparently, it's quite a common occurrence in cases like this. A kind of mental
block, brought on by some traumatic experience. I expect the crash was pretty traumatic. I heard the girl who was
trapped in the toilet was burned beyond recognition. They think she must have been smoking, and '
'Yes. I'm sure it was pretty horrific' James had no desire to share Toby's morbid reminiscences. 'So-you think it might help if she sees me; if I tell her who she is, and what she's doing here.'
'Well, you'd have to ask her doctor that, of course,' replied Toby, somewhat put out at being interrupted. 'But you won't need to tell her who she is. She knows that already.'
'She does?'
'Yes.' Toby steepled his fingers. 'They identified her straight away from the photographs and the new passport they found in her handbag. And, if more proof was needed, when they found her she was clutching that sable coat like a lifeline.'
'But she was unconscious, wasn't she?'
'Yes.' Toby nodded. 'Apparently, it's the only thing she remembers. Holding on to the coat.'
James's expression grew a little cynical. 'That figures,' he remarked drily. 'She sounds-charming.'
'I believe she is,' replied Toby surprisingly. 'I've not spoken to her myself, of course. Her doctor-that's Dr Patel, by the way-he advised against any formal discussions of why she was coming here until her memory returns. But I spoke to one of the nurses, and she says she's a very good patient. And you're her father's cousin, after all. She might like to see you. Even if she won't know you from Adam, if you'll forgive the pun!'
In consequence, James approached the coming interview with rather less enthusiasm than he had at first, which was saying something. Confronting a vulnerable amnesiac was not the same as confronting the selfish little gold-digger that Laura had depicted in some detail. Indeed, if he had had doubts about seeing her before, they had now been multiplied ten times over, and half a dozen times after leaving Toby's office he had been tempted to phone Laura and call the whole thing off.
The Infirmary in Leeds was an enormous place, but for all that, James still had a problem finding somewhere to park the estate car. He should have brought Ted Paisley's Mini, he reflected wryly. It would certainly have been easier than parking the Rover.
He eventually found a space next to what appeared to be the kitchens, and, guessing it should properly be reserved for hospital staff, he didn't hang about. He would face any retribution he had to face after the interview was over. Right now, he had more important things to occupy his concentration.
The reception nurse downstairs directed him to the ward where Jessica Devlin was a patient, and after introducing himself to the staff nurse at her station he was shown into the small private ward where the girl was lying. As this was a private ward, at least their conversation would not be overheard by anyone else, James reflected drily, as the nurse admitted him. Although, whether that was an advantage, he had yet to find out. He still hadn't decided how he was going to handle the situation. Maybe Leonie was right. Maybe he should have let Laura handle it herself.
Even so, he couldn't deny an unexpected surge of emotion when he saw the girl lying between the crisp white hospital sheets. In spite of the fact that she was Adam's daughter, he had expected her to look older, tougher, certainly more experienced than the pale-cheeked individual who turned wary eyes in his direction at the sound of the door opening. She wasn't old at all- twenty-two or three at most, and the brassy blonde his imagination had conjured up had to be quickly revised. Laura had said the police had told her she had blonde hair-probably tinted, in Laura's opinion; blue eyes- although in actual fact, James could see they were more of a purplish colour; and pale, narrow features-which, in Laura's estimation, had to be as hard as nails. In fact, Jessica Devlin was nothing like Laura's description of her, except in so far as a general outline was concerned.
The staff nurse-James thought she had said her name was Jennings-approached the bed first, gently smoothing the sheet as she said soothingly, 'You've got a visitor, Jessica. It's your father's cousin.' She glanced round. 'Did you say-James Bentley?'
James nodded briefly, and the nurse turned back to her patient. 'Yes. Your cousin James is here to see you, Jessica. Isn't that nice? Perhaps you'll remember him.'
'Oh, no-I '
James started to speak, and then decided against it. It would be too complicated to try and explain the situation. Besides, he had no desire for the family's skeletons to become common knowledge in the city. It was bad enough that the will had had to be published. He had little taste for elaborating on their relationship. Consequently, when Staff Nurse Jennings turned enquiring eyes in his direction, he politely raised his hand. 'Urn-no,' he said tightly. 'Er-you carry on.' He moistened his dry lips. 'Hello, Jessica. How are you feeling?'
CHAPTER THREE
A NOT unfamiliar surge of panic rose inside her. It had only been a few days, she knew-strange how she could remember that, and nothing else-and it was going to take considerably longer than that to come to terms with her disability. But the idea that this man-this total stranger-could come here and claim to be her father's cousin, filled her with alarm. He could be anyone: a confidence trickster; a media freak, who had read about her story in the papers and had decided to cash in on it; a would-be murderer, even! How was she to know? Staff Nurse Jennings said he was her father's cousin James, but when she asked if she should remember him, he had said no...
'I'll leave you two alone for a few minutes,' the nurse said, straightening, and ignoring the panicky appeal in Jessica's eyes. 'I'll just be outside,' she added, giving her patient an encouraging smile. 'If you want me, just ring. The button's just by your hand.'
And it was. On the end of a rubber-coated cord that lay easily within Jessica's reach. Swallowing hard, she tried to take a grip on herself and face this man who said he was a relation calmly. Why should he lie? she asked herself impatiently. What did he have to gain? It wasn't as if she was some raving beauty. That was one thing her brain could not disguise. She had spent long enough looking in the mirror to know her features were fairly uniform at best. If only that anxious pale face was familiar to her. But, like the man before her, it offered no reassurance.
'So,' said the man, as the door closed behind Staff Nurse Jennings, 'don't look so scared. I don't bite, I assure you.'
Jessica managed a tentative smile. 'No.'
'No.' James Bentley came to stand at the end of the bed. 'I'm sorry if I've frightened you. That wasn't my intention.'
Jessica's fluttering pulses steadied a little. 'It's all- it's all so strange,' she murmured breathlessly. 'Um- please, won't you sit down?'
He did so, subsiding on to the chair at the foot of the bed with indolent grace. Watching him, trying desperately to see some element of familiarity in his lean, intelligent features, Jessica was struck with the disturbing awareness that he really was a most attractive man. Tall, with unruly, dark hair that persisted in falling over his forehead, and covertly muscular, with the supple economy of movement that usually accompanied physical fitness. His skin was dark, too, as if he didn't spend all his time cased up in some office, and there were fine creases fanning out from his silvery light eyes, that seemed to indicate their narrowing against an outdoor brilliance. He was dressed casually, in narrow-fitting corded trousers and a well-worn leather jacket, and she thought with some inconsequence that he scarcely looked old enough to be her father's cousin. In any event, he was evidently much younger than her father had been, and as his name was different from hers, he must be married to her father's sister.
They-that is, Dr Patel and his staff-had told her that her mother was dead and that her father had died recently, and she had been on the train, apparently coming north to see the other members of the family when the accident happened. Happily, the worst aspects of that journey had been erased along with all her other memories, but she wondered if she shouldn't be feeling grief for the parent she could not remember.
'Your nurse says you're making good progress,' the man who said he was her father's cousin remarked suddenly, and Jessica forced herself to try and act naturally.
'Yes,' she murmured. 'Apart from a few bumps and bruises, and a little shakiness, I'm feeling much better. As a matter of fact, I got up this morning for a couple of hours, and according to Dr Patel, I should be able to leave the hospital within the week.' She contrived to smile. 'Isn't it strange? I know what doctors and hospitals are. I even remember-trains, stuff like that. But I don't remember anything about myself.' Her voice rose a little, and she had to force it down again. 'Silly, isn't it? I really feel such a fraud.'
'It will come back,' said James Bentley reassuringly, regarding her intently from between his thick, stubby lashes. 'As far as I can gather, it's quite commonplace to lose one's memory after some terrible experience. And the accident was pretty terrible. You can take my word for that.'
Jessica expelled her breath a little more easily. 'Do you think so?' 'I know so.'
'But isn't it also true that one doesn't usually forget everything? I mean,' she paused, 'I could understand if I'd just forgotten the accident, and what happened immediately before it. But,' once again her voice rose, 'I don't remember anything. Not anything?. Isn't that stupid?'
Her voice broke on the final word, and she turned her head aside on the pillow, not wanting him to see the weak tears that overspilled her eyes at the reminder of her helplessness. Heavens, she chided herself impatiently, it wasn't as if she was completely alone in the world or anything. Obviously, she had cousins, and possibly there were other relatives she had yet to meet. Dr Patel had been curiously reluctant to talk about her family to her, encouraging her to try and remember for herself before confronting her with a ready-made biography. But 'Cousin James's' presence seemed to indicate he had given up on that diagnosis, and he had evidently decided she needed some assistance.
If she had been worried that James Bentley might rush to console her, she need not have concerned herself. After scrubbing the treacherous tears away with the heel of her hand, she turned her head again to find him watching her with a distinctly guarded expression on his face, and his apparent lack of sympathy made her ask impulsively, 'Shouldn't I remember you?'
She seemed to have disconcerted him now, for he removed the ankle he had raised to rest negligently across his knee, and, leaning forward with his arms along his thighs, he countered swiftly, 'What do you think?'
Jessica swallowed. 'What-what do I think?' she stammered uncertainly. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'No.' He straightened his spine and regarded her un-blinkingly for a moment. And then, as if accepting her word, he nodded. 'No, I see you don't. Well-that is quite a complication, isn't it?' His lips twisted. 'I wonder what Laura will try to make of this!'
'Laura?' Jessica seized on the name eagerly. 'Is that another cousin? Please, won't you tell me about my family? Dr Patel has been so vague, and I really want to know.'
James Bentley drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment and then frowned. 'What exactly did Patel tell you?' he asked, and Jessica wondered why he was asking. Surely he must know!
But he was clearly waiting for her answer, and, circling her lips with her tongue, she said carefully, 'He- he told me that my parents are dead; that my mother died some time ago, but that my father only died recently. You-I suppose you must be related to my grandfather's sister.'
James Bentley's eyes narrowed at this. 'Now, why should you think that?' he enquired suspiciously, as if she had said something wrong.
'Well -' Jessica chose her words with caution. 'As your name's not the same as mine. I mean, Dr Patel told me that my name's Devlin.'
The man who said he was her father's couiin seemed to relax a little. 'Ah,' he said, and nothing more for a little while, so that Jessica began to wish she had never asked the question.
The arrival of Dr Patel didn't resolve anything. Apparently his staff nurse had informed him that his patient had a visitor, and he was evidently eager to speak to anyone who could formally identify her.
'Staff says you're Mr Bentley, is that right?' the small, dapper Indian doctor enquired politely. 'I'm very pleased to meet you. Does this mean we will soon be losing our patient?'
James Bentley looked slightly taken aback. 'I beg your pardon...'
'Well, you are a relative, are you not?' Dr Patel commented evenly. 'I understand from my nurse that you're Miss Devlin's father's cousin. I am very glad to see you. Perhaps we can speak together for a few moments before you leave. Was my patient coming to stay with you? If so, I should like to discuss the treatment that will be necessary after she leaves the hospital.'
'Oh, but '
James Bentley seemed about to say something, but then he met Jessica's anxious gaze and seemed to change his mind.
'Very well,' he essayed instead, and for the remainder of Dr Patel's visit they discussed the less personal aspects of Jessica's condition, treating her, she felt, like the ignorant child she felt herself increasingly to be. If only she could remember, she thought despairingly, staring at this man who was related to her with desperate eyes. Surely she should remember something? Were all amnesiacs so devoid of memories?
The man who claimed to be her father's cousin left with Dr Patel. She was glad he didn't attempt to embrace her or kiss her before he went, even if it left their relationship still in that limbo land between what was real and what wasn't. She would have liked to have asked him more questions, but Dr Patel's arrival and his own strange reticence had precluded all but the most perfunctory of exchanges, and he didn't even say when- or even if-he intended to return.
Two days later, Jessica was well enough to spend most of the day out of bed, and she spent the greater part of that time seated in a chair by the open window. The weather was warm-almost unseasonably so, she knew- although once again how she knew that and not other things was a mystery to her. Nevertheless, it enabled her to wear only the silk neglige that matched the nightie they had found in her suitcase, and although she felt its lace-trimmed sleeves and hem were rather elaborate for a hospital patient, at least she felt some affinity with them as they were hers.
Although, she had to admit, the style of the night-clothes, and the day clothes, too, for that matter, did not seem all that familiar. The sable coat did seem vaguely familiar, or perhaps that was because they had said she was holding the coat when they found her. In any event, the clothes were hers, there was no question about that, and probably once she started wearing them again she would feel differently about them. She certainly hoped so. To believe anything else quickly led to panic.
She was sitting by the window when one of the junior nurses came to tell her she had a visitor.
'Is it James Bentley?' Jessica asked at once, conscious that she was suddenly hoping quite desperately that it was. The forty-eight hours since his first visit had passed infinitely more slowly than the hours before his arrival, and try as she might to convince herself that this was because she was becoming bored with hospital life, she knew in her heart of hearts that it was distinctly more complex than that. It wasn't as if he had made her feel a part of the family. On the contrary, she had had the definite impression that, as a family, they were anything but close. But, if he had come back to see her, perhaps she had been wrong. How could she make any assessment when she had no previous experience to go on?
But the person who followed the nurse into the room was most definitely not her father's cousin. It was a woman; a small, dainty pearl of a woman, with a curly aureole of silvery blonde hair framing features tinted with the delicate bloom of a rose. She was dressed in white, a soft chamois leather suit, that clung to her gentle curves with the tenacity of a second skin. High heels-heels that Jessica doubted she could ever walk in-added inches to her diminutive size, but no one could doubt her presence, or the disturbing air of calculation that came into the room with her.
Jessica hesitated, and then got nervously to her feet. 'I-should I know you?' she ventured, when the woman didn't immediately say anything. 'I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't remember.'
The woman gazed at her consideringly. 'I'm Laura Bentley,' she declared after a moment. 'Surely Jamie mentioned me.'
'Jamie? Oh, you mean you're related to James Bentley.' Unaccountably, Jessica's heart lurched. He had mentioned someone called Laura, but foolishly she had thought she would be older.
Laura Bentley's brows arched. 'So he didn't tell you,' she remarked, with biting certainty. 'I should have known he wouldn't. My dear, I am-I was-your father's wife. Adam Bentley was my husband. That's the only way Jamie and I are related.'
The young nurse apparently decided she wasn't needed, and beat a hasty retreat. Jessica wished she could do the same. What did this woman mean? She had been Jessica's father's wife? They had told her her mother was dead. Besides which, this woman was scarcely old enough for that.
'His-wife?' Jessica struggled to comprehend the fact that her father must have married twice. 'I see. You're my-stepmother. I'm sorry. I must seem addled. I just don't seem to '
'I'm not your stepmother,' said Laura Bentley shortly, withdrawing the matching leather gloves she was wearing from her hands, and using them to flex her fingers. 'Look,' she seemed to notice Jessica had gone rather pale, 'why don't you sit down? What I have to say might come as something of a shock.'
