The Reckoning, page 3
“We all are.”
The door to number three was ajar, and the muffled and reverent voices spilling out through the gap fell silent as the two women entered.
Helen was right – Alan Hendrick did look peaceful, his head tilted to one side and his eyes closed.
The doctor had placed Hendrick’s hands in his lap, and as Sadie wandered across to where his still form sat in the armchair, she reached out and touched his fingers.
“I’m going to miss you, Alan. And your stories.”
“The paperwork’s done,” said the doctor, turning his attention to Helen. “I’m happy for these two to take him now.”
“Thank you.” Helen’s voice floated across to where Sadie crouched, and she straightened as her supervisor gestured to the older of the two men from the funeral parlour. “Would you like to get him ready?”
Sadie stood to one side as the men unfolded a stretcher and gently lifted Hendrick onto it.
The younger man paused at Hendrick’s shoulder, his head bowed a moment before he held out a chain to Helen.
“There’s a key on this. Might be for the bureau over there, or something.”
“Thanks. I’ll take a look after he’s gone so we can make a list of everything.”
The man nodded and then draped a blanket over Hendrick before positioning himself to lift his end of the stretcher.
Sadie opened the door and stepped across the threshold to make way for them. When she glanced over her shoulder, she was astounded to see the other residents from the first floor standing next to the stairs, their heads bowed.
Crossing the landing she peered over the stair bannister to see the kitchen staff, cleaners and other nurses had done the same, forming an honour guard down the stairs and all the way to the front door.
Helen joined her. “It’s our way of showing our respect on their final journey.”
“It’s lovely.” Sadie fell into place beside her supervisor as the two funeral parlour workers passed, the stretcher carrying Alan Hendrick’s covered form borne between them as if it weighed little more than paper.
She wiped a tear from her eye as they continued down the stairs, recalling how delicate she’d thought the man as she’d helped him to his feet the night before.
“How about cracking open that Palinka he was always going on about and raising a toast?” Roger Sanders leaned over his walker and leered at the receding figures as they passed from sight.
“That’s not appropriate, Mr Sanders, as well you know,” Helen scolded him. “Now, isn’t it time for your medication?”
He grumbled under his breath but acquiesced as one of the day nurses reached the top of the stairs and advanced towards him.
With that the other residents departed, retreating to the privacy of their respective rooms.
Sadie noticed Evelyn lingered on the landing a moment longer, and then the woman gave her a slight nod and turned away.
When she too had gone back to her room, Sadie caught up with Helen.
“What if that altercation with Sanders last night caused Mr Hendrick’s heart to fail?”
“I don’t think so. The doctor said he showed no sign of stress. Besides, Alan was quite a robust character despite his heart condition.” She exhaled, then gestured down the stairs. “Go on – the dining room needs to be cleared up now breakfast is finished down there, and you’ll have to get Mrs Price ready to be collected at one o’clock this afternoon while I make a start going through Alan’s things and cataloguing them.”
“Life goes on,” Sadie murmured.
Chapter Seven
Sadie kept a watchful eye on Roger Sanders as he accompanied his daughter around the concrete path that bisected the landscaped gardens beyond the house.
She shivered, peering up at the grey clouds that shrouded the horizon, threatening rain.
Zipping up the black quilted coat she wore over her uniform, she sniffed the air. At the far end of the lawn, the contracted landscape gardener had started a small bonfire to cope with all the leaves he had raked from the paths around the property.
It would do no good at all if one of their residents slipped and fell.
“We’ll be off now.”
Duncan’s voice jolted Sadie from her daydreaming, and she turned to see him on the threshold, Evelyn’s arm looped through his as she left the reception area.
The chauffeur had already carried the two suitcases downstairs and placed them in the car, the portable record player treated with particular reverence.
“Wait here a moment, Mrs Price,” he said. “I’ll get the door open first.”
“I hope you found everything all right during your stay…” said Sadie, the words dying on her lips. “I’m sorry. I realise this morning has been traumatic.”
The older woman moved to where she stood beyond the portico.
“It was simply Mr Hendrick’s time.” Evelyn looked up at the Georgian façade, her eyes wistful.
“I suppose so. That’s what Helen said earlier.” Sadie offered her arm and walked side by side with the woman to the car, nodding to Duncan as he opened the back door. “I hope your recovery continues to go well, Mrs Price.”
“I’m sure it will. I have a few more appointments to keep, but I’m determined to make every one of them count.”
Evelyn turned and rested her hand on Duncan’s outstretched arm before lowering herself onto the back seat.
The chauffeur made sure she was comfortable, then closed the door and faced Sadie, shaking his head.
“An amazing woman,” he said, his voice full of awe. “Hard to believe she’s in her nineties now. Rumour has it she worked for SOE during the war.”
“SOE?”
“Secret Service.”
“But I thought she sang. She said she used to entertain the troops. And act.”
“Oh, she was an actress all right. God knows what she got up to behind enemy lines. They’ve never done an official count of how many lives she saved. Or killed.”
Sadie blinked, aware that her mouth had dropped open.
The back door to the car opened, a leathery forearm visible in the gap between the hand rest and the darkened interior.
“Duncan? It’s time to go. Hurry, or else I shall be late for my next appointment.”
The chauffeur shot Sadie a rueful smile as the door slammed shut. “You heard her. We’ll be off. Thanks for making her stay comfortable.”
Sadie spun on her heel and raced through the front door, up the stairs.
She found Helen in Alan Hendrick’s room, standing by the window while she held a faded photograph up to the light.
“I found out who Evelyn was, what she did,” she blurted.
Her supervisor said nothing for a moment and instead turned the photograph around in a shaking hand. “Hendrick wasn’t who he said he was, either.”
“What?”
The image was yellowed with age.
In the background, a high wire fence was secured into place with concrete posts. Behind the wire, skeletal people wearing dirty striped shirts and matching trousers stared at the photographer, their expressions conveying despair, starvation, horror.
In front of the wire fence, Alan Hendrick stood stock-still, his spine rigid.
Sadie’s eyes took in the black uniform, the polished calf-high boots, the skull and crossbones cap badge.
He held up a pocket watch on a chain, dangling it so that the light caught the gold casing.
Even with the passing of time, she recognised it.
“Where did you find this?” Sadie took the photograph, afraid that Helen would drop the frame, and stared at the image.
“Locked away in the bureau. There’s more,” said Helen. “Diaries. Lists. Medals he was given by Hitler.”
Bile rose in Sadie’s throat as she stared at the young man in uniform.
She raised her gaze to the crystal antiques that lined the shelf and then her eyes fell to the pocket watch on the bedside table, its dials frozen in time.
“He didn’t steal the Kommandant’s goat, did he?” she managed. “He was the Kommandant. He took all of these trinkets from those poor people.”
“What do we do?”
“I think it’s already been done,” said Sadie, dropping the photograph onto the armchair beside the window.
She raised her gaze to the panes in time to see the black car passing the manicured lawn and rhododendron bushes that lined the driveway, the licence plate obscured by billowing smoke from the gardener’s bonfire.
Its brake lights flashed once when it reached the gateposts, and then Evelyn Price was gone.
“If that’s your name,” Sadie whispered.
* * *
THE END
About the Author
Rachel Amphlett is a USA Today bestselling author of crime fiction and spy thrillers, many of which have been translated worldwide.
Her novels are available in eBook, print, and audiobook formats from libraries and retailers as well as her website shop.
A keen traveller, Rachel has both Australian and British citizenship.
Find out more about Rachel’s books at: www.rachelamphlett.com.
Rachel Amphlett, The Reckoning
