Appointment with Death Read Free Page B

Lennox.’
    Ordinary commonplace tourist’s talk. And yet, somehow, Dr Gerard felt a queer conviction that these overheard scraps of dialogue were all singularly unreal. They were a mask—a cover for something that surged and eddied underneath—something too deep and formless for words…Again he shot a covert glance from behind the shelter of Le Matin .
    Lennox? That was the elder brother. The same family likeness could be traced, but there was a difference. Lennox was not so highly strung; he was, Gerard decided, of a less nervous temperament. But about him, too, there seemed something odd. There was no sign of muscular tension about him as there was about the other two. He sat relaxed, limp. Puzzling, searching among memories of patients he had seen sitting like that in hospital wards, Gerard thought:
    â€˜He is exhausted —yes, exhausted with suffering. That look in the eyes—the look you see in a wounded dog or a sick horse—dumb bestial endurance…It is odd, that…Physically there seems nothing wrong with him…Yet there is no doubt that lately he has been through much suffering—mental suffering—now he no longer suffers—he endures dumbly—waiting, I think, for the blow to fall…What blow? Am I fancying allthis? No, the man is waiting for something, for the end to come. So cancer patients lie and wait, thankful that an anodyne dulls the pain a little…’
    Lennox Boynton got up and retrieved a ball of wool that the old lady had dropped.
    â€˜Here you are, Mother.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    What was she knitting, this monumental impassive old woman? Something thick and coarse. Gerard thought: ‘Mittens for inhabitants of a workhouse!’ And smiled at his own fantasy.
    He turned his attention to the youngest member of the party—the girl with the golden-red hair. She was, perhaps, nineteen. Her skin had the exquisite clearness that often goes with red hair. Although over thin, it was a beautiful face. She was sitting smiling to herself—smiling into space. There was something a little curious about that smile. It was so far removed from the Solomon Hotel, from Jerusalem…It reminded Dr Gerard of something…Presently it came to him in a flash. It was the strange unearthly smile that lifts the lips of the Maidens in the Acropolis at Athens—something remote and lovely and a little inhuman…The magic of the smile, her exquisite stillness gave him a little pang.
    And then with a shock, Dr Gerard noticed her hands. They were concealed from the group round her by thetable, but he could see them clearly from where he sat. In the shelter of her lap they were picking—picking—tearing a delicate handkerchief into tiny shreds.
    It gave him a horrible shock. The aloof remote smile—the still body—and the busy destructive hands…

Chapter 4
    There was a slow asthmatic wheezing cough—then the monumental knitting woman spoke.
    â€˜Ginevra, you’re tired, you’d better go to bed.’
    The girl started, her fingers stopped their mechanical action. ‘I’m not tired, Mother.’
    Gerard recognized appreciatively the musical quality of her voice. It had the sweet singing quality that lends enchantment to the most commonplace utterances.
    â€˜Yes, you are. I always know. I don’t think you’ll be able to do any sightseeing tomorrow.’
    â€˜Oh! but I shall. I’m quite all right.’
    In a thick hoarse voice—almost a grating voice, her mother said: ‘No, you’re not. You’re going to be ill.’
    â€˜I’m not! I’m not!’
    The girl began trembling violently.
    A soft, calm voice said: ‘I’ll come up with you, Jinny.’
    The quiet young woman with wide, thoughtful grey eyes and neatly-coiled dark hair rose to her feet.
    Old Mrs Boynton said: ‘No. Let her go up alone.’
    The girl cried: ‘I want Nadine to