The Stranger Came (9 page)

'No,'
she
said.
'Mrs
Stewart
is
perfectly
capable.
There's
no
need.
What
you
describe
seems
to
me
quite
a
new
idea.’
With
his
spoon
he
took
out
a
little
sweet
sediment
from
the
bottom
of
his
cup
and
licked
it
off.
'I've
only
met
one
person
called
Rintoul
in
my
whole
life.
It's
not
a
common name.
Maybe
I
should
tell
you
about
him
some
time.’

But
now,
the
deceptive
respite
over,
the
cloud
was
moving,
drifting,
its
shadow
pressing
back
the
light.
She
was
going
to
be
ill.
The
headache
would
wound
and
sicken
and
for
a
time
leave
her
blind.
Before
that
happened,
she
had
to
be
on
her
own.
Far
away
a
voice
made
her
excuse.
Guided
by
flickering
cracks
of
vision,
she
drew
herself
upwards,
clutching
the
banister
like
a
lifeline.
With
eyes
closed,
she
groped
along
the
upper
landing
and
reached
the
shelter
of
her
bedroom.
She
had
to
lie
down
but
it
would
bring
her
no
relief.
It
was
like
what
they
did
to
prisoners
–
everywhere
now
it
seemed
–
kept
them
awake until
they
were
broken.
If
someone
had
planned
this
for
her,
it
would
be
a
torment
like
theirs.
She
could
not
bear
it.

She
opened
her
eyes
against
the
glare
at
the
sound
of the
bedroom
door
being
opened.
He
was
standing
over
her.

'I
could
see
you
were
ill,'
he
said.
'You
don't
have
to suffer
it
on
your
own.
I
can
help.
I've
helped
other
people.’

'You're
not
a
doctor.’
She
wanted
him
to
say,
yes,
he
was.

'You
know
I'm
not.’

She
was
disappointed,
not
angry,
cruelly
disappointed.

'But
has
any
doctor
helped
you?
Haven't
you
always
hoped
for
help
instead
of
finding
it?'

It
was
true.

In
the
echoing
tilting
isolation
of
her
need,
she
cried,
I
believe
in
you.

Help
me.

It
didn't
take
much
to
amuse
students.
She
wondered,
though,
why
Maitland
felt
he
had
to
make
a
joke
at
that
point.
It
was
like
a
disclaimer;
for
she
knew
that
in
a
certain
mood
the
story
could
bring
tears
to
his
eyes.
It
had
been
a
long
time
since
she
had
heard
him
tell
it.

'Quite
alone
in
the
middle
of
the
night,
he
wrote
to
his
wife,
"My
brain
burns.
I
must
have
walked and
a
fearful dream
rises
upon
me.
I
cannot
bear
the
horrible
thought.
God
and
Father
of
the
Lord
Jesus
Christ,
have
mercy
upon
me.”’

Sophie,
had
that
been
her
first
name?
She
scanned
the
lines
of
heads
bent
before
her,
the
occasional
glimpse
of
a
profile.
The
girl
in
the
front
row
–
But
she
turned
to
smile
at
her
neighbour,
appreciating
something
Maitland
had
just
said,
the
little
chuckle
going
back
wave
on
wave,
ah,
they
appreciated,
all
of
them
appreciated
him
–
and,
no,
it
wasn't
Miss
Lindgren.
Sophie
…

When
she
came
out,
Sam
Wilson
was
lurking.
'Such
devotion!'
he
cried.
'Quite
beyond
the
call of
duty!'

Little
Sam,
as
Maitland
called
him,
which
was
unkind,
but
it
was
possible
not
to
feel
in
the
mood
for
yet
another
of
his
jokes
about
her
habit
of
slipping
in
to
sit
on
one
of
the
back
benches
if
she
had
to
wait
for
Maitland.
Why
should
he
care,
why
should
it
be
anyone's
business,
that
she
still
enjoyed
listening
to
her
husband
lecture?

On
the
fringe
of
the
loch
there
was
a
skin
of
ice.
'Should
I
feel
guilty?'
she
asked.

'He'll
have
gathered
ammunition
and
some
of
it
will
be useful,
but
I
can
manage
just
as
well
without
it.’

'All
the
same,
if
you
promised
to
go
over
his
paper
for
the
Dean's
meeting
…
'

'Don't
worry.
It's
too
fine
an
afternoon
to
spend
indoors
listening
to
Sam.
Anyway
all
the
horse
trading
has
been
done,
the
cuts
decided.
He
doesn't
understand
the
politics
of
this
place.’

'I
was
rude
to
him.
I
can
cope
usually.
It's
just
that
today
...’
She
sighed.
'He's
devoted
to
you.
I
should
like
him
for
that.
I
do
like
him.
It's
just
that
I
don't
see
why
it
should
make
him
jealous
of
everybody,
including
me.’

'He's
actually
fond
of
you,
give
him
half
a
chance. There's
a
streak
of
chivalry
in
little
Sam.’

'You
treat
him
badly.’

'Not
a
bit
of
it.’
Maitland
was
surprised.
'He
enjoys
making
drafts.
Getting
the
facts
marshalled.
Academics
love
that;
like
holding
meetings.
"On
a
point
of
order,
Vice
Chancellor.”
It
gives
them
–
us,
me
–
the
illusion
of
controlling
events.’

'Illusion?'
She
shivered.
'I
hadn't
realised
it
was
so
cold.
Take
my
hand –
feel
how
cold
it
is.’
From
the
top
of
the
bank
she
caught
glints
of
late
afternoon
sun
coming
up
from
the
ice.
'I'm
getting
old.’

'Rubbish!'
he
said.

'Ice,
already.
Sign
of
a
hard
winter.
Like
all
the
berries
on
the
rowans
or
when
the
starlings
leave.’

He
laughed
and
they
began
to
walk
again,
turning
back
in
the
direction
that
would
take
them
to
the
car park.

Under
the
clear
water
near
the
edge
she
could
see
smooth
round
pebbles
that
emerging
made
a
little
patch
of
shore.
On
the
other
side
of
the
loch,
the
low
white
buildings
of
the
administrative
block
and
residences
were
set
like
toys
at
the
foot
of
dark
soggy looking
hills.
The
site
was
beautiful
but
she
had
always
been
bothered
by
the
notion
that
the
University's
buildings
were
temporary and
out
of
place.
Perhaps
because
they
were
functional
in
style
and
of
concrete
they
could
only
seem
like
after
thoughts
in
this
dark
landscape.

'Country
lore,'
Maitland
said.

'What?'

'Rowans
and
starlings.
But
the
ice
has
more
to
do
with
the
hills
keeping
the
sun
away
most
of
the
day.
You
get
ice
on
that
stretch
in
August.’