The Winter Foundlings (33 page)

‘Poor thing.’ She sounded as sympathetic as ever. ‘At least you can let your hair down tonight.’

Snow was falling again as we drove, large flakes littering the windscreen, but my heart lifted when the cottage’s silhouette appeared between the trees. The temperature inside was colder than before, and when I reached the ground-floor bathroom it was easy to see why. The window had been forced open, freezing air spilling through the gap. I held my breath and listened. The only sound was the drone of Judith’s car revving on the drive. My intruder must have vanished a long time ago, but I was still shaking as I made my way upstairs. I paused in the bedroom to catch my breath. It looked as though nothing had been taken, my jewellery box still sitting on the dressing table. But part of me was afraid that he might still be lurking behind a closed door, so I flung a dress and some high heels into a bag and ran back downstairs. The living room looked untouched too. I went back to the bathroom and pulled the window shut. Judith was tooting her horn, eager to get home. Phoning the local police could wait until tomorrow. I reminded myself that – compared to Alan Nash’s injuries – a break-in was nothing to complain about.

Judith talked about Garfield constantly on the way to her house, so keen to air her fears that I didn’t mention the broken window or my visit to Pru’s studio. She still seemed convinced he would leave his wife, her voice full of artificial brightness. It would have been cruel to say that the odds were poor; her face lit up whenever she mentioned his name.

The snow had eased by the time we reached her house, and I realised why she missed her family. The place was a huge Georgian rectory, sandwiched between a graveyard and a church, ten minutes from the nearest village. It would have made a great boutique hotel, but it seemed like a daunting home for someone living alone.

‘It’s stunning, Judith.’

‘You think so?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My husband had delusions of grandeur when we bought it. These days he shares a flat with his juvenile girlfriend.’

She raced around like a whirlwind when we got inside, tidying up and preparing food. Her flagstoned kitchen was so vast that I had to raise my voice to be heard on the other side of the room. We spent the next twenty minutes preparing the buffet, putting mini-quiches on plates, and scooping salads into bowls. Judging by the number of wine glasses she put out, she was expecting a small army.

‘Let’s get changed,’ she said. ‘Then we can chill before they get here.’

Judith’s bohemian chic permeated the whole house. My room on the second floor had a lit-bateau bed and drawings of Indian gods and goddesses hanging from the walls. I admired them while I got ready. They were the opposite of Pru’s warrior children, their faces so tranquil that nothing could dent their serenity, headdresses traced in gold. Judith was singing to herself in the room next door. It reminded me of my grandmother’s favourite torch songs, Dusty Springfield or Billie Holiday, deliciously mournful. I inspected myself in the mirror and realised that my dark red dress needed an accessory.

I tapped on Judith’s door then entered her room. It felt like I was visiting an art museum, crammed with artefacts. Every surface was filled with Asian statuettes and carvings, and Judith was almost hidden among the furniture, finishing her eye make-up. She laughed when she saw me gazing around the room.

‘Relics from too many holidays. I can never resist bringing something back.’

‘It’s like Aladdin’s cave in here. Have you got a necklace I can borrow?’

‘You came to the right place.’ Her jewellery box was the size of a small trunk, bracelets and beads hanging from hooks on the lid. ‘Take whatever you like.’

I chose a heavy silver choker that fitted snugly against my collarbone.

‘It looks valuable. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘It’s perfect for you.’ Judith looked dreamier than ever, in a floaty pale grey dress, eyes outlined with kohl.

When we got back to the kitchen she poured me some wine and began to unwrap a large birthday cake.

‘You’ve really gone to town,’ I commented.

‘Tom needs people to make a fuss of him.’ She studied me carefully. ‘Have you been seeing him?’

‘Just as friends.’

‘That’s probably just as well. I think he finds relationships tough. He saw a nurse from work for a few months last year, but things got out of hand.’

‘In what way?’

‘I’m not sure. Rumours were flying everywhere, but I ignored them. The girl ended up leaving her job.’

I gulped down a mouthful of wine. The more I heard about Tom, the more it seemed I’d had a lucky escape.

57

Gorski arrived on the stroke of eight. He was clutching a bottle of wine, and he’d abandoned his suit in favour of jeans and a jacket. Only his sharp-toed shoes and forbidding expression were carried over from his daytime uniform. Judith scurried away to greet the next arrival when we reached the kitchen, and it was clear that I’d have to work hard to start a conversation.

‘Do you live near here?’ I asked.

‘Pretty near, but my house is less palatial.’ Gorski almost managed a smile. ‘Do you see now why I warned you about the Laurels? What happened to your colleague today could happen to any of us.’

‘Of course. It’s the last place you can let down your guard.’

We made halting small talk for the next few minutes, but he seemed relieved when the room filled, because it allowed him to retreat into the shadows. Social gatherings seemed to cause him so much discomfort, I wondered why he’d bothered to come.

Tom arrived fashionably late with his sidekick in tow. Chris Steadman raised his hand in an awkward wave, and I felt certain that he knew about the argument at the pub. But at least the birthday boy looked more relaxed. He stood chatting to people on the opposite side of the kitchen. Most of the guests were from the Laurels, only a few from other parts of the hospital. As the conversation rose in volume I heard Kinsella’s name being mentioned repeatedly, everyone bursting with gossip about the extent of Alan Nash’s injuries. He had been rushed to Reading Hospital for a corneal graft. It struck me that working at Northwood made people immune to the suffering of others, but maybe that was inevitable. Witnessing so many suicide attempts and brutal attacks would harden anyone after a while.

Judith seemed intent on being the perfect hostess, but even she couldn’t keep Tom amused. He looked preoccupied while a gorgeous red-haired girl used every trick in the book to claim his attention. I helped myself to some pâté and got chatting to a woman who turned out to be a great storyteller. Her name was Michelle and she’d been a nurse at Northwood for over a decade, developing a repertoire of hospital humour. She told me about an inmate who had dangled another by his ankles from a fifth-floor window, and it didn’t matter whether the incident was fact or fiction. She turned the incident into a comedy sketch; it was a relief to laugh helplessly at her jokes.

My phone buzzed as Judith was unloading desserts from the fridge, and I slipped out into the hallway. The latest message was from Burns, a cryptic ‘so far so good’, letting me know that Kinsella’s warning had come to nothing. Lola had sent a text too, reminding me to meet her at Charndale Station the next afternoon, and I couldn’t help smiling. Despite my warnings about the lacklustre hotel, she was still determined to visit.

When I got back to the kitchen, Tom was blowing out the candles on his cake. The redhead’s simpering had gone into overdrive, but he seemed unaware of it. Part of his appeal lay in the fact that he rarely noticed people’s admiration – all of his gestures were simple and matter of fact, and he never flaunted his good looks. I felt a tug of regret, but knew a relationship was a non-starter. We were far too similar and, unlike Burns, he carried his feelings deep below the surface, burying his intellect in a job that never challenged him. There was a wistful expression on his face as he watched Judith cutting the cake. He must have longed for family parties as a teenager, his adolescence marred by loneliness. Any partner he chose would spend a lifetime compensating for all his losses.

People drifted into the living room when the food started to run out. The room looked like the interior of a shabby chic French hotel, sofas covered in delicate embroidered throws. Chris was kneeling by the sound system, preparing the soundtrack for yet another Northwood party. By the time Judith reappeared, Emeli Sandé was purring quietly in the background.

‘You’re doing it again,’ she whispered, ‘observing people. Go and talk to Aleks, will you? He needs cheering up.’

Gorski was by himself, staring intently at a painting on the wall. He raised his eyebrows when he saw me approaching. ‘Judith sent you, didn’t she? That woman’s biggest flaw is taking care of everyone but herself.’

‘Isn’t altruism meant to be a virtue?’

‘Not when it takes over. Too much care for others is self-annihilating.’

‘Spoken like a true shrink.’ I grinned and raised my glass.

Eventually I coaxed a potted biography from him. He’d left Warsaw as a child, trained at Bart’s in London, then worked his way through the ranks at Northwood.

‘Why the Laurels? Your life would have been easier in general psychiatry.’

Gorski frowned. ‘Because it’s the last frontier. Nowhere else deals with such severe psychosis – everything we do is cutting edge.’

The frontier analogy rang true. Interviewing Kinsella was like interpreting a foreign language, a mile-wide gulf between us. When I looked up again, Judith was beckoning frantically, and I was about to make my excuses when Gorski spoke again. I’d never seen him smile before. His teeth were sharp-edged and unnaturally white, and there was something disturbing about the intensity of his stare.

‘I made my mind up about you, by the way.’

‘Sorry?’ I gave him a confused smile.

‘You’re a lion tamer, obviously. I should have realised on day one.’

I remembered our first conversation and wanted to ask what he meant, but Judith was still trying to get my attention. The party was in full swing as I made my way over, the noise of people’s chatter rising steadily. When I got closer her face was shining too brightly, like a light bulb just before it fails.

‘Garfield’s on his way here,’ she said.

She sounded jubilant, and I felt a pang of sympathy for his wife, pining for him at home. But there was no time to worry, because things swung into fast forward. An influx of guests arrived from the late shift at Northwood, with offerings of beer. The knowledge that Garfield was on his way had released Judith’s inner party animal. She circulated the room, chivvying guests onto their feet. Soon people were dancing in front of the fire, and the atmosphere reminded me of the Rookery, with plenty of flirting and discreet joints being smoked in the porch. The redhead was still clinging to Tom’s side, and I found myself dancing to my favourite singer, To Be Frank, while Michelle and another nurse performed a reel. Chris appeared beside us. His dancing style was chaotic, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, a broad grin plastered across his face.

‘Where’s the new girlfriend?’ Michelle teased him.

‘Coming over next weekend. She doesn’t do parties, she’s the studious type.’

‘I haven’t even met her yet.’

He let out a laugh. ‘That’s what scares me, Michelle. You’ll eat her alive.’

A few songs later I caught sight of him on the other side of the room, but this time Pru Fielding was beside him. She must have arrived with the latecomers, and she was making up for lost time. She was fiddling with her hair nervously as she tried to monopolise Chris’s attention. I felt a pang of guilt about my decision to recommend that she be given a psychiatric assessment, but I knew I’d made the right call. Someone that vulnerable shouldn’t be surrounding herself with so much torment.

It was after midnight when Garfield finally arrived. Through the open doorway I saw Judith rush to him. The crowd was thinning and I wished I had a lift back to the hotel instead of cramping their style. Gorski was still in the kitchen, talking to a bearded man with an earnest expression, and my head was starting to throb.

‘Come on everyone, a drink to welcome Garfield,’ Judith insisted.

She looked so radiant, I didn’t have the heart to say that I’d rather curl up in bed and let the party finish without me. But Garfield seemed in need of a pick-me-up, his wide shoulders hunched, as though the day’s burdens still weighed on him. By now Tom was alone, studying the fire. He looked far too sober for someone celebrating a birthday. Judith insisted on refilling everyone’s glasses, even though Chris was obviously over the limit. He was leaning heavily on the mantelpiece, as if he was willing himself to stay upright. When the toast finished, Gorski gave Judith a brisk kiss on the cheek, then strode towards the door. Moments later I heard his car engine choking into life outside.

I sat on the sofa nursing my untouched wine, with no intention of drinking it. The room was already blurring at the edges – lamps and coffee tables swaying dizzily towards me. When I opened my eyes again, Tom was beside me, his pale gaze monitoring my face.

‘Are you okay, Alice?’

‘A bit tipsy, that’s all.’

‘More drunk than tipsy, I’d say.’ A brief smile crossed his face. ‘I can drive you to the hotel if you like.’

I didn’t reply, because the room had stopped swaying and begun to spin, which seemed odd, because I’d paced myself all evening, drinking more water than wine. Garfield loomed over me, and I heard his smooth voice instructing someone to help carry me upstairs.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I remembered the humiliation of being laid on the divan, and Judith’s voice echoing from the landing. Tom’s face was the last thing I saw. He leant over me, and for some reason I felt afraid. Relief washed over me as soon as the door closed. The scent of lavender clung to the sheets as I struggled to get comfortable. I drifted in and out of sleep, wishing the furniture would stop shuffling across the floor. My mouth felt dry as sawdust, but I was too weak to go hunting for a glass of water. Someone else was restless too. Footsteps passed on the stairway, slow and quiet, determined not to wake the other guests. I buried my head in the pillow and forced my eyes to close.