‘China?’
‘Mitch, thank God. I thought you’d never wake up.’ Claire bent down and kissed him. She turned and waved to the nurse at the far end of the ward. She was speaking on the telephone and at the same time reading a document by the light of a small lamp. Claire waved again, but the nurse was engrossed and didn’t acknowledge her. ‘As soon as the professor has been to see you, I am taking you home.’
‘Forgive me, Simone. I am sorry,’ Mitch whispered and closed his eyes.
‘You have nothing to be forgiven for, darling,’ Claire said. She stroked his hair. He was asleep.
Releasing his hand, Claire stood up and waved to the nurse again. This time the nurse saw her. She immediately put down the telephone, clicked off the lamp, and walked briskly down the ward.
‘He woke up and said--’ Claire didn’t want to say, Simone, ‘my name, but went straight back to sleep.’
The nurse bustled round to the far side of Mitch’s bed, took hold of his wrist and checked his pulse. ‘Normal. It won’t be long before he’s fully awake.’
Claire wanted to say You said that hours ago. Instead, she said, ‘In that case, would you stay with him while I pop to the lavatory?’
‘Of course. It’s at the end of the corridor.’ Claire looked at her husband, a worried expression on her face. Who is, or was, Simone? The nurse, misinterpreting Claire’s concern said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t leave him until you get back.’
The bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling of the stark white concrete and tiled washroom created shadows everywhere. Claire shivered. Washing her hands she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Dark rings under her eyes made her look ghoulish. She felt tired - and worried. Mitch had called her Simone. She racked her brain. There had been no one in the Resistance cells they’d worked with called Simone. He could have known her before the war, or she could have been someone in the village where he was taken after he’d been shot, someone who had looked after him. Maybe it was a woman from the prison where he was held in France.
Or… Claire’s heart began to drum as the realisation struck her. He had spent eight, maybe ten, weeks away from home on Air Force business during the past year. He had been back to Canada twice. Or was it three times? Her head was spinning. Could he have met Simone then? Did he have an affair with this woman, fall in love with her even, and was now asking for forgiveness?
The door opened, making Claire jump. ‘Your husband is awake and asking for you, Mrs Mitchell,’ the nurse said sternly.
‘Thank you.’ Claire pushed a rogue curl from her forehead and followed the nurse back to the ward.
She had been longer in the washroom than she had intended. When she returned to the ward Professor Puel was at Mitch’s bedside talking to him. She sighed with relief. Her husband was awake. The professor, wearing a dark charcoal coloured suit, white shirt and black bowtie, was tall and slim with fair greying hair and piercing pale blue eyes. It looked to Claire as if he was saying something her husband didn’t agree with or didn’t know. Shaking his head, Mitch shouted, ‘I don’t know, I tell you. I don’t remember!’
As she approached the professor raised his voice and, as if for Claire’s benefit, he said, ‘So, Captain, you don’t remember anything of what we talked about yesterday?’
Mitch’s brow creased. His eyes searched the professor’s face as if what he had said the day before was just out of his reach and would come to him from some dark corner of his mind. Then he shook his head. ‘No. There was something, and it was important, but it has gone. I just have a feeling of sadness; of sorrow. I felt angry when we were talking yesterday, I remember that, but I don’t know why. And…’ He struggled for the word, ‘Remorse,’ he said at last. ‘It’s as if I did something shameful that I regret, which I need to put right, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is.’ Tears filled his eyes.
Claire stepped between Mitch and the professor. ‘My husband has had enough treatment for one day,’ she said. ‘If you have finished with him, I should like to take him home!’
‘Of course, Mrs Mitchell. My secretary will telephone with the date and time of the captain’s next appointment.’ He saluted Mitch and offered Claire his hand. ‘Mrs Mitchell?’
Claire shook the professor’s hand, briefly. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Would you like to telephone for a taxi, or for someone to fetch you, Mrs Mitchell?’ the nurse asked when Professor Puel had left.
‘No, thank you.’
‘I’m afraid Captain Mitchell won’t be able to drive for twenty-four hours. Not until the sedative is completely out of his system.’
‘Then it’s a good job I’m driving,’ Claire said. The nurse looked surprised. ‘I drove here, so I’m sure I’ll be able to drive my husband home.’ She took Mitch’s shoes from under the bed and pushed them towards him. ‘Close your mouth darling and put on your shoes.’
On the way to the car park, Mitch began to laugh. Claire glared at him. ‘What?’
‘You, driving. Are you serious?’
‘How the hell do you think I got here, Mitch? When Professor Puel’s secretary telephoned, she sounded worried. So, I jumped in your car and came straight here.’
‘Where’s Aimée?’
Naomi took her to school. I asked her to telephone Marie when she got back and ask her to pick Aimée up after school and take her to her house. We’re here,’ Claire said, putting the key in the lock of the car’s passenger door. ‘Get in.’
‘Are you annoyed with me, honey?’ Mitch asked, when Claire slammed the driver’s door.
‘Not
