*
The gardener, Mr Underhill, was old but still strong, his wife had died of cancer many years before and he’d never thought to find someone else. Their marriage had been childless and he’d resigned himself to serving the garden for the rest of his years. At five minutes to midnight he stood waiting under the dark overhanging branches of an ancient Willow tree waiting, hoping, for another glimpse of his Midnight Orchid. It was last summer when he first suspected that it might be about to bloom, he had found a scattering of cut twigs and leaves under the big old tree that grew close to the house. Curious as to their origin he climbed up into the tree to see from where they had been cut, at first he was puzzled, and he sat in the tree for a while until the answer came to him. He smiled to himself. Since then he regularly hid in the garden hoping she would appear. This night was cold and clear, lit by a bright half moon, he took up his hiding place under the curtain of Willow branches and waited, it was nearly an hour before Cairo appeared on the window balcony above the tree, she was wearing her white sleeping gown and had tied back her long dark hair with blue ribbons. She floated on the balcony in the midnight breeze. Mr Underhill sighed softly and whispered to himself,
“Ah, as beautiful as a Midnight Orchid.” He watched her climb gracefully down into the tree and drop to earth like a faery princess.
He studied her as she danced around the garden, she was as delightful as the flowers he nurtured so carefully all year round. She scampered here and there, sometimes out of sight, sometimes going very close to where Mr Underhill was hidden.
“Don't step on the shadows!” She called softly to one or all of her imaginary friends. He had watched her on so many nights she had danced her way into Mr Underhill’s heart, he fell in love with her, as he loved the garden, she was a rare and beautiful addition to his garden that although he could not water or prune her he would watch over her, day and night, to make sure that she grew strong and healthy. Quietly, to himself, he pledged his life to her, his very own Midnight Orchid.
Cairo danced and played until dawn, shaking off the dust of a day spent dashing through the corridors. Mr Underhill watched with sadness as she climbed wearily back into the tree, his own fingers clenched tight as she gripped the rope to pull herself up, he wanted to run out to her and lift her to safety but he knew that he shouldn’t. When she was gone he made his way back to his shack near the woods, he lay down to rest. In the moments before sleep he heard dogs barking.
London, Hospital
Walther was awake in hospital. A nurse and a doctor turned at the muffled grunting,
“I think he's trying to say something!” The muffled sounds coming through Walther’s bandages could not be understood by either of them.
“Don't try to talk!” The man spoke slowly and clearly trying to make sure that Walther could understand him.
“Your face is heavily bandaged, we've had to perform some delicate reconstruction work on your jaw and cheek bones, so please don't try to speak just yet. You are in hospital and you're going to be all right!” The man flashed Walther his best reassuring smile and stepped backwards out of eyesight. Walther collapsed inwardly, he could tell that it was hopeless trying to communicate at that moment, he would have to wait to find out if Susan was okay. Gradually he drifted back to sleep.
Norfolk
After three hours of driving Susan turned off the main Norwich-to-Fakenham road into a narrow country lane. She was in the ancient unchanged countryside of Norfolk, the lane sloped gently downhill between farmland and woods towards a river, she recognised the old mill on her right as she passed over the single span stone bridge and knew that just around the bend she would see the village church. The sun was shining and there was a touch of Spring in the air, the village green was aglow with Daffodils, she was amazed that everything in the village looked pretty much the same as the last time she had seen it, ten years earlier.
Her parents' cottage, the house that she was born in and had called home for most of her life, was down an unsurfaced track that ran past the side of the village Pub and ended by the church fence. She parked on the shingled area in the front garden, feeling nervous about seeing the old cottage again, ghosts of her parent's untimely deaths haunted her dreams and she'd spent years trying to block out the memories.
She stepped out of her car and immediately felt that something wasn't right about the place, but it took several moments for her to realise what it was, the house looked too neat and tidy. She had been expecting to find an old ruin with weeds and mile-high grass for a front garden, instead she saw that the front lawn had recently been mown and the rendered walls of the cottage had been painted, the thatching was all intact, it looked as if the house was lived in. She was confused, as far as she knew no one had rented the house and she had not paid anyone to maintain it. With a small suitcase in her left hand she walked slowly to the front door catching a reflection of her bandaged cheek in a window as she dug into her handbag for the keys. Without warning a loud voice called out from behind her,
“I say! Can I help you? There's no one in the house at the moment!”
Susan felt hot and bothered, she had no desire to meet people in her present condition, but she recognised the voice and knew there would be no escape,
“Hello Vicar.” She replied simply as she turned. He stared at her for a moment, then a flash of recognition passed across his face,
“It is you! My goodness how delightful! After all this time! How lovely to see you. Have you come back to stay?” As he approached he put his arms out to Susan who responded by forcing a smile. He looked closely at her bandaged face until she became even more uncomfortable. She replied in a cool dispassionate voice,
“No, I'm just visiting.” She really wished he would go away.
“Oh that is a pity! It would be so nice if the old cottage was lived in again!” Susan had found the front door key and wanted to go inside to get away from him, not because she disliked the kindly old man but because she was ashamed and embarrassed about her face and her reason for being there. And then she was dismayed when he reached out and took the key from her fingers,
“Let me open the door for you!” She remembered that he always had spoken too loudly, with an inward sigh she let him open the door and follow her inside. The junk-mail was piled neatly on the hall table with another larger pile underneath, next to that was a large cardboard box full of what looked like things to go to a car-boot sale. She was confused and had to ask,
“Vicar, what's going on? Someone's been coming into the house and cleaning up, and who's been doing the gardening?” The Vicar looked slightly embarrassed,
“Well my dear, I do hope you don't mind, it was me. I've been looking in on the old place from time to time, it seemed such a shame to let it fall into rack and ruin, and I've always hoped, in fact all of us hoped, that some day you would coming back.” Susan did not like the sound of ‘all of us’, “Perhaps it was a mistake to come back.” she thought but said nothing and walked into the living room. Vicar followed closely, still chattering,
“And as for the garden, that's been looked after by young Tommy Paston, you remember Tommy don't you?” She certainly did remember him, they had been close friends at school, almost inseparable, she hadn't seen him since she left for University, she was slightly surprised that he had stayed in the village remembering that he wanted to be a rock singer.
“He'll be thrilled to see you again!” The Vicar added. She whirled on him instantly,
“No! Don't tell him I'm here! I don't want to see anyone!” Susan spat out the words harshly, taking the Vicar by surprise. He again looked at her closely before gently asking,
“Don't you really mean that you don't want anyone to see you?…” He pointed at her face, “…Something terrible has happened and you’ve come home to hide from it.” Susan glared at him. She hated him being right, she did want to hide from people.
“I just want to be alone for a while. That's all.” She had to try hard to keep do
wn her rising anger, “Why won't he just take the hint and piss off!” They’d drifted into the kitchen and the vicar went straight to the kettle,
“A cup of tea is what you need my dear, allow me to be mother.”
Susan excused herself and went to the bathroom, by the time she returned he was pouring into two cups,
“There you are, come and sit down, you must be tired from your journey. This will be a nice little pick-me-up.” She obediently sat at the kitchen table opposite him, hiding her shaking hands in her lap. He smiled, and with as much gentleness as he could muster asked,
“Have you been in a, erm, accident? A car perhaps?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise when Susan laughed loudly and bitterly, looked him in the eyes and ripped the bandage from her cheek. Rising to her feet she shouted,
“Ever seen a crash do this to someone's face!” She leaned forward across the table, turning her ruined cheek towards him, almost threateningly. The Vicar turned white, unable to speak, he was genuinely horrified. She ranted at him,
“Can you read it all right! Do you want to put your glasses on to get a better look!? Are you satisfied now?!” Susan vented her anger on him, unfairly she knew, but she didn't care, he shouldn't have been so nosey, she thought to herself. She watched as he tremblingly picked up his tea.
“Who needs a pick-me-up now?” She thought cruelly.