Read Online Night Visit by Priscilla Masters - Free Book Online Page A

her.’ She gave an abstracted smile. ‘Silly, isn’t it, Doctor, the way we clutch at straws.’ Then she closed the door firmly behind her.
    I felt altered all the way back down to the town. It was as though the story of the missing child had wrought a catharsis.
    She felt like my responsibility.
    Everywhere looked different, the cliff, clearly visible from the road, jagged and dangerous to a child, the causeway, the Heron Pool, where it was easy to slip through the reeds, easy to fall and be swallowed up in the still water. And the winding lane seemed menacingly remote and deserted. As I drove through the trees I kept turning my head quickly as though I might catch a glimpse of the child even though I knew it was not possible. Maybe it was the ridiculous name by which her grandparents had called her but she didn’t seem a real kid, like Rosie. Rather she was a wraith, something that could still jump out from behind a tree even though she had vanished ten years before. In fact the child’s presence was so strong that I tilted my rear view mirror, sure I would catch sight of her. Even in the water I searched for her reflection and when a wood pigeon burst through the trees my heart skipped a couple of beats. The cloudburst seemed to echo the threat and I switched my windscreen wipers and lights on. The sun had vanished. I was glad to return to town and civilisation.
    *
    The Lazy Trout was an old stamping ground of ours, a beamed black and white pub with roaring fires and a menu that would convert an anorexic. Robin and I had patronised it when I had first joined the practice seven years ago and our lively, two-year-old toddler had made us the pariahs of most civilised restaurants.
    It was a clever choice of Robin’s, calculated to evoke memories of happier times. Even sliding the Carlton next to the black Mercedes conjured up some vivid memories. When we had first come here I had been enthused by my vision of general practice, something to do with generous government funding plus a certain youthful optimism. Robin had swum along with my dream, like the lazy trout of the pub. Yet, almost unnoticed by me, his accountancy business had also flourished. Whatever virtues he had—charm, a head for figures, business sense—they had all combined to make him successful.
    And me?
    I got threatened by a druggie because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted and still had to tumble out of bed in response to my patients’ sometimes unreasonable demands. Times had changed. I locked my car door, skirted a deep puddle and entered the pub.
    Inside there was the wonderful scent of bacon frying combined with some ancient muck from farmers’ wellies. This was not a pub to stand on ceremony, not some ‘country pub’ dreamed up by the brewers to hoodwink townies but a working pub that catered for locals and merely tolerated tourists.
    The lounge bar was kept permanently darkened by tiny windows and a low, beamed ceiling on which Robin had hit his head more than once. In the corner stood wooden Edwardian bar skittles beneath a bowed, glass case containing a stuffed trout. Lazy this one certainly was.
    I picked Robin out immediately, leaning against the bar, chatting to some of the locals. It was one of his most dubious charms that although throughout our married life I had invariably waited for him on any social occasion, when on a date he was unfailingly punctual.
    His mistresses had fared better than his wife. But, I considered with amusement, now that I was disengaging myself from being his wife was I elevated to the position of mistress? Was this a surreptitious date? Did Janina know he was meeting me?
    I found the thought amusing and gave Robin a warmer smile than I had planned. The idea of Robin sneaking off to meet me was attractive. I studied the blunt, good humoured face before standing on tip toes and kissing him on the cheek. He felt the same, slightly scratchy, aftershave tangy but faint. Collar crisp, scent of spray starch.
    I