The Forgotten Letters of Esther Durrant - Kayte Nunn Page 0,51
been able to read his thoughts. She closed the door and he reminded himself once again of his professional obligations.
He went to his study and sat at the desk there, moving aside a sheaf of papers to reveal his diary. The year, 1951, was stamped in gold on the front and a thin ribbon marked the place. November, the dying month. A scant few weeks until Christmas, he noted without a great deal of enthusiasm. As a boy, the day had been a highlight in an otherwise uneventful existence. There had been presents—a train set, a football, and one memorable year a black bicycle with a shiny bell that he loved to sound loudly as he rounded corners, surprising unsuspecting pedestrians. There had been the tantalizing aroma of turkey roasting, crunchy potatoes, and the taste of sweet oloroso sipped in the drawing room. His mother, full of girlish excitement at the present opening, then claiming exhaustion and retreating to her bedroom long before it was time to retire for the night. His father disappearing behind the Times, leaving Richard to play with his toys by himself.
During the war his taste for ceremony, gifts, and festive food had waned and he generally preferred to work on the days that most wished to relax on. Since arriving at Embers, there had been two Christmases, celebrated quietly, though Mrs. Biggs had on both occasions managed to rustle up a goose and the patients inveigled him in games of charades and hunt the thimble, the thimble in their case being requisitioned from Mrs. Biggs’s sewing case. Both occasions had been surprisingly agreeable and had boosted morale, despite his patients receiving sometimes heart-wrenching messages from their loved ones. The hand-drawn cards from their children were the hardest for all to read.
Richard picked up his fountain pen, opened the diary to that day’s date. “E.D. Session five,” he wrote. “Patient appears in measurably better humor, but refuses to acknowledge the events in her recent past.” He then put the diary aside and inserted a piece of paper into the squat typewriter that also sat on his desk. The keys clacked in a staccato rhythm as he recalled their conversation, Esther’s mood, her physical health, even her body language. Little went unnoticed or unnoted. Eventually, after nearly half an hour and several pages, he pulled the last piece of paper free of the cartridge and placed it in a manila file before securing it in a cabinet.
To an outsider it might have appeared that he was making little progress, but his work had shown him the value of patience and gentle persistence in all things.
Chapter Twenty-One
Little Embers, Spring 2018
Leah had been right. Rachel slept fitfully, kept from deeper slumber by the pain in her arm every time she moved, as well as the sound of the wind swirling around the old house and the scattershot of rain on the windowpane. The fire had long died down and she shivered under the blanket, reliving the panic she’d felt when her hand was stuck. She’d done some pretty foolish things in her thirty-five years, but deciding to swim while towing a tinny behind her in a raging storm had to be right up there among them. She could just imagine the look on her older brother’s face when she told him.
To distract herself she lay on the sofa trying to work out how she was going to get off the island before the supply boat came, and exactly how she would explain the missing tinny to Dr. Wentworth.
Sometime in the early hours, Rachel’s thoughts turned to Jonah. If anyone were to notice that the Soleil had gone missing it would most likely be him. Would he perhaps organize a search party? No one in their right mind would set out in such a storm though. And even if he did, there was a lot of ocean and so many islands; it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.
As a dim light began to filter through the curtains, Rachel was struck by the sudden silence. The rain had stopped and the wind no longer howled. As she was lying there, contemplating the peace, she heard a series of creaks as someone came down the stairs and then the metallic clang of pans being placed on a stove. Leah must be awake.
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Leah opened the door and appeared with two mugs in one hand and the packet of painkillers in the other.