These Ties That BindVolume 2 - Divided We Stand

Divided We Stand

                                                                             Chapter 1
Pearl stared at the great Christmas tree that had been erected in Trafalgar square.  She had seen other trees before, of course, at other Christmases.  But then it had not been like this.  Then, she had always been dashing, either to work on a shift in Lyons, or - later - to an appointment.  She had never before had time to simply stand and stare at the light-bedecked tree, flaring like a beacon of hope in the dark winter evening.
It was beautiful.  Quite, quite beautiful.  And not just the tree.  There were crowds of people all around Trafalgar Square, families and couples and even a sprinkling of people on their own, all enjoying the spectacle.  It was very cold, as befitted the weeks before Christmas, but a crisp, dry cold that made her cheeks and nose tingle pleasantly.  She blew out her breath, purely for the pleasure of seeing it fog in front of her lips.  Close at hand, an old man was baking chestnuts on a brazier.  They smelt delicious.  One cracked and flew on to the floor, and the old man laughed.  "Good luck that is, better 'n´ a falling star, any day!"  A stray pigeon, beguiled by the lights of the square into thinking it was still daylight, waddled across and pecked at the chestnut, puffing his chest and coo-coo-cooing indignantly as he realised how hot it was.
She leaned against Didier, pulling her oversized camel overcoat tightly around her, as much for the pleasure of feeling the soft, thick wool as for the comfort of the warmth.  She smiled at him, and a passing young woman glanced at her enviously.  Pearl barely noticed.  It was enough, at the moment, to be alive.  To be well.  To be free. Anything else was a bonus.  A delightful bonus, true, but nothing more than the icing on the cake. 
"Want some chestnuts?  I suppose you do.  I can´t fill you up."
"Yes, please.  They smell lovely."
She straightened to allow him to move, and noticed absently that he paused for a second, waiting to make sure she could stand unsupported.  The smallest thrill of exasperation made her close her eyes.  How long would it take for Didier to believe that she was well?  That death no longer waited to claim her?  She shook her head slightly, acknowledging that she was the worst kind of fool.  He had saved her life.  In so many ways, had he saved her. And she knew it.  She should feel nothing but gratitude.  And she was grateful, of course she was.  If only gratitude wasn't such a very humble sort of emotion!  Such a needy state of mind. 
She had had it all planned.  She would have come to him, of course. When the time was right.  She had known that as soon as she had laid eyes on him.  From that instant, it had been out of her hands.  Was beyond either of them, truth be told.  It had always been this way between them, it was just life taking the right moment to make it happen.  But.  Ah, that one, little treacherous word, yet again.  But.  She had wanted to come to him on her own terms.  To walk into his world with her head held high.  A woman who stood (and she smiled bitterly at the aptness of the thought) on her own two feet.  A woman who owed nobody for anything.  A woman who had made the choice to come to him. In the words of the fine old Yorkshire saying, a woman who was "beholden to nobody for nothing."  Especially to him.
Ah, well, as the saying went.  Time and tide wait for no man.
It never even entered his head, she knew, that she should be grateful to him.  She had tried to explain how she felt to him, and he had laughed and shrugged the idea away as nonsense.
"Ever thought, Pearl, that it´s I who should be grateful to you?"  She looked at him, and felt irritated.  He was trying to make light of her concern, trying to nod it away.  Perhaps even make fun of her. But his face was grim for a moment, and she saw by his eyes that he was deadly serious.  So she listened to what he had to say.  "Never told you, did I? No, of course not, why on earth would I mention it?  But I was in the Great War.  A willing participant, for my sins."  He paused, and his expression was years away.  Pearl waited quietly.  Didier never talked about himself, in fact it seemed to Pearl that he lived for nothing but the moment, a talent she envied greatly and wished she could copy.  "Anyway, there I was.  And a nasty, dirty, dangerous place it was too.  But the point is, Pearl, that we all got through it in the same way.  Men died every day, every minute, truth to be told.  And quite often it was the man standing next to you who got it.  The man you had been talking to only a second before. And the only way you could keep your sanity was to think, "There but for the grace of God go I."  And you kept your compassion for those who were still alive.  Who still had need of it.  I know this sounds unutterably harsh, but nobody wept for the dead.  They were gone, and were well out of it.  And if you, Pearl, had been the one that died, what then?  I would never have known what had happened to you.  Every day, I would have thought, is this the day she's going to walk through the door?  And every day, when you didn´t walk through my door, I would have wondered where you were?  What you were doing?  Why you hadn't come back to me.  Eventually, I suppose, I would have come to the conclusion that you had simply forgotten me.  I would have got over it, as one does, but I would never have got beyond you. Never.  You would have had no need of gratitude, little one.  And I would have had nothing to be grateful for.  It would have been me who was the walking wounded.  The one who had need of compassion, but didn´t find it. So stop all this nonsense. You make me happy.  There´s no more to be said."
It was the longest speech she had ever heard Didier make, and the only time he had ever talked about himself.  And although she had recognized the truth in his words, and was comforted by them, still she fretted.  It was, in truth, a very minor irritation, like the bit of grit in the oyster, the grit that eventually turned into a pearl.  Turned in to her!  But it was there.  She would have loved it not to be there. But it was.  In spite of anything Didier might say.  She owed him everything.  Literally, owed him her for her life. And nothing he could say would ever change that.
When she had first woken up after that nightmare evening, her first thought was that she was in prison.  Everything around her was featureless white, and she was tied to a bed, sitting up, so she could not move more than a hand.  Pain seared her chest whenever she tried to take a breath.  She was hot, unbearably hot, yet at the same time shaking with cold.  Her head banged with the worst headache she had ever had.  She was thirsty, but not hungry.  She tried to speak, to call out, but her voice was nothing but the caw of a lonely crow.  She wept and tried to move, but weakness overwhelmed her and she sank back into something that was deeper than sleep.
And her dreams were very terrible.  Faces leaned over her.  She felt hands laid on her body, moving her, and she was unable to resist.  Cold, vile tasting liquid was forced down her throat; when she gagged it back up, more was forced down.  Sometimes, the face was her mother's.  Sometimes it was Brown, his dreadful teeth drawn back in a grimace of triumph.  Sometimes it was a complete stranger. Very occasionally, it was Didier who loomed over her, and she tried to reach out to him, but she was unable to move no matter how hard she tried.
She had no idea how long she was imprisoned.  None at all.  There was no day, no night.  Just one long, unending nightmare.  After a while, the thought came to her that she  was not in prison at all.  No.  Rather, she had died on that dreadful night.  Died propped up against the rough terracotta of Didier's plant pot.  Died and gone to hell, where she surely belonged.  This white, painful world was her own private hell.  She deserved it, of course, there was no question of that.  Mum had forecast it for her, and she had been quite right, as Mums always are.  But in spite of that, she wished it would end.  Wished that it would all go away, and she could just sleep quietly, forever. But of course, it wouldn't do that.  Because that was the thing about hell.  It went on for the whole of eternity.  She tried to scream at the thought, but had no breath to do it with, and just managed a painful gasp instead.
Very, very slowly, so slowly that she barely noticed that it was happening, the nightmares began to go away.  She slept, for hours at a time sometimes, without dreaming at all.  And the pain began to lessen.  Gradually, she found that she could breathe without tearing her chest to pieces with the effort.  And the headache became a dull thump rather than screaming anguish. One day, she opened her eyes and realised with a faint shock that she was aware that it was daytime.  The light was no longer a harsh, hurtful white but was the grey of an English winter's day, filtering through thick lace curtains.  And she could move, no longer was she tied down.
She tried to sit up, but immediately fell back.  She was boneless, as if she had been filleted by expert hands.  Grimly, using what she discovered were bed sheets to hang on to, she managed to haul herself to a sitting position and stared around.
She was in a room that was completely foreign to her.  Her eyebrows drew together in bewilderment; how had she got here?  Where on earth was here in the first place?  Just as when she had been in hell, everything in the room - from the sheets to the walls - was white.  She gasped for breath and fell back on the bed, exhausted by the single movement.
"Now then dear, feeling better are we?"
The woman was dressed completely in white, as well.  Pearl thought it remarkably appropriate.  Was she a nun, perhaps?  Yes, of course!  She was a nun, who had somehow rescued Pearl from hell.  Tears of weakness and gratitude ran down her face, and the nun wiped them away with a soft cloth.
"No need for that, now.  You´re on the mend now, no need for tears."  The nun´s voice was brisk, and Pearl tried to stop crying, but found she could not. "Here we are, then.  Have a nice long drink, you'll feel better for it."
The nun held a glass to her lips and she drank the cold water greedily, choking after a few mouthfuls.  She discovered that her chest still hurt badly when she coughed.
"Now, you lie still dear.  I´ll get doctor in to see you right away."
Doctor?  Pearl wondered mazily.  What did she need a doctor for?  Hadn't the nun rescued her already?  Did they have doctors in heaven, then?
The doctor was very pleased with her, he said.  She was making wonderful progress.  Touch and go for a week or two, but she was over the worse now and would do well.  Pearl had frowned at him, puzzled.
"I´m … I´m not dead, then?"
The doctor laughed heartily.
"Dead?  Good heavens, no.  You were in a very bad state when you came in.  Pneumonia, not at all helped by the fact that you were far too thin.  You bright young things just will not eat properly, will you? And someone beat you very badly, didn´t they?"  He frowned down at her.  "To be honest, had you been a stray dog, I would have asked the vet to have you put down"  He laughed heartily at his own wit. 
 Something about the doctor's matter of fact tone convinced Pearl.  She was not dead.  Not even in prison!  In hospital.  But which one?
"Where am I?"  She demanded.  And, as an afterthought, "How did I get here?"
"You´re in Guys hospital.  If I do say so myself, the finest hospital in London.  And your …er… your friend, Mr. Didier, bought you in.  I saw you the night you were admitted, and I have to say we were very worried about you."  He looked at her admonishingly over the top of his half-moon glasses. "Mr. Didier said he blamed himself, that he just hadn't noticed that you weren't eating properly.  He had no idea at the time that somebody had hurt you, either.  Didn´t tell him, did you?"  Pearl shook her head, feeling that it was required of her. "And of course, forgetting your key and standing out in the cold and rain for hours was the final straw.  If he hadn't got you into a taxi and over to us so quickly, it would have been touch and go for you, young lady."
"Has he been to see me?"  Pearl clutched at the bedclothes with her fingers.  Without doubt, that mattered more than anything.  Had Didier just felt guilty about finding her, apparently abandoned, on his doorstep?  Was that why he had rescued her?  In which case, this was just a new twist to the nightmare.  Or did he care?  Truly care?  Could that be possible?
"Been to see you?"  Doctor and - as Pearl now realised - Nurse, not nun, exchanged amused glances. "He´s practically been haunting the place.  We had to throw him out for his own good, before he fell ill as well.  Now, just lie still like a good girl, have another drink of water - in fact, drink as much water as you can - and Nurse here will ring Mr. Didier and tell him he can come and see you as soon as he can."
They left her alone, and she relaxed back on to the stack of pillows behind her.  She was just beginning to fall asleep when the thought came to her.  Immediately, sweat soaked her scalp, trickling down her neck unpleasantly.  An anvil had been placed on her chest, making each breath a painful effort.  She was wide awake, her mind speeding.
They hadn´t told her the whole truth. Naturally they hadn´t. They were waiting for her to get better before they took her to prison.  Perhaps she had been tried and found guilty whilst she had been ill.  Of course, they couldn't take her out of hospital when she was at death's door.  No, they would have waited.  Perhaps Didier had made them wait.  Hadn't she been tied to the bed, so she couldn´t escape?  She had killed the wretched Brown, after all.  He undoubtedly deserved it, but why, God, did she have to be the instrument of his death?  Unfair!  So very, very unfair.  And from a long way off, she heard Rose's voice whisper, oddly triumphant, I told you, nobody said life had to be fair.  Nobody said death had to be fair.
Even worse, she thought, they weren't waiting to take her to prison at all.  She had been found guilty, and they were going to hang her.  Worth waiting for, Rose?
Tears ran down her face, clogging her nose.  She snorted them back, but still they came.  If she thought that she had the strength, she would have climbed out of bed and tried to escape, clad in nothing but her hospital nightgown.  But that was stupid, wasn't it?  If Brown was dead, then she had killed him.  Simple.  But they might have let her put her side of the story, surely?
I told you, nobody said life had to be fair.  Nobody said death had to be fair.
Of course they didn´t.  Of course.
When Didier arrived, he found her slumped against her pillows, tears still running down her cheeks unchecked.  He was carrying a huge bouquet of roses and lilies, but dropped them abruptly when she raised her woebegone face to him.
"Good God, woman.  They told me you were much better.  What the hell happened?"
His bewilderment was almost comical.  In other circumstances, Pearl would have smiled.  Instead she wept.
Didier sat on the edge of the bed and wiped her face with a handkerchief.  Put it to her nose and instructed her to blow.  She honked dismally into the handkerchief and snuffled tears back.
"He´s dead, isn´t he?"  She croaked.  "And I killed him.  Are they going to hang me?"
He stared at her for a moment, and then to her indignation started to laugh.  The rich sound rolled around the hospital room, sounding terribly out of place against the starched white of the room.
He shook his head.
"Brown, you mean?"  She nodded.  Brown.  Joe Brown.  Like the comedian.  Only not funny.  Not funny at all.
"He´s not dead.  It would take more strength than you´ve got to kill that bastard."
"But … but I was tied down to the bed.  So I couldn´t get away."  She stared at him, willing Didier to be right. Praying that he was right.
"No, no you weren't.  Or rather, you were tied, but only with a sheet.  And you were tied to keep you sitting upright.  Every time you fell asleep you slid down, and if you were lying down, you couldn´t breathe.  You´ve been very ill.  Very ill.  But you're going to get better, by God."
Pearl listened to him, head on one side.  And found the flaw in his argument.  And pounced on it.
"If he's not dead, how do you know who he is?  How do you know what happened?"
Didier took a deep breath.
"How much do you remember?"
"Not a great deal.  He came into my bedroom.  And he tried to rape me."  She said it flatly, knowing it was the only way to deal with the experience.  No more tears, Brown wasn't worth a single one. "I hit him with something."  She paused, trying to remember.  "I know.  I hit him with the cast iron gas ring, a great, heavy thing.  And he was lying on the floor.  Not moving.  Covered with blood.  Covered in it.  I thought he was dead.  I was sure he was.  So I … I just walked away.  Left him there.  I remember I walked for ages, and it was raining and cold.  I remembered your address from your card, and I just found my way to you, somehow.  I´m sorry, I know I must have been the most dreadful nuisance, but I didn´t have anywhere else to go."
"Shut up.  You´re talking the most arrant nonsense. Of course you came to me, where else would you go?  You should have known I was waiting for you."
"There was a woman with you."  Pearl frowned, trying to remember.  "Gertie?  Goldie?  Something like that.  Did I upset things between you?  I´m sorry if I did."
"Gilda.  Although I´m sure she would love to hear herself called Gertie.  Forget about Gilda. And if you apologise to me once more, I shall put you across my knee and spank you."
"No you won't."  Pearl managed a smile.  "You wouldn't dare.  The Nurse would skin you.  But I don´t understand.  If I didn´t kill him, how did you find out about him?  Did I tell you?"  She shook her head.  "There´s just so much I don´t remember."
"You weren't in a state to tell anybody anything.  You passed out on my doorstep, and once I got you inside I realised how ill you were.  I got you into a taxi, and bought you straight here, to Guys.  It was only later, when I looked in your handbag - sorry, I had to try and find something, some sort of clue as to what had been going on - that I found your keys.  They had the name of the hotel on them, so I went round."  His expression turned dark.  "How long had you been living in that dreadful place?"
"About six or seven months.  Maybe a bit longer.  It wasn't that bad!"
"For you, it was.  Anyway, I let myself in with your passkey and found the hall appeared to be full of young women.  I suppose there wasn't more than half a dozen of them, really, but when I walked in every single one of them turned round and looked at me accusingly, and I have never felt so guilty in my life, I can tell you."
Pearl started to laugh, but had to stop when it turned to a cough and her chest pulled tight and hurt.  Didier held her forward from the pillows until the spasm had stopped, and then helped her to take a sip of water.
"They all spoke at once, like a tree full of birds.  What had I done to you, they wanted to know.  They would have the police on me, for sure, if I didn´t tell them. Now.  This second. Terrifying, absolutely terrifying."  He held his finger up admonishingly, telling her not to laugh.  "I told them that you were ill, but I had got you into hospital. They all looked at each other, and then one of them - a small girl with dyed blonde hair and a dimple on her chin?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if the description meant anything to her.  She nodded.  Nina.  Or at least, that was what she called herself. Her name was probably Evelyn or Mary,  but nobody questioned a girl's dreams.  Not in the hotel, at least. "She said, you weren't ill at all.  Brown must have tried to have a go at you, they said.  And had got his come-uppance.  They all seemed delighted about that, and very proud of you.  Or rather, they would have been proud of you, if they knew what had happened to you."
Pearl smiled.
"Those girls are my friends."  She said firmly. "The best friends I´ve ever had."
Didier stared at her, but she was looking down at the sheets and missed the sadness in his eyes.  He took a deep breath before he continued.
"Yes.  They were terribly worried about you.  Wanted to know if I was the bastard who had dumped you.  I explained that I was the bastard who was going to rescue you, and the atmosphere lightened greatly after that."  Pearl choked on laugher, and held her breath for a moment to stop herself coughing.  "I asked the girls to pack your things for you, while I had a word with Mr. Brown. They appeared to be only too eager to show me where he was.  I found him in the basement, with what was presumably his wife,"  Pearl nodded.  The short, grey-haired woman who was on Reception sometimes.  She called herself "Mrs. Brown" whether she was or not.  "He was most certainly alive, and very vocal about his experience.  You tried to kill him, he said.  And he was going to get the police on to you.  His wife had shaved most of his hair off, and he had what looked like black cotton stitches in a nice, long wound in his scalp.  I was about to explain to him that going to the police was really not a good idea when his wife saved me the trouble.  She said - said it quite loudly, in fact - that her husband had got his just desserts.  That it might stop him sniffing around the girls.  And in fact if he did it again, she would take the poker to him herself.  I must admit, by the time I had had a word or two with him, and his wife had added a few more choice phrases of her own, I almost - almost! - felt sorry for him.  In any event, he will not trouble you again."
"Thank you."  Pearl whispered.  She wanted to say more, much, much more, but the words stuck in her throat like a hastily swallowed boiled sweet.
"My pleasure, I assure you."  Didier said briskly. "I took the liberty of taking your things home.  To  my home, that is. And I sent the girls in the hotel a bouquet big enough to share between them.  Do you think they will like that?"  He asked anxiously.
"They will love it."  Strangely, Pearl found the gesture more affecting than anything.  She blinked tears away.
"Excellent.  Now, I will leave you."  Seeing her expression, he patted her hand and added, "The doctor said I could only have five minutes with you.  I´ll be back tomorrow. In fact, I´ll be here so often you'll be sick of the sight of me."
I doubt it, she thought.  Oh, I very much doubt it.