Widow in White

Chapter Fourteen: An Acquired Taste

If Richard hadn't been kind, Laura might have been able to take spirit from self-righteous anger. But his kindness, however gentle, left her with no possible refuge from remorse. Drained of tears, exhausted by emotion, she lay on her bed and wondered bleakly how on earth she was going to live with herself for the rest of her life, every heartbeat, every breath, shadowed over by her own cowardice and mendacity.

It was not an enduring state of mind. She did not have the sort of character that could sustain constant self-reprobation. By the time morning came, she had persuaded herself that there was possible redemption: to be as kind as possible to Richard in however many days she had left here.

She went downstairs the next afternoon determined to do so. It was one of Richard's bad days, when he was in pain, and Laura's resolve was put to test almost immediately by his impatience and peevishness. He did not want her to read to him. He did not want her to play cards with him. He did not want to go to sleep. Calmly, meekly, Laura persisted. At last, she got the reluctant admission from him that he would not consider it a nuisance if she happened to play the piano downstairs and he happened to be able to hear it. Relieved, she went downstairs and played for well over an hour. She only stopped when she noticed a shadow in the corner of her vision and turned to see that Richard was standing shakily in the doorway, holding the frame for support.

"Richard!" She was at his side in an instant. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I decided to go for a walk."

As they spoke, Neil came halfway up the stairs from below. His eyes went first to Richard's face, and then to Laura's hand, hovering at Richard's elbow. Slowly, he came the rest of the way up the stairs. Richard slipped past Laura into the drawing room and began to hobble around the room. Laura wasn't used to seeing him walk without his stick. He could do it, but he had to slide his right foot forward, rather than step, and then hastily hop with his left.

Neil joined her at the door. "Was this his idea?"

"Of course!"

"And could you not have stopped him?"

"Of course not!"

She was angered by his paternalism and the faint, accusing note in his voice. He was always so ready to believe the worst of her. But, remembering her resolution to be kind to Richard, she decided not to pick a fight with Neil. Instead, she went over to Richard, holding onto the back of a chair to rest, and held out her arm to him.

"I'll be your stick."

He gave her the first genuine smile she'd seen from him in months. "Thank you."

After that, Richard began to hobble about the house frequently. His ribs were healing, and Doctor Cavendish said a little gentle walking might help him. Laura was always happy to lend him her arm or, when he was exhausted and back down on a couch, to sit near him and entertain him with talk or games. Soon, he started to join them for dinner, which lightened what had been for Laura the most dreadful meal of the day, alone with Neil's chilly company. The first night she came down and saw Richard waiting in full evening dress at the table, Laura found herself strangely self-conscious of her own faded and shabby morning gown. Neil had always dressed for dinner, but somehow that had never signified.

Still, she was as kind to Richard as she knew how to be. She refused to allow herself to indulge in bad temper or to fall back into the bitter silence she usually retreated into when she was unhappy. And as he responded to kindness with kindness, she found herself warming to him in ways she never had before. In twenty-eight years of acquaintanceship, she'd never thought of Richard as a friend. Now, in the space of no more than a week, he had somehow become exactly that.