The Woman at the Window Read Online Free

She would confront the monster in his lair, interfering or not. She set off in her little car, her heart thudding in her breast. The lane to the orchard bungalow was narrow and her heart beat even faster when she was confronted with an ambulance with its blue lights already flashing. In her anxiety to get out of the way she reversed her on-side rear wheel into the ditch. The ambulance driver waved an angry fist and it was quite clear he was swearing at her. Then one of the paramedics recognised the doctor’s wife. She was relieved to get out of the car while they lifted the rear wheel out. She found Rhian Mai sitting in the ambulance and trembling from head to foot. Her father was the casualty. He lay on the stretcher bed with a drip in his arm and an oxygen mask on his face. She whispered down to Catrin standing in the lane: ‘I thought he was going to kill me. I really did. He was raving and raging and smashing ornaments with his stick. And then he fell over and couldn’t get up. Couldn’t speak.’
    Catrin drove behind the ambulance the twelve-mile journey to the general hospital. While they tried to keep up with the trolley down the long corridor from Emergency to Intensive Care, Rhian Mai clung to her arm and could not stop shivering. Catrin commandeered a red blanket, led her to the canteen and made her drink a cup of hot, sweet tea. Bit by bit she was able to put together a coherent account of what had happened.
    â€˜I wasn’t out of the house an hour…When I came back he was waving Claus’ letter in my face and calling me all sorts of things I can’t repeat. He said I had been in touch with him all these years and when I denied it he called me a liar and a two-faced whore. It was awful. The way he worked himself up. What made it all worse in a way was that building the bungalow in the orchard was Claus’ idea in the first place. He was full of ideas…’
    A blush on her cheeks betrayed a lingering admiration for her ex-husband that had to be corrected.
    â€˜He never paid for anything. Never. He had this way of handling my father. He drew a plan of the bungalow and marked out where it should stand to give the best view of the mountains. “A proper dwelling for a major poet,” he said. My father loved listening to him. He pretended to take so much interest in poetry. Maybe he did, of course. There was no telling with Claus. He could get round anybody. My father always blamed me for his disappointment. And now this is my fault.’
    â€˜It is not. And it never was. And you mustn’t ever think that.’ Catrin concluded it was time to exert a little authority. Rhian Mai stared at her so gratefully, welcoming any reproof. This was a woman who had never taken charge of her own life, never exercised her duty to herself. There were things to do and Catrin Dodd would show her how they were done. Back at the orchard bungalow, once the broken ornaments were cleared up, she took possession of the offending letter.
    â€˜Lord Parry must see this,’ she said. ‘He’s a lawyer. He will know exactly what to do.’
    Rhian Mai sat in an armchair sipping more tea and mumbling her thanks. She had no idea what she would have done without Mrs Dodd’s help.
    At the hospital, Gwilym Hesgyn’s condition was stabilised sufficiently for him to be shunted into a side ward. He was conscious but unable to speak. His gaze followed the nurses with relentless suspicion. He did not appear to recognise anyone. Not even his own daughter. He stared at her as if she were a dangerous intruder. Squashing his bulk into a corner of the cramped side ward, Doctor Dodd studied the patient’s reactions with great interest. Outside, when Rhian Mai in desperation sought explanations, he shook his head wisely and declared strokes were a mystery.
    â€˜He’ll need a brain scan of course,’ he said. ‘But that won’t explain everything. How could it?