Free A Twist of Orchids by Michelle Wan Page A

didn’t come to us. We’re closer.” After a few minutes, she saw Julian’s van go past. The neighboring houses were spaced far apart, so it made sense for him to drive up the lane. Mara walked across the room to stand at another window, this one giving onto the back of the property. The rain was coming down now as sleet.
    The nurse groaned. “When the weather’s like this, I really feel it in my knees.”
    The old house was dim and still, except for the ponderous ticking of a grandfather clock. Mara flicked a switch. It activated a couple of old-fashioned wall sconces shaped like flambeaux that gave faint illumination to an obscure matter.
    Mara began to pace the floor. “Maybe we should call the police.”
    The nurse shook her head. “He won’t like us involving the gendarmes.” She followed Mara with her eyes. “They would have been married fifty-two years come summer, you know. It’s hard … losing someone after so long. And he was always so dependent on her. Maybe because she was older than him. You knew she was married before? Her first husband was killed in the war. When she got Joseph, he was a brawny farm lad … pretty wet behind the ears. I expect”—the nurse laughed, recollecting something that she did not volunteer to share—“Amélie taught him a thing or two. Did I tell you he wants to restock with sheep?”
    “What? How?” Mara looked appalled. She almost said,
He’s out of his mind.
Perhaps his mind
was
going.
    “He’s not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Jacqueline.
    “Sheep! He’ll never manage.”
    “Of course not. But you have to understand it’s his way of coping with loss. Joseph used to love his sheep, gave them all names, even if he did end up selling them for meat. I suppose he thinks if he can get sheep back on the land, he can get a lot of other things back as well. Best to let him believe it will happen.” She added with uncharacteristic gentleness, “We all need our dreams, even if the time for dreaming is over.”
    “Listen,” Mara broke in sharply, turning back into the room.
    “What?” With an effort the stout nurse pushed forward in her chair. “What is it?”
    Mara waved her still. “I thought I heard something.” But the only sounds were the ticking of the clock, the wind in the chimney, the patter of sleet against the windowpanes. And then, a muffled thump that Jacqueline heard, too. Their eyes were drawn to a cupboard under the stairs at the far end of the living room. It was the only place they had not looked into. Mara flew to it and yanked the door open. At first, all she could make out was a clutter of broken shutters and fly screens standing on end and leaning against the interior wall. Then, further back, she saw him, folded up on himself, lying like a thing discarded in the darkness and the dust.
    •
    He looked dead. His skin was cold to the touch. His mouth gaped open, and his body was as rigid as the shutters they had to shift in order to reach him. Only his eyes gave sign of life.
    They dragged him out and got him into bed by carrying him between them, Jacqueline hoisting him under the arms, Mara taking his feet. Despite his size, he was surprisingly light.
A shell of a man
, Mara thought. He was unable to swallow his tablets. Jacqueline rummaged in her bag and gave him a nasal spray ofapomorphine as a quick-onset therapy to kick-start his system. She laid him back against a stack of pillows and sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing warmth into his chest, arms, and legs.
    The front door banged. “No one’s home but Olivier Rafaillac,” Julian called. “They’re all off doing their marketing.” He came into the bedroom. “You found him! Where the hell was he?”
    “Cupboard under the stairs,” said Mara in a low voice.
    “Shouldn’t we call a doctor?”
    Jacqueline shook her head. “No need. He’ll come round in a bit.”
    Julian stood by, watching her ministrations. Mara went to fill a hot water bottle in the