Free Return to Tremarth by Susan Barrie Page A

Tremarth House. Don’t you remember? You had an accident — in your car. It overturned on the road the night before last.”
    His grey eyes grew so dark they appeared almost black for several seconds, and then the pupils became distended and she could have inserted a finger in the deep cleft between his brows.
    “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. ..He looked very white in the warm light that filled the room, and because it appeared to be worrying him she went across to the windows and drew the curtains.
    She bent over him very gently.
    “But surely you remember Tremarth? It’s your favourite house! ”
    “No.” He winced this time as he shook his head.
    “You don’t remember that you wanted to buy it?”
    “No.”
    “You have no recollection at all of the accident?”
    “None whatsoever.”
    Charlotte hesitated, standing there beside his bed — that was in actual fact her bed. Her instincts warned her that she should refrain from questioning him and run along the corridor to Hannah’s room and waken her. Hannah might know how to deal with this situation, but she did not.
    And to complicate everything a violent curiosity was stirring in her. It was almost a ‘must’ that she find out something.
    “But you do know me?” she asked him softly. “You’ve very good reason to remember me, because you were annoyed with me on the night of the accident — ”
    He stared straight up into her eyes.
    “You’ve got red hair,” he murmured almost absent-mindedly, “and I suppose it’s very pretty hair. It appears to curl naturally.”
    “It does curl naturally,” she agreed.
    “You’re very pleasant to look at altogether, but I haven’t the foggiest idea who you are. Ought I to know you very well?”
    “I’m Charlotte Woodford,” she said distinctly.
    He closed his eyes.
    “Sorry, Charlotte, but if you said you were Florence Nightingale I’d have to believe you! To the best of my knowledge I’ve never met Charlotte Woodford.”
    Charlotte went downstairs and sought out Hannah with a very grave look on her face. Hannah was not so immediately alarmed as Charlotte was, and said she had heard of cases of this kind before. It was nothing to be really startled about that Richard Tremarth, having survived an appalling accident, should have forgotten who he was. It was simply a form of amnesia resulting from delayed concussion. He had probably received a blow on the head that was much worse than any of them had imagined, and he would probably be foggy about everything around him for a while at least.
    Nevertheless, she wasted little time in telephoning the doctor, and the latter said he would be with them in about half an hour. He too took the news quite calmly, saying reassuringly that it was the sort of thing that often happened.
    Charlotte, however, was seriously troubled. As she pointed out to Hannah he appeared to have forgotten everything ... and that in a matter of hours.
    “Only this morning he knew me perfectly well,” she said. “He walked up the stairs under his own steam, recognised that the room we entered was my room, and was concerned because he felt he had no right to turn me out of it. Of course I told him it didn’t matter about it being my room, and he looked so relieved at the prospect of getting into bed. I’m sure he was normal at that time.”
    “But since then he has had a long sleep.” Hannah went upstairs alone to see the invalid, and Charlotte had no opportunity to find out what transpired at the interview because the doctor arrived before she left the room again and he suggested, quite kindly, to Charlotte that it might be a good thing if she remained downstairs while he conducted a fresh examination of the patient.
    “After all, he is only a very casual acquaintance, isn’t he?” he said, in the same kind and detached voice. “I mean, it’s upsetting enough for you to have your house turned into a temporary nursing-home, and you don’t want to be harrowed