Free Bedelia by Vera Caspary

answer. His silence increased her alarm. Charlie saw that her chest was rising and falling and that she had frequently to moisten her lips.
    â€œPlease tell me the truth,” she said curtly.
    â€œI’m more worried about you than about Charlie, Mrs. Horst. When I said that you wouldn’t need a nurse, I didn’t know of your condition. You’ve had a shock and I don’t want any after effects.”
    â€œIt’s worse than you told me, and you don’t think I’m capable of nursing him.”
    â€œI fear you’d nurse him too well for your own good.”
    â€œSo you know our secret,” Charlie said to the doctor. “When did my wife tell you?”
    â€œThis morning,” Bedelia answered quickly.
    The doctor insisted that she go downstairs and eat a good lunch. “I don’t hold with these female habits of picking food here and there at irregular hours. You need nourishment, Mrs. Horst. Eating for two, aren’t you? Run along and I’ll keep Charlie company until you return.”
    The doctor seated himself in the rocker and folded one leg over the other. Bedelia lingered in the room. It was clear that she did not want him to tell Charlie anything that she was not to hear. After Charlie joined forces with the doctor and urged her to eat a sensible lunch, she left. The smell of her perfume remained in the air.
    â€œMind?” asked Doctor Meyers, and pulled out a thin cigar. A gold cutter, the gift of some grateful patient, hung with his Masonic medal on a gold chain. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, the scent of Bedelia’s perfume was lost.
    The doctor studied his cigar, the hand that held it, the weave of the carpet, the tips of his pointed shoes. His tranquility alarmed Charlie. When Doctor Meyers had good news he danced about and talked in such a rush that all the words ran together. Why, then, this long scrutiny of cigar and carpet? Immediately Charlie suspected the worst, a fatal disease, long months of suffering, a losing fight against pain. Cancer, was it? Or heart disease?
    Doctor Meyers spoke at last. His voice was dry and he brought out the words with effort. “The nurse will be here this afternoon. I don’t want you to eat or drink anything, not even a sip of water, unless she gives it to you.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    The doctor waited until the full meaning of his warning had touched Charlie.
    â€œWhy not!”
    The doctor cleared his throat. “Just an idea of mine.”
    â€œAre you crazy?”
    â€œPerhaps.” The doctor tugged at his Van Dyke. “I’m a cantankerous old fool. Maybe I ought to turn my practice over toa younger man. But give me a couple of days, Charlie, to have an analysis made. Unfortunately, the excrement had all been removed before I came last night, but after I’d pumped out your stomach, what remained . . .”
    â€œWhat are you inferring?” Charlie shouted.
    â€œNothing, Charlie. Keep calm. We’ll have to wait a couple of days. I’m having the work done in New York. I don’t like the laboratory here, there’s too much gossip, everybody who works in the hospital is intimate with somebody in town, and you can’t keep anything quiet. Do what I say, Charlie, promise you’ll eat nothing except what the nurse gives you.”
    Charlie was livid. He almost leaped out of bed.
    â€œGet back under the covers and keep calm. It’s probably nothing but a fool idea of mine, but I don’t want you to take any chances. That’s why I mentioned it. Now don’t go getting any ideas in your head.”
    â€œHow can I help it when you make these absurd insinuations? I’ll eat anything I damn please. And if you don’t take back what you just said, I’ll sue you for malpractice. Or libel. God damn it, I will!”
    â€œSure, but don’t eat anything except what the nurse gives you. Is that clear?”
    â€œYou’re a senile