第 30 页

‘Dearest John, as I see you so infrequently now, this note is my only option for informing you of my plans. I have taken lodgings near the surgery, very comfortable and affordable now that I am able to draw a good salary from our business. I hope that you have found much happiness wherever you have been and don’t wish to be a hindrance to whatever plans you have for your future. I truly understand, you must go now and find your own way in the world and I must do the same. It would be inappropriate for me to reside with you any longer, but I thank you wholeheartedly for providing shelter and friendship when I needed it most. Your loving friend, Red’

The following day, Sandy and I left for our new home. John had not returned during the night and my note still sat upon the hall table where the vase had always been.

Mycroft came to assist with the move, though my few belongings hardly required the help of the team of staff he brought along. I hoisted Sandy into my arms and pushed at the door looking back into what had been my home.

I didn’t remember entering the house for the first time as I had been unconscious and hung over John’s shoulder, but will always remember waking up in that soft bed with crisp sheets.

I stood there by the doorway, arms sagging under the weight of my limp dog, remembering how I painted the surgery on a beautiful sunny morning wearing a shirt and socks, much to John’s embarrassment and amusement. I remembered our first patient, our heated discussions over bread and jam in the kitchen, John confidently bustling around the house looking effortlessly handsome, yet completely unaware of it.

I remembered the night of his birthday, how he entered the sitting room and strode towards me in his expensive suit and I longed to hold him. I wanted to tell him that I loved everything about him from his thick unruly hair to his reassuring frame, from his moments of great silliness to his intelligent mind, warm heart and enduringly kind nature. I ached in that moment to kiss him, to claim him for my own. I, who knew him better than anyone and had fallen so ridiculously in love.

I remembered instead pulling away, hiding my feelings for the sake of our friendship and the inevitable rejection which would follow any disclosure on my part. His behaviour since served only to confirm that I had been right to act as I did. I was not what John wanted. With great sadness, I closed the door behind me for the last time.

My new lodgings were comfortable and I threw myself into my work, but the sadness was like an ache from my head to my feet and never left me however busy and distracted I was. At least I still had the business, but not much else in the world save a fat dog and a few loyal eccentric friends.

I was so angry with myself for feeling this way. I missed John so much. I just couldn’t accept his new persona of man-about-town and couldn’t understand why he was drinking so heavily when I had always presumed this was something he turned to in times of distress, not for pleasure and entertainment.

It was about a week later when I next saw him. I walked into our reception area and he was standing beside the reception desk fiddling with some papers.

“Watson!” I cried out in surprise, looking upon someone who had once been so close to me, so familiar, but now there was awkwardness between us. He looked up with initial surprise then looked back down at the papers in his hand while he spoke.

“Good morning Red,” he said in a formal tone.

“It’s the afternoon.”

“Of course, yes, well...”

A difficult silence hung between us for a few seconds. He continued to avoid my searching gaze, shuffled the papers in his hand and cleared his throat.

“I trust that your new accommodation is comfortable?”

“Yes, very, thank you.”

“And Sandy? Is he well?”

“Losing a little weight I think. I don’t spoil him like you used to.”

At that he managed a weak smile, swiftly extinguished. He was very pale and his eyes betrayed much tiredness. A faint smell of alcohol surrounded him and the papers were shaking slightly in his hands.

He looked up briefly. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” he said briskly and he strode away from me. I wanted to ask so many questions, wanted to shout at him, shake him and bring him back to me but had far too much self respect. So I just let him walk away.

Tales reached my ears of Watson’s all-night card games, billiards and intense socialising. I became tired of endless questions - why he wasn’t at the surgery much anymore or at Ronnie’s. Ronnie was particularly confused and deeply concerned that the family curse had taken another victim.

He implored me to reason with him, make him sober up before family history repeated itself. He missed his brother and cared for him more than he had ever expected. I replied to Ronnie’s request the same as I did to everyone’s. I pointed out that I was simply his business partner and how he spent his time away from work was nothing to do with me.

“I thought you were his friend?” Ronnie asked me after yet another attempt to persuade me to help.

“So did I,” I replied sadly. “So did I.”

In every other respect life continued as normal and I tried to show the world that I really didn’t care about the silly antics of a middle-aged man who had denied our friendship to enhance his social standing. I held endless supplier meetings, I took on a new doctor to help Doctor Roy with his increased workload, and found an excellent cook who started to work at the pub. I maximised profits further by opening up two rooms above the bar as rentable accommodation and cook provided a healthy breakfast for whoever chose to pay my reasonable rates and stay a night or two.

Two months had passed since Watson’s birthday. I was sitting in my office one morning going through my correspondence, when I saw something so shocking I had to read it over and over again.

There, in my hand, was an invitation from Thomas Waverly asking me to attend a party to celebrate the engagement of his eldest daughter, Caroline Waverly, to Doctor John H Watson.

Now suddenly everything became clear. The true reason for Waverly’s close friendship with Watson, the lavish birthday party he so generously staged, the places at dinner. Clearly he wanted to marry off his daughter and who better than a celebrated doctor with a healthy, profitable business? His clever plan had worked and now I understood where Watson had been, or rather who he had been with, during the previous months.

I opened my desk draw and took out a bottle of finest Scotch kept there for emergencies such as this, sat back in my chair and took a long slug from the bottle.

I was so very tired. I had eaten and slept little over the past few months. Now my head began to ache and throb. How could someone who had once been so genuine, kind and lacking in ambition have turned into such a ferocious social climber that he would marry just to get his hands on the Waverly fortune? Surely he did not love her?

Clearly Watson had been spending his time submerged in Caroline’s world. He had been with her and her friends during those long spells of absence, drinking, gambling and making merry. He had been indulging in the simplistic, shallow, carefree life of the wealthy. Surely he could not be in love with her but which was worse? Falling in love with a stupid, rich, spoilt widow or marrying a stupid, rich, spoilt widow simply for her money?

Ronnie burst into my office just as I put the Scotch bottle down on the desk.

“Have you seen this?” he shouted, waving his invitation at me. “This is where he has been, with her! My God, has he lost his mind? He’s marrying for money, my boring, dependable elder brother marrying some ugly widow to live the life of a toff!”

Even after everything that had happened I still felt compelled to defend him.

“Perhaps he has seen something deeper in her, perhaps she makes him happy. I can’t believe that he would just marry for money. I can’t believe he’s marrying at all. Everything has happened so quickly.”

Ronnie sat opposite me and I handed him the bottle.

“You have to do something Red. You can’t let him make a mistake like this. Why are you being so calm? He’ll listen to you, please Red, I’m begging you, talk to him.”

I stood up to repeat yet again that it was none of my business when my legs just gave way. A wave of tiredness and hurt engulfed me and I just didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. All my life I had been a fighter, battling through relentless disappointments, dangers and tragedies, but I had nothing left to fight with. No energy for it.

I understood in that moment that I was terribly in love with John Watson and had been for a long time, long before I even realised it. Somewhere in the process of building a business together, confiding in each other all our deepest secrets, laughing until we hurt over something obscure that no-one else would find funny, sharing our lowest moments and endless homemade bread and jam, love had been born.

I loved him more deeply and perfectly than I had ever loved before and the realisation, the acceptance of my feelings was too much for me to take. I fell forwards and leaned on the desk to steady myself.

“Red!” Ronnie cried, rushing to my side to take my arm and steady me.

“No I won’t speak to him. I won’t tell him to sober up or tell him not to marry the woman he has chosen. Nor will I tell him to reject the life to which he aspires. He’s gone Ronnie, chosen his path and that’s final. I want nothing to do with it!” I shouted, hurling the Scotch bottle across the room where it shattered against the wall.

Ronnie stepped back slightly in shock.

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, realisation spreading across his face. “You’re in love with him aren’t you?”

I went to the engagement party and took along a nice, socially acceptable young man whose family owned a medical supply company. His name was Edward and he frequently came to see me about business matters. He had always been rather fond of me but never dared to hope he stood a chance.

When I asked him to be my guest he was consumed by shock and gratitude. I knew then that it was a rather cruel action on my part but I wanted to ensure that no one would see the hurt I was desperate to hide.

Ronnie begged me to tell Watson how I felt. He was convinced that my feelings would be reciprocated and all thoughts of Caroline forgotten. He wanted his brother back, sober and restored to his previous self. But to me it was clearer than ever that Watson would never consider a workhouse orphan whose body and soul were scarred from a life of crime and prostitution, even to be a suitable friend, let alone anything more. So I just pretended that I was happy for him and attended the party on the arm of a handsome young man.

The party was at Waverly’s mansion and was typically ostentatious. My plan to take Edward, or rather let him take me, was naturally a disaster. He wanted me to dance, to laugh at his wit, to be entertaining. I just wanted a smoke and a drink.

The poor young man was as keen as a puppy and very attentive but I was bad-tempered and uncooperative. We were the same age but I had lived ten years for each of his and felt more like his mother. He didn’t have any cynicism, wasn’t worn down by the very act of living. Edward was full of youth and hope, waiting eagerly for the next adventure and the procurement of a wife. The man who should have been so very suitable, couldn’t have been less so.

Caroline Waverly floated over to us, hanging on Watson’s arm wearing a full gown with fur trim and expensive jewellery.

“Ah, the famous Miss Red,” she exclaimed, with a heavy hint of sarcasm. She quizzically regarded my flowing hair and simple dress, clearly intimidated by my natural beauty which did not need embellishing by clothes and jewels.

She clutched Watson’s arm a little tighter. “And this must be your gorgeous beau?” she inquired, eyeing up the merits of my handsome companion. She was already quite drunk. Watson did not make eye contact with me but shook Edward’s hand half-heartedly. Edward enthusiastically offered compliments about the party and congratulated them both on their engagement.

“Yes,” I added as breezily as possible. “I’m so happy for you both.”

Caroline was clearly not done with me yet.

“What a shame it is that you have to work so very hard, Red. Perhaps you won’t have to if you can find yourself a husband too.”

I disliked her more than ever.

Watson looked a shadow of the man he was on the night of his birthday party, held here in the very same room. Now his eyes were bloodshot and his clothes untidy. He was pale, unsteady on his feet and constantly holding a drink in his hand, as had become the norm.

Caroline prattled on about wedding arrangements and general nonsense. Edward didn’t seem to notice how annoying she was and merrily joined in the conversation. Watson said very little. He was happy to hold back and let his talkative fiancée take centre stage. After all I had done to drag him out from the shadows and encourage him to find his own confidence, watching him behave this way was so terribly sad.

I decided to be honest with poor Edward once Caroline and Watson had tired of us and moved on to another couple. I explained that my heart was already given but had been rejected and that I was happy therefore to spend my days with my business, dog and friends without any desire for romantic company. I told him that I simply didn’t want to attend the party alone and had asked him under false pretences for which I was very sorry indeed. I pointed out that a certain pretty young lady had been looking longingly in his direction all evening and that he really did deserve far better than a bitter, world-weary difficult woman like me.

He took my hand gently. “Whoever he is, the man who rejected you, he is a damn fool,” he whispered earnestly.

I smiled the warmest, most genuine smile that I had managed all night.

“Why don’t you go and put that doe-eyed young thing out of her misery and ask her to dance?”

“Are you sure?”

“Go on, right now, or I’ll start buying my medical supplies elsewhere.”

We both laughed and he leaned in to softly kiss my cheek.

“Good luck,” I added, knowing that he wouldn’t need it.

He bounced over to the young girl, exchanged a few words then took her to the floor. After several dances together, they were both clearly infatuated. She was polite, dainty, a capable dancer and perfect for such a handsome young gentleman. I could never have been any of those things, and had never wanted to be. I decided that I was not meant for love which had only ever brought me pain.

I walked out through a set of French windows onto a large walled patio bathed in light spilling from the ballroom. I sat on the wall, dangling my legs and facing towards the gardens. Lights were hung in the trees and punctuated the darkness with their gay colours swaying slightly in the evening breeze. The air was crisp and cold, enough to see my breath.