Mortal Coils | Page 6

"I've given you three large spoonfuls. That ought to take the taste away.
And here comes the medicine."
Mr. Hutton had reappeared, carrying a wine-glass, half full of a pale
liquid.
"It smells delicious," he said, as he handed it to his wife.
"That's only the flavouring." She drank it off at a gulp, shuddered, and
made a grimace. "Ugh, it's so nasty. Give me my coffee."
Miss Spence gave her the cup; she sipped at it. "You've made it like
syrup. But it's very nice, after that atrocious medicine."
At half-past three Mrs. Hutton complained that she did not feel as well
as she had done, and went indoors to lie down. Her husband would
have said something about the red currants, but checked himself; the
triumph of an "I told you so" was too cheaply won. Instead, he was
sympathetic, and gave her his arm to the house.
"A rest will do you good," he said. "By the way, I shan't be back till
after dinner."

"But why? Where are you going?"
"I promised to go to Johnson's this evening. We have to discuss the war
memorial, you know."
"Oh, I wish you weren't going." Mrs. Hutton was almost in tears. "Can't
you stay? I don't like being alone in the house."
"But, my dear, I promised weeks ago." It was a bother having to lie like
this. "And now I must get back and look after Miss Spence."
He kissed her on the forehead and went out again into the garden. Miss
Spence received him aimed and intense.
"Your wife is dreadfully ill," she fired off at him.
"I thought she cheered up so much when you came/'
"That was purely nervous, purely nervous. I was watching her closely.
With a heart in that condition and her digestion wrecked yes, wrecked
anything might happen."
"Libbard doesn't take so gloomy a view of poor Emily's health." Mr.
Hutton held open the gate that led from the garden into the drive; Miss
Spence's car was standing by the front door.
"Libbard is only a country doctor. You ought to see a specialist."
He could not refrain from laughing. "You have a macabre passion for
specialists."
Miss Spence held up her hand in protest. "I am serious. I think poor
Emily is in a very bad state. Anything might happen at any moment."
He handed her into the car and shut the door. The chauffeur started the
engine and climbed into his place, ready to drive off.
"Shall I tell him to start?" He had no desire to continue the
conversation.

Miss Spence leaned forward and shot a Gioconda in his direction.
"Remember, I expect you to come and see me again soon."
Mechanically he grinned, made a polite noise, and, as the car moved
forward, waved his hand. He was happy to be alone.
A few minutes afterwards Mr. Hutton himself drove away. Doris was
waiting at the cross-roads. They dined together twenty miles from
home, at a roadside hotel. It was one of those bad, expensive meals
which are only cooked in country hotels frequented by motorists. It
revolted Mr. Hutton, but Doris enjoyed it. She always enjoyed things.
Mr. Hutton ordered a not very good brand of champagne. He was
wishing he had spent the evening in his library.
When they started homewards Doris was a little tipsy and extremely
affectionate. It was very dark inside the car, but looking forward, past
the motionless form of M'Nab, they could see a bright and narrow
universe of forms and colours scooped out of the night by the electric
head-lamps.
It was after eleven when Mr. Hutton reached home. Dr. Libbard met
him in the hall. He was a small man with delicate hands and
well-formed features that were almost feminine. His brown eyes were
large and melancholy. He used to waste a great deal of time sitting at
the bedside of his patients, looking sadness through those eyes and
talking in a sad, low voice about nothing in particular. His person
exhaled a pleasing odour, decidedly antiseptic but at the same time
suave and discreetly delicious.
"Libbard?" said Mr. Hutton in surprise. "You here? Is my wife ill?"
"We tried to fetch you earlier," the soft, melancholy voice replied. "It
was thought you were at Mr. Johnson's, but they had no news of you
there."
"No, I was detained. I had a breakdown," Mr. Hutton answered irritably.
It was tiresome to be caught out in a lie.

"Your wife wanted to see you urgently."
"Well, I can go now." Mr. Hutton moved towards the stairs.
Dr. Libbard laid a hand on his arm. "I am afraid it's too late."
"Too late?" He began fumbling with his watch; it wouldn't come out of
the pocket.
"Mrs. Hutton passed away half an hour