Designs on Life Read Online Free PDF

made up her mind to it, she could get down the stairs alone and breathe in some of the fresh, cold air of the streets. Getting down should not really be too difficult. She could do it sitting down, manoeuvering herself from step to step without ever putting any weight on her painful leg. It was the thought of trying to get up again without Colin there to support her that she found intimidating. She might actually find it impossible and might have to stay below in the cold for she did not know how long until, if she were lucky, she could persuade some kind passer-by to help her up again.
    While she was thinking of this, she saw an old man on the far side of the street slither and fall and lie helplessly where he had fallen on the pavement. It was then that she realised that there had been another heavy frost in the night, and that the half-melted snow of the day before had hardened into a sheet of ice. A passing milkman helped the old man to his feet, brushed him down and made sure that he had not hurt himself before leaving him to go on again down the street, holding tightly to the iron railings of the areas as he went. But the sight had put Helen off any thought of trying to go out herself. She must accept the fact, she was imprisoned here in this silent dwelling.
    If only it had not been so silent! If only she could have heard other people moving about in it!
    Knowing how foolish she was being, but all at once exasperated beyond bearing, she crossed to the fireplace, grasped the bell-pull beside it and wrenched it and wrenched it over and over again, feeling as if, sooner or later, if only she went on long enough, it would make some sound. Then suddenly it did. A bell pealed clearly in the silence.
    She snatched her hand back from the bell as if it had burnt her. Then she realised that of course it was not this bell that had rung, but the front door bell. Leaning on her sticks, she made her way along the hall to the front door and opened it. As she had expected, it was Mrs. Lambie who stood there, dressed in her neat grey tweed suit and holding a saucepan.
    “I’ve just been making a pot of lentil soup,” she said, “much too much for just myself, and I thought in this weather you might find it acceptable. There’s nothing like a good soup when the weather’s so inclement. Do you care for it?”
    “How very good of you,” Helen said. “Won’t you come in?”
    “Are you sure it’s not inconvenient? I don’t want to intrude.” Mrs. Lambie was already inside the door by the time she spoke. Helen closed it behind her. “You’ll find there’s nothing unwholesome in it, none of that tinned stuff, just good ham bones and lentils and plenty of vegetables. I hope you enjoy it. And I hope you and your delightful husband are happy here. I know it isn’t very grand, but I did my best to make it comfortable.”
    “It’s fine,” Helen said, taking the saucepan and carrying it to the kitchen, then rejoining Mrs. Lambie, who had gone into the sitting-room and sat down by the fire. She was patting her red hair, so bizarre above her aged face.
    “Yes, I did my best,” she said, “but you aren’t happy here, are you? I can always tell. You won’t stay.”
    “Well, of course we never meant to stay for long,” Helen said. “As soon as I can get about better we want to find ourselves a small house somewhere and have our own furniture moved in. We had it sent to Edinburgh when we left to come home, and it’s in store now.”
    “Yes, yes, your husband made that quite clear to me when we signed the lease,” Mrs. Lambie said. “I knew you’d only be here temporarily. But when I said you aren’t happy here, that isn’t what I meant. It’s nothing to do with the flat, is it? There’s trouble between the two of you, anyone can see that. So sad, when you’re both so charming. And you’re both trying so hard to make a success of things now. I think that’s what I noticed first, how hard you were trying. It didn’t