The Wonder Worker Read Online Free PDF Page B

clergyman I told you about.” And when Aunt remained corpse-like I said defiantly to the stranger beside me: “I always introduce her to visitors.”
    “Of course,” said Val, as if it were perfectly normal to assume that someone in Aunt’s state would care about the social niceties, and sat down in the chair by the bedside.
    I returned downstairs.
    That afternoon I had spent over an hour cleaning the sitting-room and I was glad to see my efforts showed despite the dark, faded wallpaper and the threadbare carpet. Most of Aunt’s good pieces of furniture had been sold by this time, but I had managed to keep her three favourites—the grandfather clock, the desk and the bookcase—and these were now highly polished, glowing in the soft light from the lamps. On my way home from the City I’d bought some daffodils at the market on Strutton Ground and these were now arranged in Aunt’s best Waterford crystal vase. Flowers always made such a difference to a shabby room, and Nicholas was noticing them; he was touching the petals briefly and the daffodils seemed to strain towards him as if he were exuding an invisible light. On the table by the vase was Aunt’s cherished photograph of her golden cat, now deceased. I watched as Nicholas’s fingers wandered from the flowers to the frame. “Handsome!” was his comment as he replaced the photograph on the table.
    “That’s Orlando on his twelfth birthday. He actually lived to be eighteen, but then he got kidney trouble and—but you don’t want to hear all that. Sorry. Do sit down.”
    He smiled reassuringly, settled himself in the larger of the two armchairs which flanked the fireplace and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Our conversation earlier was helpful,” he said, “but there are more things I need to know. For a start, what’s your aunt’s name?”
    “Beatrice Harrison.”
    “And how old is she?”
    “Eighty-two.”
    “Did she ever marry?”
    “No, she was too plain. She said a plain streak ran through the family and plain women never married.”
    Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Never?”
    “Well, she didn’t. And I haven’t. So she thought no plain woman did.”
    “That reminds me of the famous argument about dogs and cats: ‘My dog has four legs. Your cat has four legs. Therefore my dog is a cat.’ ”
    “I don’t quite see—”
    “It’s using logic to prove an absurdity. But tell me more about this family of yours. Are your parents dead?”
    “My father might be. He dropped out and went to Canada over thirty years ago and I’ve heard nothing from him since. My mother dropped out of my life too but she’s alive and well and living in Manchester with her second husband.”
    “You see her sometimes?”
    “Oh God, no! But I’ve got her address and I’ll let her know when Aunt dies … Which reminds me, what have all these questions to do with Aunt and her illness?”
    “Background information gives me a clearer picture of what to pray for. Is your aunt’s doctor also your doctor?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you like her?”
    “Him. Not particularly. Well, to be truthful, I never go near him if I can help it.”
    “That doesn’t sound satisfactory. What’s his problem?”
    “Well, it’s my problem, not his. Whenever I show up at his surgery he just goes on and on about the dangers of being overweight, and by the time I get home I’m so upset I have to binge to calm myself down.”
    “If he doesn’t realise how much he’s upsetting you I’d say the problem was very far from being yours alone.”
    “You mean—”
    “I’m often asked to help people who express distress through their use of food or some other substance, and I can tell you that adopting an authoritarian stance and giving lectures is usually a complete waste of time. But let’s get back to your aunt. Have you told her about me?”
    “Yes, but there was no reaction. Mr. Darrow”—I drew a deepbreath—“if all goes well, what do you think might happen? I