Gentleman of the Road

CHAPTER 1

Carlo raced excitedly across the field, as though he had been released after months of captivity. It was that sort of morning, thought Tamara, as she chased after him, her long Indian cotton skirt looped up in one hand. She loved this hazy, early sunlight which was so typical of this part of Cornwall, and the walk before breakfast helped to clear her mind for the day ahead.

Panting slightly, she stopped running and waited for the dog to return to her side. After tearing around the field several times, he would come back as usual. The grass was still wet, staining the flimsy leather sandals and dampening the hem of her skirt as she let it fall. Tamara shivered slightly. There was still a coolness in the air, although it promised to be another scorching June day.

She picked up her skirt again and continued to walk across the field. Carlo had not come back yet and she could not see him any longer. A long, low whistle issued from her pursed lips, as she scanned the horizon. The dog was nowhere in sight. Then she heard him barking. Frowning, she began to run towards the sound, lifting her skirt higher to give more freedom to her long, brown legs.
“Carlo! Carlo! Where are you? Come here, boy!” She continued to call out as she ran, but the dog merely carried on barking. Then she saw him, hidden in a slight clip at the edge of the field. He had found something. As she drew nearer, Tamara's enjoyment of the morning disappeared. It looked like a body, a tramp perhaps; a heap of ragged clothes, motionless on the damp grass.

“What is it, Carlo?” she whispered, dropping to her knees beside the prone form, afraid of what she might find. It looked like a tramp - a man of indeterminate age. But was he dead? Surely, if he were alive, he would have opened his eyes with all the noise the dog had made. He was very pale; his face etched with exhaustion. She stretched out a hand hesitantly almost afraid to touch him.

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed as her fingers came into contact with hot, dry skin. “He's ill, Carlo. I think we’d better try to get him home.” She frowned as she looked at the man again. He was tall, but thin - too thin for his frame - almost emaciated. “I suppose I’d better try to wake him - I don’t see how I can carry him.” She often talked to herself or to the dog. Perhaps it was as a result of leading so isolated a life. She bit her thumb thoughtfully. No, she really couldn’t carry him. Although tall and fairly strong, she did not see how she could get him back to the cottage without help.

Tamara shook his shoulder, gently at first, but there was no response. Biting her lip, she shook him more roughly and a moan escaped from between his parched lips.

“Wake up! Please, wake up! You’ve got to help me,” she pleaded desperately, trying to pull him up into a sitting position. He moaned again and his eyes opened suddenly. The pain she saw there shocked Tamara. “Are you injured? Can you walk?” The pain faded to be replaced by puzzlement.
“Where am I?” he murmured faintly. “I don’t remember.”
“You’re lying in a field, and you are obviously ill. Can you get up? I went to take you to my cottage, across the field, but you’ll have to help me.”

He nodded and stared at her, pain and confusion reflected in his eyes. Then he tried to stand up, but fell back again. “I don’t know if I can,” he gasped weakly.
“You must do,” she insisted. “I can’t carry you across there and there’s no-one else to help.” She put her arms under his and tried to raise him. As he stumbled to his feet, he fell against her and it was all she could do to keep her balance. “Lean against me! I’ll put my arm around your waist.”

Their progress across the field was slow and awkward but they arrived at the cottage eventually. Tamara eased the man into a chair and then wondered what she should do next. He was obviously quite ill; she had felt the burning heat of his body through his clothes.

The cottage was small and primitive. Downstairs there was just a sitting room and kitchen, with a built-on toilet next to the back door. There were two bedrooms upstairs, but one was filled with packing cases and other junk. She would have to make a bed for him on the sofa bed in the living room. Quickly, she opened out the sofa and ran upstairs for some clean bedding. The man was in a filthy state, but there wasn’t much she could do about that immediately. His eyes were closing again and she had to get him to bed while he was still conscious.

“Come on! Stand up again!” She pulled him out of the chair and eased the torn and dirty coat from his shoulders. Then she helped him across to the bed, and began to pull off the rest of his clothes. He murmured a weak protest, but she ignored it and soon had his emaciated body covered by the sheets.
“What next, Carlo?” she asked the Alsatian who had been watching everything with an alert interest. “I think I’d better go and telephone the doctor. We’ll have to wait for breakfast.”

The telephone box was a couple of miles down the track from the cottage and along a country lane, but it didn’t take long on Tamara’s old cycle. Within moments she was back home, scooping up the dirty clothes and flinging them in the bathtub outside the back door. They could soak a little until she had time to wash them properly. If they shrank, it was just too bad; they weren’t really fit for anyone to wear anyway.

The doctor frowned as he examined the man, and then he shook his head. “He definitely has a fever, but he’s suffering from exhaustion too. The best thing is to let him sleep for the time being. When he wakes, give him lots of fluids. I doubt whether he’ll be able to eat solids for quite some time.”
“He doesn’t look as though he’s been eating properly for a long time,” said Tamara. “I wander what happened to him.”
“I don’t know, young woman, but are you sure you want to keep him here? I could send an ambulance out for him.” He peered at her through his bifocals. “After all, you don’t even know who he is or where he came from.”
Tamara laughed. “You’re quite right, but I’m sure he’s going to be perfectly harmless for quite a while.” She reached down and patted her dog’s head. “Anyway, Carlo’s accepted him and he knows about people.”
“Well, all right.” The doctor was still frowning. “I’ll call again in a couple of days, but don’t hesitate to ring if you need me in the meantime.” He glanced round the room. “You do have a telephone, don’t you?”
“No, but there’s one a few miles down the road. I can always cycle there if I need to call you.” Tamara paused. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” she asked anxiously.
“I should think so. The main problem seems to be exhaustion and undernourishment.” He looked down at the pale face with its grey stubble. “I always wonder why these people take to the road. Perhaps you’ll find out in this case.”
“Perhaps,” She smiled. “I did notice that he had quite a cultured voice - not what I expected.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much really - nothing about himself. You couldn’t exactly call it a conversation.” Tamara hesitated. “How long do you think he’ll sleep?”
“The doctor shook his head. “It’s hard to say - round the clock probably. His body needs it. I’d say he’s been pushing himself pretty hard.”

The doctor was right. There was hardly a murmur from the man until the following afternoon. In the meantime Tamara had washed, dried and mended his clothes, although there was little she could do with his dilapidated shoes. She had dozed in a chair during the night, not wanting to leave the room in case the man woke and wondered where he was. Several times she crossed over to the bed and felt his forehead. It was still burning but his breathing was deep and regular.

Tamara was tapping away on her old typewriter when she heard a sound from the bed. She jumped up immediately and crossed the room to find a pair of confused brown eyes watching her.

“It’s all right. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll bring you a drink.” She brought a mug of warm tea from the kitchen and propped up his pillow so that he could drink. Her patient was weak and she had to hold the mug for him. As soon as he had finished, he dropped back onto the pillow without a word. There was a dazed, lost look in his eyes, and Tamara wandered if he was fully aware of her.

Throughout the day, she made warm drinks and sponged him with tepid water to try to bring down his temperature, but his skin was still dry and burning to the touch. As soon as it began to go dark, Tamara lit a couple of paraffin lamps and settled down in her easy chair. Within a short time she heard a movement from the bed.

The man seemed to be asleep yet his eyes were open. He was tossing and turning so much that she had to stop him throwing off all the bedclothes. All the time, he was muttering beneath his breath, but she could not tell what he was saying. No longer was his skin dry. Now he poured with perspiration, soaking the sheets.

There was little Tamara could do. She thought of cycling to the phone box, but was reluctant to leave her patient alone. She stayed by his side all night, sponging his head continually and trying to keep him covered. Dawn was breaking before he eventually quietened and fell into a more natural sleep.

Exhausted, she let Carlo out for a run and then climbed the stairs to her own room. At least the fever seemed to have broken and she felt she could leave her patient for a few hours. She was almost too weary to remove her clothes, but eventually stumbled into bed and fell asleep immediately.
The man was still asleep several hours later when Tamara came downstairs. His temperature had dropped considerably and there was a little more colour in his face. Sighing with relief, she went out to the well to draw some water. By the time she had washed and eaten some lunch, her patient was awake. She gave him a drink and sponged his face, noting with satisfaction that his temperature was almost normal.

“How do you feel?” she asked softly, but he just looked at her blankly. “Can you eat anything?” There was an empty expression on his face; he did not seem to hear her. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost two and she needed to do some shopping.

“I have to go out,” she explained. “I won’t be long.” He did not respond and she saw that his eyes were closing again. It should be all right to leave him, she thought. She would only be away for about an hour just enough time to cycle to the village shop and back. Then she would have to do some work, as she was way behind schedule.

Apart from her usual groceries, Tamara bought a safety razor and a pair of plastic flip-flops from the shop. At least he would have something to put on his feet when he got up. The shoes had only been fit for the dustbin. She thought she might shave him later, if he would let her. She had done it before, after her father suffered his first stroke.

She winced slightly as she thought about the last time she had looked after an invalid. It had changed her life. She and Roger had planned to be married, but shortly before the big day her father had suffered that stroke. At least there had been one good thing about the whole affair; she had seen how selfish and thoughtless Roger really was. He had wanted her to put her father in a home.

Roger! She would never trust another man after that. Her father’s illness had been an easy escape for Roger. She realised that now. He had never really loved her and had only really been interested in her body. But Tamara had not wanted sex before marriage, so Roger had known he would have to marry her for that! Oh well, she was well rid of him. Her father was not an invalid for long before a second stroke killed him. After her initial grief, she remembered how glad she had been that she hadn’t done what Roger had suggested. At least she had done her best to make her father’s last few months as happy as possible.

After he had died, it had taken several more months to sort out all his affairs. The old family house had been in a bad state of repair, and there had been no money left to spend on it. Anyway, it had been far too big for Tamara and her only brother, Sebastian, had been living in Australia for some time. He was not interested in an old house he never expected to see again. Eventually, Tamara had sold the house and sent half the proceeds to Seb. After that, she had just enough money left to buy her cottage.

She sighed as she remembered all the worry of those months. Seb had offered to come back and help her to sort things out, but she told him not to. After all, he had a growing family and could not really afford the fare. It would have been lovely to see him and to have someone else to share the problems, but... Well, perhaps one day she might be able to make the trip across the world. She smiled wryly as she freewheeled down the lane to the cottage.

The stranger was still sleeping when she went into the cottage, but within a short time he awoke again and stared around the room as blankly as before. Tamara frowned.

“How are you feeling? Do you think you could eat anything?” There was still no response and the man did not seem to have heard her. Could the fever have damaged his brain, she wondered? If only the doctor would call again, she could ask him. She bent over and felt his head. The temperature was normal. At least she could take advantage of the situation and clean him up a little.

“I’m going to give you a bath and change the bedding,” she announced cheerfully. “I’m sure it will make you feel much better.” It would certainly make her feel better if her patient were a little cleaner. Within moments she was heating pans of water on the Aga, and soon she was easing the man out of the bed into a large tin bath. He was still extremely weak but did exactly as she told him. His docility alarmed her; it was vegetable-like, as though his mind had slipped into some dark obscurity. While he sat in the warm water, she stripped the sofa bed and remade it with clean, crisp sheets. Then she helped him to wash thoroughly from head to toe including his dark matted hair.

When he was back in bed, she threw a towel round his shoulders and shaved him carefully. He did not protest, but just looked into the distance with empty brown eyes. Finally, she was satisfied when she looked at the invalid. He looked strangely young with his damp ruffled hair, yet the grey at the temples indicated that he was older than he seemed. Good-looking too, in a gaunt way, with strong well-chiselled features and a nice mouth. He didn’t look like a tramp anymore, but there was still that vacant expression in his eyes.

“Why?” Tamara muttered under her breath, as she collapsed into an armchair. Why had she taken this stranger into her home and performed all these intimate tasks so naturally for him. It wasn’t natural after all. She had no nursing experience apart from her father, and that was different. In fact she was normally quite squeamish about such things. So why had she felt this strange compulsion to help this sick and bedraggled specimen of humanity?

It wasn’t just pity, although that may have had something to do with it. She really hadn’t thought much about what she was doing until now; she had just gone ahead and done it. Why, when she was normally so jealous of her privacy? Tamara shook her head and stood up. A drink would do them both good. She had just put on the kettle when there was a loud rap at the door.

“He looks like a different man,” said the doctor, as he examined the patient. “You’ve done an excellent job.”
“But there’s something wrong. Look at his eyes! He doesn’t speak or respond when I speak to him…Although he seems to understand when I tell him to do something.”
The doctor frowned and examined the man’s eyes. “It’s a little like trauma. I wonder what could have caused it.”
“He wasn’t like that when I found him. He was weak and sick but seemed quite normal mentally.” She hesitated, not wanting to seem as though she was telling the doctor his job. “I wondered if the fever might have affected his brain.”
“It’s possible. I just can’t tell at the moment. We don’t know what he had been through before you found him.” He frowned. “It’s strange. He doesn’t seem like a tramp. I noticed scars on his feet from recent blisters and his hands are quite soft for a gentleman of the road.”
“The clothes were strange too. They were in a terrible state, but had obviously been expensive. Of course, they may have been things someone had thrown out.”
“Ah, that reminds me. I brought a few old things of mine for him. I thought they might be of some use, although he’s taller than I remembered.” He smiled. “A couple of pairs of pyjamas might prove useful, even if they are short in the leg, and some underwear, shirts, socks and an old pair of shoes.”
“Sounds marvellous I’ve patched his things up, but they’re still almost falling to pieces. And I threw the shoes away.”
The doctor turned to his patient again. “Well, old chap, at least you’re being looked after. I wonder whether you realise it.”
“I don’t know,” said Tamara slowly. “When I was washing him, he seemed to understand what I told him to do. But it was a little like ordering a robot around. Everything seemed so mechanical.”
“But at least it means he still has his co-ordination.” The doctor shook his head. “I don’t understand it. All I can suggest is that you carry on helping him to get his strength back. Once he’s fully rested and nourished. I’ll take him over to the hospital for tests.”

Days passed, but still Tamara was unable to communicate with her visitor. She settled into a routine, almost as though he had always been there. First was her early morning walk, then breakfast. During the day she worked on the stories she wrote for magazines, reading the finished work to her patient but not knowing how much he understood. In the evenings she listened to the radio in the lamplight.

At first, the man was only able to drink fluids, but soon she weaned him onto more solid foods. Within a week, he was eating the same things as Tamara and was able to stumble cautiously around the room. The blankness was still there in his eyes, but he began to take over the normal duties of washing and shaving.

She was puzzled, and more and more convinced this man had never been a real tramp. There was no clue to his identity in the clothes he had been wearing, but he was obviously a methodical man. Tamara watched him, wondering what was happening in the mind behind that vacant facade. It was as though he was sleepwalking, and she waited for him to awake. Then he did awake, suddenly and violently, in a way for which Tamara was not prepared.

“Wendy! Wendy! No, don’t do it! For God’s sake, let go! The children! No! No! No! ...” The cries woke her from a deep dreamless sleep, and it took her several seconds to grasp what was happening. It sounded as though he was having a nightmare, but at least he was speaking, shouting.

Tamara grabbed her dressing gown and ran downstairs. She had left a lamp burning low, and now she turned it up so she could see him better. He had stopped shouting and was sitting bolt upright in bed, muttering to himself. She realised he was still asleep and decided it would be better not to try to wake him while he was still dreaming. She listened but could only make out occasional wards.
“The children! No! Wendy! The tree!” Then he sobbed. “I’m sorry. You were right. I can’t go back there.” There were other mutterings but she could not make out what they meant. Sometimes, it sounded as though he might be dreaming about some sort of accident. At others, it seemed he was having an argument with someone.

It was a long night, but eventually the man calmed down and the mutterings ceased. His eyes closed and he slumped down into the bed. Tamara moved over and adjusted his pillow to make him more comfortable. He murmured something again and then his breathing became more regular. Tamara stood there for a moment, watching him. There was something rather vulnerable about the man. She suspected there was a tragedy somewhere in his past, and perhaps that was what he was running away from. Perhaps he had tried to push it out of his mind and this was the reason for the blankness. Impulsively, she bent over and kissed the cheek of the sleeping man, just as anyone might kiss a sleeping child.

Tamara looked at herself in the mirror the next morning. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes and her skin looked white in comparison to the rich dark brown of her curly hair and the darkness of her eyes. She slipped on a red sleeveless blouse over her long black skirt, feeling that she needed brightening up. Then she dragged a brush through her long tousled hair before putting two large gold loops in her ears. She smiled at herself, thinking that at least she looked a little brighter.
The morning was a little overcast, but the girl and dog enjoyed their walk. The dampness in the air, fanned by the breeze, was refreshing and helped to awaken Tamara fully after her disturbed night. When she returned to the cottage, the invalid was sitting up in bed. A single glance was enough for her to see the change. The eyes were a little clouded with some old pain, but they were alive and watching her.

“I think I must be in an enchanted cottage with Snow White or someone similar,” he said with a wry grin. “Or are you a wicked gypsy who steals children and others away?”
She laughed. “Well, at least you’re back in this world with the rest of us. I’m Tamara Fox and this is my cottage. I found you out in the fields almost a fortnight ago. You were very ill and weak as a kitten.”
He frowned. “I seem to remember something very vaguely. Did you make me walk across the field? And then you took my clothes.”
“That’s right. I had to get you across the field to the cottage. When we got hers, you were obviously going to flake out again, so I put you to bed.” She blushed slightly as he looked at her. “You were in a filthy state. I thought you were a tramp but you’re not, are you?”
His eyes clouded and he looked away from her. “I was a tramp, I suppose. I’d been on the road for months, travelled miles. I’d lived and slept in the same clothes ever since I left...” He stopped and stared at her. “But why did you take me in? Are you all alone here?”
She nodded. “I don’t know why I took you in,” she admitted. “I’ve asked myself a few times. I think there was something vulnerable about you.”
“Perhaps you just wanted to give me a good scrub. I’m certainly in a better state than I was when I arrived.” He glanced down. “Who do the pyjamas belong to?”
“The doctor. He wanted to whip you off to hospital, but I told him I’d look after you. I think he thought I was mad.” She laughed. “How about breakfast? I hope you still have a good appetite now you’re fully awake.”
“Does that mean I’ve been conscious for some of the time?” His eyes were clouded again and he ran a hand through his dark hair.
“When I found you, you were feverish and very weak. The fever lasted a couple of days, but when you recovered from it... Well, I thought you had brain damage or something. Even the doctor didn’t know what to make of it.”
“Was I rambling?”
“No, just the opposite. You didn’t speak and there was a blank expression in your eyes. But you seemed to understand if I asked you to do anything. You’ve been feeding yourself, and washing and shaving.”
“I don’t remember anything since you brought me back here. How long did you say it’s been?”
“Almost three weeks. Then last night you had some sort of nightmare.”
“And I spoke?”
“You shouted something about Wendy... and the children. You sounded frightened and upset, but I couldn’t understand what it was all about.” She hesitated for a moment. “Is Wendy your wife?”
A closed expression came over his face and his eyes were shadowed. “I don’t have a wife,” he said quietly. Then he smiled. “You must let me pay you for all your expense in caring for me. I’m not quite as destitute as I appeared.”
“You certainly appeared completely destitute.” Tamara laughed. “I went through your clothes before I washed them, but there was nothing in the pockets.”
“You washed my clothes?”
“I had to. They were disgusting. I patched them as well as I could but I had to throw your shoes out - they were beyond repair. The doctor brought one or two things for you to be going on with.”
“You’re marvellous. I promise to get out of your way as soon as possible and to pay you for your trouble.”
“I don’t want any payment.” Tamara frowned. This talk of money and paying back upset her. That was not why she had taken in this stranger. And anyway, the cost of caring for him had been relatively small.
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said firmly.
“I suspect I might owe you my life,” he said humbly. “And that’s not something I want to forget.”