Simon kept his explanation to the essentials. Lucy had been helping with a job in France. On the way home, they’d gotten into an automobile accident. A car had run a red light and struck the passenger side of their vehicle. Lucy had suffered a broken leg, fractured ribs, and a fractured skull. As soon as she was stable, he’d arranged for an airlift to bring Lucy to a private clinic in Surrey, where she would receive the finest treatment.
“So she’s all right?” said Brian, shaking loose a cigarette. “Having a bit of a kip?”
Simon stared at the young man. “She’s been placed in a medically induced coma to help relieve the brain swelling. The good news is that she’s breathing on her own. The doctors are hopeful.”
“She’s a vegetable, then?” said Brian. “Going to be one of those drooling out the corner of her mouth, stares at you like a zombie.”
“That’s enough,” said Simon, a bat of an eye away from dusting the kid.
A tear ran down Dora Brown’s cheek as her jaw began to quiver.
“Who are you, then?” asked Brian, all outrage and bravado. “She’s my sister. I can say what I please.”
“Shut up,” said Dora, lashing out at her son. “It’s Lucy we’re talking about.”
“Just joking, Ma.”
“Get out,” she said. “Go. Leave us be.”
“But—”
“Now!” Dora was out of her chair, hand pointing to the hall. Brian stormed from the room, but not before making more mocking noises.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Riske. We do what we can. Please go on. How is Lucy really?”
“As I said, she’s in critical condition. We just have to wait and see.”
“See what?”
“If she recovers and how well.”
Dora’s face clouded, and she regarded him with suspicion. “But you…you’re fine. Doesn’t look like you have a scratch.”
Simon nodded. “I was lucky.”
Dora dismissed this with a roll of the eyes. “And now? What am I supposed to do? I suppose you’ve come for money. Look around you. We can’t afford a fancy clinic. The NHS barely pays for my diabetes medicines as it is.”
“I’m seeing to her care.”
Dora Brown’s gaze shifted. She appraised Simon in a different vein. “You and her…you aren’t?”
“Lucy is my best apprentice. Our relationship is strictly professional.”
From the recesses of the flat came the sound of a baby crying. Dora didn’t appear to hear. Simon rose from the sofa. “Well, then,” he said, taking a step toward the hall.
“She was in France, eh?” Dora looked past Simon and out the window to a world she’d never have. “I always wanted to go to Paris.”
“When Lucy’s better, I’m sure the two of you can both go.” Simon smiled. “Together.”
Dora Brown shot him a dark glance; she’d have none of it. “Just because she’s ill doesn’t mean she’s going to come home when she’s better. Or that I’d welcome her.” She leveled an accusing finger at him. “It’s your kind’s fault. Everything was fine until he left. He was a chartered accountant, my Reg was. Making good money. We were in Fulham then. Edward, my oldest, won a scholarship to the church school. Lucy was just a sprout. I’d just had Brian. He was difficult even then.”
Simon clasped his hands, giving Lucy’s mother his attention. He could see that she needed to unburden herself, as if Lucy’s accident was as much her fault as Simon’s.
“Are you in touch with your husband?” he asked.
“With Reg? He’s gone. Twenty years now. Fell off a curb stone drunk and caved in his head. Lucy needed a father. We all did.”
“I’m sorry.” Lucy had told him only that her father had deserted the family, not that he was dead.
