Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

The etiolated sky, bleached out by lightning, rocked with the deafening booms of thunder and, as if there had been a sudden cloudburst, the rain fell more profusely, sluicing down the windows in streaming sheets, dimming his vision momentarily. He took the turn in the road too fast, saw the approaching lorry too late. Instinctively he swerved and braked, but the car was travelling at such high speed it seemed to move with its own velocity. It went into a slithering skid and spun out of control, careering across the wet road. He fought to regain control but despite his enormous strength he was unable to do so. The car slewed up over the embankment, leapt into the air, somer-saulted down into the gully, and impacted against a formation of boulders. He felt himself being crushed against the steering wheel, and then he blacked out.

It was the lorry driver who pulled him out of the wreckage a fraction of a second before the car burst into flames. Paul was still unconscious when the ambulance arrived at the hospital in Sydney two hours later. And he remained unconscious for several days. That he had lived at all was a miracle, the doctors said.

Paul manoeuvred himself across his study in the wheelchair until he was directly in front of his desk. He lit a cigarette and then settled down to peruse the pile of legal documents Mel Harrison, his solicitor, had left with him a week ago, just before he had been discharged from the hospital. He had gone over them endlessly, searching for any kind of small omission, or a clause that might lack clarity, and so far he had found none. But to be absolutely certain before he signed them, he went through them for the last time, reading each page slowly, weighing each word scrupulously. At the end of three hours he was satisfied nothing could be misinterpreted. As usual, Mel had drawn the documents with his special brand of brilliance. Every one of them was watertight and would stand up in any court of law, in any country in the world, should they be challenged. He did not expect that to happen. He was mostly concerned that his exact intentions were crystal clear, and indeed they were. Paul smiled for the first time in days. Something had gone right for once.

It was almost six o’clock. Mel was due any moment. What a staunch, supportive, and devoted friend he had been in the last three months since the accident, always there when he was needed, and often when he was not. Preparing legal papers; attending to matters too confidential to hand over to anyone else; visiting the hospital on a daily basis; even neglecting his wife and family at weekends, to sit with him and bolster his courage, to pull him out of the black moods which sometimes engulfed him. Since the bandages had been removed, Paul had not wanted any visitors except Mel and the men who worked for the various McGill corporations. He had certainly not wanted his other friends to see his shattered face. He could not have stomached their sympathy, or their pity.

Despair trickled through him and he closed his eyes, wondering how much longer he could go on. Sometimes he thought he could not tolerate another day of living in this wretched state. What a rotten twist of fate. The accident would never have happened if he had listened to Emma in New York and not returned to Sydney. Now here he was, chained to a wheelchair and dependent on others for almost everything he needed. It was a condition that did not sit easily with him. He had always been in the enviable position of being able to bend life to his will, to reverse circumstances to suit himself. But ever since the crash he had experienced a sense of powerlessness so acute it was devastating. It engendered a monumental frustration that spiralled into blazing anger. Even his money and his influence, always potent weapons in the past, had become quite useless to him.

Smithers, the butler-valet who had been in his employ for years, knocked and entered the study, interrupting Paul’s thoughts. ‘Mr Harrison has arrived, sir. Shall I show him in here, or do you want to go into the sitting room?’

‘In here, Smithers, please.’

A moment later Mel was grasping his hand. ‘How are you, Paul?’

‘Feeling much better, believe it or not,’ Paul said, and motioned to the butler. ‘Fix us the usual, Smithers, please.’

‘Right away, sir.’

Paul swung the chair away from the desk. ‘Let’s sit over there by the fire. I always feel chilled to the bone these days.’

When the butler had left, Paul said, ‘I should have been more forceful with the doctors weeks ago, and made them discharge me then. I think being in familiar surroundings has helped me a great deal.’

‘I’m sure it has,’ Mel said brightly. ‘Cheers, old chap.’

‘Cheers,’ Paul responded. They clinked glasses and Paul went on, ‘I’ve spent a lot of time on the papers, Mel. They’re in good order now. We can sign them later.’

‘Fine, Paul. Incidentally, I told Audrey I wouldn’t be home for dinner. If you can stand my company for a second night running I thought I’d foist myself on you. Is that all right?’

‘Of course. I’d be delighted to have you dine with me.’ He wheeled himself to the bar and poured another scotch. ‘How’s your drink, Mel? Can I freshen it up?’

‘Not right now, thanks. Listen, Paul, I’ve been thinking a lot about Emma these past few days, since you’ve been home. I think we ought to send for her. I’ve discussed it with Audrey, and she agrees with me.’

‘No!’ Paul spun the wheelchair around. He peered into Mel’s face and his eyes blazed. ‘I absolutely forbid it!’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘I don’t want her to see me like this. Besides, the news is getting graver every day. We could be at war with Germany tomorrow. I don’t want her travelling halfway across the world at such a dangerous time.’

Mel regarded Paul carefully. ‘I understand your feelings. But I also dread to think what she’ll do to me when she finds out I’ve lied to her in my letters, just as you have in yours. You also used your considerable influence to keep the details of the accident out of the newspapers, and so she is in the dark about the seriousness of your condition. But isn’t it time you wrote and told her the truth? She should know.’

Paul shook his head. ‘ She’s not to know. Not under any circumstances whatsoever.’ He softened his tone. ‘Not yet, anyway. I’ll decide when it’s the right time to tell her.’ His face became morose. ‘How does a man tell a passionate and active woman like Emma that she’s tied to a hopeless cripple who is paralysed from the waist down, who has lost half his face and-’ He paused and looked at Mel intently. ‘And who is impotent. Who will always be impotent. Not easy, my friend. Not easy at all.’

Mel did not know how to respond and such strong feelings of sympathy swept through him he stood up quickly before Paul detected the pity filling his eyes. He stepped to the bar and picked up the bottle of scotch. He said, ‘I think you might be underestimating Emma. In fact, I’m damned sure you are. She would want to be with you. To give you all of her support and love. Let’s cable her, Paul. Now.’

‘No,’ Paul said, his voice suddenly tinged with weariness. ‘I don’t want her to be burdened down with me. I’m no use to her. I’m not much use to myself, if the truth be known.’

Mel walked back to the fireplace, racking his brains for a way to convince Paul to send for Emma. He needed her more than he had ever needed her in his life, but he was an obstinate devil, and proud. ‘Emma wouldn’t see it that way. She loves you. Why, she worships the ground…You,’ Mel quickly corrected himself, and cleared his throat. Then his face brightened perceptibly as another thought struck him. He said rapidly, ‘Look here, if you don’t want Emma travelling, why don’t you book a passage to England yourself? You could be there in a month.’