The Devil To Pay (Hennessey.) (114 page)

And she was weak, physically anyway, she was in no fit state to fight. No, he was on his own in this.

After cleaning his weapon he did some chores then set about fixing the broken bookcase, something he had been meaning to do for months but had never gotten round to it, but now he needed to keep busy, he needed to keep his mind from what might happen, and from her.

He was just sanding down the wood when he heard the bed springs squeak, a few minutes later the toilet flushed. So unless Dante had learned how to use the bathroom the woman was awake. He looked at his watch, 12.30; she had slept less than five hours, not long but better than nothing and more than he had.

He waited for her to come into the living room; he waited five minutes, ten, fifteen. Maybe she had gone back to bed but he had not heard the bed springs again, and she was light but not that light. He couldn’t hear the water running so she wasn’t taking a shower so what the hell was she doing in the bathroom all this time? He leapt to his feet, what if she had passed out? He was halfway across the room when another even more horrible thought came to him, what if she had gone out the window again?

Damn that woman, that crazy, impetuous, irresponsible woman. He ran into the bedroom glancing at the bed as he did so, she wasn’t there and Dante sat on the rug looking at him curiously.

He was so angry by now, so convinced that he was right and that she’d rabbited again that he didn’t even knock on the bathroom door but burst in expecting to find the window open and her gone. But the sight that met him shocked him more than if she had been passed out on the floor or gone out the window. She stood in just her bra and jeans her hair hanging in untidy tangled waves down her back. In one hand she held a handful of hair and in the other a pair of scissors.

CHAPTER 37.

        He stood and stared, his eyes wide his mouth open before he cast his eyes down to the sink where long pieces of golden brown hair lay in the white bowl.

Adela had
leapt back in alarm when he had burst in, the scissors raised to her head, but now she just stood looking at him with a mixture of relief and guilt and embarrassment. He dashed forward and tore the scissors from her hand, ‘what the fuck ya doin', woman?’

She didn’t berate him for the profanity but said calmly, ‘I’m cutting my hair.’

He gaped at her, ‘I can see that you idiot, but why? Why would you want to do a thing like that?’

‘I thought it was the wise thing to do, he…’ she hesitated, ‘I’ve been told that my hair is the first thing people notice about me, so it makes sense that if it’s no longer there then I won’t be so easy to spot.’

He looked at her as he had when she had accused him of being in cahoots with Hennessey; as if she had gone mad, the anger was the same too. ‘And what else will you do,’ he snapped, ‘borrow some of my clothes and try to pass yourself off as a man?’ His eyes travelled down her face to her neck landed on her chest and stayed there, ‘well I got news for you, lady, that ain’t gonna happen.’

His eyes found hers again and saw the moment she realised she was semi naked, he watched as the blush suffused the cut and graze
d skin of her face and neck. She grabbed the shirt she had thrown onto the laundry hamper and pressed it to her chest.

He said
, ‘God, woman I thought you was crazy before, but now I think you’re plum loco.’

She was stunned but said quietly, ‘why, why should it matter to you what I do, what I look like, whether I have short or long hair?’

He yelled now, ‘it don’t matter, it don’t matter one iota to me what ya do or how ya look, lady. But when this is over you’ll regret it, you’ll look in the mirror and wish you hadn’t done it. You grew your hair this long for a reason, 'cos you like it, 'cos it’s...it’s…’ He paused before continuing more calmly now, ‘you’ll just regret it.’

She was desperate to know what he had been about to say before he had hesitate
d. But why should he be so angry that she had been about to cut her hair.

He pushed her aside and very gently pulled the hair out of the sink. He held it in his hand and rubbed his thumb over it before looking back at her. Then to her amazement he pushed the hair back from her face and ran his hands down it much as he’d done to the piece of hair in the sink.
Then shaking his head he said, ‘well, there ain’t much damage done, lucky I came in when I did.’

Sh
e stared at him incredulous then asked softly, ‘why did you?’

He fr
owned, ‘what d’ya mean?’

‘Why did you come bursting in here?’ She didn’t ask this angrily but curiously.

He looked away and she couldn’t help it, she smiled, ‘you thought I’d gone AWOL again didn’t you?’

His head came up in surprise
that she suspected this, but also that she had used the term AWOL, it didn’t sound like the kind of thing she would say, or even know.

But
her smile annoyed him and he retorted, ‘as a matter of fact I thought you might have passed out or something. But yeah, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d taken off again,’ he looked at the scissors in his hand then back at her, ‘you seem to have a propensity for doing foolhardy, reckless things.’

She lowered her eyes and clutched the shirt tight
er to her. He felt bad now for snapping at her, but he was still recovering from the shock he had felt when he had caught her cutting her hair. Why he should care what length her hair was he didn’t know, why should it matter to him if she had hair down to her feet or was as bald as a coot? He turned to the door impatient to get away from her hurt, embarrassed eyes and from his own thoughts. Without looking at her he said, ‘take a shower, you need it, I’ll get you a clean shirt.’ Then he turned and left the bathroom,

Left alone, Adela stood staring
at the door through which he had so angrily exited. She looked down at the sink in which pieces of hair still remained; he had taken the long piece with him.

She turned on the tap to rinse the hair away asking herself why he
should be so concerned, so angry, what was it to him?

But she had to admit she was relieved, more than relieved, happy that he had stopped her. She had stood a long while with the scissors in her hand just looking at her hair, she knew it was the sensible thing to do, but more than anything she had not wanted to do it.

She was already mourning the piece she had cut off. She looked at herself in the mirror, part of her hair was now shorter on one side than the other, but as he had said, apart from that there was little damage. She touched the side of her hair where she had cut the piece he had taken and where his fingers had slid so gently a few minutes before. Why had he done that? Oh, what did it matter, and why was she pondering such trivial thoughts when she had so many much more important things to think about?

She jumped startled as a k
nock came on the door. ‘Yes, Mr. Lando?’

His hand reached into the d
oor holding a shirt. ‘There’s clean towels in the cupboard there, but don’t be all day about taking that shower.’

She took the shirt
from him, ‘I won’t. And thank you, Mr. Lando.’

He didn’t reply but withdrew his hand. She stayed there just looking down at the shirt which was again the same type as the one she wore, then recalling his words quickly began to undress.

She removed the bandages carefully wincing as she did so, then realised that he would have to see to her feet again, unless she did it herself. Yes, that would be best, after all, she felt better after her much needed sleep and quite capable of tending to her own feet. When she stepped into the shower she closed her eyes with relief and pleasure as the warm water flowed over her aching, and by now, very grimy body. She washed her hair not even considering how she would dry it; it was just so nice to have it clean again. She very reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower quickly drying herself with the worn but clean towel.

She wondered how Lando did his washing, she had not seen a washing machine, maybe he did it the old fashioned way, in the sink, then hung it out to dry, the weather was so hot here it would be dry in thirty minutes.

There she went again thinking about silly mundane things, but while she was thinking these things she wasn’t thinking about Sterling Hennessey, or Glissando. She put to the back of her mind the fact that she might not be thinking about them but she
was
thinking about Jonas Lando.

She dressed in her tatty jeans and Lando’s shirt and slipped on the sneakers then using the small comb she had found on the window ledge she tried to bring some order into her knotted hair, of course Lando had no conditioner so it was hard going. She gave up when she realised that she was taking too much time and he would be getting annoyed again, besides her arms were aching, especially her shoulder.

She pulled the hair out of the comb, washed it, then put it back on the window ledge. She pinned up her hair as best she could then taking a very deep breath opened the door. She took another deep breath before entering the living room. She was saved by having to look at Lando, who was in the kitchen, by Dante who came running over to her wagging his tail but still looking nervous, it was obviously a perpetual look with him. She bent down to stroke him saying, ‘hello, Dante you silly old dog.’

His tail wagged w
ith even more ferocity whipping against her leg. ‘Hey, don’t you think I have enough bruises as it is?’ But she was smiling so he didn’t take her seriously and continued to whip her legs with his tail.

She giggled but Lando snapped
, ‘Dante, stop.’

Dante looked at him and Adela could have sworn the dog was hurt, she patted and rubbed his back and head and said to Lando, ‘it’s all right, really. I was only joking about the bruises, what difference will a few more make?’

She was trying to make light of her injuries and at the same time stick up for Dante but Lando said curtly, ‘he’s not used to other people, he won’t know when to stop. I don’t want him getting into bad habits.’

She knew what he meant, he didn’t want Dante to get used to other people and maybe go wandering off and find someone who wouldn’t appreciate his new
- found exuberance. Plus, she had the feeling that Lando didn’t like Dante’s friendship with her, that he was jealous. Instead of amusing her it caused a softness in her towards him, she saw him in a new light, his jealousy proved he had feelings and emotions therefore made him seem more human.

So after giving Dante one last pat she stood up saying to Lando, ‘thanks for the shirt,’ she smiled, ‘that’s something else I’ll have to send you when I get home.’

He turned to look at her and the smile slid from her face. He had said nothing but she knew what he was thinking, the same thing she was, that she might never go home.

She lowered her eyes and walked to the living room area where she stood in front of the painting of the little house she had noticed earlier.

He watched her for a moment then asked, ‘how’s your shoulder?’

She turned to him
, instinctively touching her shoulder, ‘oh fine, thank you.’

He knew she wasn’t fine, but he had discovered that she would say she was if her entire body was covered in third degree burns.

He turned back to what he was doing which was making them something to eat. He had of course noticed her expression when she had said what she had about her home. He also noticed that she had washed her hair and pinned it up. He wondered what she had used to comb it, probably his small comb in the bathroom which for all that hair was neither use nor ornament. But she did look better, cleaner of course, but also more awake and alert, less agitated.

A few minutes later his voice beh
ind her made her jump, ‘you’d best eat; you’ve had nothing since yesterday afternoon.’

She turned and looked at him then down at the coffee table in which he had placed plates of bread and cheese, plus an assortment of fruits and nuts.

She had been hungry before but since the thought of home had come to her had suddenly lost her appetite but knew he would insist so said, ‘thank you, Mr. Lando.’ She sat down on the sofa and picked up a piece of bread and some cheese saying, ‘it looks very nice.’

He sat down on the armchair but did not respond to her comment so they ate in silence until Adela unable to stand the silence any longer said, ‘that painting there,’ she nodded at the wall, ‘it’s very pretty.’
He said nothing nor did he look up at the painting, ‘it’s not signed, do you know who the artist is, or was?’

‘If it’s not signed how should I know?’

She refused to be put off by his brusqueness, ‘well, I thought you might have known him, or her of course.’

He didn’t reply so she stood up and nibbling on a piece of apple walked up to the painting
and leaning closer studied it in more detail. She knew almost nothing about art but she did know that this painting was not done by a professional artist, nevertheless it was very good.

To her surprise Lando said, ‘I don’t know what you find of such interest in that picture, it’s depressing.’

She turned quickly around in surprise, ‘depressing?
I
don’t think so.’