She had a classical quaint house. Not in the muck and filth like the rest of us, but a little yard with the house made sturdy with red bricks. I could see little saplings surrounded by a dirt darker than the surrounding.
She was making a home.
I knocked on the oak door, it was mid day and she should be in. It opened a moment later revealing her with an updo and a long white cotton jacket with a Park embroidered on the left above a pen pocket over a loose brown blouse. She was directly eye level. I glanced down to see her wearing sturdy strapped shoes with a small lift.
Pragmatic Shinal. She raised an eyebrow at my perusal and did her own slow look up and down. Ending with a small huff but I could tell she was amused. I always had my jackets pressed and golden hand watch pinned to my pockets. I knew it was far from the ruffled unkempt appearance of the city, I made sure of that.
I leaned against the door side secretly pleased to she did not seem to have anything to complain about.
"Will you invite me in?" I asked her.
"Did you learn your manners from a vampire, Tom? You did not even give a greeting."
"Hello my lady, may I come in?" I amended.
She huffed, "Since you keep insisting. I have an hour lunch break, that is until my next patient arrives."
She turned and walked steadily to what I assumed to be her kitchen. She had a modern but cosy home. Light grey walls and floor boards made of hard oak and cherry wood countertops. No gold platted door knobs or copper painted metals. I expected nothing less of her. From previous conservations I knew her to be unimpressed with gaudy shows, preferring instead gentle colors and combinations. For some reason it only made her look even elegant to me.
I followed along and leaned on a table while I watched her move around the kitchen. Taking something out of the stove. Cookies or some other sweet bread. The aroma filled the room immediately. I never fancied myself in having a sweet tooth.
But I quickly found myself with a warm pastry being prodded onto my closed lips.
I couldn't even decide if this was absolute disrespect being foisted upon me. Nevertheless, trusting someone, even her, to not poison me.
But a glance at her expecting dark eyes, I slowly opening my lips.
As I let her hand feed me a bite. I chewed carefully, never letting my gaze leave her amused eyes. Glancing at the strands of hair that had escaped her styling and framed her face.
She shook her head and gaze me a distinct look as if to say Well? How about it.
It tasted sweet and soft. It tasted like home. Not of manufactured goods where I felt the scent of gas could still linger.
"It was good, quite a pastry chef you are as well." I murmured
"Well I do try." She then popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth while going back to the oven to take the other trays out.
And for an inane reason gave me a thrill inside me. I who was corrupt. A verifiable degenerate who partook in the filth of the city for years. But still. It was like she dragged a finger down the naked skin of my back while I erupted in shivers, without even a touch.
"I am giving you the benefit of the doubt Thomas Shelby, that you are not carrying some disease pathogen inside you that could be transferred by saliva."
It was times like this where I realized that she really was a doctor. It was ingrained in her and in everything she did and say. Or she was an accomplished actress.
"None of that. I gave you the benefit of the doubt that you were not trying to poison me. Never know when the IRA or the rivals try to recruit you to off me at last."
She laughed. "Well that was very quickly remedied in that next second when I ate the so called poison cookie as well. A new meaning to death by pastry wouldn't you say?"
"And so it is." I say to her as I saw her bend over and then stand to her impressive height once more. Graceful and slender. She would stand head to head with John, who for perhaps the same reason never stood too close to her.
And for Arthur. But instead it was because he got drunk and couldn't keep his mouth shut around her and was driven in mad mental circles when she countered every argument of his for a damn hour in the most infuriating fashion. Inundated with irrational but still truthful and logical facts to where Arthur could only reply with curses while red in the face. I made sure to stay in the room in case Arthur would forget that I strictly ordered that no harm was to come to her.
It was difficult not watch it unfold for longer, but there was a schedule to keep.
"Now as interesting as it is to have Thomas Shelby in my kitchen. What is the reason behind your call?"
She was now seated on the dining table with an assortment of cut vegetables and slices of ham. The way she prepared it made it look quite appealing.
She gestured to the seat next to her where a plate had been set.
I took the seat, but I much rather eat than partake in any myself. Having had meal before coming here, which I told her.
"The reason, is that my brother Arthur is having some difficulties…" I watched her throat work as she sipped on a glass of water.
"Any further explanation would be helpful." She replied drily.
"He is having fits since coming to the war. Angry and violent. Tried to take his life. They gave him barium and opium to deal with it, but it makes him slow. I cannot have that."
"It sounds like shell-shock to me." She said while cutting through the ham.
She continued. "I did tell you I am an oral doctor correct? As I told everyone else. But it seems I may be speaking some other language, my own native tongue perhaps. For it seems people keep coming to me with different problems. I take them anyways due to my experience in those general cases, because I know I have the skill the handle them like a certified professional would as it falls close to my umbrella. But what you need for Arthur is a psychiatrist. He has no teeth problems, its mental."
She placed down her fork. Giving me an exasperated look. "First the bullet and now this. Well in your case your lucky. I do have some minor research in this field as well. Get rid of the Barium and for love's sake get rid of the opium. No alcohol for him either. There is a plant handled by the Spaniards in the south. A very specific name, Northern lights cannabis indica. It has the lowest health drawbacks and it seems to have a good run on the patients afflicting by shell shock. It will keep him from the edge. It is better than the Tokyo and race drug that has been infecting the cities."
"Thank you, I will make note of that. The alcohol…even I could do nothing about that. He drinks more alcohol than water." Like a thirsy horse guzzling in the river.
She rolled her eyes, "His funeral. That is not sustainable. He needs to drink water." She tapped on her own glass of water.
"Will you see him?" I wanted to see her more in the house, in my house.
She looked exasperated. "Did you hear me Tom. I am not a psychologist or a psychiatrist. And my office is next door, he would need to come there to receive treatment like everybody else."
"For me Shinal." I asked her. Trying to imbue the word with what I could not say. "He would never come. The town will think something is wrong with him."
"Something is wrong with hi-" She said quite firmly but I interrupt her,
"But nevertheless. Nevertheless Shinal, would you visit the house once. Get a look at him. We do not trust anyone else."
She leaned back in her seat. Giving me the full force of her chocolate eyes, the proud tilt of her eyebrows and pink strained pursed lips.
"You are more trouble than you are worth Tom. Your good looks will only take you so far."
"You think I am appealing, sweet girl?"
She wrinkled her nose.
Adorable.
"I will visit on the weekend, I am off then. Now shoo, Tom. My receptionist will be here soon, and although trustworthy, I rather not chance her spewing all types of stories when she sees you."
Even with my proclaimed poker face. Where I stood cold and unyielding in front of murderers and thieves with pistols aimed at my head. I had a hard time making the smile on my face fade away as I was escorted out of her home and waved off while I got onto my motorvehicle.