"What did you see?" asked the consultant.
Ruth shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Harry hesitated.
"An image. It was blurred."
"How blurred? Could you make it out? Was it clear enough to know what it was?"
"Oh yes," said Harry, a little too eagerly.
Ruth blushed and wished the doctor would just move on.
"And how much detail could you see?"
So much for moving on.
Harry cleared his throat.
Ruth looked at her feet.
"Well, enough to appreciate the beauty of it," was Harry's tactful and rather endearing answer.
Ruth's mouth hovered in a smile.
"And how long did it last for, Mr Pearce?"
"Not nearly long enough."
"No I can appreciate that," said the consultant sympathetically.
"I don't think you can," said Harry with a smile.
"Well, it's a good sign, as your wife suggested. Sometimes we struggle to find the actual precise reason for things where head traumas are concerned. I am afraid you will need to be patient for a little while longer but I am fairly confident that your sight will return when your body feels itself sufficiently healed."
Ruth nodded happily.
Harry gazed nowhere in particular.
"Patience is not my speciality," he said finally.
"I am sure your wife will help you while away the time?" he looked at Ruth.
"I'll do my best," she smiled.
"You'll just need to think of something to stop you worrying, something to keep you occupied."
Both of them nodded. They could both think of something that would keep them well occupied though neither would ever dare to suggest it.
As they walked to Ruth's car, his hand on her arm, the sun came out.
Harry's heart felt a little lighter.
The warmth of spring, the smell of the grass fresh from a recent shower, and the image of a naked Ruth in his mind.
Life was not so bad.
"I suppose we really should tell them that we're not married," said Harry.
"Do you think?" Ruth found she was quite liking the idea after all.
"Well, maybe not. It might be a little late now."
"Best just leave it as is, not confuse them," she agreed.
"Yes, you're right."
They sat in the car.
"Okay, so what do you fancy doing?" asked Ruth.
Harry resisted the temptation of repeating what was in his mind.
His hand sought hers and his thumb brushed against the back of her hand.
"You don't have to entertain me, Ruth. You have your own life and I don't want to intrude upon it."
"My own life consists of bed and work, Harry and very little else."
He smiled, it was a phrase his dad had often used when work became all consuming.
"That's the trouble with the job," he agreed, "maybe we should drop in, I might be able to do something useful?"
"Not a chance, you're recouperating," she insisted.
He smiled.
"Well, if it's all bed and work, Ruth, and there's no work, that leaves…."
"You're right."
"I am?" he said shocked.
"Yes," she wasn't really listening to him, "let's go to Kew?"
"Kew? Who mentioned Kew?"
"Flowerbeds, Harry. You might not be able to see them, but by god I bet you can smell them. And on a day like today it should be lovely."
"Flowerbeds. Yes, Ruth, why not."
"Tell me the colours."
"In a minute. Describe to me what you can smell first."
"I can smell your shower gel."
"Harry!"
"Sorry. I can smell something very powerful, very fragrant, quite heavy, reminds me of something but I can't think what."
"They're purple."
"Hyacinth!' He exclaimed.
Ruth laughed, he reminded her of a child in school, delighted at their discovery of the right answer.
They walked on side by side, her hand in his. And all appeared normal but for the darkness that surrounded him. A darkness he was beginning to notice less and less because what he saw in his mind's eye was her and she was beautiful and gentle and she was holding his hand.
Thanks for all the reviews, there will be more to come.
