Laura Wright was discharged the next day, after much poking and prodding and much listening to her chest. She listened as they warned her of the possible side-effects and complications she might experience, the memory and cognitive problems, the respiratory issues.
She regarded the situation dully, feeling not much of anything as they wheeled her down the hallway to the front entrance. M had left her some new clothing, which was nothing fancy, but it was clean and it was not a gown.
The black unmarked car was waiting, just as M had promised, and Vesper allowed herself to be helped in, looking around at the city for the first time in weeks from behind the large black sunglasses she wore. Clutching the bag holding her new identity, she settled on the black leather seat.
The driver said nothing to her, and simply handed her a smaller version of the envelope in her bag. She took it wordlessly, tipping its contents into her hand to find a pair of keys with an attached paper tag reading "#8." She clutched the keys as the driver pulled away from the hospital. She did not look back.
Ω
The driver pulled up to a modest block of brick flats in South Croydon some time later. He turned and spoke to her for the first time.
"This is it, Miss Wright. Number eight, Gulliver Court. She'll contact you once you're set up."
Vesper could only nod at the man, and, clutching her keys and her little bag, exited the car. It was a quiet area, at the end of a close, and few people milled about. She could see why M found it suitable. She started immediately for the building.
The flat was modestly furnished, with modern appliances. It had a single bedroom and a bathroom with a bathtub. Every room was painted white.
Vesper found with mild surprise that the cupboards and refrigerator were well-stocked with food, and that both the telephone and the television were hooked up as well. She turned it to the news channel and sat down on the mid-priced sofa.
Hours later, the ringing of the telephone stirred her from a drowsy slumber, and she woke to find it was much darker. She'd fallen asleep—not surprisingly, as she'd done more today than she had in weeks. She groaned as she stood stiffly, her legs, not used to being used so much, burned in protest. She picked up the phone and croaked out a greeting, her voice still hoarse from neglect.
M's voice greeted her at the other end and she froze. The woman's stern tone had the unfortunate ability to pull her from her detachment, and it was uncomfortable.
"I trust you've made yourself at home," M said.
"Yes," Vesper replied, her voice a little stronger. She cleared her throat.
"I don't know if you've had time to look through the envelope I gave you yesterday, but there's a bank card in there. The PIN is written on a sticky note on the back. Your stipend will be deposited on the first of every month." M paused, and Vesper waited, looking out at the darkening sky.
"In a week, or two, I'm going to send a man to see you. He's a psychiatrist. He's very good, so I suggest you make your best effort to speak candidly with him. You've been through a terrible ordeal, Miss Lynd, and it won't do to go through it alone, do you understand?"
The use of her old name gave Vesper a visceral pang of longing for her old life, and she took a deep breath, pushing back the feelings.
"Yes," Vesper replied again, "thank you."
"No need to thank me," M returned. "If you need to contact me, there's a telephone number written on a white card in the envelope I gave you. Call it, leave a message and I'll call you back within the hour. In the meantime, take care, and I'll be in touch."
There was a click and Vesper returned the cordless phone to its cradle, staring at it for a few seconds. She looked out at the twilight, then over at the television. It was eight o'clock. She picked up the remote and shut it off, then turned to walk to her new bedroom. She shut the blinds and crawled beneath the soft covers. She was asleep in minutes, and slept for nearly twelve hours.