CHAPTER FOUR
The next day:
Athos stepped out of the car and stood quietly looking up at the eighteenth century facade. A pine forest rose majestically behind it, ascending the gradient of a snow covered mountain in the distance. In other circumstances, Athos may have admired the view.
They had flown from Paris to Lausanne, set next to Lake Geneva. Treville had hired a driver and car to take them on the final leg of their journey. The flight had taken just over an hour and Athos had wondered whether it was Treville's way of pointing out their lung function was diminished, or whether it was a way of acclimatising themselves to the mountain region they would be passing through. The lake itself was forty five miles long and almost nine miles wide, with the Chablais Alps bordering the southern shores, the Western Bernese Alps its eastern side and the Vuache Hills to the west, on the French border. The summits of Mont Blanc and Grand Combin were visible from some vantage points in the area.
As promised, another driver had duly met them at Lausanne civil airport for what he said would be a fifteen mile drive. They had driven half the length of Lake Geneva and then turned north for another five miles, where the road had wound into the hills above Geneva, from valleys and upward toward tree-covered rock faces, majestic mountains in the distance. From his seat in the back of the car, Athos had looked down on a river far below.
Eventually the car had swept through tall, ornate metal gates which opened of their own accord and followed a winding road bordered by tall trees, which gave welcome cool shade. Ahead, the road appeared to stretch into sunlight as they emerged into a wide expanse of cultivated flower gardens and lawns that had been cut to an inch of their lives and were now being watered by several sprinklers. The road had curved to the left and came to rest alongside the set of four wide, low steps outside a long, three storey grand building. Four round stone pillars supported a red tiled apex roof over the steps, around which magenta-pink bougainvillea climbed, a bright contrast against the pale stone of the building. Frivolous against clinical, Athos thought, or was that because he knew what this building was? If it had still been a private villa, perhaps he would not be so quick to describe it as such.
There was a ramp on the right side of the porch which extended the length of the building, currently in use by a man in a wheelchair steering himself down into the grounds. Wide, black glossy double doors with brass fittings sat at the top of the stairs, currently standing open.
All noted as Athos had pushed open his door and stepped out. The driver was already out of the car and pulling out his suitcase. Athos's attention was pulled from the building by the rear car door being slammed shut.
"Temper, Aramis," Athos murmured, staring up at the impressive facade.
"You've no room to talk," Aramis responded, hoarsely.
Athos imagined his own voice sounded as strained. He looked over his shoulder to catch Aramis quickly wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. Catching his eye, Aramis quickly shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and walked to the rear of the car, as his own suitcase was removed by the driver. They both thanked the man, pulling up the handles on their suitcases, their car gliding away.
"Ready?" Aramis asked, as he too stared up at the imposing, pale three storey building, which sported obvious west and east wings, the entrance set back in a deep recess that reached from the top of the porch to the flat roof line.
"I suppose so," Athos murmured, before clearing his throat and grimacing against the resultant fit of coughing that ensued. The journey had exhausted them and exacerbated their symptoms, though they were both careful to not mention it.
"Alright?" Aramis enquired, softly, as Athos straightened his shoulders, both watching an attendant walking purposely toward them.
"Damn," Athos sighed, feeling uncomfortable as help approached.
"Gentlemen, welcome to the Kramer Clinic! We've been expecting you. Your rooms are ready."
"Ah, confirmation. It's a Clinic," Athos said, under his breath. "I thought it was a …"
"Athos," Aramis interrupted, softly.
"...Facility," Athos finished, turning to him with a glare that would melt a glacier.
Aramis allowed the man to take his case but Athos turned his glare on him, which had the man backing off and hurrying in front of them, pulling the one case.
"Athos, play nicely," Aramis smiled at his friend, who merely raised an eyebrow at him, his expression stony.
"Damn Treville," he growled, as they trailed behind the attendant.
The man turned out to be a porter. Another man magically appeared in the pristine foyer with a trolley and proceeded to load Aramis's case onto it. Aramis placed his hand gently on Athos's back and this time, Athos yielded his suitcase.
"Three weeks, Athos," Aramis said, out of earshot of the man.
"Two," Athos replied flatly.
"I thought Treville said three," Aramis replied, a mock puzzled expression on his face, poking the bear.
"Damn Treville," Athos repeated. "And damn you, Aramis. If you hadn't disobeyed my order, we wouldn't be in this damn Sanatorium."
Aramis stopped in his tracks as Athos walked ahead of him, the limp from his damaged knee more pronounced after their flight from Paris and drive from Lausanne.
"And if there is no alcohol," Athos was saying, up ahead, "It will be twenty four hours."
"It's not a prison, Athos," Aramis called after him, but received no response.
He sighed. Whatever he thought the three weeks would do for them, it was obvious Athos had no intention of "playing nicely," and in addition, whatever had been left unsaid between them after their disastrous mission was still simmering below the surface. But the weight Athos had been carrying would, it seemed, remain firmly in place for the moment, if not the foreseeable future.
/
The Kramer Clinic Reception was a plush area.
Ahead of them was a grand staircase, carpeted in a dark royal blue. The one flight of stairs they could see split left and right at a small landing. No doubt there were other staircases along each upper corridor.
Opposite the Reception desk, there were two elevators. They were a sleek, grey steel, surrounded by chrome. The doors to one stood open, ready to transport their bags, revealing a red carpeted interior and dark mirrors. Athos breathed a sigh of relief. Stairs were beyond them both at the moment.
A young dark-haired Receptionist stood behind a shiny mahogany desk, tapping into a computer. She wore a smart, black uniform with a gold badge. She looked up as the porter loaded their two cases onto a trolley (health and safety regulations obviously precluded them and him actually carrying them up the grand staircase, Athos noted). The man pushed the trolley into the elevator and disappeared inside without a word, to whisk their cases away to their rooms. The elevator doors swished shut and the green light above them began to move.
Athos huffed. "Why do they put mirrors in elevators?" he muttered to himself.
"Because some people like to make sure they are tidy enough to face the world?" Aramis replied, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair.
"Make the most of it," Athos said, watching the elevator. "Our rooms are only on the first floor."
Aramis following his gaze to the green arrow above their elevator, and it had indeed stopped on the first floor.
"Oh, I was hoping for the third floor," Aramis murmured, slightly disappointed. "The view looks great."
"Well," Athos replied. "It's not going anywhere and you have three weeks to enjoy it."
"We, Athos," Aramis leant in and smiled. "We have three weeks."
Both turned as a polite voice called to them;
"Can I help you, Gentlemen?"
"Welcome to The Kramer Clinic," she said in a pleasant voice, after they had given her their names. She tapped on her computer for a few moments before handing Aramis a Welcome Pack. The gold badge she wore told them her name was "Martina."
"There is a leaflet in there with a map of the building and grounds, so you will be able to familiarise yourselves with your surroundings. You are each booked in to see Doctor Kramer tomorrow," she said, giving them each their appointment times. "He will welcome you personally then. He likes to give our clients a day by themselves before he meets them," she added. "His office is on this floor, along the corridor on the left of the stairs, signposted Left Wing. Other facilities are located in the corridor on the right, signposted …."
"Right Wing?" Athos suggested in a rather bored voice, which earned him a kick in the ankle from Aramis. Fortunately for Aramis, it was his good leg and he did not retaliate.
"You will find all our facilities on the map," Martina continued, unsmiling and looking directly at Athos.
"I will need one of you to sign the register and for both of you to leave your phones with me for the duration of your stay. They will be put into our safe." Another rule Athos had railed about to Treville, but it fell on deaf ears.
"There is light at the end of the tunnel, Athos," Treville had said. "The clinic is undergoing some renovations during the second week of your stay. There will be no other guests during those few days and only a skeleton staff." That had mollified him somewhat, but he was still angry at having to hand his phone over.
"If I need you, I will call the clinic direct, Athos," Treville had said. "And you can use the clinic phones if you need to call me. But please, don't. Switch off, relax and recover. That's a direct order."
Those last words were not lost on Athos. Treville had never said a truer word. He would be damned if he called either of them. Although, turning his attention back and looking at Martina, it would take little to persuade her to retrieve his phone from the safe, should an emergency occur. It was an uncharitable thought, he realised. However true the thought, he didn't know her and she didn't deserve it. Aramis was currently giving her his brightest smile, leaving her a little flustered. Athos rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.
A polite cough brought his attention back to the Receptionist, who was patiently waiting to resolve the phones issue.
"Is there anywhere we can get coffee?" he asked her, reluctantly dropping his phone in front of her, and watching it be borne swiftly under the desk. He was fighting the urge to have a shower first. But caffeine won out this time.
"Yes, of course, Sir," she replied, quickly. "Turn left at the foot of the stairs and follow the signs to the Restaurant. It has a very pleasant conservatory, so you can enjoy the view," she added. She had put a little emphasis on the word, "enjoy," which she hoped he would pick up on.
"Thank you," Athos replied, considering her for a moment, before turning and walking off, leaving Aramis to sign in, give his own phone up and collect both their room key cards.
"Sorry," Aramis said, with a shrug. "He's always a little grumpy in the mornings."
Martina took a quick look at her watch. It was 1.00 p.m., well into the afternoon, though she refrained from mentioning it. She sighed inwardly, before recovering to pronounce that lunch was being served in the Restaurant. Perhaps that might lighten your companion's mood, she thought to herself as Aramis gave her an elegant bow and followed his friend. Or perhaps not.
Lena was right, perhaps she wasn't cut out for this work. "Oh, well, at least one of them looked happy to be here," she murmured, gathering up the two phones.
/
Thanks for reading!
Maybe Athos has peaked. Maybe not.