CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The trail was getting narrower and had started to dip down a little more steeply. After ten minutes or so, Martina pulled out the torch to risk getting her bearings. Flipping the switch, nothing happened. She tapped it on her palm a few times and tried again. It flickered, but went off. She pressed on a little further, carefully placing her feet one in front of the other.
The weight of Athos's leather jacket served to remind her of what she was attempting to do. On her left was the drop to the river, on her right a sheer rock wall. She ran her right hand carefully along the rock face, which helped to steady her in the darkness, though the moon, when if was out from behind the long dark cloud that stretched across the sky, did reflect eerily on the rock face, giving her a point of reference, for she could not see how high the rock face rose and had no desire to peer upward. She had done that a little way back and had almost toppled off the trail, her centre of gravity disturbed.
Occasionally, her hand brushed vegetation growing out of the rocks, some of it soft, some prickly and painful. She thought it must look beautiful in full sun, but at the moment she could not appreciate it and doubted she would want to retrace her steps in daylight when this was all over.
At intervals, water trickled down through the cracks in the rock face, pooling on the gravel trail until sufficient enough to slip silently over the edge to eventually merge with the river below. Over the years, deep grooves had been formed where the rock had eroded with the constant trickle. She thought of the ecological studies she had left behind after her mother's death. Perhaps it was time to re-connect. She had always loved nature. The class had been on a field trip to Lake Geneva, one of their first activities, to study the flora in the area. It had been one of the best days of her life and she had felt connected to her late father. She wanted to follow in his footsteps. Some of her tutors even knew him by reputation. It had all been going well until her surviving parent, her mother, became ill. She had not been prepared for that, and afterwards, well, Lena said it was clinical depression. Those very words had scared her and she had determined not to fall prey to it any further.
She had been sitting in a cafe one afternoon nursing a latte, when Dr Kramer came in. Of course, she did not know him, he was a stranger, but he took a table close by and somehow they got talking. He showed interest in the book she was reading and she found herself explaining the plot while he listened intently. She had felt released from her self-imposed prison for the first time in weeks. Whenever she felt a little lost for words, he dropped one quietly in, and they were off again. He had made it easy. She had thought of their first meeting many times. Perhaps he recognised someone withdrawn. It was a pleasant, positive conversation, which did not touch on anything too difficult. He talked about the flowers and trees around his workplace, but did not say what the work place was. After he took his leave, the assistant brought a piece of chocolate cake over to her.
"I didn't order that," she had murmured, politely.
"I know," the assistant smiled. "Dr Kramer ordered it. He thought you looked like someone who liked chocolate cake," she added simply.
"Doctor?" Martina said, in surprise.
"Yes, he comes in every Monday, when he can. I think he has a business not far away," she replied.
"Thank you. For the cake."
"You can thank him yourself if you find yourself back here on Monday," the woman said, before tilting her head and leaving her to go back to her counter. It had been a gentle manipulation, and she wondered if the doctor and she had some sort of arrangement to assist waifs and strays who happened into the cafe. She stared down at the slab of cake. She was not a cake eater, but it did look rather spectacular. Before she knew it, her plate was empty.
The following Monday, after much deliberation, she made her way to the cafe and he was right there, reading a paper, a steaming cup in front of him.
"Hello again," he had said, rising politely. He appeared neither surprised or smug that she had returned. Just, a natural acceptance.
"I hope I did not offend you last week," he said, softly, sitting again after she herself had lowered herself into a chair at an adjacent table.
"Offend me?"
"The cake. It was a little impulsive of me but I find chocolate cake is excellent medicine for the mind."
"I have never heard it called that before," Martina had smiled. "Doctor," she added.
"Ah," he smiled back. "Forgive me, I should have introduced myself a little better."
"I know why you didn't," she replied, watching him. "You are Doctor Kramer of the Kramer Clinic."
He smiled again and tilted his head. "Indeed, I am. But I am also Henriq," he added. He had nice eyes for an old guy, she had thought.
He surprised her by rising quietly and reaching out his hand. She stood and took it.
"Martina Cavegn," she said.
"Romansh?"
"Yes," she confirmed.
Switzerland had a wide linguistic heritage and several different languages – four of them official – German, French, Italian and Romansh, which was spoken by a minority in Grisons, the largest and easternmost canton, bordering Austria, Italy and Liechtenstein.
"A beautiful part of the country," he nodded.
"And my late father's homeland," she said. "But we moved away when I was small. How do you know?"
"Well, I have German ancestry, and I studied languages for a short time before I decided to follow in my own father's footsteps. And become a psychiatrist," he added softly.
Her eyes had widened, and it made him laugh. "Don't let that put you off talking to me," he added. "It does with so many people. I stopped psycho analysing strangers a long time ago. No matter how interesting they were."
She had huffed at that. "I am not interesting," she said, flatly, staring at the floor.
"I'll have to take your word for that, at the moment," he had replied. "But your name is interesting," he added, watching her.
She had looked up.
"It means," he said, quietly, leaning forward, "Oak. Did you know that?"
"No!" she had replied, her eyes lighting up. "My father was a tree surgeon!" she laughed.
"Well," Dr Kramer said, "He seemed to have followed his destiny."
"He has passed," she said, unnecessarily, as the Doctor knew that. "But I followed in his footsteps, briefly. But I had to leave my studies behind."
Dr Kramer said nothing, but he waved for the waitress and ordered chocolate cake and more coffee. Martina was going to protest, but he looked over the top of his glasses at her and she had to smile, again. It felt strange to smile, amongst all the sorrow lately and the arguments with Lena.
"Life can be very challenging," he replied. "Our fate can turn on a sixpence."
"A sixpence?" she frowned.
"A British coin and a British saying, and I think it is very appropriate," he explained. "Oh!" he added, suddenly, reaching into the top pocket of his jacket and rummaging around for a few moments, before pulling out a small silver coin. "It is a very nice little coin. Someone gave it to me many years ago, along with the saying," he smiled.
He handed it over to her. She took it in her palm and looked down at it.
"They put it in Christmas puddings," he offered, as she peered at it. She looked up sharply. "Why?"
He shrugged. "They are British," he said. "Tradition," he added, gravely.
The cake arrived and he passed her a slice with a silver fork and napkin.
"And what do you do now, Miss Martina?" he asked.
She was just about to take a bite of the cake and her hand stopped mid-air. "Nothing," she said. "And to tell you the truth, I am a little …"
"Lost?" he had said, kindly.
She was about to protest, but sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am."
"What about your course?"
"I would have to reapply and then join the next intake, if I am accepted. And that would be next year."
"And in the meantime, how do you support yourself, if I may ask?"
"My partner," she said, not offended at his question. "Lena" she added, so she did not have to make the usual correction.
He nodded.
"Do you feel up to doing a little work?" he asked, cutting into his slice of cake.
"What do you mean?" she asked, a little taken aback.
"Well, it just so happens," he smiled, "I have a vacancy in the clinic, for a Receptionist."
She sat silently looking at him, her mouth a little open.
"The hours are varied," he pressed on, "Although the work will be interesting. You will meet a wide range of people and the grounds are beautiful. But you would have to work two nights, as the guests fly in from all over the world and often their arrivals are not uniform. But, on those occasions, you can stay in the clinic. We have nice rooms for staff who have to stay over."
Martina had listened with her mouth open as the words fell quietly, hypnotically, from his lips. He didn't look at her once.
And then, he looked up. "It is entirely up to you." He pulled out a business card from his wallet and passed it over to her. "Perhaps you might like to discuss it with Lena first," he added, genially.
She took the card and stared at it and, for the first time in several months, she felt a stirring of something deep in her veins. He had given her a glimpse of his world and it seemed full of kindness.
"Keep the sixpence," he had said, as he rose and shook her hand once more.
The feeling she recognised, was hope.
The same feeling she had now, as she thought of him, and of her mission.
She shook herself and told herself to concentrate.
Exhaustion was making her mind wander, however pleasantly, in the scheme of things. Her eyes were beginning to sting from peering into the darkness. She'd had the foresight to bring a small hunk of bread with her from the cellar to sustain her, and stop her stomach rumbling. The less noise she made the better. She'd had a brief moment of worrying about damaging Athos's jacket but common sense had won out. He hadn't seemed the type to worry about material possessions and it was, after all, for a good cause. A sacrificial jacket. She bit her lip. Get a grip.
She stopped and tried the torch again. It flashed briefly, before it died again. She banged it on her palm again, to no avail. It was definitely dead. In sheer frustration, she threw it over the edge in frustration.
To her surprise, she clearly heard a splash as it fell into the water below.
The river was no longer far below her! She was much further down the ravine than she had thought. She wanted to shout in sheer relief, but contented herself with a punch in the air.
She heard Lena's soft laugh tinkling in her mind. She smiled happily to herself, for the first time, really daring to believe she could do this. She could get help. She could save them.
"Not such a boring job now," she said to herself, pulling out her necklace and running it through her fingers.
Happily, she took another few steps.
Straight into thin air.
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