CHAPTER EIGHT

Day Four

The treatment room was half the size of the Restaurant and had separate rooms leading off, which contained physiotherapy tables. One of the rooms led to the gym and beyond, a swimming pool with large windows overlooking the grounds, where Aramis stood now, looking longingly at the water and wondering how much they spent on window cleaners.

They had seen half a dozen kitchen staff, together with two receptionists and two porters, a few gardeners and, of course, Doctor Kramer. No doubt the place was not at full staff capacity in view of the impending renovations. They would dwindle still into a skeleton staff in two days. All in all, he was beginning to relax, though he looked longingly at the pool before him. It was almost four weeks since the warehouse 'incident' and his cracked ribs were feeling much better, now that his cough had subsided, though his chest still ached through the after effects of smoke inhalation. The air here was clean compared to Paris and it had taken a little while to get used to it, at first it made him a little dizzy. He was not sure how high they were. He made a mental note to ask Athos. He would know. Regretfully, he turned and made his way to the gym to meet Athos for their assessment, not wanting to tire himself out with a swim before being put through his paces.

When Athos walked into the gym room ten minutes later, the guilt that Kramer had mentioned did rise when he saw Aramis, though not because of their failed mission, but because it had given him an excuse the previous evening and he had stayed in his room, foregoing food. And breakfast.

There were four treadmills at the end of the room and two members of staff waiting for them. Aramis came straight over, obviously holding no grudges. "This should be fun," he said, under his breath. "I rather wish I hadn't had breakfast."

"I rather wish I had," Athos returned, turning to look at Aramis.

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "We can do this," he said, warmly.

"I wish I had your optimism."

"I have enough for both of us," Aramis beamed at him, and, despite his mood, Athos had to smile.

/

An hour later:

"Well, if we didn't know why we were sent here, we know now," Athos said, as they both sat, pulling in oxygen through a mask, sharing it between them.

"I thought I was going to pass out," Aramis panted.

"I still might," Athos grunted.

They had completed several endurance tests, including a session on a treadmill hooked up to monitors and breathing through a mask. It was that that had finally beaten them. The staff smiled indulgently, while scribbling on clipboards.

"Sadists," Athos muttered.

"Do you think we passed?" Aramis ventured, to which he got no response.

Later, they sat on a bench in the grounds, sipping from bottled water the gym staff had handed them. Athos stared at the mountains. Pine forests, blue skies and floating white clouds. He half expected to see Maria von Trapp twirling around in the distance singing about the hills being alive, or catching sight of a lonely goatherd at least. Every time he had a derogatory thought, he found himself wanting to cough, Treville standing behind him. Athos had a house on the outskirts of Paris. He could have recuperated there quite happily. But Treville answered to others, and so this would be home for three weeks, with daily monitoring by The Treadmill Torturers, as Aramis called them. Time would tell but Athos was accepting that they were far from fit for duty.

For the last two nights, almost very time he closed his eyes, he saw the unholy flames rolling over his head. He shouted and Aramis turned and looked down at him. Athos ran up the short flight of stairs as it began to buckle and twist and then, they were flying through the air, wrapped together in a life or death embrace.

/

There were a few clients (Athos refused to call them patients, lest he be called one, by association). The place was winding down for the week, ready for the renovators.

That particular afternoon, as Athos sat on a bench, head in his book, he was alerted to someone sitting down with some effort by his side. Turning his head, he saw an elegant, quite elderly woman, with what could only be described as silver hair, swept back from her smooth forehead and held at the nape of her neck.

"Don't worry, young man," she said, looking ahead. "Whatever ails you, you will find peace here."

Athos closed his book and held it to his chest, before laying it gently on the bench beside him.

She turned her face to him, a knowing smile on her face. She had high, prominent cheekbones and the bluest eyes and although she was probably in her eighth decade, there was a youthful awareness in those eyes. Her lips pursed as she leant slightly forward.

"There are renovations planned," she said. "But I shall not see them."

"You are going home?" Athos asked, his first words to her.

She looked at him and tilted her head. "Yes," she said, softly. "I am going home."

With that, she stood and took a deep breath. "The air is so good here. So good." Looking down at him, her eyes crinkled as she smiled once more.

"Spend your time wisely, my dear," she said. "Goodbye."

With that, she turned back and walked gracefully away, past the flower beds and toward the main entrance. She had been courteous, not attempting to draw him into conversation, nor pry into his circumstances, but as he watched her disappear into the clinic, he felt that it wasn't his health to which she had been referring.

Later, he mentioned it to Kramer.

"It is Madame's last stay with us," he confirmed. "A great loss."

And Athos knew Kramer meant more by what he left unsaid. Athos did not pursue it, but felt somewhat bereft.

"I talked to an old lady today," Athos said at dinner that night.

"Steady on," Aramis smiled, his hair still damp from swimming. "Don't overdue things."

Athos looked up and when Aramis did not pursue his ribbing, he said, "Well, that's not technically true - I hardly said a word."

"Oh?" Aramis gently offered, in encouragement, seeing Athos was thoughtful. "She did all the talking? How unusual."

Ignoring him, Athos told him the two sentences she said.

"That's both profound and very wise," Aramis returned, sincerely after a long moment. "She saw something in you."

"I think she's dying," Athos murmured, quietly, staring at his food.

"People do," Aramis offered, gently. "And what better place to visit at such a time?" he added, quietly leaning forward to catch Athos's eyes. But Athos did not look up, or finish his food. Nor did he touch the wine.

Aramis sat in companionable silence, allowing his friend his epiphany, courtesy of a kind lady, who saw something of what he and Porthos saw in him. A sadness that they strove to lessen and a goodness to nurture. Perhaps she would succeed and they would continue in their quest.

"Come on," Aramis said, a few moments later. "Let's go for a stroll in the moonlight."

And so they did.

/

Thanks for reading!