There was too much going on to remain on the sidelines, not that he was able to do very much. He could understand why the doctor was reticent about letting him go.
Nearly a month, a lot of the time in an induced coma, and little exercise since. He was weak, and his legs felt rubbery, but he had to put all of that to one side.
A taxi pulled up in front of him and the back door opened.
“What are you doing,” she asked, still seated in the rear seat.
“Going back to work.”
“You're kidding. After what happened to you? I thought the doctors said you'd be out of action for at least three months.”
“Needs must.” He didn't feel like explaining his actions to her, or to anyone.
“Then let me take you home.” She got out of the car and stood to one side holding the door.
Nagging at the back of his mind was a suspicion that this was a trap of some sort, particular after Corinne had voiced her opinion of her. Perhaps he had too much time to think about the players, and Angela was still the one who had been holding the smoking gun, and had passed it to him.
Could he trust her?
He shrugged, and after giving her a long hard look, got in and slid over to the other side of the seat.
The taxi seemed real, as did the driver who Harry could see was slightly amused as if he was observing a tiff between an old married couple.
She got in after him and closed the door.
The driver turned to look at him not her. “Where to?”
Harry gave him the office address.
The first mile was in silence. Neither looked at the other and it was as if they were deliberately keeping distance between them. It didn't feel like a wall of ice but it was close.
“You should go home and rest.” Angela broke the silence between them.
He gave her a measured look.
“Oh, you don't have a home. You live in that office.”
He chose not to answer, realising it was as good as admitting to it. He couldn't afford an office and an apartment.
“I have an apartment. It's not much but you can stay with me until you're better.”
“I am better.” He didn't feel it but he was not sure he could trust her. The problem was, he was now starting to feel quite ill, and the jostling of the cab was causing him to feel nauseous.
Perhaps she could see it. He was hot and could feel the sweat running down the side of his face.
She told the driver to go to her apartment, which was closer than his office. Whether he could trust her or not he had to get out of the cab and wasn’t up to arguing with her.
He heard a phone, not his because it made a different sound, just as the cab stopped outside a brownstone. By now he was very ill and barely able to stand. Angela came around to help him out of the cab, closed the door, and they headed inside.
It had been her phone and she was talking. “Yes, he is with me and everything is fine. I'll see you tomorrow.”
As they went up the stairs he asked, “Who was that?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. I'll explain everything tomorrow.”
He didn't like the sound of that but that was the least of his problems. The doctor had been right. It was too soon.
© Charles Heath 2016-2019
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