Champion of the Obscure - Chapter One

         His lip and his eye were beginning to swell and his bruises throbbed ceaselessly.  Due to the late hour, only three other people occupied the train's lounge car, just a man who had dozed off and a middle-aged couple who chatted quietly.  The husband, a small man with thick horn-rimmed spectacles, lit his wife's cigarette before putting the match to his own.  As she blew smoke at the ceiling, the train lurched, tumbling her ashes onto her pink suit.  She tried to brush them away, only to transfer a grey smudge to her glove.  The couple were probably getting off at the next station, less than an hour away.  They periodically glanced over at his beaten face but good manners prevented them from staring outright.

         He turned to the window, watching the occasional point of passing light in the darkness.  He saw his reflection - it was worse than he thought - and he concentrated on the rhythm of the wheels.

         Never go back - never go back - never go back.

         NEVER GO BACK.

         CHAPTER ONE

May 1995

         The day had started off cool, but now the sun pierced the clouds, turning the car into a furnace.  Ann Gresham rolled down her window, welcoming the blast of fresh air.  The dashboard clock read 2:16 - she'd left Toronto almost two hours ago.  Her appointment was for 2:30 and she'd already taken one wrong turn.  How much longer would it be?

         Ann had never been this far east of the city but once she'd left the highway, she couldn't help admiring the scenery.  The landscape boiled and swelled like a green ocean.  It seemed she could glance in any direction and be captivated by the view of the rolling hills blanketed in forest or the fields dotted with livestock.

         The hand-drawn map she'd propped on the dashboard was a scavenger hunt of landmarks.  A schoolhouse here, a gas station there.  She soon confirmed she was in the right place when the red silo of a cattle farm appeared up ahead.  Here she hung a right off the smooth asphalt and onto a dirt road.  It would be three more miles.

         After a few minutes she began reading the names on the mailboxes that stood like lonely sentinels guarding their farms.  She eventually spied her target - a white box with the Maple Leaf on it.  As she steered her Toyota through the gate of the white picket fence, she noticed a hanging sign with Woodlawn painted in delicate lettering.  At last she'd found it.  The house was set back about two hundred feet from the road, obscured by a grove of maples.  As she neared the house, the curtain of trees parted, revealing a huge red brick mansion.  Ann blinked and counted fourteen windows on the front of the building, each framed by wooden shutters.  White gingerbread ran along the eaves, subduing the mansion's power to overwhelm.  It was impeccably maintained.  A century ago, looking just like this, it had probably housed a gentleman farmer and, unchanged, it would likely be watching over the little forest a century hence.

         Ann parked her car next to a navy blue Jaguar and walked over to the front door.  The northwest wind ruffled the leaves high in the maples and it whipped her skirt against her legs, making it difficult to walk.  Two whitewashed planters filled with begonias flanked the heavy door.  Ann paused, brushed some stray hairs from her eyes, straightened her disarranged skirt and tried to ignore the cloud of nervousness that had enveloped her.  Her palms were moist.

         She rang the bell and waited.

         The man who answered the door stood well over six feet tall and his disjointed nose made him look like a bouncer.  His dress shirt was a size too small, sheathing his muscles, defining every curve and ripple.  Ann gulped.

         "Good afternoon, I'm Ann Gresham.  I have an appointment with Ms. Sutton.  I - I'm afraid I'm a few minutes early, though."

         A faint glimmer of acknowledgement passed over the giant's stoney face.

         "She's expecting you.  Come in."  The man stepped aside to let Ann enter. 

        Ann tried hard not to show the awe she felt on seeing the entrance hall.  After almost two years working as a private nurse to those who could afford one, she'd been desensitized to grandeur, but she had never been exposed to this much opulence.  It wasn't that the hall was ostentatious, it was just, well, big.  A wide staircase sprouted from the tiled floor and clung to a curved wall that ended at the second storey.

         "Please wait here."  The butler, if indeed this was his position, walked out of the hall and down a corridor.  His footsteps echoed as he retreated, making the mansion seem even more cavernous.

         Ann wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt then flapped her hands to cool them down.  She stepped across to the foot of the staircase where the only painting hung on the bare walls, an enormous study of four women seated on what appeared to be a divan.  Down in the corner was Lautrec's signature and Ann let a low whistle escape her lips.  It was obviously one of his bordello scenes.  In the painting's dark background were whispers of heavy draperies and gaudy moldings exuding exotic luxury.

         The woman on the left blazed with impossibly orange curls.  She'd drawn her legs and their substantial thighs under her and one strap of her negligée tumbled off her shoulder revealing an equally substantial breast.  With eyes at half-mast, she threw a "come hither" look out of the work.  Watching with an open-mouthed smile was her neighbour, a lusty woman who, with one hand, cupped her breast in apparent readjustment and, with the other, supported herself on the bed.

         As if she'd been sketched in as an afterthought, the third woman was an anomaly.  With her perfect posture - her ankles crossed, legs covered by a long Victorian skirt, she stared sadly, ignoring the wantons around her.  She reminded Ann of a Sunday school teacher she'd once had.

         The wench on the right lay across the bed, completely spent.  Clad in black stockings and white slip, she might have been sleeping, having worked energetically all night.  Then again, her legs were spread, her right hand rested on her thigh and her other arm was flung above her head in abandon, as if she anticipated her next customer.

         In the brush strokes woven together to create these obliging ladies, Ann found a painting she could smell - the stuffiness from the lack of fresh air, the cigar smoke, the heavy perfume masking the musky animal scent of the women.  It seemed even more pornographic than if it had been pornography and Ann turned away.  What an odd choice for an entrance hall.

         She walked from the painting, but as gingerly as she could.  The mansion had a stillness, a presence that was more than just silence.  Ann didn't wish to disturb it with the ringing of her heels on the tiles.  To Ann, the naked foyer begged to overflow with party guests in black tie, the top of the staircase providing the ideal vista for a host to observe and greet his guests.  It didn't deserve the silence.

         A door closed and she heard the man's footsteps returning.  She still couldn't decide on his position in the house.  The open-necked shirt and rather sinister exterior didn't characterize a typical major-domo.  She hoped she'd never have to meet him in a dark alley.

         "Ms. Sutton'll see ya now.  Just follow me."

         Ann fell in step behind the giant as he led her down the corridor through the mansion.  It was like the dark alley she feared, but wading through the dimness, Ann instead relied on the man to guide her.  All the doors in this hallway were shut, blocking out any possiblility of light, and as each one slid by, she regarded them more and more as ingresses to the various compartments of a tomb.

         The man's heavy footsteps ceased and he knocked on one of the doors.  Sunlight tumbled into the hall as he opened it.  Ann squinted and realized he was motioning her inside.  He shut the door behind her.

         Emily Sutton stood in the centre of the room and Ann was immediately struck by her fresh beauty.  Emily's straight auburn hair was cut short and she wore ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and a plain T-shirt which stopped half an inch above her jeans, but was large enough that the neck sagged off one shoulder revealing a tattoo in the shape of a bat.  Her expression suggested that she went through life trying not to take too much too seriously but she had the self-assured air of being larger than her five feet two inches.  She gave Ann a dazzling smile.

         "Hi, I'm Emily Sutton."

         Ann unobtrusively brushed her hand against her skirt as she brought it up to shake Emily's.  "Ann Gresham."

         "I was surprised to see you so soon.  Whenever someone comes out here, they're usually half an hour late."

         "I gave myself two hours.  And I did get lost once."

         "This place can be hard to find but it's the traffic on the highway that usually slows you down.  You're English?"

         "Well, I was born there."

         "You have a great accent.  Have a seat."

         Ann sat on a blue-patterned loveseat as Emily relaxed onto a matching chesterfield opposite.

         Ann spoke hesitantly.  "I'm pleased to meet you.  I've enjoyed many of your movies."

         "Thanks."  Although Emily's smile was warm, it wasn't reflected in her blue eyes.  They seemed lifeless.

         Ann took in the decor.  At one time it must have been a morning room, but it was now acting as an office.  Framed photographs of people, too distant for Ann to identify, adorned the tops of the pieces of furniture.  The office's overall style had a definite masculine flavour and the huge antique desk in front of the window did nothing to diminish the effect.  It looked as if three people could work comfortably behind it - one at the computer, one on the phone and one feeding a letter into the fax machine.

         Ann admired the view of the gardens where the lilacs were in full bloom, then she looked at Emily, who was glancing at the resume the agency had faxed over.  Ann had stretched the truth a bit when she admitted enjoying many of Emily's films.  In actual fact, Ann had only seen two, both more than five years ago.  Emily Sutton was a movie actress Ann knew in passing but couldn't really distinguish from most of the other ingenues of the screen.  She estimated Emily's age as twenty-eight or twenty-nine and that she possessed a beautiful face was undeniable.  Its beauty was wholesome and simple, qualities much more effective than the looks built on the wares of Estée Lauder and Max Factor.  Emily soon levelled her dull eyes at Ann.

         "Your references are great."

         "Thank you."

         "How long have you been doing this?"

         "Fifteen years.  Almost two as a private nurse."

         Emily placed the resume on the coffee table in front of her.

         "You'll be looking after my father.  He had a massive heart attack three weeks ago."

         "Yes, I'd read about it in the papers."

         Emily nodded.  "Now that he's home, he needs a nurse.  I've been taking care of him since he got out of hospital."

         "When was that?"

         "Three days ago."  Emily's reply was direct.  "His condition's been kind of delicate in the last couple of years.  Before the attack, he'd have these sort of remissions and he'd be okay for a few weeks or months.  But mostly it's a long and slow slide down."

         "I see."

         Emily continued in the same direct manner.  "My father's actually recovering, which is quite amazing."

         Ann smiled.  "He must have a strong will."

         "You're right.  I'll take you up to meet him.  Doctor Westerman'll be here soon.  He says my father'll need a nurse for a few weeks."

         Ann followed Emily to her feet and looked down at her clasped hands.

         "Forgive me, Ms. Sutton, but I've got to admit I'm a little nervous."

         The actress chuckled.  "Don't worry.  I've had some stage fright myself.  He's pretty quiet these days."

         "It's not every day I get to meet a legend," explained Ann.  "I mean, I occasionally watched his series The Agency.  I missed it when it was cancelled."

         "He'll be happy to hear that."

         Emily opened the oak door and led Ann out of the room.


         They climbed the back staircase, as ordinary as the entrance hall was breathtaking.  The thick plush carpeting on the second floor muffled their footsteps.  Ann noticed that when Emily moved, she did so freely and easily, reminiscent of a colt cantering across a field.  After knocking on a double door, the actress opened it.  Ann took a deep breath and followed her in.

         As Ann expected, the master bedroom was very large - bigger than her entire condo, in fact.  When she craned her neck, she saw an adjoining bathroom and dressing room, both luxurious.  Near the bed, an elaborate chess set occupied a little table.  The men, blown out of red and blue glass, were fighting an on-going game and the red side had succeeded in keeping the most men on the board.

         "Daddy?"

         The bed had a large mahogany headboard and its king size dwarfed the sleeping inhabitant, making him seem even frailer than he was.  Edward Sutton, star of stage, screen and television, Tony Award winner and frequent fodder for the gossip columns, lay surrounded by all the medical paraphernalia of the recovering heart patient.  A blood pressure manometer and countless bottles of pills sat on the bedside table and an oxygen tank stood by in case of emergency.  Sutton was far from the mythical icon Ann was familiar with.  His face showed the ravages of alcohol and nicotine - it was swollen and deeply crevassed.  A little pillow of flesh hung beneath each eye and his hands had a slight tremor.  As a professional, Ann diagnosed that he suffered from edema and the faint yellowing of his skin indicated a recent bout with jaundice.  He had fallen asleep reading a book and Ann could just make out the title - Stevenson's The Master of Ballantrae.

         "Daddy, are you awake?"

         Sutton opened one eye and cocked an eyebrow.

         "Daddy, this is Ann Gresham.  She's your new nurse."

         The eye swivelled over to Ann.

         "She really liked The Agency."

         Ann was unsure whether this point endeared her to him, but at least he opened the other eye.  Emily moved toward the door.

         "Well, I'll leave you to get to know each other."  As she turned away, she shot Ann a reassuring wink.  She left and Ann stepped up to the bed.  The nurse reminded herself that Sutton was a human being just like everyone else, hoping this basic truth would help to steady her nerves.  She gave him what she hoped was a tender smile.  He still had a questioning look on his face as his eyes slid down her body and rested, for a moment too long, on her legs.  Ann shifted uncomfortably.

         Sutton pulled back the sheets.

         "All right, get in."

         There was a pause while Ann decided if he was joking.  She gave a nervous laugh.  "I beg your pardon?"

         "Get in - you're going to nurse me, aren't you?"

         "Not that way, Mr. Sutton."

         His grey face darkened as he pulled the sheets back up.  "Fine, then you may as well go.  I have no use for you."

         "Really, Mr. Sutton -"

         "I'm sure Emily has told you all about me."  His penetrating glance was disquieting.

         "No, just that you've had a heart attack.  Your doctor will fill me in."

         "Would you like to know how I had my heart attack?"  He leaned toward her, as if confiding a secret, but he gave her no chance to respond.  "I was with a woman.  I think her name was Judy, I'm not sure.  I'd had her once before.  She was what polite company would call 'a lady of the night.'  They're the only women who've been able to service me lately.  They make no demands other than payment."  The hard consonants exploded venomously from his lips.

         Ann wanted to escape.  "I'm sure you don't have to -"

         Although he was infirm, Sutton's voice could still hit the back of the balcony if it had to.  "Anyway, I was with Judy, I think, having a delicious time.  Absolutely lovely.  But just as I was climaxing, my heart decided to give out."

         "I really think -"

         "My doctor made me give up cigarettes and booze two years ago.  I was sixty-three and he said I had the body of a ninety-three year old.  Now the only pleasure left to me is gone.  Nurse, I can no longer enjoy a woman - if I do it could kill me.  I want to shuffle off this mortal coil," he said bitterly.  "To die, to sleep, no more."

         In less than a minute, he evaporated any awe she held for him.  "With that attitude, you'll certainly get your wish."

         He allowed himself a small smile.  "Perhaps you're right."  He sighed and looked out the window.  "Emily mentioned that you watched The Agency."

         Ann wondered where the conversation was going.  "Yes, whenever I had the chance," she replied warily.

         "They didn't cancel the show because of poor ratings, you know, but because I was always drunk and couldn't remember my lines."

         She couldn't meet his gaze.  A clock on the mantel ticked away the seconds.

         Finally she looked up.  "I - I'm sorry.  I'm afraid I don't know what to say."

         "That's understandable."

         "Well, in any case, I liked watching The Agency and you were very good in Shadows of the Winter."

         Ann couldn't have said a worse thing.  Sutton became apoplectic.

         "Get out of here!  Get the fuck out!"  He picked up his book as Ann began backing away.  "You're as brainless as the rest of them!  GET OUT!"

         Ann moved as fast as her legs would take her and closed the door in time to stop The Master of Ballantrae from hitting her on the head.  She let out a gasp of relief, but didn't know what to think.  She hurried downstairs to find Emily.

         Having navigated the dark hallway, Ann knocked on the oak door.  Emily's voice came through it.

         "Come on in, Ann."

         The actress had her back to her as she entered.  Emily was pouring some tea into cups on the coffee table.  "I hope you like Ginseng Sunrise.  It's a blend -"  She turned around and saw Ann's flustered look.

         "Uh-oh."  The cheeriness had disappeared from Emily's voice.

         Ann came forward.  She knew she had to disappoint the actress and the sooner it was out, the better.  "I'm sorry, Ms. Sutton, but it's not going to work."

         Emily wilted onto the chesterfield.  Ann saw all the stress of a daughter who had to look after a sick father.

         "I should've figured you'd say that," muttered Emily.  She looked at Ann.  Her earlier directness was returning.  "Here's the situation:  you're the third nurse I've had here in the last couple of days.  I've gotta hand it to you.  You've stayed a little longer than the others."

         Ann was confused.  "The others?"

         "Your agency wasn't the first one I called.  One nurse lasted two minutes - I timed it - and the other came down with her clothes torn."

         "Yes, he certainly is lively.  He threw a book at me."

         Emily looked up, shocked.

         "He missed."

         "I tried to get a male nurse, but there wasn't one available.  My father's not the best patient.  He's really frustrated these days."

         "That's natural."

         "I'm sorry if he offended you.  At one time he'd look at any woman he wanted and she'd fall into his lap.  He hasn't gotten used to the change."

         "It's all right.  I'm used to difficult patients, but when I mentioned Shadows of the Winter, he scared me out of the room."

         Emily frowned.  "Uh-oh.  I forgot to warn you about that, didn't I?  Shadows of the Winter's taboo.  Don't ask me why, but even when I was a kid I knew it was bad news.  I wrote him a letter once telling him I'd seen it on TV - Mom made me rewrite it, leaving it all out.  Since it was such a hit movie, everyone goes on about it."

         The toe of her Birkenstock rubbed a spot on the carpet.  "I guess he's never remembered for the other things he's done.  I know I'd feel the same way."

         "Yes, I can understand that."

         "Then do you think there's any chance you could stay?"

         "It's not that.  Your father just doesn't like me."

         Emily looked as if she was about to start sobbing.  "I'm going nuts.  Tomorrow afternoon I have to fly out to promote my new movie and I just can't leave him.  I'll tell you what - I'll be away eight days - I'll double your salary if you'll stay 'til I get back."

         "Well!  That's a very generous offer, but -"  Ann indicated the patient through the ceiling.

         "Look, my father's gonna have to live with it, 'cause I've got a contract and it'll mean a lawsuit if I don't go."

         Ann lowered herself onto the loveseat.  She thought about it for a moment.  The money was definitely an incentive, but she dreaded a patient poisoned by anger and who was potentially violent.  Her last job had been hard enough.  However, Ann wasn't looking forward to her credit card bill that month.  She'd needed a new radiator for her car.  Emily scanned her face intently.

         "All right.  Eight days at double my rate."

         Emily leapt up as if she were about to hug her, but instead vigorously shook her hand.  "Oh, thank you, Ann!  You don't know how much this means!"

         Emily's reaction warmed Ann and she reached for her teacup.

         "Can you start tomorrow morning?"

         "Yes."

         Ann took a sip of the tea and stopped herself from making a face.  Ginseng Sunrise had a very unpleasant tang.

         "And you can deal with him any way you think right."

         "All he has to do is understand that I'm here to make sure he gets better, not worse."

         A knock at the door interrupted Ann.

         "That'll be the doctor," said Emily.  "I told Bob to send him through.  Come in!"

         Ann automatically stood up when the doctor swept into the room.  He was a tall man in his mid-fifties and his salt-and-pepper hair looked as if it had been freshly shorn.  He had the easy affability and that sense of well-being so common in society doctors.

         "Hello, Emily!  How's the patient today?"

         "About the same.  Meet Ann Gresham, Daddy's nurse.  Ann, Doctor Westerman."

         He crushed Ann's hand in a giant paw, but addressed Emily.  "So you got one to stay, eh?"  He turned to Ann and smiled.  "Good for you, Ann!"

         She smiled meekly back.  "Thank you, Doctor."

         "I've heard good things about you from my friend Rick Peterson.  He was Mrs. Brownridge's physician when you attended to her."

         Ann recalled a man who was almost a carbon copy of the one standing before her.  "Oh yes, how is Doctor Peterson?"

         "Fine.  Always beats me at tennis."

         Emily cut in before the conversation became too involved.  "We were just having a cup of tea.  Would you like one?"

         "Thanks, that'd hit the spot."

         Emily went to get another cup.  Westerman hiked up his trouser legs, preserving their razor-sharp creases and sat down on the chesterfield, opposite Ann.  He looked down at the teapot and Ann's barely touched cup.

         "What kind is it today?"

         "Something called Ginseng Sunrise."

         "That one's not as bad as some of the others.  Don't worry, you'll get used to them."

         He looked at her for a moment, sizing her up.  Ann knew the relationship between many doctors and nurses could be a minor struggle.  Doctors usually believed themselves to be God, that the doctor, without anyone's help - be it the nurse's or the patient's or God's for that matter - was the sole healer.  Nurses, on the other hand, resented the ego trip many doctors were on but each viewed the other as a necessary evil.  Ann tried to suspend her preconceptions when she met a doctor, by immediately assuming the role of dutiful nurse.  It helped.

         Westerman smiled out of the side of his mouth.

         "Emily has tactfully left us to our professional discussion.  I take it you've met him?"

         Ann had difficulty looking him in the eye.

         "Yes, but he doesn't like me."

         "He has a powerful personality, Ann.  He suffered a massive coronary and he's surprised all of us by springing right back.  He'd abused his body for years and now he's paying for it.  You noticed the edema?"

         "It's very apparent."

         "Two years ago he was hospitalized.  Haemorrhaged stomach.  He had to get off the bottle and quit smoking and he did, but now his organs are giving out.  Because of his condition after the coronary, we couldn't give him a pacemaker - too much trauma."  He shrugged as if to say he'd done all he could.  "I've told him it could be six months or six years, so essentially he'll never fully recover and it's just a matter of time."

         "Ms. Sutton mentioned that his condition stabilizes occasionally."

         "Yes - yes it does.  His resilience is amazing.  In fact, you'll only be needed a few weeks, until he's up and about again -"

         Ann stopped him.  "Uh, I've only contracted with Ms. Sutton for eight days.  I didn't really want the job after what happened upstairs, but she seemed desperate."

         Ann thought she discerned the shadow of a smile on Westerman's lips.  He was probably picturing the encounter with the patient.

         "It hasn't been easy for Emily.  She's practically been his keeper for the last two years and as I'm sure you've seen, he can be a cranky old devil.  She's had Bob to help her, though."

         "Is he the big man who answered the door?"

         "Yes.  Bob was originally hired as a sort of bodyguard to keep him off the alcohol but he's become part of the household."

         "He seemed like a rather unusual butler."

         "Don't be afraid of him.  He's kind of distant, but he's your best ally.  When Ted gets out of line, just call Bob."

         Ann's ear caught the use of when.  She was about to address it when Emily returned with the cup and saucer.

         Doctor Westerman rose for her.  "I've just been telling Ann about your father's condition."

         He sat back down as Emily poured.  "I've told her she can take care of him any way she thinks best," said Emily.

         "I agree with you.  If he's improved, I'll cut my visits back to every other day.  He's certainly in capable hands."  Westerman gently patted Emily's shoulder.  "And if there are no surprises, he should be doing a bit of walking by the time you get back."

         Westerman tasted his tea and gave Ann a conspiratorial smile.  He got up and spoke to her.  "I'd better go upstairs.  I assume you're starting in the morning?"

         "Yes."

         "Emily, let Ann stay in the bedroom next to your father's.  It'll be easier."

         Ann didn't like the way Westerman grinned at Emily.

         "All you'll be doing, Ann," he continued, "is monitoring his condition for me, but I'll call you in the morning with the specifics.  I'm looking forward to working with you."

         Ann nodded and opened her mouth to voice her concerns, but Westerman had focused on the actress.

         "Have a nice trip, Emily.  It's all right, I'll see myself out."

         Emily bid him good-bye.  Ann shuddered involuntarily.