The Harvest Man by Alex Grecian Page A

just giving them a rest. Within seconds, he was snoring.

14
    D ay passed the guard on his front door and went inside without waking the man. He crept as quietly up the stairs as his cane would allow and closed his bedroom door behind him. He felt tired all the way through his body, as if he might put down roots if he stood still. He changed into his nightshirt and sat at the edge of the bed. His cane rested against a chair on the other side of the room. He leaned forward and touched the fresh puckered scar that ran from his knee to his ankle. It was smooth, hairless and alien, spotted with blood. He poked at it with his thumbnail and dug into the damaged purple flesh.
    “Walter?”
    He jumped and turned to look at Claire. She stepped into the room and pushed the door shut behind her. Her long frilly dressing gown hung all the way to her bare feet, and her hair was down, cascading past her shoulders. He was struck anew by her beauty, as he was every time he saw her. He had never got used to the fact that she was his.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Nothing,” he said.
    “Does it itch?”
    “No. There’s not much there, really. Sort of a trickle of sensation, like I’m dammed up somewhere inside.”
    “You’ll get it back.”
    He smiled at her, but he didn’t agree. She was too optimistic.
    Claire approached the bed and sat next to him. She put her hand on his arm and he lifted it, drew her close, and hugged her. His breath stirred her golden tresses and he blew the hair away from her ear. She drew back and clapped her hand to the side of her head.
    “That tickles.”
    He smiled.
    “They’re sleeping,” Claire said. “The babies.”
    “I haven’t seen them today.”
    “I barely see them myself anymore. It’s so odd having people here to help with the house. And with the girls. I think they’re quite happy with their nanny.”
    “What’s her name? I can never remember.”
    “Miss Powell.”
    “Powell,” Day said. “I’m sure I will have forgotten again by tomorrow. How long will she be here?”
    “I think she’s here for good. Unless you simply loathe her.”
    “I couldn’t possibly loathe her yet. I’ve barely even met her. I just worry we haven’t the room here for a staff.”
    “But we might. Mother’s helped me to figure it all out. It’s taken a bit of rearranging, is all.”
    “Perhaps I don’t want to rearrange my household according to your mother’s whims.”
    Claire frowned and stood up. She crossed the room and picked up his cane, turned and sat in the chair, laid the cane across her lap. “She’s only trying to help.”
    “I appreciate that, but—”
    “And it’s temporary. When we have a bigger house—”
    “Let’s stop talking about things we can’t do. I’m tired.”
    “That’s hardly a surprise. You’re never here. You’ve barely said two words to my parents since they arrived.”
    “I’m sure that’s a great relief to them both.”
    “I know you have work to do, but how will anything change between you if you don’t at least make an attempt to get along with each other?”
    “The only change they’ll accept is if I disappear from the face of the earth and leave you to find a more appropriate husband.”
    “There’s no more appropriate husband for me than you.”
    “Oh, I’m sure they’ve got someone picked out for you. After a proper period of mourning, they’ll introduce you.”
    “You’re being beastly.”
    “You know they can’t stand the sight of me.”
    “They simply don’t know how to talk to you. You’ve nothing in common with them.”
    “Exactly my point.”
    “My father is trying very hard. He’s suggested that we name the girls after—”
    “Oh, so now he’s naming my children.”
    “He is not. He’s made a suggestion. The babies are doing well after three weeks. They’re happy and healthy and I don’t think we’re going to lose them. I think it’s time we gave them names.”
    “And what does your father