Stella Bain by Anita Shreve Read Free Book Online Page A

Bridge leans back. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
    “No, of course not.”
    He removes a square silver cigarette case from inside his pocket, a case that clicks open at a touch. A matching lighter appears. Dr. Bridge selects a cigarette and lights it, then breathes in deeply. In France, the surgeons could do this one-handed.
    “Lily has deep reservoirs of generosity and kindness,” he says. “I believe she sees you as someone who needs help. She knows, however, that it is my assistance you need at this moment. As for our private conversations—yours and mine—I believe that’s why she chose the orangery. We can’t shut the door, for there isn’t one, and yet no one, unless he or she happens to be sitting on the stairs right below us, can hear us. We’re in the open, but not. This was her idea, and I readily agreed.”
    “While I was convalescing, Lily took my uniform dress to a seamstress to be used as a template for two new dresses for me. I thought that was very kind.”
    Dr. Bridge laughs. “I think it was more of a necessity than a kindness.”
    Overhead, Stella notes, the squall has ended. “Do you think, Dr. Bridge, that you and I might take a walk in the garden?”
    He seems a bit discomfited. “That would be unorthodox.”
    “This entire quest is unorthodox.”
    “All right, then. Yes. I’ll let Lily know, and I’ll meet you in the front hall.”
     
    The garden, with its canopy of wet light in the trees, strikes Stella as splendid. She wonders if Dr. Bridge is as distracted by the glistening beauty as she is. She knows so little of the man, and yet she is beginning to form a picture: dedicated, cautious, loving toward his wife, and not without a little humor. After he closes the gate, they are showered with droplets from leaves that shake overhead. “Oh, this is lovely,” she says, and then turns her face to Dr. Bridge. “Are you happily married?”
    The doctor appears to find the question abrupt and surprising. “I am, yes. Quite happy. But…”
    “It’s rude of me to ask? Inappropriate?”
    “No and yes,” he says. “My personal life should remain outside our discussions, but this is somewhat complicated because you first came to my household and not to me as a doctor. So I think I can answer your question.”
    The umbrella he carries serves as a kind of walking stick. She watches as he rhythmically taps it along the path. He has a longer stride than she does, and silently they compromise to reach an even step.
    “I fell in love with Lily at a cricket match,” he begins. “I was a spectator, the guest of another party, but I couldn’t help but notice a striking young woman who appeared to be enthralled by the match, sometimes frowning, sometimes laughing to herself. I guessed that she had a husband or a fiancé among the players in order to have such an assiduous interest. None of the other women seemed to be paying the slightest attention to what was happening on the pitch. Even I couldn’t, having other matters on my mind. At the time, I had just started my clinic.”
    “When was this?”
    “In 1908.”
    Stella cannot remember 1908. Or any year but the current one.
    “When the match was over, I expected the young woman to greet one of the players, but she didn’t. She joined two people who appeared to be her mother and sister, and after a time, a man, a player in uniform, came and sat with them, but he paid no special attention to Lily. I later learned that he was her brother, Tom, and that Lily enjoyed games of sport and their rules. She had been athletic in her school days and had won many ribbons and prizes, but of course there was no outlet for such activities after she left school. I think she misses extreme exercise, and had I not persuaded her to marry me, she might have become superb at tennis.”
    “You married her because she knew the rules of cricket?” Stella says teasingly.
    Dr. Bridge laughs. “I married Lily for her beauty, her wit, and her