ASIM_issue_54 by ed. Simon Petrie

first, despite it being tasteless, because she’d needed sustenance and it had been easy to swallow. But now that her taste had returned and she was home, Nona’s fine waffles beckoned.
    “Waffles,” she repeated, and Nona smiled at her again, and that was the end of that.
    But Eliza couldn’t help noticing the cold face Nona presented to HG. “And will you be breakfasting too, sir?” she asked him.
    He seemed to shrink back from the cook’s question as if she’d attacked him. Certainly not comfortable in her presence. Had they always been at loggerheads? Or was it just that he’d suggested she have something else for breakfast? Eliza searched her memories, but nothing came. They’d be worth watching, these two.
    Though still a challenge to eat—HG had to help her cut them up into bite-sized pieces—the waffles were divine, and after she’d eaten them, old habits rose like ghosts from her mind. “And now I’ll go to my office, I think. Check my e-mails, review my notes.”
    Nona smiled warmly and said, “Just as it’s always been,” as she cleared away their plates. But Eliza saw the dagger-like look she threw at HG, who was also aware of it—Eliza had no doubt—though he kept his face neutral. He followed her into her study like a faithful dog, sitting quietly in the chair in the corner where (she recalled) Bob liked to lay. His dog, then? No! No, most definitely her dog, and usually sitting in the space HG occupied.
    He saw her confusion.
    “My dog usually sits there. Where is he?”
    “In the back yard. Would you like me to bring him in?”
    She nodded, and HG enacted her wishes. Bob headed straight for his usual spot in the study, but HG looked around awkwardly for somewhere to sit, and seemed suddenly out of place.
    “As I recall,” she stated boldly, the laptop finally open before her, “you have your own office further down the house where you write your books … when you’re not doing something in the garden that is. You’re very good at gardening.”
    For a moment he looked at her as if their roles were reversed—like he had holes in his memory and she knew all his past. Then he replied. “Today—well, for a while—I think I’d like to stay here with you, watch you work. In case you need me—in case you need to be reminded of anything.”
    She smiled at him over the laptop screen. He was very kind.
    HG settled on the wide windowsill. In time the cat strolled into the study and leapt onto the sill beside him. Eliza got on with her writing. After a few paragraphs, she beckoned him over to her laptop. “Does this look right to you?”
    He leaned over her shoulder and studied her words. “It looks fine.”
    “But is it still my voice, HG? ”
    He frowned, reread her words then said supportively, “Yes, I think it sounds like you.”
    She sighed in relief and leaned back against him. “Thank you! I knew I could trust you!” Her bird-like withered hand reached up to clutch his, and he pulled it to his lips and kissed the fingers from which her livelihood sprang. “You’re welcome, my dear.”
    With that he returned to the windowsill with the cat.
     
    * * *
     
    Nona arrived bearing a tray laden with teapot, cup, saucer, sugar bowl, milk jug—all in the Royal Albert design—and a plate of scones.
    “Time for a break, Miss B,” she announced with a smile; but HG noted that she greeted him with a hostile raised eyebrow.
    “Why only one cup, Nona?” Eliza queried innocently.
    “I thought the … gentleman … was in the garden,” Nona quickly made up an excuse.
    “A natural oversight,” HG spoke up.
    “You’ll take tea with me, HG?” Eliza asked.
    “Of course.”
    Her displeasure conveyed by cold silence, Nona fetched another cup and saucer.
    “There you are, Mister … ?”
    “HG. Just HG.”
    Eliza showed no sign of noticing this inconsistency.
    “Mr Carter and Mr Powell said they might visit you later today, Miss B,” Nona informed her.
    Eliza looked up idly