In the Midst of Life

and found Leah on the floor, covered in blood, with a trail leading across the carpet from where she had fallen. The break was a compound fracture of the tibia and fibula, about three inches above the ankle, and pieces of bone were sticking out of the flesh. Poor Steve, who is not used to that sort of thing, nearly collapsed, but he controlled himself and helped the men get Leah on to a stretcher. In hospital, the bones were realigned, the flesh wound sutured and the leg plastered from thigh to toe. No one expected her to live.
    But Leah did live. When I first saw her in hospital, she was virtually immobile because of the weight of the plaster. She was uncomfortable, certainly, but not in pain. She had a corner bed by the window. This was in June 2007. She sighed wistfully. ‘I hope this is not the end. Life is so beautiful, so interesting, so exciting. I don’t want it to end.’ In the year that followed, that was the only time, as far as I know, that she mentioned the possibility of death.
    I reflected that, if she had not managed to haul herself across the floor to the telephone, she would undoubtedly have died during the night. Numbness, caused by shock and blood loss, would haveengulfed her, and she would have drifted away before the morning light. I wondered what suffering lay ahead for her, what she could have spared herself within a night of fading consciousness. She knew her age; had she not anticipated death? But that is not the way our instincts work. Self-preservation is the first of the primary instincts, so Leah had made a superhuman effort to reach the telephone and seek medical help.
    Leah’s husband, Alex, had been the artistic director for scores of major films between 1930 and 1975. He had worked all over the world with directors such as David Lean, Alexander Korda, Roman Polanski and Alfred Hitchcock. Leah had frequently accompanied him on location, and met many of the great film personalities of the period.
    She told me that her biggest headache had been keeping Alex tidy and presentable, because he never cared a scrap about his appearance, and only wanted to wear old and comfortable clothes. ‘I knitted him a cardigan once, and after that he wouldn’t wear a jacket. The only things he wanted were these cardigans. I must have knitted dozens of them. They looked quite smart for a few days, but I don’t know what he did to them, because after a fortnight they looked dreadful – all out of shape, buttons pulled off, holes in the elbows – I could never understand how he managed it. The worst part was the carbon and charcoal from the sketches and drawings. If he wanted to smear something, or blend shades, he wouldn’t use a cloth like anyone else would. No, not him – he would grab the bottom of his cardigan and rub the drawing with that. No wonder his clothes were in such a state!’
    She told me that they were asked to meet a new director. ‘We were told it was just an informal meeting one evening, so Alex went directly from work. I arrived from home and got there first. I saw at once that it was just about the smartest, most sophisticated cocktail party that film people can put on. Everyone was dressed to the nines, trying to outshine everyone else, the way they do, you know. It was all very pleasant. But when Alex arrived I nearly died of embarrassment. You’ve never seen such a sight – he looked worse than usual. One side of his cardigan was hanging down tohis knees, the other side was up around his waist and it was covered in carbon and charcoal. There was a hole in his trousers. I can’t imagine how he had managed to tear his trousers; they weren’t like that when he went out in the morning. But he didn’t seem to have the slightest idea of how he looked compared to all the other smart people. He went around greeting everyone, charming, affable, friendly. People always liked him. You couldn’t help liking him.’
    She sighed, and a dreamy look came into her eyes.
    ‘I’ve been a widow for thirty-two years, but I would never marry again. I’ve had a couple of offers; but no, not after a man like Alex.’
    Another time she said, ‘When your husband dies, life changes utterly – everything changes. No one wants to be bothered with a widow. Invitations stop. Friends melt away. It’s when you begin to know who your true friends are. I had to start all over again, with a new life and new friends.’
    But Leah was not just the wife of a successful artistic director. She was a