‘You’ve been very understanding, Dr Taylor. I know you’ll be busy so I won’t take any more of your time. Just one thing – I don’t suppose you can recommend anyone that might talk to me? Just to answer a few probably foolish questions?’
She thought for a moment and then said, ‘Well, I’m an SHO – a senior house officer. I could probably tell you a bit.’
He was obviously delighted at the idea, his face lit up ‘Could you really? Look, I’m very anxious not to appear pushy. After all, you don’t know me. I could be anyone. Could we have a meal somewhere? In an hour or so? I understand you have to be careful so we could meet in a public place. Perhaps you could follow me in your car?’
So she had dinner with him in a local hotel. He took notes of what she told him, and it was fun, realising just how little the average person knew about life in a hospital. They had a very pleasant hour together.
At the end of that time he said, ‘I’ve enjoyed your company and I’ve learned a lot. But there’s more I want to know. Could we meet again? And I’d like to emphasise that we can meet in any circumstances that you like. I’m sure you have lots of boyfriends. I don’t want to be one of them. It’s the caring doctor I’m interested in.’
And so they became friends. He was true to his word, and never once did anything but shake her hand when they met. They always met in some public place, where they talked and he took notes. Now, of course, he knew the workings of the hospital as well as she did. As they became friends she confided all the gossip to him. He knew about Charles’s troubles, about the tough line Christopher Firth was taking, about the auditors scurrying round the place. ‘You can’t put this in your book,’ she teased. ‘It’s all confidential.’
‘I know, Megan, but it gives me the feeling of the place. I’m learning a lot from you.’
She tried to take an interest in his life in South Africa but he wouldn’t be drawn on it. ‘Eventually I found that I was wrapped up in some pretty sleazy business with some pretty nasty people. My name was being associated with theirs. So I just got out. I want to forget it, Megan.’
She hadn’t seen him now for a week or so. He’d told her there had been difficulties with the few interests he’d had left in South Africa. Then he’d phoned her, and they were going out tonight. For once he would pick her up.
She didn’t like travelling in his low-slung sports car – it seemed unnecessarily near the ground. But he drove carefully, as if aware of her nervousness. ‘How’s the book going?’ she asked.
‘Nearly done. Would you read it when it’s finished? I’m sure there’ll be some glaring mistakes that you can pick out.’
‘I doubt it. You seem to have questioned me about everything.’
‘You’ve been very helpful. Now, tell me how you’ve been getting on with the new, young consultant – did you say he was called Christopher Firth?’
‘Oh! He took me out last Saturday.’ They gossiped like old friends, talking about Charles, about how nothing seemed to be quite right, about how there was this big black cloud hanging over everyone.
The restaurant he took her to was the Chez Picard. She had never been before, but it was certainly expensive. However, Jeremy said he had no trouble affording it, and she enjoyed the meal he ordered. And they gossiped. How they gossiped.
Halfway through the meal she saw a couple being ushered past them by the maître d’. To her surprise she realised the man was Christopher Firth. He was wearing a light grey suit with a darker blue shirt and as ever, he looked smart.
With him was a very attractive woman. Megan frowned. Like herself, the woman was wearing a dark suit, but an obviously expensive one. There was a diamond brooch on her lapel, and she was wearing matching diamond earrings. The hairstyle was perfect. Altogether she looked a vision of elegance. And Megan had a vague idea she’d seen the woman before.
She felt a stab of irritation, but tried to tell herself that Christopher was entitled to see whom he liked. After all, she was out with a man, wasn’t she?
‘Look,’ she said to Jeremy, ‘there’s my new boss. Christopher Firth. D’you want to meet him?’
Jeremy didn’t seem too keen. ‘Perhaps after we’ve finished eating,’ he said.
As Megan looked, Christopher saw her and waved so she waved back. Then she saw Christopher lean over to speak to the woman. She turned to look, then said something to Christopher. Megan saw him frown. Probably the woman didn’t want to come over, but Christopher would certainly want to …
‘I hope he comes over,’ Megan said. ‘I know you’ll like him and –’
‘Oh, no!’ Jeremy exclaimed. From his pocket he took his mobile phone. He examined the little screen, then said, ‘Megan, please, excuse me. I really have to answer this. I’ll go outside so as not to bother anyone.’
He strode out of the restaurant. Two minutes later he was back, looking more alarmed than Megan had ever seen him. ‘Megan,’ he gasped, ‘this is unforgivable, but I have to go. There are things I have to see to right now, financial things. I’m so sorry. I have to go. Do you mind if I leave you here? I’ll pay now and arrange for them to send you home by taxi. And we’ll dine here again quite soon.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of staying,’ she said promptly. ‘Things like this happen in medicine, too. No, I’ll leave with you, Jeremy. After all, it’s the company I come for.’
The maître d’ had sensed that something was wrong, and he came to their table, looking as disturbed as he allowed himself to. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ said Jeremy, ‘though I’m sure the complete meal would have been magnificent. I’m afraid we have to leave, and leave in a hurry. Could you see to our bill at once, please?’
After paying, he hustled her out of the restaurant. This wasn’t like the usually calm Jeremy – there must be something seriously wrong with his business. She saw Christopher and his companion looking at them, registering their swift departure. Christopher was frowning again.
Megan thought about waving, but decided not to. And then they were outside.
Once in the car Jeremy seemed to relax and decided there was time to drive her home. No need for a taxi. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he told her, ‘and you have my mobile number if there’s anything serious.’ Then she was at home again. Feeling a bit out of sorts – and still hungry – she went to find her two friends sitting in the kitchen.
Sue and Jane had never cared for Jeremy. They couldn’t understand why he was so interested in Megan. ‘We just talk about things,’ Megan had said. ‘We gossip about the hospital and he’s fascinated by it. You tend to forget that the hospital is a world of its own, that other people don’t always understand. It has its own rules, its own customs. That’s what I’m talking to Jeremy about.’
‘He’s after something, and if it’s not your body then it’s something else,’ Jane had said darkly. ‘I don’t like the look of him.’
Now Megan joined the two women in the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. The main course she’d left half-eaten was now just a glorious memory. Jane put a slice of bread in the toaster for her.
Megan explained what had happened, and her two friends were mystified. Then she told them about Christopher turning up with the elegant woman, and as she described her she remembered who she was. ‘That was Maddy Brent, the TV presenter,’ she exclaimed. ‘Remember? She was very good on that series on white-collar crime.’
‘Now she’s got a series on Wednesday night,’ Sue chimed in. ‘It’s called Maddy Again. She interviews people in the news. I’ve seen one or two fat cats really sweating when she’s questioned them. She got that builder chap to contradict himself half a dozen times.’
Just the kind of woman Christopher would like, Megan thought. Tough, articulate, good-looking, and clever. She felt a little low.
Chapter Three
Today Megan was in Maternity One, the antenatal ward. She felt there was often a sense of anxiety here, where there were women who wanted babies but w
ere having problems. It contrasted with the happiness felt in Maternity Two, where most women had their babies by their bedsides or in the nursery at the end of the ward.
She walked with Christopher to the last little bedroom on the right. Tell me about Renata Solveig,’ he said, ‘and why she’s in Mat. One?’
Carefully, Megan marshalled her thoughts. ‘Twenty-three-year-old primigravida, good home, husband delighted at the prospect of a baby. Then she presented with mild bleeding, bright blood, no pain, pulse, BP and respiration normal. About thirty-fourth week of pregnancy. She reports that foetal activity is normal, and a CTG shows that the baby’s heart rate is fine. I’ve carried out a speculum examination, and there doesn’t appear to be any evidence of vaginal tearing to account for the blood.’
‘And so your diagnosis is …?’
‘Placenta praevia. Either type one or type two – we can’t be sure yet.’ Placenta praevia was when the placenta was situated too low in the uterus. As the placenta grew it sometimes pulled away from the wall of the uterus, threatening the flow of nutrition to the baby. There were four types, with escalating degrees of seriousness. If the placenta praevia was type one, there should be a normal vaginal delivery.
‘So why did you call me?’
‘Renata has been in a week now for complete bed rest so everything should be fine. But I thought that perhaps there was too much blood this time. The baby seems to be doing well, though.’
‘Well that’s the important thing.’ They entered the little room. ‘Hello, Mrs Solveig, my name’s Christopher Firth. How d’you feel today?’
Megan had to admire Christopher’s skill in examination. He was thorough and expert, and kept up a constant flow of conversation. She noticed how he managed to question the mother-to-be without making her anxious, and how he managed to reassure her without stating flatly that all was well. At the end he smiled at her again and said he’d be back.
‘Was I wrong to call you out?’ Megan said.
‘If you’re at all worried, always call me out. In this case I think that the extra bleeding was just one of those things. In spite of everything we pretend, medicine is not an exact science. I feel that Renata is going to be fine, but I can’t tell you exactly why. Just experience. You’ll get it in time.’
They went back to the doctors’ room and he waited while she filled in the notes on Renata Solveig. ‘Have lunch with me?’ he asked.
‘I was going to buy a sandwich and then get back on the ward. Calling you out has made me late, I’m behind in my jobs.’
‘Does you good to play hooky every now and again,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk over to the canteen and buy a sandwich with you.’
They walked together down the corridor. He had been happy, smiling, but now, just for a moment, the black side of him seemed to come out and he frowned. But then he smiled, and his voice was calm enough. ‘How was your meal last night?’ he asked.
‘I enjoyed it. It’s a nice restaurant.’
‘I would have come over to say hello, but you apparently had to leave in somewhat of a hurry.’
‘Didn’t you want to stay with your lady friend?’ she asked frigidly. ‘She’s very attractive. Isn’t she Maddy Brent, the TV presenter?’
‘Yes, she is,’ he said heavily. They paced in silence down the corridor, and she saw that he was frowning again. Eventually he said, ‘You know, she used to have a different name.’
‘Lots of TV personalities change names. What was hers?’
‘She used to be Maddy Firth. We used to be married.’
‘Used to be married?’ Megan looked at him in astonishment.
‘Yes. We’re divorced now.’
Megan was having difficulty in getting used to this idea. ‘But you were having dinner together. You seemed very friendly.’
‘We are very friendly. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We just got married too early. And it didn’t work out.’
‘I don’t approve of divorce,’ she remarked, and then realised what she’d said. ‘Sorry, it’s not my place to say things like that. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Please, forgive me.’
He had been looking grimly at her, but now he smiled. ‘Doctors don’t judge, Megan, they treat, and if they’re lucky they cure. But I agree with you. I don’t approve of divorce myself.’
‘So …?’
‘Maddy didn’t want children, and I did. I never thought to ask before we got married – I just took it for granted. That was stupid of me. But, then, it wasn’t much of a marriage – just a quick lunchtime service in a registry office and we were both back to work that afternoon. We tried to sort things out, but there was no way we could agree. I wanted children, she did not. I even said we should wait and see if she changed her mind, but she said no. She felt I should be free. So we got divorced.’
‘I see,’ Megan said. She wanted time to think about it. For a start, she wanted to work out why Christopher had chosen to tell her. She doubted if anyone else in the department knew. Why tell her? Was their friendship something special? He had been married to someone as glamorous as Maddy Brent. He was still friendly with her. What could his own plans for the future possibly be …?
By now they had bought their sandwiches and were walking out of the canteen. She was to go to the ward, while he had to go for one of his never-ending meetings. He seemed uncomfortable, as if he didn’t quite know what to say next.
Finally he put a hand out to stop her. ‘Megan, the man you were with last night. Maddy thought she recognised him. She … I … Well…we think that he’s not quite the right kind of man for you to be –’
She interrupted. ‘Christopher, sir, consultant, whatever I am to you, you don’t need to worry. He’s told me about himself. I’m twenty-six, I can look after myself. I don’t need warning like a young girl. And he’s always behaved impeccably.’
He scowled. ‘Megan, for your own good, you don’t –’
‘Thanks for the warning, Christopher, but I’m all right. I can look after myself. Don’t worry about me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get back to the ward. Bye!’
‘I hope you do know what you’re doing,’ she heard him mutter behind her back.
On Sunday morning Megan woke early as she always did. But she had a rare day off, so she was going to treat herself to a lie-in. She would get up later and cook a big brunch, then do lots of lovely nothing. She turned over and went back to sleep.
Jane woke her when she was right in the middle of an exciting dream. This was unfair because all three knew the value of an occasional lie-in. But Jane was determined that she wake up. She shook Megan’s shoulder again.
‘I’m not going to work,’ Megan mumbled. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Sit up and drink this tea. Then you’ve got to read this article. Megan, this is serious – you’re in trouble.’
Doctors get used to waking quickly. Megan sat up, had a swift gulp of tea and reached for the paper Jane was holding out to her. Ugh! A paper she never read. Then she scanned the centre pages and her world fell apart.
She saw the headline first. Consultant Gets Two Salaries – But Only Does One Job. And underneath was a picture of herself with a caption – Junior doctor tells all.
Horrified, she read the story, then read it again. It was clever. There were a lot of suggestions, but few real facts. Those few facts, she realised, had been provided by herself. The story suggested that senior doctors at Emmy’s were more interested in making money than they were in curing the sick. Charles Grant-Liffley was named as the man who was known to have taken money for services that should have been free. Christopher Firth was named as the new consultant who’d told his staff to keep quiet about the affair, helping to cover up. ‘How many people have not had the treatment they need and deserve?’ the article asked.
Trembling, Megan looked at the bottom of the article. ‘By our Special Undercover Reporter,’ it said. ‘Jeremy Parks.’
‘He took that photograph from my handbag,�
� she told Jane. ‘I was wondering where it had gone. I thought that man was a friend of mine. And all the time he was planning this article. That’s all he was interested in.’ She was sick at the sense of betrayal.
‘We always thought there was something off about him,’ Jane said. ‘Now we know what.’
‘I’ll never trust a man again,’ Megan said tearfully. She was rereading what the article said about her friend Charles. If he recovered and read this he would never forgive her. And her new consultant, Christopher Firth! He’d tried to warn her. What would he think about being described as a fixer? The article made her seem a prattling fool, the hospital a mess, Charles a crook, and Christopher someone willing to help a crook.
‘Get up and get dressed,’ Jane urged. ‘Sue seems to know something about this kind of thing. She says there’ll be reporters from other papers here soon. They’re like jackals when they smell a story. You’re to pack a bag and stay at the hospital for a couple of days.’
‘But I’ve got to phone Christopher and warn him! What will he think of me? He told us not to gossip.’
‘You can talk to him at the hospital! Come on, kid, move!’
Jane’s urgency communicated itself to her. She slid out of bed, had a sketchy wash and packed a few things in a bag. Then she drove to the hospital.
She parked at the back of the hospital by the mortuary, where no one would see her. Then, her hands trembling, she dialled Jeremy Parks’ mobile. It was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but she knew she had to do it.
‘Mr Parks?’ It had always been ‘Jeremy’ before. But she said it, and her voice remained steady.
‘Dr Taylor, the sweet Dr Taylor.’ How could she ever have thought that voice a pleasant one? Now it sounded greasy, cheap. Had it always sounded that way?
‘You lied to me. How could you be so low?’
‘I gather you’ve seen my article,’ the voice said cheerfully. ‘I didn’t tell you a single lie, darling. Everything I told you is true. I did work in South Africa, and one day I will write a novel.’
‘You lied about what I said to you!’
Lifting Suspicion Page 5
