Lifting Suspicion

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘Careful, darling! Calling a journalist a liar is slanderous. Everything I printed is what you said. I can prove it. I recorded every conversation we had, and the paper’s solicitors will have the tapes if they’re needed. In fact, they’ve already checked the story. It’s a good one.’

  ‘You recorded what I thought were personal conversations? What kind of person does that?’

  ‘This is journalism. It’s the way it is. I’m afraid we had to break the story a bit early because I thought that Maddy Brent might tell you about me. I’ve had a run-in with her before.’

  Now his voice became sickeningly friendly. ‘Look, Megan, you can profit out of this. If you want to give a full statement to us, find pictures and that kind of thing, I think we can get you quite a nice little fee. Split with me, of course. Medical scandals always sell a lot of papers. What do you say? We could do a photo-story of your life – you’re not all that unattractive.’ He laughed. ‘A bit different from the rest of the women who feature in our paper, though. You could keep your clothes on. Are you interested?’

  ‘I work in a hospital, Mr Parks. One day you might need hospital treatment. When you do I hope you’ll remember how you betrayed us.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ the voice jeered as she rang off.

  The next call was going to be even harder. Christopher wasn’t on duty, but she prayed that he was in the hospital. He’d told her he would look for a flat in time, but for now he was staying irk the hospital residence.

  She wanted to warn him before anyone else saw the article. He’d given her his mobile number, though normally he wouldn’t expect to be called unless there was an emergency. This was one. Her fingers trembling again, she dialled.

  ‘Megan?’ Even though she was sick with fear, she thrilled to the sound of his voice. ‘It’s good to hear from you on a Sunday morning.’ He sounded so cheerful, so happy.

  ‘I’ve done something really stupid,’ she said, ‘and it affects you, too.’

  His voice was instantly urgent. ‘Anyone hurt? Seriously hurt?’

  ‘It’s not that kind of trouble. I need to come to see you. Have you seen the Sunday papers?’

  Now he was cautious. ‘No. Why, should I have?’

  ‘I’ll bring a copy with me. I want to see you alone first.’

  ‘That bad, is it? I’m in flat B4, if you know where that is.’

  ‘I know it. I’ve spent quite some time in the residence.’ There was a large residential block at Emmy’s, and nurses, young doctors and other staff often lived there. Later she would get herself a room for a week or so.

  She bought two copies of the paper from the stall in the foyer and walked to Christopher’s room. There were few people about, but she had the feeling that she was being looked at, that everyone had read the paper, had seen her picture, knew what she had done. But no one spoke to her.

  B4 was on the first floor. She scrambled in her handbag for her dark-rimmed glasses, and put them on. She needed to be able to hide behind something. Then she tapped on the door.

  It was the usual small sitting room, with newish hospital-issue furniture and just a few personal touches. There were books on the shelves, papers spread across the table. To her surprise there was a large silver-framed photograph of Maddy, looking very attractive, very intelligent. They were supposed to be divorced. And there was the heavenly smell of coffee.

  He was dressed casually in T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare. ‘Sit down, Megan, and I’ll fetch you some coffee. You look as if you need something.’

  So the turmoil she was feeling showed on her face. She wasn’t surprised. She wouldn’t sit on the easy chair he’d indicated. Instead, she pulled out a chair from the table and sat primly on that. She wished this were over!

  He brought her a mug of coffee, put his own on the table and sat opposite her. She opened the paper and pushed it over to him. Each action seemed to take for ever. ‘Read this,’ she said.

  She watched him read. And as he did so, his face grew blacker and his shoulders hunched forward until she thought she could feel the anger radiating from him. And he was so still. When, finally, he moved, the violence of his actions shocked her. He leapt to his feet, swept up the paper, crumpled it into a ball and threw it across the room.

  ‘God!’ he roared. ‘This is all this hospital, all this department, needs! I told you to keep quiet. I know you heard me – you’ve quoted me. Have you ever heard of medical confidentiality? Heaven help your patients in future – they’ll be able to read about themselves in the paper. Woman, you couldn’t have done more harm if you’d tried!’

  ‘I didn’t know he would write this.’ She tried to defend herself. ‘I didn’t even know he was a reporter.’

  ‘Why d’you think I tried to warn you? Maddy told me he was one of the dirtiest reporters she’s ever come across. But he’s clever, obviously too clever for you. You, the woman who’s twenty-six, who’s not a girl, who can look after herself. You don’t need warning.’

  She winced as he threw her own words back at her. ‘I didn’t know he was a reporter. I thought you were warning me because he’d been in trouble in South Africa. He told me he was writing a novel, and he just wanted background material. And I thought … I thought he was a friend.’

  ‘Either you’re a conniving crook or you’re too stupid to be an SHO. People do exist outside hospital beds, you know.’

  There was nothing more she could say in her own defence. She sat there silently, the tears streaming down her face. He looked at her for a moment and then said, ‘Drink your coffee. There are things we have to do. We can’t just sit here and take this. For a start, we need to get in touch with the hospital CEO. He’s not going to be a happy bunny. You’ll have to come with me and we’ll see what we can salvage out of this mess. Are you still staying at home?’

  ‘No. I’ve got a bag with me. I’m going to stay here. My friends told me that there might be reporters coming round from other papers.’

  ‘You can bet on it. They’re a couple of bright girls. It’s a pity you didn’t learn from them.’

  She’d had enough. ‘Look,’ she retorted, ‘I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll do what I can to put it right. If you want me to resign, I will!’

  ‘Your resignation really would be a disaster for the hospital. Can you think of the headlines? Look, Megan, stop losing your temper and don’t burst into tears. We have to cope with this. So far this is a disaster, but it’s not yet a catastrophe.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. And don’t you dare tell me not to lose my temper. What about you?’

  From somewhere he produced a small smile. ‘I’m the consultant,’ he said. ‘The rules don’t apply to me. Now, finish your coffee then go into my bathroom and wash your face. The important thing now is to appear calm even if we aren’t. And I’ll phone the CEO.’

  In fact Malcolm Mallory, the CEO, was out playing golf. Megan listened as Christopher reached him on his mobile. He agreed to come in at once, but would call at home first. Five minutes later he phoned back and said that there were a dozen messages on his answering machine, no end of people requesting an interview. They would have to issue some kind of statement but not until they’d conferred.

  ‘Issue a statement,’ Christopher grumbled. ‘Not about the good work we’ve done. No one’s interested in that. Not about medicine. A statement about the possibility of a chance that someone’s been rather foolish.’

  He looked at the woebegone Megan. ‘I’ll get you more coffee. Have you had breakfast yet?’

  ‘No. Please, I couldn’t eat. I still feel sick.’

  ‘You’ll have to eat. If for no other reason than to keep up your strength. I’ll be right with you.’

  Dimly she heard the sound of sizzling, and there was a smell that reminded her of the brunch she’d promised herself. It seemed a long time ago when she’d rolled over in bed and allowed herself the luxury of a lie-in. What had happened to her idle day?

  Christopher came back in five minutes
later with more coffee and, of all things, a bacon and egg sandwich. He had one for himself also. She started to eat, and realised she was indeed hungry. The sandwich was glorious. It reminded her of home when her mother used to make her just such a sandwich and – ‘Oh, no!’ she cried.

  He looked up. ‘What’s wrong now?’

  ‘I’ve just realised. I’m in the paper. My parents have a shop, they do the Sunday papers. They’ll see the article. Somebody is bound to tell them. They’ll be so shocked.’

  His face was expressionless as he pointed to the phone on his table. ‘I’m going to get changed. Phone them and warn them and tell them that the hospital has got a reply for everything. They’re not to worry.’

  That was thoughtful of him, she thought as she dialled home. He left her to phone in peace.

  At first her parents were pleased that she had her name in the paper, but when they heard which paper it was and what had been said they were very uneasy. They knew nothing of hospital life. Megan managed to persuade them that all was well and that she would be down to see them shortly. Something else to worry about.

  Christopher re-entered the room wearing the dark suit he had worn when she’d first met him. He looked every inch the consultant. With another small smile he said, ‘I might have to play the heavy professional so I need to look the part. Appearances are important, Megan.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ she mumbled.

  ‘How did it go with your parents?’

  ‘They weren’t very happy. So far they’ve been very proud of me – an only daughter made good. Now they’ll get remarks from friends and neighbours. A lot of them will be kindly meant, of course. But I hope it will soon blow over.’

  He must have heard the desolation in her voice. More calmly he said, ‘I’m still a bit surprised at you being taken in so easily. I’ve watched you work. You’re more than competent, you’re shrewd. You know how people work. What happened this time? Were you attracted to him?’

  She shook her head violently. ‘Do you mean sexually? Certainly not. In fact, that was part of the attraction. He was absolutely safe, never even touched me. A handshake was all. I’m … not good with men.’

  His voice was sharp. ‘What do you mean? You’re an attractive woman, even if you don’t always dress like one. And why don’t you throw those glasses away and get contact …’ His voice trailed away. ‘They’re plain glass, aren’t they? Just a bit of camouflage. To make you look ordinary and spinsterish?’

  He’d guessed. ‘That’s what they’re for. When I was a student I used to wear them. Remember Thunderbirds? The children’s puppet programme? The others used to say I looked like Brains. And that suited me.’

  ‘I’d say you looked more like Lady Penelope. And why do you say you’re not good with men? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, I have had the odd boyfriend. Someone quiet like me. But …’ To her surprise she realised she was going to tell him. Even to think about it, all those years ago, still made her sick. But she was going to tell him – she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he was the most sympathetic man she’d ever come across.

  ‘But what?’ he asked. ‘Come on, you may as well tell me now.’

  ‘Well, in my third year I was asked out by a student a couple of years older than me. He was a medical student, a bright fellow, good-looking – I enjoyed being seen with him. He was called Alan. We saw quite a bit of each other for a couple of weeks. He was different to me, the life and soul of every party. Wherever he went he was in the limelight. And I liked it, too.

  ‘Then one evening I’d arranged to meet him in the bar. I got there early. Alan was standing there with a group of his cronies, and they were handing money to one man. And I heard Alan say he’d get me into bed before the end of the month. And I was a virgin – I’d told him so. They all laughed, and then they turned and saw me. And they knew I’d heard.’

  She was silent. ‘What happened then?’ Christopher asked gently.

  ‘I walked up to the group and asked who Alan was going to get into bed. Nobody answered. So I said to the man with the money that if it was me, Alan could pay out now. There was no chance. Then I walked away.’

  Christopher brooded. ‘There’s more to you than I thought, Megan,’ he said eventually. ‘When you heard, why didn’t you just walk away? Why risk more embarrassment?’

  ‘Good question.’ She looked round his room for an answer. ‘I suppose because I am … a person,’ she said. ‘I’m entitled to a little dignity. I guess I just wanted to fight back a bit. Anyway, after that, work was more important than ever.’

  ‘Is that the end of the story?’

  ‘No.’ She smiled thinly. ‘It was curious. Afterwards I heard from a very reliable friend that Alan was really upset about what he’d done. It had just been lads congregated round a bar In fact, he did try to apologize but I just didn't want to know. But apparently he did have some genuine feelings for me. And now he’s a very good doctor. That’s why I’m off men. I just can’t understand them.’

  ‘The only thing more complex than men is women,’ he told her. ‘Come on, let’s go and see the CEO.’

  They walked across the car park and into the main administration block. She noticed that he looked keenly at everyone in sight, and that worried her. Presumably he thought that they might be accosted by reporters.

  They got into the lift. ‘Before we get into the office,’ he told her, ‘I want you to remember that you’re still a member of my department. You might have been unthinking, but I don’t think you’ve done anything seriously unprofessional. I’ll stand by you, and see that other members of the department do as well.’

  This wasn’t expected. ‘I thought you were angry with me,’ she said.

  He smiled briefly. ‘I am. But I still think you’ll make a good doctor in time.’

  He led her through the CEO’s outer office. Megan had only been there twice before, and each time there had been a forty-year-old, perfectly groomed secretary-cum-receptionist keeping a glacial eye on things. Now the room was oddly still. Christopher tapped on the inner door and ushered her in.

  There was an equally imposing inner office. Malcolm Mallory was in his golfing clothes, but he still looked distinguished. Megan knew that he’d been a doctor before he’d become an administrator, so he had first-hand experience of doctors’ problems. In fact, there were a couple of photographs on the walls of him dressed in a white coat, surrounded by colleagues. She thought it a good idea, to remind all medical people who came in there that he’d been one of them, too.

  There was also another man, who was sitting at the desk, telephoning. He was short and round, and looked hopeful. Megan heard him say, ‘Well, I promise to ring back in half an hour. I know nothing at the moment, but I’ll make a couple of enquiries. We’ll have a statement by then. OK? Nice to hear from you, Martin.’ He replaced the receiver, wiped his face with his handkerchief and said, ‘If there’s anything good we can say, Martin will print it. I’ve helped him in the past, he can help us now.’

  ‘This is Mr Moreton,’ the CEO said. ‘He’s in charge of public relations for the hospital.’

  There was the swift shaking of hands, brief introductions, and the CEO called down to the switchboard and told them to hold any incoming calls.

  The four of them sat round Malcolm Mallory’s desk. On it were two copies of the paper, opened at the offending article. Megan looked at them gloomily. The CEO caught her glance, and smiled. ‘Let’s get one thing clear for a start. This isn’t any kind of court, and we aren’t interested in assigning blame. All we’re concerned with is doing what’s best for the hospital. Now, Mr Firth, I gather you’ve talked to Dr Taylor?’

  ‘I have, and I want her to tell us the full story. In advance, I may say that I think she’s been a little unwise, but basically she’s been taken advantage of. I see no need for any professional action to be taken against her.’

  ‘I know that Jeremy Parks,’ Mr Moreton said gloomily. ‘He’s scum but he
’s smart. Don’t think you’re the first person to be taken in by him, Dr Taylor. He’s fooled older and more experienced people than you.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not much consolation,’ she told him. ‘But do you want to hear my side of the story?’

  ‘With as much detail as is possible,’ Mr Moreton said. ‘That’s important.’

  So she told the story, starting with the crash in the car park. It was now obvious that there had been no crash. He’d driven into her car merely as a means of getting to speak to her.

  ‘That was smart,’ Mr Moreton said with reluctant admiration. ‘That was really clever.’

  Megan didn’t conceal anything. She’d been told not to talk about what had happened but, in fact, she’d gossiped like an old lady. She explained how she’d genuinely thought that Parks had been a writer and she’d wanted to help him. She further told them that she’d phoned him that morning and he’d told her that he’d recorded every conversation they’d had together.

  ‘Please, don’t do anything like that again,’ Mr Moreton said. ‘A phone call can be suicide.’

  At the end of her story there was silence, and then Christopher said, ‘You said he took the photograph from your handbag when you were out of the room. He opened it and stole the photograph?’

  ‘Well, yes. It was one of a set I had taken for our ward passes. Not a big one.’

  Mr Moreton looked interested. ‘He stole from you. What else was in the handbag? Did you have a pocket organiser in there?’

  ‘Just money and the usual things,’ she told him. ‘And I keep a notebook, not a pocket organiser.’

  ‘So in your absence he opened your handbag, stole something, and looked through confidential information?’

  ‘There was nothing too confidential,’ she said. ‘No patients’ names, for example, but telephone numbers and some results of tests I’d ordered. But I don’t know that he looked through the notebook.’

  ‘He did,’ said Mr Moreton, with absolute conviction. ‘I know him. Well, that’s one mistake he made. Going through a young doctor’s handbag, reading confidential information, and stealing from her.’