‘But … it was only an old photo,’ she protested.
‘It’s the way things are presented,’ Mr Moreton said.
She was beginning to grasp the kind of world she’d been dropped into. Presentation was more important than reality. She didn’t much care for it.
‘If you would please wait outside, Dr Taylor,’ the CEO said. ‘We need to discuss this a little further. We won’t keep you long.’
She had to wait outside? She felt that she was being interviewed for a job, or that her punishment was being decided by a jury. Her resentment must have shown on her face because Christopher said, ‘This is no reflection on you, Dr Taylor. We’re not going to judge you or anything – just decide on our future policy.’
So she waited outside. It was the longest ten minutes of her life. And when she was invited back in to sit down she looked at the three faces opposite her. Malcolm Mallory was imperturbable, Mr Moreton was unhappy, Christopher was brooding,
‘I’m sorry to contradict Mr Firth,’ the CEO said, ‘but we are going to judge you. We feel you may have been foolish but you’ve certainly done nothing unprofessional. He assures me that you are a valuable member of his department. That pleases me as it reinforces my own opinion. I gather you’re going to move into the residence for a few days, and I think that’s a good idea. If anyone asks you to comment on anything, please, refer them to Mr Moreton.’
Mr Moreton leaned over and gave her a set of cards. ‘Hand these out,’ he said. ‘Don’t say anything yourself. My telephone number is on there.’
Christopher put in, ‘And keep calm. Don’t lose your temper, don’t be panicked into saying anything you’ll regret.’
The CEO went on, ‘As you know, we have auditors looking at the facts surrounding Mr Grant-Liffley’s, er, situation. We want an end to rumour, we want facts. In fact, you’ll be summoned for an interview yourself, Dr Taylor.’
‘I hope I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘I’m sure that is the case,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what is to happen now. This has been gutter journalism, and we’re going on the attack. Mr Firth has made a phone call – he may be able to help us.’
The CEO glanced at the inscrutable Christopher. ‘I didn’t know that he was once married to Maddy Brent, the presenter who has a programme on Wednesday night, Maddy Again. Anyway, Miss Brent was interested in what he told her. She knows of Parks and has had dealings with him before. She thinks he lowers the standard of journalism. She’ll do a programme on you and what happened, and invite Parks to justify himself. Are you willing to go on the programme yourself if necessary?’
Megan felt the blood drain from her face. The very idea horrified her. Meet Parks again? Tell the world how she’d made a fool of herself?
Silently, Christopher passed her a glass of water. She felt her teeth chatter on the rim as she drank. Then, with a ghastly attempt at humour, she said, ‘I’d rather have my teeth pulled without anaesthetic but, yes, I’ll do it. If I have to.’
‘Good,’ approved the CEO, and looked at Christopher.
Christopher looked at her. ‘Maddy is coming over later this afternoon to talk to you. Are you happy with that?’
‘Delirious,’ she muttered.
‘Just a talk,’ Maddy Brent said briskly. ‘No cameras, no tapes. Christopher, you can make us some tea and then wander off and do medical things. We’ll talk to you later. Right now I need to talk to Dr Taylor alone.’
‘Yes, miss, everything you say, miss,’ Christopher said ironically, but he set off to do as he’d been told. Megan stared gloomily at Maddy and for the tenth time that day wondered what she’d done to deserve this.
They were back in Christopher’s flat. Megan felt frumpish, still in the jeans and sweater she’d hurriedly pulled on that morning. In contrast, Maddy was beautifully dressed. Perhaps she would say that she was wearing casual clothes, but the suede trousers, light silk shirt, and dark silk jacket made her look elegant.
‘We’ve got something in common, Megan,’ Maddy told her casually as Christopher fussed around with tea. ‘I had a run-in with Jeremy Parks myself three years ago. I was interviewing a couple of people who were willing to expose an insurance scam. I’d told them who I was, what I wanted and how they could help me. They were frightened, but I was getting their confidence.
‘Somehow Jeremy Parks learned what I was doing. He went to visit my couple, told them I’d sent him. As you know, he can be a persuasive devil. He got half the story from them, and it was published – with their names – in his rag of a paper that weekend. The couple were angry and just disappeared. And the big story was never published. Jeremy Parks plays dirty so any chance I find of getting back at him I’m going to take.’
Megan was bewildered by this. ‘I’m a doctor,’ she said. ‘I help people who are ill or injured or having babies. I can do without all this fighting.’
Maddy looked sympathetic. ‘You remind me of my ex-husband,’ she said. ‘He used to have noble ideas, too. Then he lost them when he had to become a hospital politician. Now, Megan, I know you’ve done it too many times already, but tell me what happened again. Don’t leave out a single thing.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Megan. She opened the living room door and shouted, ‘Mr Firth?’
Christopher appeared, his eyebrows raised. ‘Not finished already?’
‘I’ve been asked to tell Maddy everything I know,’ Megan said. ‘Does that include what I did for Charles Grant-Liffley, and my suspicions about him?’
Christopher looked at her. ‘You’re learning,’ he said. ‘Yes, tell her everything. She’s on our side. She needs to know the facts to be able to fight back. And you’ve got to learn to trust someone.’
‘Trusting people is getting harder,’ Megan said. But she told Maddy the story, even though she was getting fed up with it. By now she had it almost down pat, but she still stumbled when she realised again what a fool she’d been.
Maddy listened impassively, nodding occasionally and taking the odd note in shorthand. When Megan had finished she said, ‘That’s all very clear. I don’t think I’ll need any more details. Excuse me a minute.’
From her handbag she took out her mobile, switched it on and listened to her messages. Then she made two cryptic calls. She seemed to listen mostly. Megan heard a guarded ‘… I didn’t think he would … Yes, that’s fine … Get him in, then … Yes, he’ll do very well.’ Then she rang off and, as Megan had, shouted for Christopher.
‘I’ve got what we want,’ she told Christopher when he arrived. ‘I suggest you keep Megan under wraps for a week, but after that her bit of the story should have disappeared.’ She smiled at Megan. ‘To put you out of your misery, I’m not going to use you. You’re too fair, too reasonable. And you’re scared, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Megan, ‘I guess I’m scared.’ She knew the relief was obvious on her face.
‘But I want you, Christopher,’ Maddy said. ‘There’ll be an added thrill for the viewers when I tell them that we used to be married to each other.’
‘Great. Just what I want in a new job, my private life announced to the world by my ex-wife.’
Maddy was unperturbed. ‘You’ll be good, I’ll coach you. Just make sure you have Wednesday afternoon and evening free. And I promise not to run over any of our old matrimonial arguments.’
She stood and picked up her handbag. ‘Parks won’t come on the show, but after a bit of pressure his editor has agreed that he’ll come in Parks’ place. He’ll be shouting the public’s right to know and press freedom and so on. But I’ve met him before – I’ll skewer him.’
She held out her hand to Megan. ‘Nice to have met you, Megan. Put this behind you and carry on being a doctor.’
‘Nice to have met you, too,’ Megan said. And she meant it. Maddy inspired confidence.
While Megan stayed in the flat Christopher walked Maddy down to the car park. Through the window Megan saw the couple walk across the tarmac to a dark green Jagu
ar. They talked for a minute and then he kissed her, a very friendly kiss for a divorced couple, Megan thought. The Jaguar drove out of the car park and she waited for Christopher to return.
He came into the room and sat opposite her. He frowned, hunching his shoulders. ‘Quite an item, my ex-wife, isn’t she?’
‘Quite an item,’ Megan agreed cheerlessly.
Chapter Four
‘Now stitch through there, there and there.’ Sylvia Binns pointed.
Carefully, Megan did as she was told, taking the nylon suture in a circle round the cervical os, the opening at the bottom of the uterus through which the baby would ultimately appear. She was sitting between the legs of an anaesthetised woman in the lithotomy position, the patient’s legs apart and high in stirrups. It was the best position in which to work on the uterus.
‘Now gently pull tight and tie off.’ Megan did as she’d been told.
Under Sylvia’s supervision she was performing an operation known as a cervical cerclage – once called a Shirodkar stitch. It was for women who had an incompetent cervix and aborted spontaneously. It was a surprisingly mechanical technique – just sewing up the bottom of the womb. But it worked. The suture would be removed shortly before the woman gave birth.
Sylvia looked at Megan’s work and tested it. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘Next time you can do it without me.’
Megan smiled to herself. Another technique learned. She loved medicine. ‘I gather you’ve been in the papers,’ Sylvia said as they were stripping off their greens. ‘Did it worry you?’
‘I can’t say I was too pleased,’ Megan replied carefully.
‘Don’t let it get you down. No one will pay any attention – that is, no one who matters. Every time I’ve been involved in some hospital matter that got into the papers, the papers have got it wrong. It goes with the job, Megan. See you later.’
That was nice, Megan thought. That was supportive of her.
There had been a few questions about the article, but she’d managed to give vague answers. It was surprising how many people had read it. But all of them seemed to think the paper was rubbish. Why do you read it if the paper’s rubbish? Megan wondered, but didn’t say anything. From now on she wasn’t going to provoke anyone. She’d just get on with her work.
At mid-morning her friend Cat Connor came into the doctors’ room. ‘There are a couple of people asking to see you,’ she said. ‘They tried to come on the ward, but I wouldn’t let them.’
It was, of course, a locked ward. All wards containing babies were locked. ‘They were quite pushy,’ Cat went on. ‘Said they had something important but confidential to say to you.’
‘I’ll go and have a look,’ Megan said.
There was a television camera outside the ward door and a telephone so that staff could see and talk to anyone before letting them in. Megan looked at the screen. A large, unpleasant-looking man was holding the phone, and a smaller man stood by him, carrying the kind of metal suitcase which often held cameras. Megan picked up the phone on the ward clerk’s desk. ‘Yes?’
The voice attempted to be ingratiating. ‘I’d like to speak to Dr Taylor, please. Is that Dr Taylor?’
‘Dr Taylor is a busy doctor on a busy ward. What do you want with her?’
‘I’d really like to explain it to her myself. If you could –’
‘Call at Security in the main hall,’ Megan interrupted. ‘They can help you with your business!’
‘That is Dr Taylor, isn’t it? Look, Doctor, my name’s Roy Fuller. I’m a journalist and I represent the –’
Megan put down the phone. On the screen she watched the angry man realise he’d been cut off. He put down his own phone and then promptly pick it up so it buzzed on the ward clerk’s desk again. In turn she picked up her handset.
‘Dr Taylor, I really do think that –’
‘I’ve already phoned Security. If you don’t present yourself at their desk promptly, they’ll come looking for you. They don’t like people who cause trouble outside labour wards.’ She took a card from her pocket and read out the number. ‘Why don’t you phone that number and talk to Mr Moreton?’
Once again she replaced the phone and watched. The large man glowered at the door, then turned and marched down the corridor.
‘You’re changing, aren’t you?’ Cat said admiringly. ‘You used to be a sweet .little thing, but now you’re changing. You’ll be a nightclub bouncer before you finish.’
‘Sometimes you have to be hard,’ Megan said.
For the rest of the morning she worked hard so she thought she was entitled to a proper lunch break. First checking that Fuller wasn’t behind the door, she walked down the corridor and into the canteen. A cup of tea and a sandwich. It would keep her going until suppertime.
She didn’t see anyone she knew so she took her tray and sat at an empty table by a pillar. Most people had already had their lunch, as she was late. As ever, the wholemeal sandwich was good. She – There was a flash.
She looked up. There, smiling at her, as unpleasant as ever, was Roy Fuller. His associate had just taken her picture, and was manoeuvring to take another.
‘We meet at last, Dr Taylor,’ Fuller said. He pulled up a chair at her table, carefully positioning it so that she was trapped between him and the pillar and couldn’t get out. ‘Now, we really need to talk. I’ve just a few questions. They won’t take up much of your time. For a start, do you deny that Charles Grant-Liffley was cheating patients here?’
She caught the cleverness of the question at once. There was no answer she could make that would not make some kind of a headline. She merely looked at the man and said, ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘So you admit you have something to hide? Is it you or your hospital you’re trying to protect?’
Another clever question. Perhaps she should try to move. But when she stood Fuller showed no signs of letting her out.
‘Excuse me,’ she said.
Fuller smiled at her nastily. ‘Don’t think I’m letting you go when I’ve gone to such a lot of trouble to find you. You’re the story of the moment, Dr Taylor, and I’m –’
‘You! This is a private canteen. Out – now!’
She looked up. There was Christopher, his face, dark with fury, contrasting with the whiteness of his coat. Megan thought she’d never seen such anger and it frightened her, even though it wasn’t directed at her.
She thought Fuller looked apprehensive at first, but he was obviously used to facing angry, people. He managed to regain his confidence and said, ‘Ah, you must be Dr –’
‘I’m the man telling you to get up and get out.’
Megan saw the photographer raise his camera. So, apparently, did Christopher. With a speed that shocked her, he grabbed the camera and deleted the images.
‘Here,’ shouted the cameraman, ‘you can’t do that, I …’ Then he looked fully at Christopher’s face and decided to say no more.
‘I just did it,’ Christopher said, dropping the camera with a bang on the table. ‘You took pictures here without permission – that’s against hospital rules. Now get out.’
It was his voice that horrified Megan the most. It was quiet, much quieter than it normally was. And there was a quality in it that suggested that the speaker was only with difficulty holding onto his temper. It frightened her, and she wondered what it was doing to the other two.
Fuller stood and offered his hand. He obviously wanted to try to calm things down a little. The interview wasn’t going the way he had intended. ‘Doctor, I’m Roy Fuller. I’m sure we can act in a civilised manner and get this thing –’
‘Are you deaf or stupid?’ Christopher asked, ignoring the hand. ‘I told you to get out.’
Before Fuller could reply another man walked up to the table, calm and massive in uniform. Megan knew him as Larry Lodge, Head of Hospital Security. He was an ex-policeman, and he looked it. He looked at Fuller. ‘Are you the owner of the red Vauxhall parked in the surgeons’ car
park … sir?’ he asked. The pause before the ‘sir’ was a deliberate insult.
‘I’m sorry, we couldn’t find anywhere else to park,’ Fuller said. ‘We’ll be off in a minute when I’ve –’
‘It’s been wheel-clamped and I’ve sent for the tow truck. If you get there quickly you might be able to pay the fine and have your car released, otherwise it’s a question of going to the pound.’
Now Fuller was furious. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Yes, sir. You’re a trespasser. If you do not leave these premises at once I shall be obliged to detain you and send for the police.’
There was an angry silence for a moment. Fuller looked at the stolid Larry and the still incandescent Christopher. Then he stood and walked out. Larry followed them.
Megan looked at the curious eyes around them, and then up at Christopher. ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘It looks as if your blood pressure’s dangerously high and you’re going to suffer from adrenaline poisoning. I need more tea and I’ll fetch you a sandwich, too. You need to cool down.’
He looked at her for a minute, and then he sat. She rose and said, ‘Incidentally, I love being brawled over. I could have handled the situation without getting angry.’
‘It didn’t seem that way, you looked like a mouse in a trap.’
‘Well, I wasn’t. I’ll fetch the tea. D’you want a sandwich as well?’
‘I want to put my hands around your neck and squeeze.’
‘Join the queue,’ she invited him, ‘but, in the meantime, the tuna salad is nice. I’ll get you one of those.’
She needed the walk to the counter. She had just accused Christopher of suffering from adrenaline poisoning, but she could feel her own heart fluttering. She breathed deeply and tried to force herself to be normal. She ordered two teas and the promised sandwich, and walked back to her table.
‘You told me to keep calm,’ she said as she sat, facing him. ‘I like your example of how to do it. I thought you were going to hit one of them.’
He considered this. ‘So did I,’ he confessed after a while, ‘and I would have really enjoyed it. You’re right, of course. I’m supposed to be a doctor and cure people, not damage them. But that pair have caused trouble all through the hospital, they’ve been picking on people, asking questions, trying to provoke arguments.’
Lifting Suspicion Page 7
