Lifting Suspicion

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘I don’t mind. In fact, Mr Firth, I rather like it.’

  Had she said that? Megan Taylor, flirting? Fortunately he didn’t seem to mind.

  There was a paper under his arm. He showed her which one it was, before dropping it with a flourish in the nearest waste bin. ‘A week ago we were the star attraction. This week, not a mention. So much for stories to come. I just bought the rag to check they were leaving us alone.’

  She felt relieved, and pleased that he’d thought to check. ‘Perhaps it’s over. Now we can get on with practising medicine without being bothered.’

  ‘There’s always somebody willing to bother doctors, Megan. It’s turning into a national sport. However, this is going to be a day off for us both. Get in the car and let’s go!’

  He took her across country for a few miles, but soon they were heading north on the motorway. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked. ‘I know you like poking around odd places – where to this time?’

  ‘We’re going to Lancaster. We’ll have a look round there and then cut through to a place called Glasson Dock. We’re just being tourists, Megan. Driving around and saying it’s not as good as the last place.’

  She giggled. ‘You’re not a tourist. You look too hard and ask difficult questions.’

  ‘Yes, well, as I told you before. SHOs are nosy, consultants are intellectually curious.’

  They drove on a few miles further and he said, ‘Apparently there’s a place you can see from the motorway that looks like the Taj Mahal.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve passed it dozens of times, but I’ve never actually visited it. I’ve often wondered about it.’

  ‘We’ll go today. Apparently, like the Taj Mahal, it’s a mausoleum. It was put up by a retired linoleum manufacturer to his dead wife.’

  ‘I’m sure he loved her as much as Shah Jahan loved his wife,’ Megan said firmly. ‘Love is everywhere.’

  ‘That’s a nice, romantic thing to say. It’s not the kind of remark I’d expect from an overworked SHO who’s suffering from whiplash.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I am a romantic. Well, as romantic as doctors can be. At times it is a strain.’

  ‘Hmm. I think you’re right. Doctors can be romantic. And I suspect that male doctors are more romantic than female, but we won’t get into that. Tell me how it’s a strain, being a romantic doctor.’

  This is an odd conversation, she thought, or at least it’s an odd man to have it with. I doubt he talks this way to Will Powers.

  She said, ‘Well, the work we do is great. I mean the work in the Obs and Gynae unit, bringing babies into the world. I can think of few things more rewarding. Usually it’s a trip to hospital that has a happy ending. And it’s usually the result of romance.’

  ‘You’ve said “usually” twice. What about the other cases? Aren’t they romantic?’

  ‘Well, these are my prejudices coming out. I want every baby to be wanted, to have been planned, to have two enthusiastic parents. And they’ve got to have at least an adequate home and know what having a baby entails – for the next twenty years.’

  ‘Is that all?’ He smiled.

  ‘Oh, quite a lot of babies do come into the world like that, and it’s lovely. It’s romantic. Can you think of anything more romantic than taking your wife to bed, hoping, trying, to make a baby?’

  ‘I must say you make it sound very appealing,’ he said, and she blushed.

  He went on, ‘But we get too many babies who are the results of accidents, who are born to feckless mothers, drug addicts, prostitutes.’

  ‘Some of them do their absolute best to be good mothers,’ she told him, ‘but things are against them. And against the baby. Their lives are a struggle, not a romance.’

  ‘Do you say any of this to the mothers in question?’

  She was surprised that he should ask. ‘Of course not. I just make sure they get contraceptive advice if they need it. Sue, my friend the midwife, is very hot on contraception. I’ve learned a lot, listening to her.’

  ‘You’ve learned a lot? You’re a doctor – she’s only a midwife.’

  She was enraged. ‘Only a midwife! A midwife is at least as …’ She looked sideways as she heard him laugh. ‘You said that just to irritate me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I must confess I did. I’m sorry. I’m a consultant, and I still learn from midwives on occasion.’

  They drove in silence for another few miles and then he said, ‘I’m interested in what you say. When we interview young doctors we tend to ask technical and medical questions, and too few of what I might call ethical ones. Tell me more about your ethical beliefs.’

  She’d never been asked a question like this by a consultant before. She would have to be careful.

  ‘I’m happy enough with the morning-after pill, for accidents that is, though it’s a very poor means of regular contraception. But the very phrase “therapeutic abortion” makes me cringe. Unless the mother’s life is at risk.’

  ‘But would you assist in one? In time perhaps perform one?’

  ‘I have assisted in one. If I develop the skills, then, well, I would rather perform one than leave the mother to take some … other course.’

  He held her hand. ‘You’re going to be a great doctor. But for now just remember what you said to start with. So much of our work has a happy ending. I had a card yesterday morning, with a picture of a six-month-old baby. I whipped him out of his mother and he weighed just one pound. I did my bit, then watched the paediatrician work his wonders as I sewed the mother back up. He’s now a bonny babe and he’s going to survive. It made me feel good. Look! There’s the Taj Mahal.’

  ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ she said.

  Shortly afterwards they turned off the motorway and drove into Lancaster. ‘We’ve been in the car too long,’ he said, and parked. ‘You see far more on foot.’

  Megan loved being with Christopher. He was interested in everything – buildings, people, the river running through the city centre. Lancaster was an old town, but a compact one. They saw the Shire Hall, where the witches of Pendle had been held for trial, the Museum of Childhood, and the magnificent Custom House on St George’s Quay.

  ‘Now the Taj Mahal,’ he said, leading her back to the car. In fact, the place was called the Ashton Memorial, situated in the middle of Williamson Park. The views from there were fantastic!

  ‘I’m thinking about getting hungry now,’ he said. ‘Another short drive and then some lunch?’

  ‘Seems good to me.’ So they drove out of Lancaster, across a flat plain with the river Lune on their right. Soon they could smell the saltiness of the sea.

  Glasson Dock was fun. Once it had been a large working port, but now there was only one ship unloading there. They wandered round a yacht basin, looked at the mud-banked river, peered at the channel as it led through sands to the sea. For a day they were being tourists – doing nothing very exciting – and she loved it.

  ‘I’m getting hungry,’ Christopher told her. ‘All this walking and sea air has given me an appetite.’

  ‘So am I. And since I’m on holiday I want something with chips. Forget salads for a day. I want a nice, disgraceful, fattening meal.’

  ‘I think I’ll join you.’

  They found a pub that served meals and he went up to the bar to order fish, chips, and mushy peas. As he stood at the bar Megan looked around the dark wooden interior and wondered what exactly she was doing here with him. She thought about it for a minute.

  First of all, she was enjoying herself tremendously. He was wonderful company. They had walked round places, looked at them casually, chatted about nothing in particular. And she had enjoyed every minute. Partly, of course, this was the contrast with the intensity of her work. There everything had to be precise, every question had to be answered. Today was a rest from precision.

  What about Christopher? She realised that she had un-consciously put off thinking about their relationship. First of all he’d seemed just like a senior colleague w
ho’d wanted to help her. Then, she supposed, they’d become friends. But things had moved on from there and they were becoming more than friends. The kisses they’d shared had proved that.

  Megan sensed that he was holding back, not pushing her into a full commitment. For an honourable man he was at a disadvantage. He was her consultant, and her career was in his hands. He would want her to be happy with their relationship, able to accept or reject him without thought of how it might affect her future.

  This meant that the next step must be up to her. She had to give him some sign that she wanted him. And she knew that would be hard. Her previous experiences with men had scarred her, and she wasn’t sure she was capable of making herself so vulnerable again. But she must! She … she couldn’t even think it. All she could manage was that she liked Christopher an awful lot.

  He returned from ordering, followed in a surprisingly short time by a waiter bearing two steaming plates. ‘Let’s eat,’ he said.

  ‘Just watch me,’ she replied, and reached for the vinegar.

  The meal was as good as it smelt. ‘Few things are more satisfying than that,’ Christopher said with a sigh when they’d finished. ‘Perhaps not for every day, but for some time special like today, then definitely.’

  ‘I enjoyed it, too. Why is today so special?’

  ‘Because we’re not working, because the sun is shining, because I’m enjoying exploring, and because I’m with you. Today everything’s fine for me, Megan.’

  ‘Everything’s fine for me as well,’ she said shyly. ‘And that’s because I’m with you.’ She wanted to kiss him. But she couldn’t lean across the table and do so, not in a pub full of people.

  They walked hand in hand along the beach for another half-hour, but then the wind started to chill them and he led her back to the car.

  It was still early in the evening when they arrived back at the hospital. They walked across the car park towards his flat, where he would make her some tea and he suggested he make them both sandwiches later on. ‘That would be nice,’ she said. ‘I feel really idle, being looked after all day.’

  ‘No one could call you idle, Megan.’ He looked at her suspiciously. ‘That’s twice I’ve seen you rub your neck. It’s started to ache again, hasn’t it?’

  ‘I can feel it a bit,’ she confessed, ‘but it’s not all that bad, honestly.’

  ‘I’ll get you something warm to hold against it. Whiplash can last for days. It’s a particularly irritating condition.’

  Megan sat in his flat. On his instructions she took off her sweater and undid the top two buttons of her shirt. He had an infrared bulb, which he set in a standard lamp and positioned the lamp behind her so the bulb shone onto her neck and shoulders. Then he gently rolled back her shirt collar. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin made her shudder.

  ‘Am I cold?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry, I should have warmed my hands.’

  ‘No, you’re not cold. It’s just … me.’

  Then he rested his hands on her shoulders, and for a moment she wondered if he would bend over to kiss her. But he didn’t. Never mind, there was plenty of time left in the evening.

  They’d agreed to turn off their bleepers for the day. The department was more than adequately staffed. But he went to check his answering machine for messages, and when he came back he looked bleak. He sat opposite her and took her two hands in his.

  ‘There was a message for me from Malcolm Mallory,’ he said abruptly. ‘There’ll be one for you, too. He says he’s sorry, but there’s nothing he can do. The consultant at St Leonard’s Hospital has finally and officially said that it’s extremely unlikely that Charles will ever regain consciousness. He’ll never be able to be questioned about the … inconsistencies in his accounting. So the powers that be have decided to press ahead with an official inquiry. Tomorrow you’ve got to answer questions from an auditor.’

  So far all she had done had been to answer questions put to her by a more-or-less understanding in-house senior registrar, who knew how hospitals worked and had accepted her explanation quite happily. But now she was to face a professional, a man who was primarily concerned with money.

  ‘What does an official inquiry mean?’ she asked.

  ‘As well as the hospital management committee seeing it, copies of the report will be forwarded to the local trust and to the Ministry of Health. Specific problems could be referred to the police or the BMA, and they would make their own enquiries.’

  ‘So I’m going to be investigated,’ she said dully. ‘For the … crime you thought I was guilty of in the first place.’

  He released her hands, stood, and walked aimlessly round the room. ‘Yes, it is what I thought you were guilty of. And even now, if I found out that you were guilty, I’d be … not happy but willing to see you punished. But no one who has seen you work could even dream that you would consciously cheat the system! To think that is madness!’

  ‘You said, “consciously cheat the system”,’ she pointed out. ‘In law it doesn’t matter if you’re conscious or unconscious. You’re cheating. It’s your duty to be aware. My signature is on documents that request that patients have certain tests. It’s known that those patients paid for the tests, but the hospital never received the money. That’s my responsibility.’

  ‘So you acted foolishly! Who wouldn’t in those circumstances? If their consultant told them to do something!’

  ‘My signature,’ she told him, ‘so my responsibility.’

  He was at the other end of the room now, where he folded his arms and glowered at her. ‘This is a quasi-judicial inquiry tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Anyone who’s being questioned is entitled to what they call a “friend”, who can come in and advise them. I want to come in.’

  ‘No, she said. ‘Apart from anything else, you might lose your temper.’

  A sour smile greeted this remark. ‘You know me too well. In that case, which medical defence organisation are you a member of? Ring them up and they’ll send a solicitor to sit in with you.’

  ‘To help me do what?’

  ‘Well, some questions they might advise you not to answer. No one is forced to incriminate themselves.’

  ‘I don’t want to hide behind clever tricks. If I’ve done wrong, I’ll take the consequences.’

  He grew even angrier. ‘Megan, no one can help you if you won’t help yourself! This is a fight. You’ve got to fight back!’

  She was getting angry herself now, though her predominant emotion was still fear. ‘When you first talked to the department, you said that if you thought any of them had done wrong, you’d happily throw them to the wolves. Well, perhaps I have done wrong. Just tell me what has changed!’

  ‘I’ll show you what’s changed!’ He bent over her, and pulled her upright. Then his arms were around her and he kissed her, hard, bruisingly at first, his tongue opening her lips. She stood there passively.

  But then he changed. The tightness of his grip relaxed and Megan felt his hands holding her, caressing her. Fingertips stroked the back of her neck, and she shivered with excitement. In spite of herself, she put her arms around him and eased him towards her.

  It had been so sudden. She hadn’t expected to be kissed, and the ferocity with which he’d done so had frightened her. But she was also excited. She’d never felt like this before!

  Now he was kissing her so much more gently, his mouth sweetly touching hers. He made her feel so happy. But she realised she’d also enjoyed the strength of his previous passion. What was happening to her?

  Finally he pushed her gently from him. They faced each other, each concerned with their own whirling thoughts. ‘Not now,’ he said, ‘but later.’

  ‘Later,’ she agreed, ‘but soon, Christopher.’ It was the most passionate avowal she’d ever made.

  He was trying to alter the mood, to bring them back to where they had been. ‘I promised you a sandwich,’ he said. ‘What would you –?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Christopher. I think I’ll g
o back to my room and lie down. My neck hurts.’

  ‘A word from my youth,’ he murmured. ‘Too much necking.’

  She gave a wan smile. ‘Or not enough? There hasn’t been too much in my life. I’m not sure I know quite what to do.’

  But he’d wrenched his mind back to his earlier concern. ‘I don’t like to see you going into that room on your own,’ he said. ‘I … care about you, Megan. I want to help.’

  She was decisive. ‘I don’t feel guilty. I’m going to tell him everything I’ve done, and hope he understands. I don’t want to hide behind lawyers or anything like that. And I want you to know that and accept it.’

  Christopher’s body was taut as he stared blackly at her. It was that familiar posture, the shoulders hunched, the arms spread, the hands outwards. How come such a kind man, such a gentle doctor, could sometimes look like a street fighter?

  Then he relaxed, the smile came back and he was her friend again. ‘All right, Megan, I accept it. But, please, promise me one thing. You might find yourself having to incriminate Charles. Or think that’s what you’re doing. I know you had doubts about what he was doing, so if you’re asked a direct question you must give a direct answer. You’re willing to take the blame for what you’ve done so you must allow him the dignity of accepting the blame for what he’s done.’

  Angrily, she said, ‘How can he accept the blame? He’s in a coma, he’ll never speak again.’

  ‘We don’t know that. I’ve heard quite a bit about him, and he was a kind man. You know yourself that he would hate to think someone else was punished for what he’d done. So, if you’re asked a direct question, will you give an honest answer?’

  The silence stretched, and then she said, ‘Yes I promise. I think I’d better go now, though.’

  ‘I’ll walk over to your room with you.’

  Back at her room there was a letter which had been pushed under her door – a note from Malcolm Mallory, saying that she was to be interviewed by an auditor the next day. She was to report to the CEO’s office at 10:30 and the meeting would be in the boardroom next door. Cover for her absence would be arranged. If she wished to be represented by a friend, that was quite in order and, if necessary, the meeting could be postponed till she was represented. Would she, please, phone at 8:30 the next morning to confirm that this would be convenient?