I Follow You

by Peter James

  ‘It’s a couple of miles from here – overlooking St Aubin’s Bay. Put it in your satnav.’

  ‘I have a bicycle,’ he replied. ‘I don’t possess a car – or satnav.’

  ‘On your phone? You have a phone. Google maps.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘8.30 tonight.’

  Resmes looked hesitant. ‘I have a date tonight. She’s cooking for me.’

  Valentine smiled. ‘Oh? Good for you! Anyone I know?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You’re a dark horse, eh?’

  Resmes frowned. ‘Dark horse?’

  ‘Good for you! It won’t take long – and in my experience, keeping them waiting just makes them hotter for you!’

  Resmes gave Valentine a reluctant nod.

  ‘Excellent!’ He gave the student a patronizing pat on the shoulder. ‘Right, I’ve now got some admin to deal with, so we’re done. Feel free to do whatever you want, and I’ll see you at the front entrance of the Bel Royal at 8.30 p.m. All good?’

  ‘I guess.’

  As he walked away, Robert Resmes knew what he should do, but after Kath Clow’s reaction, he realized there could be fatal consequences for his career if he tried to report Mr Valentine to someone in the hospital. And he was also curious about what the consultant was going to tell him later – that would have a bearing on what he did next.

  68

  Thursday 17 January

  As Marcus left his student, instead of taking the elevator down to the pathology lab floor, he made straight for his office, entered and closed and locked the door. Then he sat at his desk and laid out the four vials in front of him.

  He picked up the one labelled, in Kath Clow’s handwriting, GEORGINA MACLEAN, and being very careful not to tear it, peeled off the label and stuck it on the edge of his desk. Next, he did the same with the one containing tissue scrapings from his first patient of this afternoon’s clinic, Kasia Mackiewicz. Then he swapped them over, smoothing down each, meticulously. When he had finished, he held each of them up, in turn, admiring his handiwork.

  Next, he dialled Kath Clow’s mobile phone. She answered after a couple of rings.

  ‘Yes, hello, Marcus?’

  ‘Are you busy at the moment, Kath? I just wanted to chat about the handover of my student, Robert Resmes – he’s starting with you Monday.’

  ‘I am – just dealing with an emergency – a patient going into labour.’

  ‘No problemo! Call me when you’re free – nothing urgent.’

  ‘Will do!’

  As he ended the call he was smiling. Good. That meant she wasn’t in her office and would not be for a while. The gods were smiling. Everything was aligning very nicely indeed!

  Using Clow’s password, he logged on to her computer and did a search for Georgina Maclean’s notes.

  Good girl!

  She had updated them at 3.07 p.m. today. Straight after Georgie’s colposcopy.

  He read through what she had written, carefully. A bit of preamble before she got to the essence.

  Patient had reported minor spotting of blood in her urine. Colposcopy examination carried out at 2.30 p.m. today revealed no abnormalities; tissue scrapings taken as precaution for pathology examination.

  After several minutes’ consideration, Valentine made a minor adjustment to her notes. All he had to do was delete a few words. Kath Clow’s notes now read:

  Patient had reported minor spotting of blood in her urine. Colposcopy examination carried out at 2.30 p.m. today. Tissue scrapings taken for pathology examination.

  He knew he was getting in deeper, but now he felt he had no choice. In any case, if Kath Clow’s workload was as rammed as his and everyone else’s here in the hospital, she’d never notice these changes.

  He logged out and, feeling in a very good mood – a very good mood indeed – went down to the basement and along to the pathology lab, where he casually handed in the samples.

  At some point soon he’d have to deal with Kasia Mackiewicz, who had a serious cancer – but all in good time.

  And there it was again. Rearing its ticking head . . .

  Timing!

  69

  Thursday 17 January

  Roger remained unresponsive throughout the afternoon, but at least, to Georgie’s slight relief, his duty nurse said he was stable. The doctors seemed reasonably satisfied after their ward round, although they didn’t tell her much, other than to confirm that there had been no worsening of his condition. He would continue to be closely monitored throughout the night. Roger’s parents were hugely grateful for Georgie giving them regular updates.

  She talked to Roger constantly. It was a one-way conversation, but she hoped he could hear her. On the websites she’d looked up it said that comatose and semi-comatose patients could hear everything, even if they did not respond.

  Finally, approaching 5.30 p.m., she stood up, telling him she would be back later. Although reluctant to leave him, she had six clients booked in for her running training session this evening – seven including Marcus Valentine. She would be back at the hospital by 8.30 p.m., latest.

  Kissing him on his cheek, for which she got no reaction, Georgie told him she would be back. ‘Be strong, my darling!’ she urged.

  She drove home, changed into her gym kit and headed, as fast as she dared, towards the Bel Royal Hotel.

  Shortly before 6.10 p.m., she pulled up in pitch darkness at the rear of the hotel, climbed out of her car into bitterly cold, gusting wind, fumbled her key in the lock and let herself into the gym. Thankfully, she had twenty minutes before her clients were due. Time to do a warm-up and set up tonight’s programme. Snapping on the lights and setting the temperature to 22 degrees, Georgie picked out some music, starting off with one of her current favourites, Passenger’s ‘Simple Song’. It began booming out through the overhead speakers. She walked around, moving to the music. It lifted her mood, a little, and despite wanting to be back at Roger’s bedside, she found herself relishing the brief change of scenery and the normality of doing what she loved.

  Suddenly she had the intense feeling she was being watched.

  She stopped, looking around, and jumped, startled. Barely visible, Edouardo was standing in the darkness of the corridor, motionless, staring at her.

  ‘Shit, Edouardo, you gave me a fright. Why haven’t you got the lights on?’

  ‘Fuse blown. I fix.’

  ‘No clown suit tonight?’

  ‘Not my funny night,’ he said. ‘You sure you not change your mind and run with me this weekend?’

  ‘Quite sure, thank you! But have a good one.’

  ‘Make sure you lock up. I . . . I think your client here.’ As he walked away, Edouardo stopped. ‘You should try ultrarun. I know you good runner, I know your times.’

  ‘One day maybe,’ Georgie said and waved him off, as through the windows she saw the flare of headlights. More lights followed. The door opened and Marcus entered, in a flashy tracksuit and brand-new trainers.

  ‘I love your music!’ he said to her, approvingly. ‘Love it, I really, really love it. Great choice!’

  She increased the volume, put him on a treadmill to warm up, deliberately set the speed to a level she hoped he would find uncomfortable and left him to it, as one of her regulars, followed by another, arrived.

  By 7.30 p.m. all of her clients except for Valentine had left. He lingered behind, sweating profusely and looking drained.

  ‘Thank you, Georgie,’ he said. ‘That was a good workout. How much do I owe you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Tonight was a freebie, treat it as a thank you for all you’ve done for Roger. If you decide you’d like to come again, we’ll work something out.’

  ‘Oh, I will come again, for sure. That was brilliant!’

  ‘Good,’ she said, impatient for him to go.

  He put one hand on the door then turned back as if he wanted to say something. Instead he smiled and blew her a kiss. She blew him a half-hearted one back and the
n, to her relief, he left. Concerned to get back to Roger as quickly as possible, she decided to skip her usual inspection. Tomorrow she would do a thorough one, to make up for it.

  Outside she heard the roar of an engine. Through the window she saw Valentine in his Porsche, window lowered. He waved at her then drove on. The Porsche reminded her of her narrow escape last month. That idiot. Instinctively, she put her arms protectively around her midriff, hugging herself. ‘You OK in there, Bump? Like it in the gym? You’re going to be the fittest Bump ever – and the most loved!’

  As Marcus’s tail lights disappeared, she switched off the music, the heating and the lights, locked the door and hurried out to her car.

  As she got to the exit ramp, she looked in her rear-view mirror and saw Edouardo, again standing still, watching her.

  She was tempted to stop, reverse back and ask him what he was doing. But she drove on, deciding the less engagement she had with the strange man, the better.

  70

  Thursday 17 January

  Resmes phoned his date, Tilly, very apologetically, saying he wouldn’t be with her until close to 9.30 p.m., explaining that an emergency had come up. Happily, she was totally understanding. ‘Just get here when you can,’ she said. ‘But don’t be too long, because I’m really quite looking forward to seeing you!’

  ‘And me you!’

  And he was. It had been a long time since he had looked forward to anything quite so much. God, she was lovely! After Mr Valentine had released him early, this afternoon, he’d gone into town and bought a large box of chocolates from Artisan du Chocolat. He had them carefully packed into his rucksack strapped to his back, over his yellow reflective vest.

  As he pedalled against the strong headwind, up the hill towards the dark silhouette of the Bel Royal Hotel, following the directions on the map on his phone, he was deep in thought. Clearly Mr Valentine was disturbed, suspecting that he’d been rumbled, and wanted to talk confidentially, possibly to persuade him not to expose him. This was the way things worked in powerful professional circles, he realized, confidential conversations and cover-up.

  He’d become acutely aware, in the relatively short time that he’d been in the medical world, that doctors looked after their own. He’d already had evidence of that when he’d attempted to explain his concerns to Kath Clow, and she had been – albeit pleasantly – dismissive of them. It had left him well aware that he would be stonewalled by anyone else in the hospital he tried to tell.

  Perhaps Mr Valentine was worried about his reputation if it got out that he’d missed something crucial in the operation? That seemed the most likely explanation. When they met, maybe they would discuss a way for Roger Richardson to be taken back into theatre and the tear in his bowel discovered without any blame falling on Mr Valentine for having missed it.

  If his career was ever to progress, he needed good reports from all the consultants he spent time with. Hopefully, he and Kath Clow could work out a deal. Something that would leave Valentine looking good to his colleagues – and in return, some high praise back for himself. Now was not the time for things to go wrong with his medical career, especially not with the hope of something good sparking with that lovely nurse, Tilly.

  Buoyed by that idea, he pedalled even harder up the incline. As he drew closer, he was surprised that he couldn’t see any lights on. Perhaps there were few occupants at this time of year? Or a power cut?

  Finally, in the bright beam of his cycle lamp, the hotel sign appeared to his left. He swung in between two stone pillars and struggled up a twisting driveway that was even steeper than the hill he had just navigated. After several minutes, perspiring heavily, he crested the summit and saw, in his weak bicycle lamp beam, the dark, silent rear of the hotel below him, with an empty car park. A series of arrows indicated the driveway around the building to the front reception area. He pedalled on, the wind behind him now, pushing him at speed down the incline.

  As he swung around to the front of the hotel, with the lights of St Aubin down to his left, all he could see to his right was black windows. The hotel appeared to be in total darkness. He braked to a halt outside the front entrance and dismounted. Frowning.

  Was he in the wrong place?

  He checked on his phone the name of the venue that Mr Valentine had given him.

  Bel Royal Hotel.

  This was the Bel Royal Hotel.

  Then, right behind him, he heard a footstep. A second later, as he started to turn, he heard a voice.

  ‘Hello there.’

  The blow to his head sent him crashing to the ground, his bicycle clattering beside him. There was a tinkle of breaking glass and the front lamp went out.

  71

  Friday 18 January

  Inside the curtains drawn around Roger Richardson’s bed, on their morning ward round, stood James Swale, the duty ICU consultant, his registrar, an anaesthetist, along with Kiera Dale and Marcus Valentine. They were all studying the battery of monitors around him with apparent concern.

  Richardson’s skin was even more mottled, his breathing fainter than yesterday afternoon. His arterial blood gas reading was down significantly, as was his heart rate. His pulse was racing.

  ‘Something’s not right,’ James Swale said quietly. ‘You operated on him on Monday, early afternoon, Marcus?’

  ‘Yes. A pretty straightforward splenectomy.’

  ‘Could he have picked up an infection?’ Kiera Dale ventured.

  ‘Yes,’ Valentine said, firmly. ‘That’s by far the most likely explanation.’ He nodded at each of the others in turn, making sure to catch their eyes. ‘I would suggest another course of antibiotics for the next forty-eight hours and see if that has an effect. Otherwise we’ll need to open him up and see if we can spot anything going on.’

  Swale, a reedy-thin and tall man, pondered for some moments before nodding assent, bowing to the senior consultant’s experience.

  ‘I think that’s a good call, Marcus.’

  One floor below, Kath Clow sat at her desk, uncharacteristically irritated. She had blocked out an hour to run through her work routine with Robert Resmes, who was going to be spending the next month with her, starting Monday. But, annoyingly, the medical student hadn’t shown up for his prep meeting. Was he not bothering with her because she’d not taken his concerns about Marcus Valentine more seriously, she wondered? Well, this was a small hospital, offering a wide range of services. It was vital that everyone got on, trusted their colleagues, and that there was joined-up thinking. In the many years she’d been here, Kath had not been given any reason to doubt the ability of any of her colleagues. All of them shared the same views as herself – to do the very best that they could.

  She glanced at her screen, checking her commitments for today. A colposcopy clinic at 12 p.m. The weekly conference call with the Oncology department of Sheffield Hospital at 2 p.m., to discuss the cancer treatment programme of a number of patients. After that she was free to go home, but of course she wouldn’t. She had several patients in the Maternity ward, on the verge of giving birth.

  She would hang around as long as possible but would have to leave by 7 p.m. as her husband was taking her out to dinner tonight, for a belated anniversary celebration at one of the island’s swankiest hotels, Longueville Manor, and she had been looking forward to it for weeks. She’d peeped at the dinner menu online and had already decided what she was going to have to eat.

  The ping of an incoming email took her out of her thoughts, and she glanced at her inbox. At the top was a message from the senior pathologist, Nigel Kirkham. It said:

  Kath, please call me on this number when you get this.

  She dialled and Kirkham answered almost instantly.

  ‘Kath, thanks for calling.’

  ‘Sure, what’s up?’

  He sounded hesitant. ‘Well, I’ve got the biopsy results on your patient, Georgina Maclean.’

  ‘That was quick! I wasn’t expecting them until Monday.’

  ‘I�
��m going away for the weekend – got a family wedding in England – so I thought I’d better clear my workload. These results aren’t good, so I thought you ought to know right away.’

  ‘Not good?’ she said, surprised and dismayed.

  It was his turn to sound surprised. ‘Not at all good, Kath, this looks like advanced squamous cell cancer of the cervix.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure, Nigel?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Shit. I saw her, she was bleeding a little, but I never thought there was advanced cancer. Her colposcopy looked clear to me.’

  There was a moment of silence before he responded. ‘It did?’ He sounded surprised. ‘It’s not what the biopsy is showing me.’

  ‘How advanced?’

  ‘Possibly stage-2B.’

  Stage-2B meant the cancer was in both the cervix and lymph vessels and had extended to the pelvic side walls. This would require urgent surgery, followed by radiation and chemotherapy. Which would mean termination of the pregnancy. Oh jeez, poor Georgie.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’m sounding surprised. This lady presented with stage-1 pre-cancer a year ago. I was pretty sure she was clear now. I’ll make the call. I know her as a friend, and this is going to come as an awful shock.’

  Fortunately for Kath’s sanity, most of the time doing her job she delivered good news, and delivered happy, healthy babies, putting a smile on everyone’s faces. There was nothing more rewarding in the world than doing just that. But with it went the downside. Some days she had to be the bearer of bad news. She knew just how much this baby Georgie was carrying meant to her, after all her years of trying. She and Bob had been overjoyed when she had finally become pregnant with their son, Charlie, after many emotionally draining rounds of IVF. Now there was a real danger she was going to have to break her friend’s heart.

  She picked up her phone and dialled Georgie’s number with a sense of dread.

  72

  Friday 18 January