by Jan Andersen
She waited impatiently for the cable car to come down. Never had the toylike cabin taken so long to come down from its distant eyrie.
At last Carlo was motioning her in and, regardless of the other two passengers, she was saying to him fiercely:
‘Did you bring two Englishmen up to see Mr. Armstrong?’
He nodded brightly. ‘Not half an hour ago.’
‘And you actually told them the way to the cabin when you know Mr. Armstrong does not like visitors?’ He raised his hands helplessly. ‘But they were old friends of the senor’s. They told me so. Besides, since you came, the senor does not hide away like he used to.’
A feeling of unease grew on her. The two men from the hotel did not look like medical people. They did not even look like the kind of friends Richard might once have had.
At the top of the mountain she ran from the cable car without even a farewell to Carlo. It was even unlike him to be taken in so easily—if he had been taken in.
She rounded the corner that brought the cabin in view and stopped abruptly. Oh, no, it couldn’t have happened. It simply could not have happened!
Richard was standing in front of the open doorway, his broad figure almost blocking it, towering above the other two men. One had a camera out which he was using regardless of the roars of disapproval from Richard. The other one, Winter it was, was gesticulating with a notebook. Now Jess knew why he was familiar; he was a journalist, one of her own kind whom she had probably seen at some press occasion.
As she walked slowly up behind them Winter turned and saw her and, worse still, greeted her like an old friend.
‘It’s Jess Stevenson, isn’t it, from the Post? I thought last night that I knew you. You’ve been here some time, I gather. Have you got Kendall’s story? It seems he’s playing cagey.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Jess said fiercely, advancing towards them. ‘If he doesn’t want to speak to anyone, why should he? Hasn’t he suffered enough without you invading his privacy?’
‘Ah, so you have got his story. Never trust a woman reporter, I’ve always said the same thing. Well, perhaps you and I can come to some kind of private arrangement since we’re not going to get much out of him. Looks as if the old tales were true, doesn’t it?’
Richard did not even look at her. He turned into the cabin and closed the door behind him. Jess found she was shaking all over. Somehow she had to get rid of these two. She took a deep breath.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I know you won’t get anything out of him. I’ve been here three weeks. Whatever story I’ve got I’m neither going to file or share with you. And I know you can wait up here all day and he won’t change his mind. Neither will I.’
Winter looked across at the photographer and shrugged. ‘I can’t see Oliver Preston sending you on a big story in a hurry again. Still, if that’s the way you want to play it ... I too can see we’re wasting our time. We’ve got pictures and enough copy to make a good headline. Kendall won’t be getting much sympathy from me, I can tell you. We’re not leaving until tomorrow, so we might see you at the hotel. No hard feelings. I’ll buy you a drink tonight.’
Jess could not bring herself to answer. She stood and waited until they had disappeared from sight. A little longer and she hoped that Richard would come out of his own accord, but after ten minutes the door still stayed shut, so she knocked and went in. He was still at his desk and he did not look up.
‘Richard, please...’
‘Please what? Please to thank me for being taken in so easily? Those two rat-faces were easy to spot, but it’s a long time since I’ve been taken in by a pretty face. When did you release the news of my being here? Before you were ill? Not that it matters, I suppose. I only hope they’re paying you well.’
‘Richard, you must listen. I didn’t release any news, I promise you.’
‘It flew by itself to England, all the way from here, I suppose,’ he said with heavy sarcasm.
‘You can think what you like,’ she came back stubbornly, ‘but I would never have told anyone in the world you were here, especially the press. I know what you feel about them.’
‘I suppose next you are going to deny being sent here by—what paper was it, the Post—to get my story?’
‘Yes, I was sent here, but I’m not really a reporter and I didn’t want to come. Once I met and talked to you I had no intention of writing any story, but I suppose,’ she said hopelessly, ‘I should never make you believe that.’
‘I doubt it,’ he replied. ‘And now, Miss Stevenson, I’d be grateful if you would let me get on with some work. I’ve already wasted at least a week, and it’s going to be difficult to catch up.’
She fought to hold back the tears. With her head held high she walked to the door and turned for the last time. ‘Goodbye, Richard, I’m sorry for hurting you so badly. Whatever you may think I’ve done nothing deliberately. I ... I couldn’t. But I suppose if I’d never come here, you would still be safe, and alone. For that I shall never forgive myself.’
She walked away from the cabin for the last time, and she did not look back.
The first thing she did when she got back to the hotel was to ask the manager to telephone the airport and book a seat on the first flight back to London.
A little while later he told her he had arranged for her to go the following midday, and when she asked him to make out her bill shook his head.
‘It has already been taken care of, senorita. Senor Gomez arranged it when he was here a few days ago.’
Jess was about to argue, but then stopped herself. It was a drop in the ocean to Rafael and it was better not to damage his pride further by insisting that she refund him the money. When she got back to London she would write to him.
London, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to her room and started to pack. What faced her there? A search for a new job, that was one certainty. And the awful thing was that she would have no heart for it.
For the first time she allowed herself to think about the loss of Richard. In a way she had only herself to blame. She should have told him long ago the real reason why she was in Monserrat. At that point she could have convinced him of her integrity. But because she was afraid, she held on too long and lost him. She slumped on the bed and for the first time gave way to tears.
The pain of love could be unbearable. She knew now that she could never have felt quite like this about Rafael. Loving was giving and she could not give enough to Rafael. She could not even give in to him over a bit of jewellery, whereas if Richard asked her to get on a plane to Peru decked out in a tiara, she would have done it without hesitation.
Poor Rafael, but perhaps he was better off without her. In a few years they might have been very unhappy, whereas now, with a bit of luck, he would marry Ana and together build the sort of life they both understood.
Marriage might soften Ana. Now, she had hit hard, where it hurt. Jess knew quite certainly she had found a way to let as many people as possible know that the infamous Richard Kendall was hiding on Monserrat. Probably Winter and Finch would be only the first of many unwelcome visitors. His privacy was lost for ever.
It was with a heavy heart that she found herself flying over those same snowy peaks of the Pyrenees. Was it really only three weeks ago? It seemed like a lifetime, It even seemed she had known Richard a lifetime When she landed she went straight to the office. Better to do it now and know where she stood. She had only to wait half an hour to see Oliver Preston. She laid her cards on the table. As she guessed, he was at his most scathing. No kindness for her this time because she was her father’s daughter. She was dismissed with two months’ salary. It was only what she expected.
As she turned to leave he said, ‘I suppose you really did get a story from him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you take his side completely?’
‘I believed what he told me.’
‘Then,’ he said in an exasperated voice, ‘why the hell can’t we print it? If he’s whitewashe
d, so much the better for him.’
‘Because he’s gone through enough from the press already. He doesn’t trust them,’ she replied.
Oliver Preston looked her up and down. ‘Why, I really believe you’ve ditched your Spaniard for this man. It can be the only reason. And I thought that underneath you had some of your father’s toughness. Well, I suppose you must think it’s worth it to get him.’
‘I haven’t “got” him,’ she answered in a low voice, ‘I’ve lost him.’
When she went home she wished she could unburden herself to her mother, but Mrs. Stevenson’s shoulders were far too narrow to take any more shocks. Well, thought Jess, I’ve got two months to find a job and then somehow to start rebuilding my life.
It was while she was on a bus passing one of the big London hospitals that she thought of Richard again without wanting to dissolve into tears. She realized there was something she could do that might atone in some measure for what had happened. At least it was a practical step. As soon as she got home she looked up the address of Richard’s hospital and addressed a letter there to Dr. Hamilton, asking if she might see him on a private matter, nothing to do with any kind of consultation. Mercifully she had remembered the name of Richard’s assistant at the time of the tragedy.
She received a reply almost immediately, asking her to call in two days’ time at five-thirty when he would have finished seeing his patients.
She did not actually see him until about six o’clock and by then was wondering if she was doing the right thing.
He was a small, fair-haired man, with a quiet voice and rather tense expression. He said courteously, ‘What can I do to help you, Miss Stevenson? I admit I was rather intrigued by your letter.’
She sat down on the chair he pulled out for her and leaned towards him. ‘Do you remember Richard Kendall?’
He blinked. ‘Yes, of course I do. He was my senior here. He taught me most things I knew.’
‘Then you admired him,’ she said eagerly. ‘Would you want to help him now, after all that happened?’
He was silent for a moment and Jess thought he was going to refuse. Instead he said very quietly, ‘I won’t be able to make you understand, Miss Stevenson, but I want to help him now, more than I ever did three years ago. Do you by any chance know where he is?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve been near him for the past three weeks.’
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You’re in love with him?’
‘Yes,’ she said wryly, ‘but it’s a one-sided affair. What life he’s made for himself I’ve messed up completely.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, Miss Stevenson, I can see that this is not a discussion for ten minutes, or even to be conducted here. Will you give me a while to clear up and then to ring my wife. If you can spare the time I’d like to talk over dinner, privately.’
‘Your wife? Will she mind?’
‘Not if it’s anything to do with Richard Kendall. I’d take you home, but we have a very new baby and it’s a bit much to ask of Jenny.’
It was more than a half an hour later that she found herself seated opposite Dr. Hamilton in a small Italian restaurant on the edge of Soho. He bought her a drink and ordered the meal before they even started to talk.
First he handed her a letter. She read it, then turned to him, puzzled. ‘I think you’d better explain.’
‘It’s from one of the big American hospitals in Houston. Some time ago they wrote to our people asking for Richard’s address. They heard that he had left and wanted to offer him a job with them. It’s the sort of job Richard always dreamed of. The board here merely said they didn’t know where Richard was. Fortunately they did ask me. I’ve done my damnedest to find Richard’s whereabouts, without any success. And I’ve also kept in touch with the American hospital in case I could find him.’
‘Do they know about what happened to him here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, and it doesn’t appear it would make any difference to them. Richard’s qualifications and record far outweigh a single mistake he might have made. In any case it wasn’t his mistake, but mine.’
She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I know, and I’ll explain, I promise, but will you first tell me about Richard, what he’s doing and what happened to him since he left here.’
Well, she had to tell someone and it seemed that this young doctor was one person who would understand. So she started her story from the moment she was given the job of going to Spain, all that Richard had told her about himself and finally that last ghastly morning. The only thing she omitted was his exact whereabouts. That, she would not give away to a single soul without Richard’s permission.
They were drinking coffee by the time she finally finished. Dr. Hamilton sat back and his face was bleak. ‘Yes, all that adds up. We’ll never really know what happened to Roz, his wife. She was a ... no, I won’t say it, she’s dead. But Richard is a great deal better off without her.
‘In my own mind I feel certain that it was she who took the pills first and left them lying around for Beth to pick up. I imagine she meant merely to frighten Richard into thinking she intended to commit suicide. But she went too far. I know another thing with absolute certainty. Richard would never leave his bag around within reach of a child. Even upset and angry he couldn’t do a thing like that.’ He paused, then added sadly, ‘The trouble is that I’m not much better than she was.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, two tragedies happened to Richard in one day. If the operation hadn’t gone so disastrously wrong, then Roz—and Beth—would be alive today. One led to the other. He was blamed for the death of the patient. Oh, he knew, and I knew, that the patient would have died anyway, so the operation was a risk worth taking. The trouble was that the Board didn’t think of it that way. I think they also wanted to take Richard down a peg or two because they didn’t altogether approve of his methods, even though they got results. Richard had more or less arrived. I hadn’t. I thought then I had much more at stake than he had. Added to that I was a coward. The patient died because of my carelessness in finishing up after Richard.’
Jess saw the look of agony that crossed his face. She said nothing, but waited for him to go on.
‘Unless you understand surgical matters it’s almost impossible to understand, but I accidentally cut off the patient’s blood supply for just too long—something that didn’t show in the post-mortem, but I know as sure as I’m standing here that it was my fault. And I didn’t have the guts to tell Richard then or later. Only in the past couple of years would I have done anything to find him and confess to him. Now suddenly, out of the blue, you turn up. You will help me get in touch with Richard, won’t you?’
With someone else she might have felt angry that for three years Richard had been living with one burden that need never have been his. But she could see that Dr. Hamilton had suffered enough. Like her, he had been afraid, and held out too long.
She said, ‘I’ll send on your letter and the letter to America, but I won’t give you his address. I’ve told you what’s happened to him already. I couldn’t let him down again. If he wants to, then he’ll do that. Although now he’s been found, I wonder whether he’ll stay.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I understand. Richard must be a very bitter man. Does he really believe that you set the press on him?’
‘I think so. Even if he didn’t he’ll never forgive me for approaching him so dishonestly. As you probably know, he has this thing about journalists—reporters, really—and I deceived him into thinking I was just a travel writer. I can’t really forgive myself, so I don’t see why he should.’
‘And you’ve lost your job as well?’
‘I expect I’ll get another one somehow. But I’ll never find another Richard Kendall. I don’t think I want to.’
‘Funny,’ he said wryly, ‘I knew the old Richard fairly well, and I think you would be perfect for him. It’s difficult to explain why, just one of those
things, you know.’
‘Well, it’s too late now,’ she told him sadly. ‘I had my chance and threw it away. He feels he’s been let down by so many people. Do you think he has any idea at all that you were partly responsible for that operation?’
Dr. Hamilton shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think he must have realized that I’d botched something. He never asked me and he never tried to blame me. He merely felt that he was responsible for the actual operation. That’s Richard Kendall all over.’ Jess glanced at her watch and saw how the evening had flown. She told Dr. Hamilton that she had to leave. Her mother would be wondering what on earth had happened to her.
He called for the bill and smiled at her. ‘I wish I could help you, Miss Stevenson, but perhaps we’ve helped each other a little by talking about things. I’m going to write to Richard tonight as soon as I get home and I’ll make a copy of the American letter. If I may I’ll drop it through your letter box. I don’t particularly feel like trusting it to the post twice over.’
She gave him her address and as they parted outside the restaurant, she said, ‘Thank you for dinner. At least you can do something practical to help Richard. Perhaps what you tell him will ease his mind. But if you do hear from him, will you let me know? I’d like to find out what he intends to do. I hope he considers the American job. If not I think he’ll be lost to the medical profession—and to himself.’
Jess refused an offer of a lift home. She wanted to be on her own to think. At least some of the utter despair she had felt for Richard had gone. Dr. Hamilton would help him there. But nothing could bring back his daughter.
