Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  A beating was the least of inevitable consequences. If it was to be a beating, he’d wait until Jess and Flo were asleep and he’d leave neither bruises nor broken bones. The years had taught him many things. But then, the years had taught her many things.

  “Your husband’s in a hurry,” the young doctor innocently observed. “Poor chap. He’s always on the go. My father is a great admirer.”

  “Please, George,” she pleaded. “Do we have to talk about your father? I find you much more interesting.”

  “I get the feeling you don’t approve of my father. Or am I mistaken?”

  “I can’t imagine why you should think that.” She beckoned the waiter to again refill her glass, but did not drink.

  “You don’t disguise it. Dad tells me.”

  “What? What does he tell you? Does he tell you the Campbell’s have him in their pocket?”

  “How dare you!”

  “Poor sweet George,” she laughed. “I’ve actually shocked you!”

  He placed a hand over the full wine glass. “You really should not be drinking.”

  “I’m not drunk, young man.” Deliberately, steadily, she removed his hand from the glass and set it to one side. “If your father hasn’t said anything, then I shall. Your father is a Campbell man – to the bone.”

  “Please, Mrs Campbell,” he begged. “Not here. People are listening. If you have a beef, can’t it wait?”

  “On the contrary,” she surveyed the table. “We’re among friends. We’re all Campbell people here, aren’t we?”

  “That’s not what you implied,” he objected.

  “So touchy!” she teased. “People are listening, George.”

  He reddened. “Dad’s proud to be a Campbell man. He respects them. He especially values the support of the hospital. Your husband’s a very practical philanthropist. There’s nothing wrong with that. How could there be?”

  “Philanthropist! Jake! My goodness! How incredibly naive!”

  The already nervous atmosphere deteriorated. Conscious that Jake’s rout and his wife’s continuing outrageous behaviour were portentous, their immediate neighbours fell totally silent. The usual background sounds of chatter from other tables, canned music, clink of glass on glass and the occasional clatter of cutlery, were amplified.

  She’d gone too far. Lightly, she retreated. “I exaggerate. I’m not myself tonight. I’m sorry.”

  “Accepted,” the young man relaxed. “Though I will admit I have a lot to learn. It’s years since I’ve stayed here for any length of time. I remember …”

  The monologue was boring. Attention on anticipated dispute evaporated. Background sounds resumed their customary place. And George Walker returned to the matter in hand.

  “Of course you know what you’re doing, Mrs Campbell,” he accused. “You’re implying something very serious.”

  Careful … “I’m not sure.”

  “We both know you are sure,” he countered.

  “Even if I am,” she warily conceded, “this is not the place.”

  “Can we arrange a meeting?”

  “We could. But I will have lost interest. It’s Jake’s affair, not mine. Don’t fuss, Doctor. It’s not worth bothering about.”

  “Maybe not for you. But for me – I’ve been away too long. You hint at things I need to know.”

  She should not have started this. “You’ll hear. Someone will tell you.”

  “Tell me what? The only thing I’m told is how great my father is.”

  “That’s nice.” Her smile was saccharine, her insincerity calculated. “I’m not so sure. All I hear are stories about my father’s good old-fashioned high standards. They tell me they’re dying out. They tell me new-age ideas won’t be tolerated. Dad’s perfect. Amen! All they want to know is – am I going to keep up the good work?”

  “So …?” She was reluctantly intrigued. “What’s the problem?”

  “They tell me I’m not up to it. I’ll never fill his shoes. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “Bloody awful.”

  “Exactly. So if you’ve got something I should know, tell me.”

  “I have nothing to tell you.”

  “You owe us! Your family owes us!” He was thoroughly roused. “My father has been there for all of you.”

  “That’s the truth!” she sneered. “That indeed is the truth!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s simple. Your father cooks the books.”

  Blanching, he quickly surveyed the table. But now no one was paying attention.

  “I’m sorry,” she relented. “I really am not myself tonight.”

  “That’s no excuse. You’re making a monumentally grave accusation. It has to be without foundation.”

  “I shouldn’t have.” Instinctively reaching for her glass, she again pushed it away.

  “I agree,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have started this. But you have. You of all people have to know my father is as honest as they come.”

  Enough! He was his father’s son. “I’m not talking about money, George.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking at all. Your husband’s right. You should go home.”

  “It’s the records,” she snapped. “The medical records.”

  “Go home, Mrs Campbell. Cool off. Do whatever you need to do.”

  “It’s obvious. Look around you. Look at them – Jake’s bootlickers.”

  He lowered his eyes.

  “You should listen to me, young George. I’m tired. I’m not drunk. I’m trying to warn you. I’m not leaving. If you’ve got an ounce of sense you’ll listen while you’ve got the chance.”

  “Please … go home …”

  “If you really look you’ll see a lot of smug bastards eating and drinking and celebrating another wing to their precious hospital – courtesy my husband. Who pays his debts.”

  “Is there a point to this?”

  “You’re right. Your father’s not interested in money. His interest is in the hospital. He routinely helps Jake. Who can put a price on information? Minor health secrets, premature disclosures of coroner’s reports, legally relevant details, psychiatric information. Probably initially harmless.” “I really must …”

  “Sometimes it’s not so harmless. Sometimes his help goes beyond leaking information. Sometimes it’s a deliberate falsification. A significant change of date, an imprecise cause of death, a shady blood alcohol reading. There you go. The Base gets a whacking donation or a new wing.”

  “He would never do those things!”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t been tempted?”

  “My father wouldn’t do those things.”

  “No?” She changed course. “What about tonight? Don’t you ever wonder why Jake’s always digging so bloody deep for that hospital?”

  “Jake wouldn’t be the first to take that road to honours.”

  “Wrong again.” She shook her head. “Jake’s not into honours.”

  “Then what is he into?”

  “Power.”

  “That’s it?” He was sceptical. “If not honours, I’d have said money.”

  “That too,” she agreed. “Money buys power. The key to Jake.”

  The surrounding ears again began to pay attention. Jake remained absent, his wife uncommonly talkative; a rare opportunity not to be wasted.

  “I think we’re overstepping boundaries,” the young man was acutely uncomfortable. “This is not the …”

  “It’s not the drink talking, George.”

  “Look, Mrs Campbell …”

  “Do you have to be so bloody formal! My name is Gail.”

  “I was only …”

  “You’re a fool,” she whispered. “I’m trying to help you. No one’s a saint here. Including your father.”

  “That’s not fair! If he’s done anything wrong, which is debatable, it’s only been to benefit the family.”

  Of course. He had to know that his father had falsified the
records of Jess’s birth certificate; a serious crime. Yet considering the family trauma at the time, justified. Considering Jess’s happiness, justified.

  She must call a halt! The malicious tongues were silent and the listening ears waiting. “I do apologise, George,” she began. “Your father has been …”

  Warned by the sudden united movement of turning heads, she saw Jake striding back to the table. Undoubtedly, someone had alerted him.

  “Don’t worry, Jake,” she blithely placated. “We’re doing just fine, aren’t we, young man.”

  Jake resumed his seat. “So they tell me.”

  “It’s all right, sir. Really.” George Walker was ill at ease.

  “Of course it’s all right,” she smirked. “I was just telling George here. His father’s a saint. Isn’t that right, George?”

  “Not quite.” Still shaken, George Walker quavered, “Not quite a saint, I’m afraid. But a good man. His kind are rare these days. Your genuine country G.P.”

  She waggled an admonitory finger.

  “Of course times are changing,” he flushed. “Medicine’s changing. I must admit I have reservations about some of the things that were done in the old days.”

  “I surrender!” She laughed, rather too loudly. “Oh, my dear young man! I do surrender!”

  The table stirred. Jake waved away a hovering waiter. The adjacent tables fell silent.

  Appalled, she comprehended what she’d done. She’d goaded the young doctor into public defence of his father’s actions. Revelation of Jess’s falsely documented prematurity was a breath away. Exhaustion, simmering rebellion, anger and regret and resentment and alcohol were winning the day. Not only Jake but, infinitely more importantly, Jess would never forgive her.

  Sedately, she reiterated, “I surrender, George. Your father is a wonderful doctor. Isn’t he Jake?”

  “No question.” Firmly agreeing, Jake beckoned the waiter. “I think we all need a refill, Max.”

  But George Walker persisted. “I have to say, Jake, I’m deeply disappointed by your wife’s attitude. After what Dad did for poor Rick!”

  “Enough!” Jake roared.

  The audience gasped. The drink waiter retreated.

  “It’s not right,” George argued. “I have to defend my father.”

  “Are you deaf!”

  Someone murmured, “Best leave well alone, son.”

  “Dammit Jake!” George thumped the table. “Your family owes my father. Big time! You can’t just sit there!”

  The colour drained from Jake’s face.

  “Do you hear me?”

  “You’ve made your point, George,” Jake’s lips barely moved. “Of course. I apologise to you. My wife will apologise to you, and to your father. Gail!”

  Too late. Pandora’s box had been unlocked. “What did your father do for Rick, George?”

  “This is not the …”

  “The apology, Gail,” Jake demanded.

  “I apologise.” Meekly, she obeyed.

  The audience, disappointed, resumed polite conversation. Desserts were served, glasses refilled. The level of sound escalated. But across the table, Jake remained vigilant.

  She’d presumed the Campbell’s debt to Walker Senior to be about Jess’s birth certificate. Not so. Walker Junior was stirred up about something else. Something major, something about Rick. What?

  Careful. Take time. Play the game.

  Jake had turned to the pretty young woman, when she softly repeated, “So George – what about Rick?”

  He shook his head.

  “You started this,” she pressed.

  “I shouldn’t have,” he flushed. “I’ve spoilt your night. I should leave.”

  “Nonsense,” she soothed. “You barely made a ripple. Look … no one gives a damn.”

  “I’m not accustomed to this. I guess I drank too much champagne. It’s not my scene.”

  “Agreed,” she ruefully smiled. “But then, it’s not mine either. I remember my first dust storm. God! I was terrified!”

  Praying Jake had been appeased, knowing he’d continue to monitor her, she gently, ruthlessly, worked to ease the tension. Walker Junior talked of his childhood, she of hers. She talked about Jess, her children; he of his wife, his children. She talked of her parents, he of his.

  Until, finally, the young doctor said, “It must have been very difficult for my father, too, in those days. He has his faults. God knows. But I do admire him. If it hadn’t been for my father, he’d have died years ago.”

  “Who …” Careful! “Who … who are you talking about, George?”

  “Rick, of course.”

  Immediately alert to mention of his brother’s name, Jake reacted. “Back off, George.”

  “For God’s sake!” George glared. “What’s your problem? It’s ancient history!”

  “Maybe so, young man. The fact is, my brother died. Despite what your father did for him for so many years.”

  “That’s not what I said, Jake.”

  “I know what you said.” Jake’s fists, clenched on the immaculate damask, were white-knuckled. “Back off!”

  She fought to focus. The spinning room shifted, settled.

  “Certainly, Jake.” George Walker was obedient. “If that’s your wish.”

  Again the room spun. Careful! She placed one ringed hand over the young man’s clenched fists. “But that’s not what you wanted to say at all, is it Doctor?”

  “It’s what I said. Rick Campbell is dead.”

  Jake’s face darkened.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Coolly, she released him. “Remember me to your father, will you George? I will make an appointment. Tell him.”

  “My wife is very tired.” Jake beckoned the attentive waiter. “We’ll have that cab now, Max.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  He had said it and she had heard it. She’d heard, “Rick would have died.” Rick would have died.

  Leaving the bed, she crept to the window. The fiery glow of dawn, mirrored in the vivid colours of the landscaped garden, burnished the dingy summer lawns that sloped down to the sluggish waters of the river. She saw nothing.

  Rick would have died. Therefore – Rick was alive!

  Last night the sun had momentarily shone. Then died again. While Jake’s cronies had listened, the doctor had said, ‘Rick is dead.’

  He’d said it because Jake had told him to say it.

  He’d also said, “Rick would have died.”

  The sun had shone and she had heard what she had heard.

  “Gail!” Doctor George Walker quickly crossed the deep thick carpet to the bedside.

  “She’s been like this since I brought up her breakfast this morning, Doctor.” Flo’s voice was hushed.

  Gail Campbell lay flat on her back, limp-limbed and apparently asleep. But her open eyes were vacant and her breath was shallow.

  “Has she said anything? Anything at all?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What about last night? Did you see her? Did anyone …?”

  “I heard her. She went straight upstairs.”

  “What about Mr Campbell?”

  “At the office. He came back home this morning when I phoned. She just stared – like he wasn’t there. That’s when he told me to call you.”

  “Then he left?”

  “His business is important. He knows I can cope.”

  After examining his patient, George Walker thoughtfully repacked his equipment.

  “What’s wrong with her, Doctor?” Flo was anxious. “Jake’s expecting me to phone.”

  “I’m not sure,” he frowned. “Perhaps you can help me? She was very tired last night. Is that unusual?”

  “She’s always tired after a trip away. First night home, she makes a habit of resting up. She spends time with Jess.”

  “But not last night.”

  “Do you think maybe she’s just overdone it?”

  “She wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you’re hinting at, Mi
ss … I was actually sitting beside her.”

  “I wasn’t hinting,” Flo was offended. “She never gets drunk. You’ll have caught up on her medical history. She puts on a good show. But physically, she’s not too strong.”

  “Her husband should be with her.”

  “I don’t think so,” Flo disagreed.

  The doctor was surprised. “Why would you say that?”

  Flo shook her head. “It’s not relevant.”

  “I believe you have nursing experience?”

  “A bit. Way back. Enough, I guess.”

  “Then you’ll know. The state this woman is in, everything is relevant.”

  “Exactly,” Flo argued. “So why do you think Jake had me call you?”

  “Your point is?”

  “She has a regular doctor. He knows what he’s doing. So why does he say to call you? Because you were there last night? Think about that. Maybe there’s your relevance.”

  “I need to talk with …”

  “Jake?” she was impatient. “He won’t talk to you. Can we get on with this? What’s wrong with her?”

  The doctor’s eyes clouded.

  “You’re stuck with me, Doctor,” Flo was firm. “Do we get on with this, or do I call someone else. Your father?”

  “Of course.” Quickly, he surrendered. “I take it this is the first incident of its kind?”

  “In my time here, yes.”

  “Which is …?

  “Long enough … I knew her way back. But here? Ten years … more …”

  “In that time, then, has there been anything resembling this? Brief fainting spells. Anything?”

  “Nothing as bad as this. We’ve never had to call a doctor before.”

  “What does that mean?” George Walker urged.

  “She’s volatile. Unpredictable. When she’s upset, she’ll fly into a rage. Or sometimes she’ll just sort of go away. Shut up shop, shut out everything. Just doesn’t even bother to talk. Not even to Jess.”

  “And she comes out of it without the need of a physician?”

  “That’s her. Give her time.”

  “But today is different?”