“Did you know if she was all right? What happened to her?”
“Simon told me he got a postcard from Greece saying she was fine but not coming back. Within a few months he was engaged to Tiffany. They married and that lasted about two years, I think. Just enough time for him to benefit from her father’s connections.” She leaned forward in her chair to put the empty glass on the table. “And then he dumped her.”
In the silence that followed, I heard kids laughing and talking out on the street, and the explosive sound of a motorbike revving up. My mouth was dry and my throat burned as though I’d ingested some of the acid that Eliza was spewing.
“Then as you probably know, he married Melody Blake, the heiress, which gave him the funds he needed to run for office.”
The room felt airless and close, and it was growing dark. Eliza and her story weighed on me, as though her depression was contagious. I didn’t know how much was the truth and how much was the fantasy of a bitter and vindictive woman.
“So you can get that into print, can’t you?” she was saying when I started listening again. “Let people see what kind of man their Prime Minister elect really is?”
“I thought you said yourself that no one values character any more,” I said carefully. I didn’t want to offend her, but I wasn’t going to encourage her illusions. “And to be honest, I’m not sure why anyone will give a damn about something that happened all that time ago. He was just a kid, really. I’m sure there are plenty of fifty-year old men with errors in their pasts, like broken relationships and unintended pregnancies. This may not have the effect you are looking for.”
Besides, I thought, Scott’s aura means he has far bigger issues to deal with than an old romance gone bad — but I couldn’t tell Eliza that.
She reached out to switch on a floor lamp that stood at a tilt next to her chair. The lamp- shade was stained and the weak bulb threw a puddle of thin light on the velour chair. I imagined her sitting there in the evenings, reading a book, nurturing her grudges and resentments. I felt sad for her, but frustrated too. The cat opened its eyes and looked at me for a few seconds before jumping to the floor and stalking out of the room.
“I want you to promise that you’ll write it up,” she said, standing up.
“I’ll do my best,” I said, turning off the recorder application on the phone and pushing myself up from the couch.
“You have to do better than that.” She raised her voice. She was almost shouting. “I’m counting on you. It’s not fair that a liar and a cheat gets to be Prime Minister, don’t you see?”
“I do.” Picking up my bag, I made my way out of the room, stepping around piles of books on the floor. I couldn’t wait to get outside.
“If you don’t get this done, then I will,” Eliza said, lowering her voice to a whisper that felt more threatening than the yelling. “If I have to, I’ll take this into my own hands.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck. Was she the threat to Scott? She was obviously unbalanced. She walked me through the hallway that was now murky with the gloom of early evening. When she closed the front door behind me, I stood on the step for a few seconds, breathing in fresh air and enjoying the tingling sensation of rain on my face.
The street lamps flickered on, their orange light dimmed by mist and rain. I walked quickly, anxious to put some space between me and Eliza’s dreary house. The road was surprisingly quiet, unlike London at this time in the evening, when the pavements were crammed with commuters. I missed the feeling of being part of a bigger entity, and felt a pang of nostalgia for the tube trains crowded with wild and assorted representatives of humanity.
This glimpse into Eliza’s life had been a stark reminder that I wasn’t making the most of my education or my skills either. My life as a freelancer was beginning to feel less entrepreneurial and more unemployed. Protecting my phone from the rain, I called Alan Bradley, and left a voicemail, asking if I could talk with him about coming back to work.
I left a voicemail for Colin Butler too, to say I’d met with Eliza and would send him more details later. By the time I reached the station, I’d decided to call the police as well. I’d start with the detective chief inspector who’d headed the investigation into my friend’s death the previous year. I wouldn’t tell him about the auras. I’d just pass on the information Eliza had given me and let him take the next step.
In the early evening, back at home, I sat at my computer, sifting through dozens of websites, looking for information that would verify Eliza’s version of events. The first searches brought up the stories in the tabloids two years earlier. I wondered what it would be like to see your name plastered across the papers, every sordid detail punctuated with exclamation marks and bad photographs. I reread the piece that Colin had written, which was measured and reasonable, extending sympathy to the parents of the child, but also suggesting that they perhaps overreacted.
My searches for Phoena Stamos didn’t bring up anything. There were, as I’d imagined, thousands of people with that surname in Greece but nothing on Phoena, so it was possible that she had married and changed her name. I wondered what had happened to her, and whether she had taken up her medical studies somewhere else, in Athens perhaps. I hoped that she was a happy and successful doctor now, as she had dreamed when she went up to Cambridge.
Closing my laptop, I leaned back on the sofa, thinking about Simon Scott. I hadn’t found anything that linked anyone else to his aura. The only clear threat was Eliza; she obviously loathed him. I picked up the phone to call Clarke again. This time he answered; we exchanged pleasantries and checked on each other’s health before he asked what I wanted. I explained it all as succinctly as I could, without mentioning Scott’s aura. Clarke might have guessed that an aura had been the catalyst for my call, but he didn’t say anything. In fact, he seemed unimpressed by my story. “I can’t investigate everyone who disagrees with a political candidate,” he said. “But thanks for the call.” The line went dead.
9
My phone rang while I was eating a sandwich for dinner. It was Alan Bradley.
“You called earlier?”
Typical Alan, always brusque and to the point. I’d always thought of him as the boss from hell, but he’d softened over the last few months. His partner’s arrest had, for a while, driven him into a depression so profound that it had seemed the company was doomed to close. Then he’d had the idea of promoting Josh. Now, with an impressive roster of new clients, Alan was back to his irascible self.
“I was thinking about coming back to work now,” I said. “If you have enough for me to do?”
“Can you start tomorrow?” he asked. “We can go over the project list together. Glad to hear that Josh has talked some sense into you at last.”
“I need a couple of weeks to finish up my work for the gardening magazine,” I said, ignoring his comment about Josh. It wasn’t true that I needed time to finish the projects. I could complete them in a day or so, but I still wanted enough freedom to investigate the auras over Scott and Dr. Reid.
“How about a week from Monday then?” he countered. I said that would be good. If I were to help Reid or Scott, it would have to be soon anyway.
Alan rang off, with no farewells or expressions of joy, but I was excited about going back. And Josh would be thrilled. I’d tell him when he called later in the evening.
I rang Anita to let her know. “Thank God,” she said. “I never understood why you left in the first place. You have talent, Kate. I want to work in a hospital building designed by you one day.”
“How are you?” I asked. “How’s Dr. Reid doing?”
“Good. No issues at all. He seems to be back to his usual self, actually.”
“I’m glad.”
“Can you come over tomorrow?” she asked. “To see if his aura is still there?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in auras?”
“I don’t,” she said. “But you do, and if you can really see one over Dr. Reid, the
n you can also see if it’s disappeared. If you think he’s going to be okay, then I can relax a bit.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I said, pleased that Anita was finally acknowledging the fact that I could see auras. “I’ll come over at lunchtime again tomorrow if you think Dr. Reid will be available for a viewing at that time?”
She laughed. “I’ll make sure he is. It will be good to see you. What did you do today?”
I hesitated. Telling her about my trip to Cambridge would raise the whole issue of the aura over Simon Scott, and she was in such a good mood that I didn’t want to spoil it. I settled for telling her that I was almost done with my projects. “And you’ve had no more problems with being followed?” I asked.
“No, I was just imagining the whole thing, I’m sure.”
“Ok,” I said, not convinced.
The next day, I arrived at the hospital at noon, and went to the fourth floor to find Anita.
“Dr. Banerjee is finishing up with a patient,” a nurse at the reception desk told me. “If you go to the waiting room, I’ll let her know you’re here—” Her head jerked round at sudden beeping sound and, without a word, she hurried away, leaving me standing at the desk. My phone buzzed with a text from Anita. “Sorry to be late. Already downstairs, so let’s meet in the cafeteria.”
“Coming now,” I texted before heading towards the lift, just as a figure in a white coat turned into the corridor ahead of me. It was Dr. Reid. His aura was very visible, spiraling over his grey corkscrew hair. I watched him go, sad that the aura was still there. Anita would be disappointed when I told her.
When I reached the cafeteria, it was busy, but there was no sign of Anita, so I grabbed a tray and got in line. A minute later, hands clamped over my eyes and a voice whispered, “Guess who?”
I laughed and turned. “Late again, Anita—” I stopped.
Her smile faded. “What? What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing, I’m fine. What are you going to eat?”
Pushed forward by impatient customers behind us, we advanced through the line, picking up salads and bottles of water. Only when we were seated did Anita ask again. “What’s wrong, Kate?”
How could I tell her that she had an aura?
I looked at her salad. “Yours looks far more appetizing. Do you want mine?” It was a futile attempt to distract her.
“No thank you. And we’re not eating until you tell me what’s going on,” she said.
“You have an aura.” There was no point in trying to soften the blow. Anita swore by telling and hearing the truth, however unpalatable.
“I don’t believe in auras, remember?” she said, pouring dressing over her salad greens.
We sat in silence for a couple of minutes while I pushed pieces of lettuce around in the plastic tray. Anita looked up at me. “So how will I die and how long do I have?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how it will happen. Your aura is faint, so maybe a few weeks, a month. But, listen, you won’t die. I won’t let you. We’ve got time to work it out. Remember, my nephew had an aura, and he’s fit and healthy now.”
“Because you got him to the hospital in time,” she said.
“That’s not your problem,” I said, forcing a laugh. “You’re already here.”
She grinned, forking food into her mouth. I doubt I could eat if someone had just told me I was going to die. But then she didn’t believe me.
“I think there has to be a link with Dr. Reid,” I said.
“But I’m hoping his aura has gone. He’s been better again today. We need to go check on him.”
I told her that I’d already seen him upstairs and that his aura was still there. “If anything, it’s moving faster. That’s not good.”
“Damn,” she said.
“So you both have auras. We need to analyze what the connection could be. It’s highly likely that the danger to you both is from the same source.” I pushed my uneaten lunch away. “Can you think of anything?”
“He and I are pediatric doctors and we work together,” Anita said, ticking off the items on her fingers. “And we have offices on the same floor.”
“Yes, but there are other doctors who work on your floor and they don’t have auras. Is there anything that’s specific to just you and Dr. Reid?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m Indian, he’s white. He’s married and I’m not — yet anyway.” She grimaced, no doubt thinking of her father’s plans for an arranged marriage. “He’s old, I’m young. We have the same blood type. That came up in conversation once. Oh, I know. We both love chocolate-covered cherries. A patient gave me a box and Dr. Reid and I fought over it like ravenous wolves.”
She wasn’t taking this seriously. I wanted to shake her, to make her see it was real. “Do this for me,” I said. “Have as many health checks as you can, MRI, blood test, cardiogram. Let’s try to eliminate the obvious risks. And keep thinking about any possible relation between you and Reid. Do you ever go off-site together, for example? In a car, an ambulance?”
“No.”
“Okay, what about your patients? Do you both care for a patient who could in some way be a threat?”
“What? One of the kids is going to jump on us both with a coloring crayon?”
“I’m serious. Maybe a parent who’s unhappy with the care a kid received?”
She shrugged. I knew I wouldn’t get much further with her. She needed time to internalize what I’d told her and I could only hope she wouldn’t take too long.
“There’s something else,” I said. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but Simon Scott has an aura as well. And his colleague, Kevin Lewis.”
She was staring at me, her fork halfway to her mouth.
“Scott?” she said. “Bloody hell, Kate. Your aura-seeing capability knows no bounds. Look around, how many people here have auras?”
I didn’t want to see any more darn auras, so I shook my head. “Probably a few, given that we are in a hospital.”
She finished her salad in silence, and I kept quiet too. There was nothing to be gained by trying to convince her of something she didn’t want to hear. When her pager buzzed, she put her empty salad container on the tray. “That’s Dr. Schwartz. I’m sitting in on a consultation with him in ten minutes. I should go.”
She stood up. “Are you coming to the campaign office tonight?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll see you there.”
She left without our customary hug, striding off in her starched white coat, looking the picture of health and energy.
It seemed obvious to me that her aura and Reid’s were linked in some way. If I could find out more about a potential threat to Reid, perhaps I could pinpoint the danger to Anita too. Checking my watch, I leaned back in the chair and waited for ten minutes. Then I went up to the pediatric floor. Although it was a long shot, I wanted to find Dr. Reid while Anita was out of the way. I wasn’t sure what I could learn from talking to him, but anything was worth a try.
When the lift hissed to a stop, I stepped into the hallway and looked up and down. There was no sign of Anita. Two nurses I didn’t recognize were talking with a man in a suit near the reception desk, the man young and good-looking with dark brown hair and a dimpled chin. The nurses were laughing at something he’d said. Hoping they’d be too preoccupied to notice me, I walked past the desk towards Dr. Reid’s office, which was just a few doors up from Anita’s.
“Can I help you?” one of the nurses called out.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Reid,” I said, turning around. Reluctantly, I made my way back to the reception desk. “At one o clock. The name is…” I hesitated. These nurses didn’t know me. “Sophie Harrison.”
“Let me find you on the schedule,” the younger nurse said, typing on her keyboard. Trying to appear relaxed, I flashed a smile at the man in the suit. He was wearing a name tag on a lanyard. Audley Macintyre, followed by a company name, LB Pharmaceuticals. So he
was probably a drug rep like the oleaginous Eric, the one Anita didn’t like.
“Busy day?” I asked.
He nodded, returning my smile with a multi-watt one of his own. “Always, but I love what I do, so time goes quickly.”
“Ms. Harrison, I can’t find your name here. Are you sure your appointment was for today?”
“I’m positive,” I said. “There must have been a mix up? If Dr. Reid is free, could he see me just for a couple of minutes? I’ve traveled quite a long way to get here. It’s about my son.”
I cringed as I rolled out the lies, one after another. Perhaps I should have just waited near the lift and hoped for Dr. Reid to make an appearance.
“Well, he has an appointment in five minutes,” said the nurse. “And I’m busy…” she glanced at Macintyre.
“Don’t worry. No rush,” said Macintyre. “You sort this out. I’ll go grab a cup of coffee if that’s okay.”
“Thank you so much,” I said to him.
After he’d walked off, the nurse escorted me in silence to Dr. Reid’s office. The tempo of her footsteps on the lino floor was a staccato echo of her annoyance. When she opened his door and introduced me, he looked a bit confused, but invited me to sit down. The aura was moving around his head very quickly, the rippling air blurring the picture of a Provence landscape hanging on the wall behind him, rendering the lavender fields and golden sunflowers indistinct and formless.
Seeing Reid close up for the first time, I was struck by his eyes, which were brown and soft. I imagined that they had often comforted the parents of sick children.
“Ms. Harrison? I’m afraid I don’t recall your case?” he said, glancing at his computer screen.
“Dr. Reid, I’m actually a journalist doing a story on surgeons and stress. You’re a leading surgeon here and you work with children and young adults. I imagine you experience stress every day. Would you be willing to talk to me about it?”
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 32
