by Susan Hill
‘Well, of course, but you attacked my wife, and whether or not you’re a stranger to her makes no odds.’
‘I wish we could talk about all this face-to-face, but there it is, I’m in France and we can’t.’
‘So why are you ringing me now? Why not leave it till you come back?’
‘I don’t know when we’ll be back, and I need to talk to you.’
‘But why?’
‘I need to put the record straight. We’ve been friends for too long to let something fester.’
‘All right, Richard. I suppose the least I can do is to hear your side.’
‘Thank you. I’m extremely grateful to you, Tim. And this isn’t easy and you won’t like what I am going to say but it will be the truth …’
He paused but Tim said nothing.
‘As I said, I’d had a few glasses – we all had. And Shelley had been flirting with me since the start of the evening – no, please don’t interrupt. Flirting – there’s no shame in that, it isn’t a crime, she’s a very attractive woman and we’ve often been flirtatious with one another – in public, always in public, you understand. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed.’
‘Well, yes. I have. And to be fair, it isn’t only you she’s flirted with. I’m afraid it’s just something she’s prone to do when she’s had a glass of wine and it’s wholly innocent of any further intent, as you should well know. Are you suggesting that my wife led you on and that when you raped her it was somehow her fault and that she invited it?’
‘There does come a moment when innocent public flirting moves up a gear.’
‘Does there?’
‘Heavens, not always – not usually – please don’t misunderstand me, Tim. But on that evening, Shelley was sending me unmistakable signals across the tables. Listen, I’m very sorry to have to tell you this –’
‘Just go on – but I warn you I’m pretty bloody angry.’
‘And there came the moment when we’d finished eating, and before the coffee and liqueurs, when we had a break … well, you know all this. It was then that Shelley gave me a look and started to go out of the room. She gave me another, she turned round as she got to the door, and she didn’t need to ask me to follow her, the meaning was perfectly clear. By then, of course, I was nicely mellow … Shelley is attractive, and between us – this is very private, Tim, and it goes no further please …’
Silence.
‘Tim?’
‘Just go on.’
‘My marriage hasn’t been – shall we say, fulfilled, for some time. These things take their toll. So, that was that. I very foolishly allowed myself to be misled by following Shelley down the stairs and into the ladies’ powder room. It’s that sort of rather louche hotel in its furnishings, have you noticed? I’m never sure why we have our dinners there – all that plush and gilding, curtains like a tart’s boudoir. Anyway – so I followed her, there was a sofa – chaise longue type of thing – and Shelley sat down on it … and … do I need to continue? This is difficult and embarrassing.’
‘I think you do, yes.’
Richard sighed. ‘Shelley made it clear that she was – how shall I put it? – wanting me to … dear God, I feel appalled now I’m recounting it in the cold light. And so – I’m afraid I succumbed.’
‘You had sex on this chaise longue – is that what you are telling me?’
‘It is.’
‘And this was my wife’s idea?’
‘Listen, I wouldn’t want to put it all onto her, of course not, it takes two, and I readily admit that I didn’t hesitate. Yes, as you put it, we had sex, and then Shelley rushed out … we’d put a chair against the door handle but people were coming down the stairs and she fled. I had to – this will sound like a French farce – I had to hide behind a rail of coats, then dash out of the door as soon as I could. No one spotted me, and by the time I got back to the banqueting hall, she was nowhere to be seen. I wanted to talk to her … but she’d gone. You had both gone. I left shortly afterwards.’
He drew in his breath and let it out slowly.
‘I’m pretty damned ashamed of myself, Tim. I had to ring you to square things … to confess, and to ask you not to let this go any further. To be frank, the reason we’ve come to France is to try and repair the breaches in our marriage. Judith hasn’t been at all well either. So you can imagine, it’s a delicate situation and the very last thing either of us needs is to have this – or a distorted version of this – get out. I’m sure I speak for you as well. What possible good could it do? None. But it could do a great deal of harm, to you, to me – and of course most of all to your wife.’
‘Why to her most of all?’
‘I should have thought that was obvious. I’m very sorry indeed if she’s at all upset.’
‘Richard, Shelley is my wife, I love her, and we are very happy and there is nothing whatsoever wrong with our marriage in that direction. You’re telling me that you had consensual sex after she led you on, she’s telling me that you raped her. So, who do I believe? How do you think it feels to be in the middle of all this? We’ve been friends for a long time, Richard, but not any more, whatever the truth of the matter. Why would I believe you rather than my wife?’
‘You’re trying to be loyal, of course, and I entirely understand that. But I can assure you, Tim –’
‘I don’t rate your assurances very highly, to be frank.’
‘Tim, isn’t it best left there? No point in making this out to be life-threatening, and let me tell you that the very last thing I want, especially at the moment, is for Judith to hear about any of this.’
‘That is one thing you may rely on.’
‘Has Shelley talked to anyone other than you? Do you know?’
Tim hesitated. Was there any point in telling him that she had talked to the police? No. There was no point, because he would persuade Shelley to withdraw her statement. On reflection, he didn’t blame her for going to the police, but if a case did come to court, he believed that she would suffer far more than she had already. Richard had gone off to France, which made Tim see that the best possible thing was to take her away somewhere, bring his holiday forward. They could well afford it. When they got back, the whole thing would have receded and she could get on with life. He owed it to her to cut off all connection with Richard and, when they had to meet, to ignore him.
That should be enough. In a few days, he would take her to the police so that she could withdraw her statement and that would be that.
Thirty-six
Five small children, each of whom had won a school prize, were slowly and, with endless changes of mind, choosing books at the far end of the shop when Rupert Barr came in and began to browse. Rachel smiled but was then called down to help a girl unable to decide between Room on the Broom and The Tiger Who Came to Tea.
It was another quarter of an hour before they had been chivvied into making final selections and taken them to the counter. Rupert glanced over occasionally, marvelling at her patience and attentiveness.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, when the children had eventually gone out of the shop, like a flock of little chattering birds, ‘but you can’t hurry important decisions. Can I help or are you happy browsing?’
He took a piece of paper out of his wallet. ‘I have numerous family birthdays in the next month and I usually buy books unless someone hints otherwise, and your professional advice would be golden.’
Rachel laughed. ‘You may remember that I’m only a stand-in and tomorrow is my last day. I can try but I’m no professional.’
‘You could become one.’
‘I’d like to. The trouble is, I make grand plans for this shop while I’m here but I don’t think Emma is up for any of them.’
‘So, how is business?’
‘So-so.’
‘But it might be so much better if you had your way?’
She smiled as he handed her his list. ‘Which ones do you need help with?’
‘All of them … sha
ll we just start at the top?’
The first two were men, both over seventy, one easily satisfied with biography and memoirs, and the other with anything military.
‘Has to be new, though, otherwise he’ll have got it.’
Rachel went down the list and from shelf to shelf, offering books, discussing them, having a sudden clever idea, failing to find anything about Italian Renaissance painting but hitting on the perfect book of poetry, among the very small selection in stock, for someone who would only read things that rhymed.
‘You’re a genius. Now for the children? Will this be harder or easier?’
‘The trouble is, we don’t have enough – it isn’t Emma’s real interest and she tends to buy the old classics or a few the publishers’ reps push onto her. We could do so much more with this end of the shop to entice the children. They’re the readers of the future and they deserve it.’ She blushed. ‘Rant over, sorry … Now, let’s look for – oh, groan, a book for a twelve-year-old boy.’
The completed selection was on the counter and Rachel was starting to add up when Rupert said, ‘That rant of yours.’
‘Sorry …’
‘No, you were spot on. You could turn this shop right round and make it buzz, without question.’
‘Give me a chance to try. That’s a hundred and forty pounds.’
He set down his card. ‘Would you have dinner with me to discuss it?’
Rachel gave him a panicky look. He smiled, before glancing round. But there was no one else in the shop.
‘To set your mind at rest, I have a partner and he happens to be in Beijing on business but even if he weren’t I would be inviting you to dinner.’
Rachel felt both relieved and rather put out. But she was intrigued at what he might say about the bookshop. She had also not been out to dinner for some time and it seemed likely that Rupert Barr, personable and interesting, would make good company.
A message box flashed up in the bottom corner of a laptop. It was an older make, a Lenovo T420, unusual in the ownership of someone who had the taste, the money and the need for far more up-to-date and sophisticated hardware. But that was elsewhere, the on display, fastest available desktop, an iPad nearby, iPhone on the coffee table. The T420 was kept for one purpose and wiped clean immediately after every use.
‘Blind Runner’ flashed again.
He typed.
‘Log in please.’
There was a pause, then a long series of encrypted letters and numbers.
‘Logged in.’
Then, ‘Good evening, Blind Runner.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Green Hovercraft.’
‘Confirm.’
Hieroglyphics. A scroll of numbers.
‘Confirmed.’
The screen went blank for a split second, then came on again with a slightly different background, as if a light had been switched off in one room and on in another.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Bit concerned about radio silence.’
‘You got the round robin?’
‘Yes, but that was a couple of weeks ago.’
‘If everything is still quiet at the end of this week we’ll go online again. Leave it to me. Better safe.’
‘OK, but the membership fee is pretty high for a non-service.’
‘You can opt out any time.’
‘Don’t want to opt out, just want some action.’
‘When I’m happy with security.’
‘OK.’
‘New password details will follow your logout as usual, BR.’
‘Ciao.’
The T420 screen went black. Nothing else flashed up. After five minutes, it was closed down, and returned to its place of concealment.
Thirty-seven
The child’s eardrum was bright pink.
‘Has Mia been swimming recently?’ Cat asked.
‘Tuesday – she’s just started.’
‘Surprise, surprise. I get a steady stream of children with ear infections after they’ve been swimming. But this will clear up on its own. Give her some Calpol if it hurts – she doesn’t seem unwell in herself and the other ear is quite clear, but if she starts to run a temperature or won’t eat, bring her back. All right?’
‘Well, no, not really … Dr Sparks always gives her antibiotics for anything like this. Can’t she have some penicillin?’
‘She really doesn’t need it at this point and we try not to give young children antibiotics for minor infections – the body deals with them very efficiently.’
The mother sighed and showed no signs of leaving. ‘I suppose this is all about cutting costs like everything else. We used to ring and a doctor would visit but not any more.’
‘Mrs –’ Cat glanced at the computer screen.
‘Browning. And the doctor always used to know you – know your name and everything. Not any more.’
‘I understand. The trouble is I’m just a locum, filling in for Dr Sparks while she’s ill, so I don’t know all the patients. I’m sorry. But as I said –’
‘Could I just have a prescription for the penicillin, give it to her if she needs it? Save us having to come back.’
‘I really don’t think she’ll need it, and it isn’t a question of money, it’s because too many antibiotics given for minor things mean they won’t work if they’re ever needed for something serious.’
‘There are plenty of different ones, aren’t there?’
‘It’s the same principle, Mrs Browning. Now, Mia will be fine – but come back at once if you are worried, and if you do, tell the receptionist that I said you were to have a quick-access appointment the same day.’
She could read everything into the woman’s back as she went out, pushing the child in front of her. How many times did it happen a day? She didn’t blame the mother. The rot had started thirty years ago, she thought, pressing the buzzer for the next patient. We thought everything needed antibiotics and nobody thought of tomorrow – which is now today.
‘Mr Leeming? Good morning, I’m Dr Deerbon. Come in and take a seat.’
‘Where’s the other doctor? I don’t like seeing someone new every time I come.’
Another day in the life of a locum, Cat thought, smiling her sweetest smile at yet another grumpy and dissatisfied patient.
She had started doing locum surgeries a few months earlier, when her finances had taken a further nose-dive and her role at the hospice had been downgraded. There was nothing else she could do, there was plenty of locum work, and she took everything she could get. It was well paid, but it was also very unsatisfying. She understood the complaints of a patient like this one, with chronic problems. He wanted, and was entitled to have, an ongoing relationship with one GP, though he could not be guaranteed to see that doctor in an emergency. With a locum, he had to start again, detailing his symptoms and the history of his illness, waiting as Cat tried to absorb a screenful of complex notes. Most of the patients in these surgeries had minor complaints. She was happy to see them, even if a good number could have treated themselves, but she had no relationship with them, did not know their families, their personal and domestic problems, all of which helped to form a full picture of human beings in need of medical care. Once …
She shook her head now. Stop harking back to the good old days of general practice, she had to tell herself half a dozen times a day. Things have changed and they’re not going to change back. Get over it.
Perhaps one patient in fifty she saw now had something serious or unusual, and therefore interesting and perhaps challenging. But in that case, she would hand them over to one of the permanent partners in whichever practice she was working that day, and hear no more. It was frustrating and she enjoyed her job a great deal less than she used to, but it was a job, she was never short of requests to take a surgery for a day or a week, in Lafferton and further afield. Bevham, where she was today, had a particular shortage.
In the corridor on her way out, she bumped into one of the senio
r partners.
‘I can’t tell you how grateful we are, Cat – it was becoming impossible, with one on maternity leave and one ill. You’re a godsend. How are you finding us?’
‘It’s a lovely practice to work in – very efficient support staff too.’
‘Any buts?’
‘Only the usual every locum complains about. But no, not really. I’d rather work here than in some others I won’t name. Only one thing concerns me, and as it’s fast becoming the situation everywhere, there’s no point in bothering about it.’
‘What?’
‘This is a large practice, even with two doctors off. So like all large practices, you tell patients they can book in with anyone, they don’t have to wait to see their own GP. And you only take appointments for up to a fortnight ahead, which means –’
‘I know. The most popular doctors are always booked up. But there’s been a lot of research on this and people really don’t mind seeing any doctor if that means they can get an appointment quickly.’
‘Sometimes. If your child has raging tonsillitis it doesn’t matter who you see, but if you’re, say, a cancer patient with ongoing problems, it makes a huge difference to your morale and confidence if you can see your own doctor every time.’
Clare Boyle leaned against the wall. She wore her spectacles on a cord round her neck and had a permanently distant expression. Perhaps it was just her bad sight, Cat always thought, but it made her seem haughty. She could be quick-tempered with the reception staff too.
‘You’ve spent most of your time as the old-fashioned sort of GP, night calls and all. Those days are gone. With everyone’s notes accessible on the computer system –’
‘Clare, sorry, another time, I’ve got to meet my daughter from the bus.’
She fled. The computer system was fine but it did not give seriously ill and anxious people a personal consultation and reassurance. She would fight for the principle that a good doctor can often heal simply by being there and listening. Well, so be it, she was only a locum. She worked the surgeries she was offered and went home. Which was part of the problem, on both sides. Now, when she clocked off, she never left feeling satisfied that she had made a difference.
