Eyes of the Blind

by Alex Tresillian

  “That is a way to go,” Rebecca said.

  “But?” Niall said, adding the word Rebecca’s tone implied.

  “It doesn’t strike me as the Niall Burnet way.”

  “No,” Miranda agreed.

  “No, well, sometimes you just have to accept your limitations,” Niall said with a hint of bitterness.

  “All part of the ‘happy to be blind’ package.”

  “You’ve got these guys rattled,” Penny said, filling the uncomfortable silence. “They’ve lashed out at you and your dog, they fired your friend, they’re all over the place. Right now, they know you’re on to them, but they don’t know anything about Becky and they certainly don’t know about me. Imagine what DS is going to think when Miranda rocks up with me, unannounced, for a Roman night. The message is going to be loud and clear: “We’re onto you, you bastard, all your dirty little secrets are ours and we’re going to humiliate you massively.” He’s going to react, and his reaction will be his downfall.”

  “You watch too much TV,” Niall said.

  On the way home Miranda tried to lift Niall out of the gloom into which he had descended.

  “If you’d never got involved in this I’d be a blind girl again and the whole operation would have gone down as a heroic failure. Jamal Daghash would think he had failed and Duncan Clark would be feeling smug and Daniel Sullivan – ”

  “If I hadn’t got involved in this,” Niall interrupted, “Lindsey would still have her job at BAB, Hugo wouldn’t’ve been knocked down, your eyesight would still have been saved by Duncan Clark and the sabotage would still have been exposed. I haven’t done anything good. Mr. Blundering Blind Investigative Journalist. I’m just a joke really. Daniel Sullivan’s probably pissing himself.”

  “You made me want to see,” Miranda said. “I would have been perfectly happy to stay blind if it hadn’t been for you. I would’ve accepted failure and played into their hands. Do you know what, Niall? I don’t care whether we bring down these people or not. What I care about is, one, I met you through all this and, two, you changed my life. You changed me. You changed me into someone I really like. And I know you’ll say it was the eyes, but without you I would have been timid little Susannah with eyes she didn’t know what to do with. I would never have been this person I am now. So I give thanks for you, Niall Burnet. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re a hero as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You want us to just ride off into the sunset?”

  “Why not?”

  “Then why did you suggest the Roman evening?”

  “Because, idiot, I’m trying to impress you. Trying to be as fearless as you. Trying to do what I think you would do if you were me.”

  “Let’s tell the whole story to Matthew Long,” Niall said; “put it in his hands and get shot of it.”

  “OK, if that’s what you really want,” Miranda said.

  TWENTY

  “Staying at his HOUSE?”

  “Apparently. He didn’t know until he got home one evening and, hey presto! He was the lucky winner of a blind man and his dog.”

  “Shit.”

  “You may as well mothball your seduction plans.”

  “No. She was definitely interested. She may be playing a bit of a game but she was definitely interested. If Damian’s demented wife hadn’t butted in on the steps of BAB our last meeting could have ended very differently.”

  “Tony wants you to let her go.”

  “Tony doesn’t need to know.”

  “He’d see it differently, I fancy.”

  “Tony owes us a lot.”

  “He wants a clean break.”

  “He’s an ass.”

  Matthew Long felt like an emancipated slave. And even as he felt it he reflected on the curious nature of relationships: how one could be drawn into something that seemed utterly compelling and felt wonderful, that gave meaning to life, and then the very fabric of what had been compelling became at first an irritating pattern and ultimately as destructive as that shirt that some Greek hero or other had put on and been killed by. If he had been contracted to a women’s magazine he could’ve written a very interesting piece about it. Life with Amelia had been amazing, and then it had got boring, and then it had become completely stultifying and he had stepped back and seen that his own personality had been totally subsumed in the relationship. He had become, at best, an on-demand plaything or, at worst, a genuine sex slave. It took him a week and a half from realising that he was in the wrong life to pluck up the courage to face Amelia with it, and there had indeed been an ugly scene with crockery thrown and other behaviour that he couldn’t help feeling was learned or copied from TV soaps; but now it was over. He was free. He had escaped from the rubble of the Leman Disaster.

  As he ran on Wandsworth Common with the guilty pleasure of Justin Bieber in his ears he started making plans for a better future. He would take time out. Travel. He had done the Thailand down to Australia thing after university, much to his parents’ annoyance, but now he had a bit of a hankering for Latin America. Mexico, Panama, Venezuela, Peru. He could take some Spanish classes before he went and blend in with the natives. You’d see more that way. Being honest with himself, he had been too young in his previous gap year. He had followed the crowds and taken the photographs, but he had next to no idea of what life in those countries was actually like. It would be different, this time.

  He sat on his regular bench and went to select another playlist on his phone. It was then that he saw he had a missed call from Niall Burnet.

  “Shit” mingled with the early spring birdsong.

  Niall Burnet had done him a massive favour. Which he had promised to return. And this was probably about calling it in. But Niall was a part of everything he had just consigned to the landfill part of his life.

  “Shit.”

  He liked the guy. They had got on. When he’d said he’d return the favour he had really meant it. If he didn’t call back, Niall would know he was ignoring him.

  But if it was about the Lemans... He could tell Niall the truth. He’d just dumped the oversexed sister and really didn’t want to go there.

  He made the call.

  “Good morning,” Niall said.

  “Hi Niall. You rang me.”

  “I did.”

  “For a reason, I’m thinking.”

  “And you’re thinking right. How are you?”

  “I’m great. You?”

  “I’m great too.”

  “Great. So?”

  “I’ve got a story you might be interested in. I’d like to run it past you.”

  “OK.”

  “Not on the phone.”

  “OK. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Lemans’ house. I think you know it. You could kill two or more birds with one stone.”

  “Hi Simon.”

  Simon jumped like a child caught in the process of finding hidden Christmas presents. He told himself it was the voice.

  “Hi Lindsey.”

  “You don’t often pass by the office these days.”

  “No,” Simon admitted. “I’m pretty busy out and about. I’m here for some meeting or other. I’m hoping it’s to do with writing software.”

  “I haven’t got a clue,” Lindsey said. “Come and have a cup of tea while you’re waiting.”

  “OK,” Simon said, realising that he had no viable reason for saying no.

  Lindsey guided Simon into her office, dealt with the business of refreshments, offered him a custard cream, and then said “So what’s this I hear about Niall moving in with Miranda’s parents?”

  “How do you know about that?” Simon asked.

  “Oh I keep my ear pretty close to the ground,” Lindsey said.

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Hardly!” Lindsey shrieked. “I know he’s your friend but he’s on a par with pondlife in my book.”

  “That seems a little harsh when he tried to help you.”

  “After he lost me my j
ob.”

  “I thought that was down to a meltdown you had with a client on the phone.”

  “If Niall had never come to ask me questions about the eye transplant it would never’ve happened.”

  “So you’re saying there was something dodgy about the eye transplant?”

  “No I’m not,” Lindsey said, a little flustered. “I think people were just worried that I might not be as discreet as I should be working in that department.”

  “You’re in the same kind of department now.”

  “They realised they’d made a mistake and tried to help me out. But what about Niall, though?” Lindsey went on quickly. “I presume he’s wormed his way in with the Lemans because he still thinks there’s something fishy going on. Even after that doctor committed suicide.”

  “I thought it was more about finally getting a girlfriend,” Simon said.

  “Why did they leave Faith Hodgkiss’s?” Lindsey asked.

  “Why do you even care?” Simon said, mildly irritated.

  “I wouldn’t want another girl to get hurt by him,” Lindsey said. “I’m sure he’s just using her.”

  “You’re just sounding bitter and twisted.”

  “You’re just too loyal. He’s still digging around the transplant, isn’t he?”

  “Lindsey,” Simon said, exasperated, “I have absolutely no idea. Other than being besotted with Miranda, I know nothing about what’s in Niall’s head at the moment. He’s not calling me.”

  “You should find out,” Lindsey said. “Stop him making an ass of himself.”

  “God you’re weird,” Simon said.

  Jamal Daghash looked down into his lap; then back at the man sitting on the other side of his desk.

  “The Association is going to stop all funding?” he said, trying to make sense of what Daniel Sullivan had just told him.

  “Not all,” Sullivan clarified. “You’ll still get something in the general dole out. But the director general wants a different flagship. He thinks Damian Clarke tainted the concept of eye transplants in the public perception. He’s looking for something that helps more than one person at a time.”

  “Without BAB’s support there will never be another transplant.”

  “There must be a ton of money for this kind of thing in the Gulf. Why not go to Moorfields in Dubai?”

  “I wish I had recorded the conversation a couple of years ago when you talked about prestige for London.”

  “I’m sorry, Jamal,” Sullivan said, suddenly conciliatory. “This wasn’t a decision taken by me, and what I think is immaterial. You can make representation to our funding wing, but I can tell you it will be a waste of time.”

  “It’s certainly a disappointment to find that a major V.I. charity is more concerned with its own image and marketing than it is with helping the people it is supposed to serve.”

  “All charities rely on the public,” Sullivan said. “Public image is everything.”

  “Would the public be happy to know you’d pulled the plug on eye transplants?” Daghash asked.

  “They would if the case for using the money differently was well-made, and our marketing people are very clever.”

  Jamal Daghash said little more, and within ten minutes Daniel Sullivan had said his goodbyes and was on his way back to Knightsbridge. Daghash waited for a gap in Duncan Clark’s schedule and then called in to his office.

  “I’m not surprised,” Clark said, when Daghash had reported the conversation.

  “I feel as though I’ve been played for a fool,” Daghash said.

  “You got what you wanted,” Clark replied: “the chance to prove that the impossible was possible. You weren’t going to be looking at what they wanted. It was a scam, but only in the way they intended to ensure failure. Look on the bright side. Had it not been caught, you would have got more transplants but every one would have ended in baffling failure. Instead, your first patient is still seeing and doing very well. Better than that, she seems to have enough personality not to want to be a celebrity. Congratulations on your choice. And you will get more funding. Not from BAB, maybe, but you know the whole world wants a piece of this now.”

  “I led Damian to his death.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “I’ve had Theresa Clarke in my office – ”

  “So have we all,” Duncan Clark interrupted. “She is adamant about Damian’s innocence but she’s wrong. He was sabotaging the aftercare, and I’m sure he was being paid handsomely to do it. We can never really know why. Maybe they were short of money. Maybe he just wanted them to have more than they had. He was tempted and those bastards found a way to convince him. Neither you nor I nor anyone else is responsible for him making that decision. Or, ultimately, the decision he took when he was exposed.”

  Jamal sat in a brooding, frustrated silence.

  “And as for the bastards,” Clark went on, “I’m not going to let them walk away untarnished.”

  “How?”

  “It’s a work in progress.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Wow,” Matthew said. He was sitting in the Lemans’ lounge, soaking up the story that Niall and Miranda had told him. Having railed at himself all the way there for agreeing to go, he was now very happy that he had.

  “It is a story,” he acknowledged, “but unless we can get some pretty substantial evidence my editor’s not going to run it. Big charities are basically untouchable. They do good works and shouldn’t be undermined. All these guys have to do is deny it and we’re in court and destined to lose big time.”

  “Can’t you tap their phones?” Niall suggested.

  “You’re joking, right?” Matt responded.

  “Niall thinks the sordid sex nights are a red herring,” Miranda said, “but I think if we can get them on that then they’ll lose their jobs anyway.”

  “Which is true,” Matt agreed, “and if you’re thinking that the big story will put them away, it probably wouldn’t, so either way they’re going to be out there. Wounded tigers.”

  “That sounds very melodramatic,” Miranda said.

  “I want them to know they were nailed,” Niall said. “I don’t care about anything else.”

  “If we expose them for the sex nights,” Matt said, “someone may well come out of the woodwork to corroborate the fraud. People love kicking people when they’re down. I’m thinking maximum humiliation. Get the word out across the media. They walk out of their bordello into a blaze of flash photography.”

  “What about the girls?” Niall asked. “We don’t want the press turning on Penny and Rebecca and calling them sex workers.”

  “Sounds like that’s exactly what this Penny is,” Matt said. “But she could sell her exclusive to us and we could spin it so that it’s really about the scandal of nurse’s pay. A nurse can’t survive in London without supplementing her income.”

  “If Penny told her story,” Miranda said, “wouldn’t that do the damage without a big sting?”

  “No,” Niall said.

  “No,” Matt said less forcibly. “They’d have deniability. And she doesn’t know most of their real names. We’d have a string of allegations by an embittered prostitute, no matter how detailed.”

  “I admit I don’t know the law,” Niall said, “but these Roman evenings behind closed doors aren’t actually illegal, are they?”

  “Legal or not,” Matt said, “I can’t see BAB enjoying a two-page spread in a tabloid about some of its top people paying girls for sordid services.”

  “I think they’ll get out of it,” Niall said.

  “They’ll be like rabbits in headlights when they’re caught,” Matt said. “You’ll be there. You ask the tough questions. Keep firing and they’ll crack.”

  “Grateful though I am for the free lunch,” Daniel Sullivan said, “I do hope Jamal hasn’t unleashed you to try to put pressure on me about his funding.”

  Duncan Clark laughed.

  “I�
��m not sure which of us should be more insulted by that suggestion,” he said. “If you think I’m Jamal’s dog then you’re very much mistaken, and if you think I’d choose the monkey rather than the organ grinder if chasing funding were my aim, then you have very little knowledge of the way I operate.”

  Daniel Sullivan sipped Tio Pepe and decided to let silence swallow his opening gambit. Duncan Clark’s emailed invitation to lunch had been a shock as well as a surprise, given that the only time they had worked together on anything had been the press conference on Damian Clarke’s demise. Curiosity had led him to accept, but he was annoyed at himself for feeling nervous about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt nervous. Convincing himself that Clark was running an errand for Jamal Daghash had been a way of conquering those nerves. He now wished he hadn’t put it up to be shot down so early in the proceedings.

  “Let’s begin again,” Duncan said. “I didn’t invite you here for a slanging match. Nothing could have been further from my mind.”

  Daniel relaxed and took a long pull at the sherry.

  “I felt,” Duncan Clark went on, “when our paths crossed recently, that you and I were two of a kind. Men who have risen high in their chosen fields of endeavour through genuine merit and hard graft, but also men with a taste and appreciation for the good things in life.”

  “I can’t disagree with you there,” Daniel said, as foie gras was set before him.

  “I felt sure that we shared the same enthusiasms,” Clark continued, “and I confess I did a small amount of discreet research – ”

  “I’m flattered,” Daniel interjected.

  “And a very small bird told me about something that I must confess set my mouth watering.”

  “Intriguing,” Daniel said.

  “Involving high quality food, excellent wine, and high class exclusive service from diaphanously clad young women.”

  “I cannot imagine what little bird could possibly have sung such a song,” Daniel said, his mind racing.

  “Shall we just say the late lamented Dr. Clarke was not as appreciative as he should have been of the favour you bestowed on him. He chose a confessor at Moorfields who kept his secret until after his death. Then she felt moved to share it with me.”