But she stopped, controlling her own foolishness with an almost physical effort. Errol would do it right, of course he would. For all his apparent insouciance he was a sensible chap, and knew on which side his bread was honeyed. She wouldn’t give him a penny of the five pounds she’d promised him for taking care of the monkeys in her absence unless she was certain all was well with them, and he knew it; phoning him wouldn’t help at all, even if she knew where she could reach him at this time of day. He’d have settled the pair of small creatures for the night by now, and gone home, or wherever it was he disappeared to at the end of his working day. Ben had once said that he suspected that he went down a manhole as he left the hospital, only to reappear the next morning from the same place; no one ever saw him or his Rastafarian friends anywhere about the town, so where else could he be? And she smiled, now, remembering that silly conversation, and turned back to the pavement, hunching her shoulders inside her coat. She really must stop being so stupid, fussing herself this way. It was all going to be over soon anyway: they’d go to this silly television studio, do this silly programme, spend a silly evening, and tomorrow they’d go home, back to the hospital and its safe certainties, and she could put on her white coat again and have nothing more to worry about than the work, the lovely comforting reality that was work, and she actually shivered with pleasure at the thought.
A black taxi drew up at the pavement and the driver got out and peered at her in the half-light. ‘You waiting for me, lady? BBC? Mrs … ah ….’ He squinted at a piece of paper in his hand. ‘Mrs Pitman?’
Her face flamed immediately, and she said loudly, too loudly, ‘No! I mean, yes. I’m waiting for a cab from the BBC, but I’m Mrs Hurst … Dr Pitman will be out soon, I imagine. I don’t really know …. we’re not together. I mean, he’s in room 431 and I’m in 458. Ask them at the desk to call him … room 431, remember ….’
As if, she told herself furiously as the driver went lumbering into the hotel to find Ben, as if it mattered tuppence ha’penny what a wretched taxi-driver thinks! Why did I have to go to such lengths to tell him we have separate rooms here? What does it matter? Who gives a damn?
You do, her secret voice told her sardonically as the door revolved again and the taxi-driver came out, followed by Ben. You bloody well do, but she shook the little voice away, and managed to smile brightly at Ben.
‘Hello! I came down early to get a little air. It’ll be stuffy, I imagine, at the studios?’
‘I expect so,’ he said and his voice was crisp and a little remote and she thought – he’s as nervous about all this as I am. Oh, hell, I wish I’d refused to do it. I wish I wasn’t here. Is there still time to go home, forget all about it? But she got into the cab obediently as Ben held the door open, and settled herself in the corner against the window, staring out at the street and saying nothing.
He sat in the corner on his side, as far away from her, it seemed, as he could get, and the sense of alienation and loneliness deepened in her, made her feel cold inside and she thought – do it the way you did when you were at school, and you had to face frightening things. Pretend it isn’t you at all, that the real you is sitting in a corner, high up in a corner, watching this foolish creature down below going through it. Watch and laugh and you’ll feel none of it. Just be separate from it all – and that helped, made her shoulders relax, made her breathe more easily, and she could lean back and stare out of the window as though she really cared what was out there.
The taxi rocked and bounced its way westwards, along the Bayswater Road, through the crowds at Notting Hill Gate, and still they sat silently, listening to the crackle of the driver’s radio call system, paying little attention to anything but their own silent thoughts, and then the driver said, ‘Three nine … three nine … what? Yes … yes. Oh, like that, is it? Right, I’ll use the other side …’ and then reached behind him to push on the already open glass partition behind his head.
‘Got to take you to the other building,’ he said. ‘Trouble at the main one, it seems.’
‘Trouble?’ Ben said sharply.
‘Some demonstration or other,’ the driver said and peered at them in his rear-view mirror. ‘What you done, then?’
‘I’ve done nothing,’ Ben said stiffly. ‘I don’t know what it’s about any more than you do.’
‘Well, you must ha’ done something,’ the driver said with an air of great reasonableness. ‘I mean, they don’t do that all that often, send messages like that, I mean to take passengers somewhere different because of demonstrators. Not Irish, are you?’
Ben laughed at that, sounding really amused, and in the darkness Jessie relaxed her shoulders even more. ‘I wish I were,’ he said. ‘I’d be having more fun than I am. Just a bloody doctor, that’s all.’
‘Doctor, eh?’ The driver manoeuvred his cab on to the big roundabout at Shepherd’s Bush. ‘Abortion and that? Or experiments on babies? Lots of demonstrations over that this year. Popular for demonstrations, that is.’
‘No!’ Ben looked at Jessie in the lights thrown by the shop windows they were passing as they inched their way through the heavy home-going traffic and said quietly, ‘This’ll be those damned animal freedom people, Jessie. Will you be all right if we do get mixed up with them?’
‘I’ll have to be, won’t I?’ she said, and then added, almost violently, ‘as if I’d do anything to hurt Castor and Pollux! As if I would! I’ve been worrying about them, damn it. Why don’t these people understand? We don’t hurt them … we never would … they’re our animals ….’
‘They’re not thinking about individuals like Castor and Pollux. They’re thinking about principles. It’s easier to get agitated about principles ….’ And again he lapsed into silence and stared out of his window and she looked at his profile, etched against the light of the glass, and thought confusedly; I wish I didn’t think about individuals, I wish I didn’t think about you ….
The radio crackled again, and the driver answered, clearly enjoying the small drama in which he was involved. ’Change of … right. Well, on their own ‘eads be it. So much as a scratch on the body-work and I’ll throw the bloody book at ’em. BBC can afford it ….’ Again he reached back to push uselessly on the open partition. ‘Got to go through it, it seems. No sense in going to any other entrance on account there ain’t one they haven’t covered. They really got it in for you, haven’t they? Animals, is it? You one of these bloody vivisectionists, that it?’
‘Since you were obviously listening to us, you know, don’t you?’ Ben said savagely.
The man sniffed loudly, and said, ‘Cruelty – that’s one thing I can’t be doing with. Politics, that don’t matter two hoots, they’re all bloody liars and thieves, but cruelty’s something else. Can’t blame people getting upset over that ….’ Very deliberately he reached back again and this time slammed his partition shut.
They could see the little knot of people at the main entrance to the television centre as the taxi rumbled up the road towards it. There were one or two home-made placards which they couldn’t read in the poor light, and even through the closed windows they could hear the sound of chanting voices in a ragged chorus, so ragged that what they were saying was as unintelligible as the placards. Jessie shrank back against her corner as the taxi took the curve into the building’s entrance, stopping at the barrier that was across it, and waiting stolidly. The barrier lifted at once, but still he sat there, his engine chugging noisily, as the group of people surged towards them and Ben leaned forwards and rapped urgently on the glass and shouted, ‘Get in man, don’t hang around!’ But the driver sat lumpishly, not turning his head until at last a man came out of the little glassed-in lodge beside the gates, moving with obvious unwillingness towards them.
Around them the people pushed and shoved and faces were pressed against the glass, hideous in their distortion, and Jessie pulled herself even further back, staring at them with a sort of mesmerized horror. They didn’t look like people at all; they were car
icatures, gnomes out of a mad Disney film of the most frightening kind, and she cried out and lifted her hands to her face as the cab rocked slightly under the pressure of pushing hands.
‘Get on, you bloody idiot!’ Ben was shouting at the driver now, and at last, slowly, urged on by a gate-keeper who was clearly as angry as Ben was with the man’s tardiness, the cab moved in past the barrier and it came down behind them, holding back the pushing crowd.
‘You made that worse than it need have been!’ Ben shouted at the driver as at last the cab pulled up at the foot of the steps that led to the door to the reception area and they could get out. ‘You didn’t have to sit there like that, you bloody fool!’
‘You mind who you’re calling a fool, mister,’ the driver said and glared at him. ‘Let the bleedin’ dogs see the bleedin’ rabbit, that’s my motto, and if you don’t like bein’ a bloody rabbit, that’s too bloody bad, ain’t it? I don’t suppose you give your bleedin’ rabbits much choice, do you, doctor … Some fuckin’ doctor ….’ And he put the engine into gear with a crash and went off, leaving them standing there, Ben shouting furiously after him.
‘Ben, don’t.’ Jessie held on to his arm as behind them someone came out of the swing doors towards them. ‘Ben, don’t come down to his level, please, Ben ….’
‘I really would agree,’ a voice said behind them, and they both turned to look. A tall young man in an open necked shirt and tight jeans and holding a clipboard under one arm was standing there and he smiled at them very widely and held out his hand. ‘I’m Giles Stetler. Researcher for J.J. Sorry you had so unpleasant an experience getting here. We heard what was happening, tried to find another way to get you in, but these wretched people have settled themselves at every entrance we have. It’s remarkable how they operate – get all sorts of information, don’t they? One’s amazed, really amazed. Do come along, now, and we’ll get you a little something to restore the ailing tissues. I’m sure you can use it ….’
‘I really think I’d rather we left now,’ Ben said. His face was white with anger in the yellow light thrown through the entrance door, and he was holding Jessie’s elbow in so firm a grip that she wanted to wince with the pain. But she didn’t. ‘I came here to … to provide information, accurate information about the work I’m doing. It’s important work, and of great … and I didn’t expect to be faced with this sort of … I thought I could trust the BBC to treat us fairly and ….’
‘But my dear chap, of course you can trust us!’ Stetler raised his eyebrows. ‘You can hardly blame us for the fact that a group of hotheads gather at our gates, can you? Hardly our fault ….’
‘But you’ve got a bloody camera there filming it all!’ Ben said, and Jessie looked up at him, startled. ‘Oh, yes, I saw them! Right there, whirring away, filming it all! Will it make a good start to the programme for you, is that it? Did you want a bit of excitement just to prove that ….’
‘My dear Dr Pitman, you really must calm down! I can understand your distress at being faced with that sort of thing, but you really can’t accuse us of setting it up, you know, you really can’t ….’
‘Why can’t I? Isn’t it the sort of thing you television people do?’
There was a little pause and then Stetler said crisply, ‘No. Any more than being unnecessarily cruel to animals is what researchers do. It’s because people have stereotyped notions like that that we’re doing this programme tonight. We want to change that false belief, you see. We had hoped you’d realize that.’
Ben stared at him in the half-light, his face still angry but less passionately so now. ‘Well, that’s as may be. But why are you filming that rabble at the gate, then?’
‘Because we have to reflect what people feel about important issues,’ Stetler said promptly. ‘They appeared there, at our feet, as it were, and we could hardly ignore them, could we? We had to use ’em – and they aren’t exactly a rabble, you know. A bit over-heated, perhaps, but they have a valid point of view, and it’s one, I must repeat, that we have to reflect. You’re pretty heated yourself, after all ….’
‘Because we were threatened,’ Ben said, and Jessie heard the defensive note in his voice and felt a wave of desolation fill her; Ben angry and attacking had been a protector, someone she could rely on to say the right thing at the right moment, but Ben on the defensive was suddenly a weaker, more frail creature, one in need of help, and she tightened her arm against her own body to squeeze his hand against her, and said quietly, ‘We’ll have to do it, Ben. Now we’re here. And getting angry won’t help. We’ve got to explain what we’re doing and why … haven’t we?’
‘Very wise, very wise indeed,’ Stetler said, and began to make ushering movements, leading them towards the entrance. ‘Come and have a little drink, restore the old tissues, you’ll feel much better about it all. Meet J.J., you know, check out the areas you’re going to cover, make sure he knows exactly what it is you want to talk about – we want to give you every opportunity, you know, to state your case, get it all clear in the public mind ….’
They had reached a bank of lifts by now as Stetler hurried them past knots of curiously staring people and Ben stopped short as Stetler pressed the call button.
‘What do you mean, state my case? I’m not on any sort of trial here, you know! I agreed to come and talk about my research, that’s all. Jessie agreed to come to explain how the animals are used and protected in the lab, and to warn people of the risks they run because those idiots let them out and ….’
‘Of course, of course,’ Stetler said soothingly. ‘Absolutely, got it in one – well now, shall we go into hospitality? Then I can show you to your dressing rooms if you want to use them, and then after that a little bit of a drink and a sarnie or two – though we’ll give you some real supper later, of course – a swift visit to makeup to damp down the shine and all that, make Mrs Hurst look lovelier than ever, you know, then the meeting with old J.J. and it’ll be over before you know it, really it will … do come along, now.’
And after one more long moment of hesitation while he stared at Giles Stetler’s bland face, Ben allowed himself to be led into the lift, and Jessie, her moment of illogical hope withering away, the hope that they would after all turn and go and leave the whole wretched business behind them and return to Minster, followed him. There was nothing else she could do, though every instinct in her, despite her earlier urging of him to do the programme, was now urging her to turn and run, and take him with her.
25
She could see the sweat on Ben’s face clearly from where she sat on the far side of J.J. Gerrard, could see the trickles gleaming in the powerful lights that washed all the reality out of the scene they were inhabiting, and she wanted to get up and go over to him and dry his face for him, as a mother would dry a weeping child’s tears, and she was glad of the fact that she was virtually tethered to her seat by the microphone cable that had been pushed up under her skirt so that the small microphone could be pinned to her lapel. Ben wouldn’t thank her for fussing over him, badly as she wanted to do it.
‘So, let me get this clear, Dr Pitman,’ J.J. Gerrard said, and he smiled at Ben with great benignity. His tanned wrinkled face under its thatch of beautifully waved steel-grey hair seemed open, devoid of expression, but Jessie could see the sharp-eyed malice that was in him, and feared him. He’s not interested in us, in what we’re saying, she thought. He’s only interested in his own cleverness. I don’t like him. I’m afraid of him. Don’t trust him, Ben, he’s after you – but Ben didn’t look at her and she knew her silent message couldn’t reach him.
‘Just for my own satisfaction,’ J.J. went on. ‘You set out to find a cure for all the virus infections that afflict mankind, a cure as far-reaching in its effects as the antibiotics? A lifesaver of the sort that Fleming developed? You wanted to be a great man like Fleming?’
‘Actually it was Florey and Chain who developed penicillin,’ Ben said. ‘This tendency to deify Fleming always irritates me, when you cons
ider the work the Oxford people did and ….’
‘Well, that’s by the by, Dr Pitman, by the by. We’re interested in you. You set out to produce something as important as penicillin ….’
‘Well, yes, you could say that ….’ Ben shook his head, irritated again. ‘I mean, I didn’t set out to be some sort of …
I’m not interested in fame, you know! I just saw an area of research that interested me. I thought, if I can find a substance that will trigger a cell-mediated response to virus attacks, then there could be a considerable value in it. Not just the obvious things like the common cold, or flu, but possibly the slow viruses – we don’t know for sure how much multiple sclerosis, for example, is a virus-triggered problem – and then there are the cancers. Some of them implicate viruses, of course.’
J.J. pounced on that. ‘You were looking for a cure for cancer as well as the common cold? In one magic bullet?’
‘No!’ Ben said it almost despairingly. ‘You really mustn’t see it in such simple terms, Mr Gerrard! Magic bullets and … science just isn’t like that … it’s a long painstaking piecing together of bits and pieces of information, until you have a full enough picture to apply what you’ve found to some of the problems that we have to deal with in modern medicine. I must make it clear I wasn’t looking for any … any personal glory or … I was just looking for one piece in a major jigsaw puzzle ….’
The Virus Man Page 25
