‘Dad, you’ve got to come back to the hotel.’
‘Sure, sure,’ said Dr Wynne-Gurr, and went on talking.
‘This is the first time of asking,’ said Sophia. ‘We’ll go away and come back in ten minutes. And then five. And then we’ll keep coming until we’re such a nuisance that you’ll have to come with us.’
‘This girl knows how to get what she wants.’ said the man Felix’s father was talking to. ‘Hello, Sophia!’
‘Hello, Dr Cassar,’ said Sophia. ‘And you’d better come away, too, or Anna will get very fed up with you.’
‘One last drink.’ stipulated Dr Cassar.
‘I think I’ve had enough.’ said Felix’s father.
‘So have I.’ said Dr Cassar. ‘So we’ll make this the last one. One for you, Melinda?’
‘I’m back on duty in three-quarters of an hour, so I’d better not.’ said Melinda. ‘I saw your Uncle Paolo, Sophia. Is he back on shore?’
‘For a bit.’ said Sophia.
‘I wanted to catch him, but he disappeared.’
‘He was going to see how Luigi was.’
‘Luigi?’
‘A friend of his. In the band. He got knifed.’
‘Badly?’
‘Badly enough for him to go home.’
‘That band is the cause of a lot of trouble,’ said Melinda. ‘Or, at least, it attracts trouble. A pity, because it’s not at all bad. And better still when your uncle is playing.’
‘He ought to stick to that.’ said Sophia.
Felix had seen Dr Malia, not in the crowd around the beer stall, but by the mquaret stall. He went across to him.
‘Hello, Dr Malia,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize you were one for the races.’
‘I like to see them occasionally.’ said Dr Malia. ‘And on a Sunday you can’t get into a lot of the places I want to go to.’
‘Nor me,’ said Felix.
‘The Armouries won’t be open for a long time yet,’ said Dr Malia.
‘I know. So maybe I ought to change my project. Sophia says so. She says I ought to do so anyway. She says I ought to be looking at anti-weaponry.
‘Anti-weaponry?’
‘Medicine. Hospitals. And such.’
‘Well, now, that’s not a bad idea.’
‘Yes, but that’s your project, not mine.’
‘I could share it.’ said Dr Malia.
Sophia came through the crowd. ‘Dr Malia, you’re needed over by the bandstand. Someone’s got hurt.’
‘Another one?’ said Felix.
‘It happens all the time,’ said Sophia, dismissively. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Dr Malia.
Sophia shrugged. ‘There was some fighting. Cuts and bruises, I think.’
‘If it’s more than that, they ought to go to the hospital.’
‘They don’t want to go to the hospital.’
‘In case too many questions get asked?’
Sophia kissed him.
‘Got it in one,’ she said. ‘You’re the man they want.’
‘Yes, but they don’t want me for the right reasons,’ said Dr Malia. ‘Anyway, I’m not really up to it these days.’
‘You’re the one everyone wants.’
‘I haven’t got my bag,’ Dr Malia objected weakly.
‘If you need it, they’d send someone to fetch it.’
‘I suppose I ought to go,’ said Dr Malia. ‘Where, exactly - ’
‘By the bandstand. The Three Cities bandstand.’
‘There always trouble there!’
‘Yes. Luigi got stabbed there earlier this afternoon.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Someone took him home. Uncle Paolo has gone to see him. I think you ought to go and see him, too. You’d be much more use.’
Dr Wynne-Gurr was extricated and delivered. Mrs Wynne-Gurr meanwhile had been reviewing the day with the ladies of the Ambulance and pronounced herself satisfied. That she attributed to the superior organization of St John’s and also to the fact that women played a significant part in it.
‘If you want a job done, give me a woman every time,’ she said. ‘Especially one who has had the experience of running a family. Don’t you agree, Mrs Ferreira?’
Mrs Ferreira said she did.
‘Especially a large family,’ she added.
‘One is enough for me!’ said Mrs Wynne-Gurr.
Sophia rose in Felix’s defence.
‘Boys are more manageable than girls.’ she said. ‘At least, that’s what my mother always says.’
‘I was thinking of you, dear,’ said Mrs Ferreira.
They all left together. Seymour and Chantale, the Wynne-Gurrs, and a substantial part of the Ferreira family. As they were leaving they ran into music. One of the bands was leaving, too, not quietly, as the Three Cities band had done, but in a blare of triumph.
Sophia knew the members of that band, too, and waved to them as they went past.
‘That’s our band!’ she said proudly.
The band recognized the Ferreiras and gave an extra puff. Mrs Ferreira ran along beside them excitedly like a small girl.
‘If this is your band,’ Felix said to Sophia, ‘why doesn’t Uncle Paolo play for it?’
‘He lives in Birgu.’ said Sophia.
‘Birgu?’
‘That’s what it used to be called. It’s called Vittoriosa now.’
‘It’s not just that.’ said Mrs Ferreira’s father. ‘That’s where his heart is. Not with Valletta.’
‘When you said “heart”,’ said Dr Wynne-Gurr, ‘do you mean he has a wife there? Or, perhaps, a girlfriend?’
‘If only,’ said Mrs Ferreira.
‘I mean, he likes them not us,’ said Mrs Ferreira’s father.
‘Now, Father. That is too hard! You know it is. Why, he’s only just been eating with us.’
‘And then he went away.’
‘To see how Luigi was.’
‘And that’s another waster,’ said her father.
Chapter Six
The next morning the West Surrey St John Ambulance were at the hospital in force, including a less than happy Chantale. Mrs Wynne-Gurr lined them up and then posted them around the places she had assigned them. Chantale went dutifully to Ward J; although what she was supposed to do there, and why Seymour had asked for her to go there, she did not know. She had seen him in the distance but he had not spoken to her. The only person who had spoken to her was the ward sister, who indicated a place for her to sit down and said, not exactly welcomingly:
‘You’re here to observe, I gather. Well, at the moment we’re doing the bed pans so observe away as much as you like.’
The nurses were cool and Chantale had the impression that she was being deliberately made to feel uncomfortable. She guessed that she was catching some of the resentment they felt for Mrs Wynne-Gurr. She settled down in her corner and wished she had brought a book.
Mrs Wynne-Gurr appeared after about half an hour to see that things were proceeding according to plan and handed her a printed sheet of instructions.
‘Just put a tick every ten minutes,’ she said. ‘Apart from that, ask them where you can be of most use.’
Chantale did and got the feeling that the place where she could be of more use was somewhere else. She shrugged and thought of returning to her corner, but then one of the nurses said she could clear away the breakfast things when the patients had finished. There was a sort of scullery to which the dishes were being taken and in it two elderly Maltese ladies were doing the washing up. Chantale wondered whether she should offer to assist but they plainly did not need assistance.
Someone asked her to put the trays away. She looked around for a place to put them. At the end of the ward was a door. A cupboard, perhaps? She opened the door and went in.
Inside, on the floor, was a mattress; and on the mattress a woman was lying. She was young and not over-dressed. In fact, she was not dressed at all.
She opened one eye and looked at C
hantale.
‘Oh!’ she said.
Then she sat up, reached across to a pile of clothes on the ground beside her, and began to put them on.
Chantale, taken aback, retreated and shut the door.
But then she stopped, wondering what to do? If anything? The young woman had seemed quite at home.
The routines of the ward were going on all around apparently as usual. Was the young woman part of these routines? A night nurse, perhaps, taking a break? Or a day nurse about to come on? If the nurses had been more forthcoming she would have asked one of them. But somehow it didn’t seem right to ask the ward sister.
In the end she shrugged and went back to her corner. If this was part of the scheme of things in the hospital, who was she to intervene?
She kept an eye on the door, however, and after a while the woman came out, fully dressed and self-possessed. She went to the end of the ward and walked out.
About halfway through the morning Mrs Wynne-Gurr came along and switched everybody round to different wards, rather to Chantale’s relief. Just before then, however, she had gone for a walk round the ward.
‘You’re Arab, aren’t you?’ said one of the patients.
‘Yes,’ said Chantale.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve just come to watch and learn.’ said Chantale. ‘I’m with the St John Ambulance.’
‘Those people who are at the racetrack?’
‘And other places. Yes.’
‘Where are you from? Medina?’
‘England.’ said Chantale.
‘England?’ he said, astonished.
‘Yes. I’m just visiting Malta. I’m with a party from England.’
‘But you’re an Arab!’
‘Yes.’ said Chantale, not wanting to embark on complicated explanations.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘As I told you, I’m here to watch and learn. I’m with the St John Ambulance. The English St John Ambulance.’
‘And you’ve come to learn?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Well, there’s a thing! To come here to learn. From us!’ ‘There’s always something you can learn,’ said Chantale. ‘Yes, but from us!’
‘Why not from you?’
He didn’t reply at once but seemed to be thinking. ‘Well, I suppose.’ he said, ‘that if you’re an Arab, you’ve got a lot to learn.’
‘And if you’re Maltese,’ said Chantale nettled.
‘If you’re Maltese, too, yes. And if you’re English?’
‘They’ve got things to learn, too.’
‘They certainly have! But will they learn them?’
‘That’s what they’re here for.’ said Chantale quietly.
He thought it over. ‘That woman with the loud voice, is she one of them?’
‘The one who was in here earlier? Yes.’
‘She has come to learn?’ he said incredulously.
‘One can always learn.’
‘Not if you’re like her! Not if you’re British!’
‘It was her idea,’ said Chantale loyally.
‘Well, I’m surprised,’ said the Maltese. ‘Very surprised!’
‘Are you being difficult again, Mr Vasco?’ said Sister Macfarlane, appearing at that point.
‘Yes, I am being difficult.’ he said. ‘I want a nurse. A Maltese nurse. Send me Melinda!’
‘Melinda’s busy. You can have Bettina.’
‘I don’t want Bettina. I want Melinda.’
‘Why don’t you want Bettina? She’s very nice and sensible. And Maltese.’
‘I want to send a message to my brother. And it’s no good asking her because her family and mine don’t get on.’
‘No one gets on with you, Vasco,’ said Bettina. ‘And the reasons why is that you’re such a pain in the ass.’
Unexpectedly Vasco laughed.
‘I’m not saying you’re wrong,’ he said mildly. ‘All the same, I want to see Melinda. I want to send a message to my brother.’
‘I’ll ask her.’ said Bettina. ‘But I think it’s quite possible that she’ll tell you to stuff it.’
She went out of the ward.
‘Happy now, Mr Vasco?’ said Macfarlane.
‘No. I’m bloody not!’ said the Maltese. ‘My stomach is giving me real trouble this morning!’
‘I’ll get you something.’
She went off.
He lay there watching Chantale not suspiciously but doubtfully.
‘So you’re an Arab,’ he said.
Chantale did not reply.
‘You can’t be!’ he said suddenly. ‘Not if you’re from England!’
‘There are Arabs there, too.’ said Chantale. ‘And Maltese.’
‘Well, there bloody ought not to be. Maltese ought to stay at home. But Arabs - they get everywhere, don’t they?’
Melinda came in.
‘Are you being unpleasant again, Vasco?’ she said sternly.
‘No, I’m not. I’m just saying that the Arabs get in everywhere. Even here. Even into the hospital!’
‘Not many.’ said Melinda. ‘And why shouldn’t they?’
‘I don’t mind them.’ said Vasco weakly, the energy suddenly going out of him.
‘Well, you don’t want to mind this lady,’ said Melinda. ‘She bandaged up Luigi when he got stabbed.’
‘Luigi got stabbed?’
‘Yes. At Marsa.’
‘The buggers!’
‘You want me to take a message?’ said Melinda.
‘Yes. To my brother.’
‘A sensible message, I hope?’
‘Yes, yes.’ he said indignantly. ‘A sensible message. Why are you always on at me, Melinda?’
‘Because you’re always making trouble. You and your lot.’
‘I don’t make trouble for you, do I?’
‘No, and you’d better not.’
‘Nor for the Arabs. I’ve got nothing against Arabs.’
‘Sophia!’ said Laura sternly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Nothing,’ said Sophia.
‘Well, go and do it somewhere else!’
‘I’m looking for my mother.’ said Sophia, too obviously at random.
‘Well, you know where to find her. And it’s not here.’
‘Actually, it’s Ophthalmics I want.’
‘Why?’
Felix stuck his head cautiously in at the door.
‘Ah, there you are!’ said Sophia, and went across to him. ‘You managed to get away, then?’
‘Easy,’ said Felix. ‘Actually, I don’t think it mattered much. They’re all busy looking at some new equipment that’s just come in. A something-o-scope. And I don’t think they’re really bothered about me, so long as I keep out of the way.’
‘Okay, then,’ said Sophia. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Laura.
‘Mum won’t mind.’ said Sophia.
‘But Felix’s mum might.’
‘We’ll be around.’ said Sophia airily, and hauled Felix through the door.
‘In the hospital?’ Laura called after them.
‘Yes.’ said Sophia. ‘More or less.’
‘It’s all right for her.’ Laura said to Seymour. ‘She knows her way around. But he doesn’t. The hospital’s a big place and it’s easy to get lost.’
‘I think he’ll be all right,’ said Seymour, ‘if Sophia is with him.’
‘She’s quite responsible,’ Laura conceded. She looked up at Seymour. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for the porters.’
‘They’re out the back,’ said Laura. ‘Unloading some equipment. Do you want me to send for them?’
‘No, no. Perhaps you can help me. I was wondering which of them was on duty on the night of the twenty-fifth.’
‘The night the first one died?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I can tell you. Umberto. I can tell you because he had asked my son to be with him.’
‘Wh
y was that?’
‘Usually you don’t need two on at nights. One can do it. But sometimes the doctors say they want a patient turned over at intervals during the night and if he’s a big, heavy man, it’s better if there are two do to it. But that’s all you need two for and it doesn’t seem worth getting an extra man in full-time. So they get in a lad, someone who’s big and strong like my Mario, and they’ll do it for a few bob.’
‘And that’s how it was that night?’
‘Yes. I remember it because when Mario came home for breakfast he told me about it. That a man had died. He was quite shocked. I don’t know why, because he’d been there before when someone had died. He’s even had to help move the body, because it’s better to do that when everyone is still sleeping.’
‘And this time?’
Laura hesitated. ‘I don’t know if he had to move the body by himself. He didn’t say. Maybe he did. He was certainly a bit upset, which isn’t like him. I don’t like him having anything to do with dead people, he’s not ready for it. I know he’s got to learn, but he’s only fifteen. They know how I feel, Berto and Umberto, I mean, and try not to let it happen. But sometimes if you’re on duty at night and there’s no one else around, they’ve got to. But he didn’t say he’d had to do it this time, so maybe it was something else.’
A young boy came in.
‘Do you know where Dr Docato is?’ he asked Laura. ‘He’s not in Emergency.’
‘He may be in Orthopaedics,’ said Laura. ‘Try there. Do you know where that is?’
The boy laughed. ‘Do I know ...? Mum, I know every inch of this hospital.’
‘All right, all right. But they’ve just moved a section from Orthopaedics and I wondered if you knew about that.’
‘Of course I knew. I helped to move it.’
‘I just wondered. That was all.’
‘You reckon he might be there? In the new section?’
‘Try it.’
The boy looked at Seymour.
‘This is Mr Seymour,’ said Laura.
‘Oh, yes, the policeman from England.’
‘And this is my son.’
‘Hello, Mario.’ said Seymour.
‘Sir!’ said Mario politely. They shook hands.
A Dead Man in Malta Page 9
