Seven Dials (6 page)

‘I see,’ Max said. ‘A fairly florid but hardly life-threatening episode.’

Her brows snapped together. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You say he’d swallowed a lot of barbiturate, but since he is still, I gather, with us, and you say nothing about having needed to wash out the stomach, the overdose must have been minimal.’

‘It took me several hours of walking him about and pouring coffee into him to make sure he had stayed awake,’ Charlie said stiffly. ‘So - ’

‘Oh, my dear, you’ve seen too many of these Hollywood films! The treatment of overdosage with noxious substances is rather less dramatic and a good deal more messy. If he survived the night of walking with you and then slept off the drug - as I imagine he did - ’

‘He slept for most of the next day and night - ’

‘I imagine he did. But for all that I doubt he took more than enough to alarm you, but certainly not enough to do any long-term harm. What is it he’s trying to persuade you to do?’

Charlie was very angry now and she knew it showed and didn’t care. ‘I don’t think, Dr Lackland, that you can make quite so firm a judgement till you’ve at least talked to the patient. It seems to me rather to be jumping to conclusions to - however, I’m sorry I bothered you. I shall deal with him in my own way, and can only ask you now to - to honour my request for confidentiality,’ and she got to her feet.

Max shook his head and lifted his brows at her. ‘Oh, come, my dear, no need to be so touchy! All right, I accept your rebuke. I should indeed see the patient before making any judgements. I was leaning a little more than I have any right to on my previous experience. Very well, lead me to him and we shall talk again. I’ll see him on my own, I think, after you introduce me -’

‘It’s really not necessary -’ Charlie began but he interrupted her, albeit gently.

‘Now, I have apologized, so please, let us not be absurd over this. Which bed is he in?’

‘Seventeen,’ Charlie said unwillingly. ‘But - ’

‘Then lead the way, Miss Lucas, and we shall consult over
your patient’, and he moved towards the door of Sister’s office and held it invitingly open for her.

She hadn’t felt so self-conscious walking down a ward since her very first day out of medical school when, resplendent in the shiny new short white coat of a first-year clinical student, she had joined the rest of her set on their first round. The men lay in their beds, neatly and quietly, as well schooled as any soldiers, for Sister Spruce was a martinet in matters of neatness - woe betide any patient who lay about in sloppy postures on her ward - but they watched with interest all that went on around them, unless they were too ill to care; and there weren’t many in that state, for this was a surgical ward and most of the inmates were lively enough, unlike those on medical wards. Charlie felt their eyes on her and her companion very keenly indeed. Did they realize that this stocky man with the still face and the square shoulders was a psychiatrist? It would be dreadful if they did make such a guess, for there could not be one among them who did not share the all-too-common belief that there was a stigma in having something wrong with your mind. Brin would never forgive her, she thought, if the other patients guessed and treated him differently in consequence.

But none of the men seemed to pay her companion any attention at all. It was herself they were interested in, and she managed to relax a little as she went on down that interminably long ward beside Max Lackland. Of course she was being silly; these men cared only about their own health, and she, as the registrar who was responsible for this ward, was a person of consequence in their eyes. They wondered, each and every one of them, if she was coming to their bedside; once they realized she wasn’t, their interest switched back to their newspapers and magazines and library books. So by the time she reached Brin’s bed and reached for the curtains to pull them round to offer some semblance of privacy, she was once more in command of her own anxiety.

‘Good morning, Brin,’ she said. ‘This is - ’

He was lying against a pile of pillows, a newspaper open on his lap in front of him but quite unheeded, his hair a little rumpled so that a loose lock of it lay on his forehead, and his pyjama jacket partially unbuttoned. His skin looked a pleasant brown against the white of his pillows, and his eyes glowed
even more darkly. He looked in fact absurdly well to be occupying a hospital bed and her lips curved involuntarily at the sight of him because he looked so agreeable.

‘You don’t have to introduce us, Charlie,’ he said and his voice, as ever, sent a small tremor of pleasure into her; it was a rich deep baritone with a lift of laughter in it, and was one of his greatest assets, a fact she suspected he well knew. ‘We met on VE night, sir, do you remember? My sister Kate and I were invited to your sister’s house to dine and you were there as well and - ’

‘Yes, of course, I remember,’ Max said, his voice relaxed and friendly. ‘Not that I was feeling too festive, as I recall. Still, we had to mark the occasion in some way, I suppose. I’m sorry to see you here as a customer of the family hospital.’

‘I - I’m not all that thrilled about it myself, sir. But -’ And he lifted his right hand and touched his cheek and then let his hand fall on to his counterpane again, never taking his eyes from Max’s face. It was a relaxed and unexaggerated gesture, but a very effective one, for it said more than any words could have done. There was pain in that small movement of the arm, and anger and ruefulness and tears and attempted bravery, all wrapped up together, and Charlie felt her lips tighten as she saw it. How could anyone doubt for a moment how much this man was torn apart by his disfigurement? Whatever it seemed like to others, to him it was a massive blow and he needed all the aid he could be given to deal with it.

‘You’re here for treatment of that scar?’ Max said, brutally breaking the small spell that Brin had managed to cast and leaned forwards to stare at the right cheek. The scar indeed looked startling there, a much lighter colour than the surrounding skin and rather thick and raised from the surface of the face. It ran from the corner of the eye which it dragged down slightly, giving his face on that side a rather comically lugubrious look, to the corner of the mouth which, while it seemed natural enough in repose, twisted a little incongruously when Brin spoke, and even more when he smiled.

‘I hope so,’ Brin said, still keeping his eyes fixed on Max’s face. ‘I hope the scar could be made less - bulky. Charlie thought it might be possible to remove the overgrowth and leave a finer, less raised, line. I - what do you think?’

‘I’m not a plastic surgeon,’ Max said. ‘My opinion is
worthless on such a matter.’

‘But you must agree it needs doing?’ Brin’s voice had sharpened.

‘Nothing surgical
needs
doing, unless it’s life-threatening,’ Max said mildly. ‘You may
want
to have it done, but that is a different matter - ’

‘It’s essential that it should be done!’ Brin said and now he was speaking more loudly and Charlie shook her head at him in covert warning, very aware of the rest of the patients listening eagerly on the other side of the curtains. In a long dull hospital day, any activity was of interest. Brin caught the warning and spoke more quietly. ‘Of course it’s essential,’ he said, and the lowering of his voice made him sound a little sulky. ‘I would have thought anyone could see that. It’s the most essential thing in my life right now, I can tell you that.’

‘Yes,’ Max said consideringly and after a moment sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Would you leave us, Miss Lucas? I think it might be better if I talk to Mr Lackland quietly for a while. Perhaps you could wait for me in Sister’s office? I’ll try not to keep you too long.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Brin, you can be quite - honest with Dr Lackland, you know. He - we all treat all of our patients in total confidence.’ Listen to what I’m saying, Brin, her silent voice was crying in her mind, listen to what I’m saying, and trust him. I can’t help you if you don’t help me and anyone I bring to see you. Listen to me -

‘Thank you Charlie,’ he said, but he was still looking at Max and after a moment she pulled the curtain aside, ready to leave them.

‘I’m sure I can persuade our patient of our shared concern for him, Miss Lucas,’ Max said, and his voice was very level. ‘You really don’t have to give me a reference, you know!’ and she caught her breath at the rebuke, again feeling like a raw new student, who had made a stupid answer to a simple question.

‘Of course,’ she said stiffly and this time she did go, letting the curtain drop behind her, but not before looking swiftly at Brin once more. But he wasn’t looking at her at all. All his attention was fixed on Max and she felt bleak and lonely as she finally went away up the ward, leaving the two men together. She wanted Brin to feel better, to come to terms with his
injury in such a way that he would never again do anything as dreadful as he had the other night with those sleeping-pills, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted any other doctor but herself to be the one to make him whole again. And that was a dreadful way for a doctor to be.

‘Coffee?’ Johanna said hopefully as at last the meeting broke up. ‘Lee? You do agree that we need some sustenance of some sort to get us over that? Will you join me? We might manage to get something over at the Savoy.’

‘Oh,’ Lee said uncertainly and bit her lip. ‘I’m not sure - I thought perhaps I’d see if I could find Harry, and then - well, it’s almost lunchtime and - ’

Johanna shook her head at her, smiling gently. ‘Don’t, my dear. I used to do things like that. It never made any difference. Made it worse, actually.’

Lee lifted her chin with a slightly defiant little gesture. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Jo - ’

‘Oh, darling, of course you do. This is me, Johanna, remember? Jonty’s wife. If I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes, who does? I stood in them so long myself, after all - ’

Lee couldn’t look at her, keeping her head bent over her hands as she fiddled in her bag. She knew that Johanna was right, of course; it never helped to go after Harry, to seem to show an awareness of what he was doing. Oh, he’d be friendly enough if she tracked him down, charming even, but he’d tell her he couldn’t have lunch,
so
sorry,
much
too busy, and would go off to sit and share his meal in the common room with whoever was young and female on the medical staff, while she went home alone to eat a meagre sandwich in the nursery with Stella, knowing he was snubbing her, and knowing too that
he
knew he need do nothing to comfort her. Because wouldn’t she go on being sweet and good, refusing to make any sort of fuss, refusing to let him know how hurt she was by his silly philandering ways?

That was the trouble between them of course. Both knew the other so well that they could judge to a nicety what
reaction would follow which action, and neither could bring themselves to talk about what had happened to them. There had been a time, once, when their closeness had warmed them both, but that had all seemed to dissolve into emptiness once Stella had been born. His interest in the children had dwindled as hers had grown and now they were like strangers, remote yet appallingly familiar, sharing a bed, sharing lovemaking too from time to time, but never sharing their real feelings or their real needs. It was a lonely way to be.

Now she lifted her eyes and caught Johanna’s limpid sympathetic gaze and felt her lips tighten. Johanna looked dreadful, of course, old before her time and quite devastated; everyone knew that and said as much to each other in hushed tones, sympathizing in her widowed state and her obvious grief, but sometimes Lee couldn’t help but wonder if, in a sense, Johanna didn’t glory in her situation. Jonty dead was all her own, unlike Jonty alive, for then she had to share him with any number of women. And how she had hated that, and how she had fussed and wept and fussed again, so that everyone in the family knew of it. But now, she fussed no more, going about in her black clothes looking dreadful and yet somehow contented in her sadness; and Lee took in a sharp little breath through her nose and castigated herself for being so uncharitable. Of course Johanna mourned her Jonty wholeheartedly and of course she wished to have him back, even if he had been so cruel to her and so busy about other women’s skirts. To think otherwise was to be very unkind indeed.

‘All right,’ she said impulsively, ‘I’ll come with you. Then we can talk about what this Benefit is to be and make plans. I could try to phone Letty from the Savoy, come to think of it, and perhaps go and see her this afternoon. Nanny is taking Stella to a friend for tea and then meeting Sally after school, and Michael’s playing rugger till six, and I can be home well before that, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t -’

‘Lovely!’ Johanna said. ‘And I’m not meeting Claudia till after she finishes at the showroom, which probably won’t be till after four. We have a cocktail party to go to at her future mother-in-law’s hotel. She’s in town for the weekend. Frightful woman, never stops talking about her war work with the evacuees - as though we didn’t all do as much as we could - but there it is - Claudia wants me to go. So go I shall,
but let’s see if we can get some lunch at the Savoy. What do you say? It would be such a treat - ’

‘If we can get a table,’ Lee said. ‘It’s getting impossible to get anything these days - I swear it’s worse now than it was when the War was on - but by all means, let’s try. How is Claudia? Is it a good match? Is she happy?’

‘It’s a lovely match,’ Johanna said warmly, as they made their way down the stairs. ‘He’s a dear chap, and
very
eligible, from an old family. His place is in Norfolk and his father’s made a very good thing of farming the estate all through the years, so Edward’s come home to something worth while, not like some poor ex-officers. They’ve got a few thousand acres up there and Claudia says his father’s been quite clever with money, so it’s nice to know she’s all right. With Jolly so set on medicine and no intention at all, as far as I can tell, of ever trying to make any fortunes, it’s good to know I needn’t worry about darling Claudia.’