Body Line (30 page)

‘He told you he was a consultant?’

‘No, he didn’t actually say so. But when we met later and I said I was on plastics, he said that was his specialty, and we talked about it, and it was obvious that he really knew his stuff. He told me about his training, and it was sort of implied he was still a consultant.’

‘So you didn’t ask him where he was working?’

‘Not then. We had plenty of other things to talk about. I just assumed he was still at the hospital where he trained.’ Again the sharp look. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but he wasn’t trying to con me. Later, when it got serious between us, he told me all about it.’

‘All about—?’

‘About that woman. Mrs Lescroit.’ She took a fortifying sip of tea, and went on, staring past them out of the French windows into the sunny garden. ‘We’d been seeing each other about a year, not very regularly, but whenever he could manage it. He didn’t come often to Cloisterwood, and when he did, I didn’t usually see him, except at a distance. When we met it was always away from there. Nurses aren’t supposed to go out with doctors so we had to keep it secret. It suited me, anyway. The other girls would have made my life hell if they knew anything was going on between me and him. Anyway, this particular time, we’d been away for the weekend – the first time we’d done that. We came here, as it happens,’ she said, with the closest she’d come yet to a smile.

‘To Southwold?’

She nodded. ‘Got a room at The Swan. I thought it was lovely – I’d have expected Brighton. But David always liked quality. We had a lovely time. It was June, and the weather was perfect. The sea was a bit cold but I didn’t mind that. We had lovely meals, and long walks. We talked and talked – he told me all about his childhood, and how happy he’d been, and how wonderful his parents were. He didn’t come from a rich home, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘I think that was one of the things that made a bond between us, that our backgrounds were so similar. We both got where we were though our own efforts, not because we had money or knew people. Anyway, that weekend was just wonderful, and then on Sunday morning when we were lying in bed he said he had something he must tell me.’ Her expression wavered, remembering the moment.

‘You thought it was something alarming?’

‘I thought he was going to tell me he was married, to be truthful,’ she said. ‘I’m ashamed now to remember I thought that, because he was always straight with me. The things he didn’t tell me to start with didn’t affect me, you see. But now he said he was falling in love with me, and he wanted to get everything out in the open. And he told me about that woman accusing him of messing with her.’ She looked at them, first Atherton, then Slider, a direct and clear look. ‘He didn’t do it, you know. It was all a mistake. The woman was confused, sedated and muzzy. I’ve seen people in that state, coming out of anaesthetics. They have images in their brains and in the half-conscious state they think they’re real. David said he didn’t do it and I believed him. But if it had gone any further it would have ruined him, even if he
was
proved innocent. People always remember. They say “there’s no smoke without fire”, and things like that. So the way it went was the best he could hope for. She dropped the charges in exchange for a big payout, and Sir Bernard pulled various strings so David wasn’t struck off. But he couldn’t practise any more.’

‘Yes, we were told about that. He wasn’t allowed to work with patients.’

‘That’s right. Well, Sir Bernard – or I think it was only Mr Webber then – got him a medical PR job.’

‘And that’s what he was doing when you met him?’

‘That’s what I thought,’ she said, and looked unhappily at her hands. ‘I wish it had been, because everything would have been all right, if only he’d stuck with that. But I didn’t know anything about it then. And soon after that weekend things started to fall apart and I had my own problems to think about.’

‘Tell me what happened,’ Slider said.

She drank some more tea, and went on: ‘After David told me about the trouble he’d been in – well, I loved him more than ever, if you want to know. It seemed to me he’d been the real victim, and that he’d behaved the best of everyone. He was so relieved that I’d taken it all right. When he told me, he said, “I suppose you won’t want to see me any more.” When I told him how I felt, he hugged me so hard I thought he’d break something. For a couple of weeks we were very close, and I had a feeling he was going to ask me to marry him. And then it all blew up at work. I was called before the disciplinary committee for stealing drugs.’

‘Surely not!’ Slider said, and it wasn’t just lip-service. He couldn’t imagine this plain, transparent woman doing anything like that.

‘Of course not,’ she said bitterly. ‘They found some of the drugs in my locker on a random search.
I
didn’t put them there, but I could never prove it. Those lockers were child’s play to break into. Either someone was trying to save their own skin by framing me, or someone wanted rid of
me
specifically – though I’ve no idea who. I wasn’t really friendly with anyone but I didn’t think I had any enemies, either. Well, I protested my innocence, but it didn’t do me any good. I was sacked. But Sir Bernard intervened and said he wasn’t satisfied that I really was the culprit. He said I still had to go, but nothing would be put on my record, and he’d get me another job. As long as no other evidence against me came up, he wouldn’t tell. And he recommended I sever links with everyone at Cloisterwood. Well, that wasn’t hard to do. I never really liked any of them. And one of them at least obviously had it in for me.’

‘Did you ever find out who the culprit was?’

‘No. I can’t even guess. It could have been anyone. But anyway, that’s how I left the Cloisterwood – and I wasn’t
all
that sorry, if truth be told, because it was really the reconstructive side of plastics I was interested in, and at Cloisterwood it was all rhinoplasty and breast enhancement and ear tucks, silly rich women fiddling about with their bodies because they’d got nothing better to think about. It made me sick. You should make the best of what God gave you, in my opinion.’

‘So where did you go?’ Atherton asked.

‘I went home to my mum at first, while I waited to hear about the new job. It was a dreadful time. I was miserable and angry – there’s nothing worse than being accused of something you haven’t done. I didn’t hear anything from Sir Bernard for ages, and as time went on I started to think he’d just been blowing smoke. But I suppose it wasn’t all that easy to arrange, and he was a busy man. Anyway, bless him, he came through in the end, and I got an appointment for an interview at the Norwich and Norfolk. My mum was upset I was going so far away. She said I should turn it down and find my own way, because the job wasn’t even in plastics. But it was a very good job – in intensive care, which was the next best thing – and I didn’t want to start again at the bottom doing agency work. And anyway, if I’d gone solo, how was I going to explain why I’d left Cloisterwood? No, I was pretty much bound to Sir Bernard – and grateful to him as well, I promise you. So I went to the interview, and I got the job.’

‘And what about David Rogers?’ Atherton asked.

She gave him a rather bitter look. ‘You would ask that. It wasn’t a good time for me. I was in a terrible state, and it was only after about a week that I realized he hadn’t rung me. I hadn’t told him I was going home to my mum’s, but he had my mobile number. That was how he always called me. Anyway, I got it into my head that he’d heard about what had happened, and he’d cut me off.’

‘Didn’t you try to call him?’ Slider asked.

‘I was angry and upset. I felt he ought to call me. I wasn’t going to chase after him if he had doubts about me. I’d sided with him over his scandal, and he ought to do the same with me. So I didn’t ring. And then when he kept not calling, it became a matter of pride. I thought “if that’s how little he trusts me, to hell with him”. So I went to Norwich and I thought that was that.’

‘But obviously it wasn’t,’ Slider prompted.

‘No,’ she said quietly, looking at her hands. ‘I should have trusted him. One day – it would have been about eight months later – I came off duty and there he was, waiting for me outside. He’d tracked me down. It was a bit of a stiff meeting at first, with hurt feelings on both sides. It turns out
he
thought I didn’t want to speak to
him
. He’d rung me at home – I mean, my flat – a couple of times and got no answer, and he knew I’d left Cloisterwood, so he assumed I was cutting him off and let it go. But then he heard somehow or other that I was at the Norwich, and decided to see if I still felt anything for him. So we started seeing each other again. He could only manage about once a week, because of his job – and the occasional weekend – but we were so happy when we were together. Then the following year – that was in ’06 – he asked me to marry him. And that’s when he told me about his real job.’

Slider felt such a surge of relief that they’d come to it at last, he almost fell off the chair. But such was his self control he was even able to say, ‘Yes please,’ when she asked if he’d like another cup. Atherton refused, and though he sat quite still, Slider knew him well enough to know that mentally he was chewing his fingernails.

When the second cups had been poured, she said, ‘Where had I got to?’

‘David asked you to marry him.’

‘Oh, yes.’ She looked away again, into the past. ‘I got off at two one day, and he took me for tea in the Assembly House. Then we went for a walk along the river. It was March, a cold day, with a nasty wind, but I never noticed it. We walked arm in arm and huddled up together, and to me it was as good as being on the beach in Spain in June. We found a bench in a sheltered spot and sat down. And he said he wanted to marry me.’ She sighed unconsciously. ‘I’d have said yes there and then, but he said that before I answered, he had to tell me some things. He said his job was very demanding and took him away a lot, and that even when we were married I wouldn’t see much of him, maybe no more than I saw of him now. So I said what
was
his job, because it didn’t seem to me that being in PR for a drugs firm was
that
demanding. And he said he hadn’t been in the PR job for a long time. Just about the time we first met he’d started something else. He said it was secret and very important work, and he couldn’t tell me more than that, because it might be dangerous, and he didn’t want me involved. I said couldn’t he trust me, if he wanted to marry me? And he said
I
had to trust
him
, because he’d never do anything to put me in danger.’

‘Secret, important and dangerous,’ Slider said, with an inward groan. ‘What did
you
think it was?’

‘Well, I couldn’t imagine, and we argued back and forth a bit, but he was adamant he wouldn’t tell me about it, and in the end I had to trust him, because I knew he’d never do anything wrong, and if I was going to marry him – well, I had to, didn’t I? I had the feeling that he was in the secret service, because he hinted there were foreign connections – and after all, what else is that secret? But he never would tell me, not from that day to this.’ Tears filled her eyes suddenly as she stubbed her mental toe on the fact that he was dead, something that had subsided in her mind while she talked to them. But she blinked the tears back hard, and got out a handkerchief and blew her nose with a determined honk. Slider was impressed by her self-control. There was more to this ordinary woman than met the eye.

‘So you got married?’ Slider prompted.

‘In May, at the register office. He’d bought this house already and had it done up, and in September when my notice at the Norwich and Norfolk was up, we moved into it. And that first day he gave me the deeds, and said he’d had it made over to me, as my wedding present, so that whatever happened I’d have somewhere to live.’

‘Whatever happened?’ Slider queried. ‘He was worried, then?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Actually, I don’t think he
was
worried then. He said the job could be dangerous, but I don’t think he really thought about that side of it. He seemed to be enjoying it. He was happy whenever I saw him. High-spirited, even. Sometimes he was tired, but he never seemed to be bothered by his job. He always said it was wonderful to be home, and he complained he wished he could see more of me, but that was the only thing he complained about. Until about a year ago.’

‘And what changed then?’ Slider asked.

‘Well,’ she said, considering. ‘I suppose looking back it might have been coming on for a while before that, but it was about a year ago I really started to notice it. He was quieter, thoughtful, as if he had something on his mind that was worrying him. Sometimes he’d arrive and he’d hardly have a thing to say. He’d sit staring at nothing for ages, or he’d go for a long walk on his own. If I tackled him about it he’d say nothing was wrong and try to snap out of it, but I knew. And then he started talking about what would happen if he died. He said he was having his will made up, to make sure I got everything. He brought a copy of it down one day and told me to keep it safe. That would be about last July. But it was only for about the last month or six weeks that he’s been really worried.’