Dead of Winter (49 page)

‘Don’t be an idiot, Andrew. You’ve found her – against the odds and still just about alive – there’s nothing more you can do for her now.’

‘I know; and as soon as I see her into the air ambulance I’ll leave. Are you going to call her parents?’

‘I didn’t want to until I had seen her alive with my own eyes. They’ve been through so much. If I tell them we’ve found her alive and then … then she dies on the way to hospital. It will be too little too late all over again, like everything else I’ve done on this sodding case.’ Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears.

‘You’ve done a good job and you know it, come on.’ He gave her a hug.

Bernstein sniffed and glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had noticed but all eyes were on the wrapped bundle at their feet.

‘Yeah, well. Why don’t you do it? You found her, after all.’

He shook his head and waited patiently until she had dialled
the Saxbys’ number at which point he walked away, unsure how he would react. He needed to be closer to the fire anyway; he was starting to shiver again.

The three women were seated in an almost perfect triangle around the remains of the fire, which glowed and fluttered occasionally into flame as the logs crumbled to ash and dust. A choir service from a cathedral somewhere was playing on the television, largely disregarded.

Alice had nodded off and lolled back in her armchair, mouth agape, snoring softly. Nightingale watched her with envy.

‘So he hasn’t rung, then?’

Nightingale shook her head in response for perhaps the fifth time since the children had been forced to bed with threats that if they didn’t Father Christmas wouldn’t be stopping at the Fenwick household.

‘You think he’s out in this, don’t you?’

Nightingale blinked and wondered how to answer. She hadn’t shared her fears with anyone but somehow his mother seemed to know.

‘It’s the sort of crazy thing he might do, yes.’ Brutal but honest; she thought his mother wouldn’t appreciate anything else.

‘That’s what I feared, just like his father. He will push himself to the limit for a good cause.’

Nightingale looked up, trying to catch her eye and encourage the conversation but Gertrude Fenwick was staring fixedly at the dwindling fire.

The silence extended. On the television screen a solo chorister was singing the second verse of ‘Away in a Manger’. They watched in silence until organ music announced the end of the recital.

‘Shall we try and call him again?’

The spoke at the same time and grimaced a smile at each other. Nightingale dialled and schooled herself to listen to the electronic response with indifference. Instead a female voice answered.

‘Yes?’

‘Who is this? I was trying to reach Andrew Fenwick; is he there, please?’

‘Who’s calling?’

‘Louise Nightingale.’ For some reason she didn’t give her rank.

‘Wait a moment.’

There was a rustle and then … his voice.

‘Andrew?’ Her throat was tight.

‘Nightingale? What are you doing calling me?’ His tone was strange, almost as if he were drunk.

‘I know; I … that is, we were worried for you. Are you all right?’

‘We’ve found her, Nightingale. I looked and she was there. The helicopter is going to take her away …’ His voice slurred into silence and she heard someone take the phone from him to say, ‘He’s obviously not really in a fit state to speak right now.’

‘What’s the matter with him?’

She sensed Gertrude stand up and reach out for the phone but she gripped it tight.

‘I repeat my question; who is calling?’

‘I’m a friend …’

‘Well, that’s not good enough for me to be speaking to you.’

‘Am I talking to Deidre Bernstein?’

‘How would you know my name?’

‘Andrew has mentioned you. Please tell me.’

There was a pause and before she knew it Fenwick’s mother had lifted the handset nimbly from her fingers.

‘This is Mrs Fenwick, Andrew’s mother,’ she said and Nightingale marvelled at the iron control of her voice. ‘I insist that I speak with my son or, if he is not capable, you tell me at once, young woman, what the matter with him is.’ She held the mobile at an angle so that Nightingale might listen.

‘I think he’s going to be all right,’ Bernstein said obediently. ‘He’s reasonably safe and warm and the doctor is taking a look at him right now …’

‘A doctor, what do you mean?’

‘He went out looking for Isabelle Mattias and he found her,
thank God. But he’s probably been in the cold a bit longer than is good for him.’

‘I see,’ Nightingale noticed that Gertrude’s jaw stiffened in the same way that her son’s did. ‘Well you make very sure that you keep him safe and send him home.’

‘Yes, Mrs Fenwick.’

‘And make sure he looks after himself. I’m relying on you to make certain he does.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, I’d wish you a happy Christmas but somehow that doesn’t seem right so I’ll just say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Mrs Fenwick.’

‘I think we can go to bed, Louise. Oh dear, there’s no point fussing yourself now that he’s safe now, is there?’

‘I know, it’s just that … hearing his voice, knowing he’s all right. I’m sorry …’ Nightingale was deeply embarrassed.

‘I think a nice cup of tea is in order. If you wake up Alice I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

‘Do you have a tissue by any chance?’

Fenwick’s mother raised a surprised eyebrow.

‘I have always found that tears dry best on their own, Louise.’

Nightingale stared after her; surely Mrs F wasn’t an Amy Winehouse fan?

‘Where are we going?’ Bess asked for perhaps the tenth time.

‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now sit still, you’re cramping Alice every time you wriggle.’

‘But, Nightingale!’

‘Enough, Bess; look at your brother and how he’s behaving himself,’ Gertrude Fenwick stepped in to support their driver who was managing with great skill some horrible road conditions as they drove towards Portsmouth.

Chris grinned but couldn’t help asking, ‘And we’ll open our presents when we get back, Nanny?’

‘Yes, Chrissy.’

‘And will Daddy be coming home with us?’

There was an uncomfortable silence in the car before Nightingale and Mrs Fenwick said in unison, ‘We’ll have to see. Just be patient.’

They had left Harlden immediately after a hurried breakfast of porridge, bundled up in winter clothes and with boots, a shovel and blankets in the car in case the bad weather came back. Bess had sighed dramatically and pointed to the pale-blue, clear sky as evidence that they were being stupid but no one paid her any attention.

After nearly five hours of difficult driving they pulled into the visitors’ car park of the Queen Alexandra Hospital in Portsmouth. Nightingale glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the children’s reaction. She and Mrs Fenwick had decided not to tell them in advance where they were heading, only that their father would be waiting at the end of the journey.

Chris looked scared and even Bess’s face went white. Gertrude Fenwick unclipped her seat belt and swivelled around in the front passenger seat.

‘So, children, we’re here to see your father. He is fine, don’t worry, but he was involved in the rescue of that young lass, Issie Mattias …’

‘Like on the radio this morning?’ Chris asked excitedly.

‘Yes; and the thing is that meant he had to be outside in the blizzard yesterday, so when he brought her here to this hospital, the doctors decided it would be sensible for him to stay in overnight.’

‘Why, Nanny?’

‘Because when you’ve been cold for a long time it’s wise to be checked out by a doctor, and your father agreed.’

‘Even though it’s Christmas?’ Bess asked sceptically.

‘Yes, Bess. Now put on your coat and we’ll go and see him.’

‘I tell you what,’ Nightingale suggested. ‘Alice, if you could lock the car I’ll go and find out where he is.’

‘Good idea, Louise,’ Gertrude Fenwick said, immediately understanding what Nightingale was thinking: she would be able to ask about her son’s condition in private without little ears around.

‘I’ll come with you.’ Bess was already opening her door.

‘No, Bess, you will stay with us … Don’t look like that, you heard me.’

Nightingale set off at once across the car park, glad yet again of her trusty rubber-soled boots. At reception she showed her warrant card and explained that Andrew Fenwick was a colleague.

‘Oh, our resident hero!’ the receptionist said. ‘He’s in Perry Ward, second floor.’

‘And how is he, please?’

The cheerful woman in front of her, who must have been missing her family at Christmas but didn’t show it, looked up over her
half-moon
glasses.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t know that, love. You need to ask the ward sister.’

Nightingale had a quick choice to make: run on ahead and find out or wait. She sprinted towards the lifts. On the second floor, she spotted the nurses’ station and walked briskly to it. Again the warrant card was flashed.

‘Please could you tell me where Superintendent Fenwick is and how he is … please?’

The senior nurse on duty was obviously less than pleased to be there, either that or something about Nightingale irritated her.

‘Are you family?’

‘No, I’m a colleague.’

‘Then I can’t tell you anything, with or without your warrant card.’

‘Please, I …’ Behind her she heard the lift doors open. It would be them. ‘Can you at least tell me that he’s all right?’

‘Not unless you’re family. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’

‘That may be, miss, but I am family and I’m asking you the same question. I’m his mother.’

‘Oh, ah …’

‘Well, go on. How is my son?’

‘He’s being X-rayed in preparation for his surgery on Boxing Day, Mrs Fenwick.’

‘Surgery?’

Gertrude Fenwick clutched Nightingale’s hand.

‘Yes, the consultant decided this morning when he did his early round that it will be necessary and your son agreed.’

‘Agreed what?’ Nightingale asked.

‘The amputation.’

Mrs Fenwick was gripping her hand so tight she could no longer feel it.

‘Go on.’ There was steel in Nightingale’s voice. ‘Of what?’

The nurse paused and in the silence the lift doors opened. A bed was wheeled past by an orderly.

‘Andrew!’

‘Mum? What are you …?’

‘You go with him, Gertrude, while I get the details,’ Nightingale said and turned back to the nurse, ‘now.’

A few minutes later she was walking down the ward towards Fenwick’s bed, a smile on her face.

‘His little finger,’ his mother said, ‘on his left hand and probably the top of the ring finger. Apparently the consultant thinks he should remove them to avoid the risk of gangrene. But it will be a small operation, and on his left hand so no real harm done.’

She turned and smiled at him and her son’s lips twitched but didn’t manage to shape a response. Fenwick looked washed out. No, worse than that, Nightingale thought. It’s as if he isn’t really here. He saw her over his mother’s shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise.

‘Nightingale; you’re here?’

‘She drove us,’ his mother said and before Fenwick could remark on the ‘us’, there was the sound of running feet and the bed was rushed by two children.

‘We just saw Father Christmas, Daddy! He’s here, at the hospital downstairs. He’s going to visit everybody.’ Chris made to jump on his father’s bed in his excitement but Nightingale stopped him, afraid of the impact of his solid little body on his injured father.

‘Father Christmas, hey? Well, that’s good. He must have finished delivering presents everywhere else.’ He tried a smile over Chris’s head at Bess in adult complicity but she looked away, close to tears.

‘He gave us both presents, Dad!’

Nightingale could see Fenwick struggling to concentrate and find an answer.

‘That’s nice, Chris, but Daddy needs to rest now.’

‘Why?’ Chris suddenly looked concerned. ‘Are you poorly, Daddy?’

‘No, not really Chris.’ But Fenwick’s eyes filled and he couldn’t speak.

Behind her Nightingale heard Bess stifle a sob and turned to take her hand.

‘Come on, Bess, we’re a crowd here. Let’s go for a little walk and leave the others to it. We’ll have our turn later.’

Bess allowed herself to be dragged away, head down. Immediately they were outside the ward she burst into tears. Nightingale found a waiting area and sat down.

‘Come here.’ She patted the chair beside her and Bess obeyed, resting her head against Nightingale’s shoulder.

She wept quietly for several minutes and Nightingale let her.

‘He’s very brave, you know, your daddy. He saved Issie’s life. And, all right, you could say that maybe somebody else would have done if he hadn’t but I don’t think that is the case. He’s in hospital because he was suffering from hypothermia yesterday. It’s normal to keep people in if they get too cold.’

‘And his hand?’

‘Ah, you noticed that. Well he suffered frostbite and will lose his little finger, but he won’t mind that.’

Bess’s sobs had subsided but intensified at the idea of her father’s hurt. After a moment she spoke again.

‘But he could have died, couldn’t he? I heard you last night with Nanny. You were worried.’

‘Yes, we were, but I had a feeling your father would be OK and all’s well that ends well.’

‘What about Issie, the girl he found? Is she all right?’

‘She’s here in this hospital. It’s the best centre for hypothermia and exposure treatment in the south of England. Your father’s bound to ask the same question, so why don’t we go and find out?’

Nightingale flashed her warrant card and was informed that Issie was in a specialist hypothermia recovery unit attached to intensive care. She was alive but unconscious and it would be a while before there could be a proper prognosis. The main thing was that she had withstood the transfer from Alfriston to the hospital with no
deterioration of condition and that made the specialists treating her a little more optimistic.

Nightingale and Bess took the lift to the ICU floor but were stopped by a security guard as soon as they stepped out. Nightingale explained that she was a detective who worked with Fenwick and that Bess was his daughter. They just wanted to find out how Issie was doing so that they could tell him. The guard turned away and whispered into his radio. A couple of minutes later Lord Saxby appeared. He looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, which Nightingale thought was probably the case.

‘I’m Bill Saxby, and you are?’

Nightingale introduced them both. Saxby squatted down and looked into Bess’s tear-stained face.

‘So you’re Andrew Fenwick’s daughter. You must be very proud of him.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Well you tell him that Issie is making progress. She had a quiet night and her body temperature is almost back to normal. Her doctors are keeping her in an artificial coma to give her a chance to recover more fully. In the next couple of days we’ll know what permanent damage has been done. Can you remember all of that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He stood up.

‘Where is the superintendent?’ he asked Nightingale.

‘Perry Ward, sir. He’ll be in for a few days. He has to have a small operation but then they’ll let him home, all being well.’

‘I see; well tell him I will pop down to see him later today. I want to thank him in person, as does Jane, though she won’t leave Issie’s side for the time being.’

‘I’ll let him know.’

Saxby shook both their hands and returned through the double doors to the ICU.

‘Come on, Bess, let’s go back. It’s your turn to see Daddy now.’

They rode the lift back down in silence. When they arrived at Fenwick’s bedside, Chris, Mrs Fenwick and Alice left to give them
some room. As soon as they had gone, Bess threw herself on her father’s bed and burst into fresh tears. He hugged her close and stroked her head with his good hand.

‘It’s all right, my love, don’t cry. Everything will be fine. I’ll be home soon and we can enjoy Christmas together.’

‘But I’m so sorry, Daddy. I was mean and selfish and spiteful and all the time you were looking for that girl and if you hadn’t she would be dead.’

Nightingale could barely hear the words muffled by Fenwick’s hospital gown. She sat down in the chair on the other side and looked at his poor hand. Without meaning to, she touched his wrist above the bandages and he turned to look at her. He stared at her for a long time, saying nothing as Bess sobbed quietly to a standstill. He gestured with his head for Nightingale to come closer and she leant over until her ear was close to his lips.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered, ‘for being there with them and for being here.’ And then he kissed her cheek and let his lips rest there.