I went back into the sitting room. Rosie was on a mission and she wanted to go off to Lincoln’s Inn Fields straight away with her bag containing its piece of envelope.
‘What’s the hurry?’ I asked. ‘It takes hours for the stuff to move in that gel anyway.’
‘Not with the machine in my lab,’ said Rosie. ‘I can get results much quicker than Marina could. The whole thing would take me less than an hour.’
I knew that Rosie was desperate to do something that, in her eyes, would compensate for what she saw as her failure to keep Marina from harm and I wasn’t going to stop her. I was also interested to know if there was DNA on the envelope and if it matched our previous sample. It wouldn’t, however, give us the answer to the puzzle.
‘Do whatever you like,’ I said. ‘I’m going to change and then I’m going back to the hospital. I’ll call the Superintendent after I’ve gone and tell him to collect the card from reception. I don’t want to spend another age being interviewed.’
‘I don’t mind going with Rosie to her lab,’ said Charles. ‘We’ll come on to the hospital after.’
‘And I’ll go with Sid,’ said Jenny.
I left the car in the garage and we took two taxis. It was a long time since I’d been in a taxi alone with Jenny.
‘Just like old times,’ I said.
‘I was thinking the same. Funny old world.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Here I am, going with you to see the woman who’s taken my place and I am desperate that she should be all right.’
‘Are you?’ I asked.
‘Of course. I liked her last Sunday. You two go well together.’
I looked out as we passed Big Ben and absentmindedly checked my watch.
‘I do want you to be happy, you know,’ she said. ‘I know we’re divorced but it doesn’t mean I don’t care for you. I just couldn’t live with you. And…’ She tailed off.
‘Yes?’ I said. ‘And what?’
She didn’t answer. I didn’t press her. I really was glad she was here and I didn’t want to have a scene.
We arrived at the entrance to St Thomas’s and I started to get out of the cab.
Jenny put her hand on my arm, the real one. ‘I’m not sure how to put this,’ she said. ‘And obviously it’s not the reason I want her to get better but,’ she paused, ‘Marina… takes away my guilt.’
I sat back in the seat and looked at her. My dear Jenny. The girl I had once loved and ached for. The girl I thought I knew.
‘Are you getting out, guv’nor?’ asked the driver, breaking the trance.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
Jenny and I climbed out of the taxi, paid, and went into the hospital.
Dr Osborne in Casualty had said that the first three hours would be critical, but he had said that over four hours ago and Marina had survived so far. Every passing minute must surely improve her chances.
When we arrived at Intensive Care, Jenny said she would wait on the same chairs outside by the lifts, and read. I noticed that she had borrowed a book from my flat. I was surprised to see that it was an autobiography by a leading steeplechase trainer, someone I had ridden for regularly, and someone Jenny and I used to argue about.
I put on the regulation blue uniform and went in to be met by the police guard that had belatedly appeared in the unit. Yes, a nurse agreed, she could vouch for Mr Halley; he’s Miss Meer’s fiance. Pass, friend.
Marina looked the same as when I’d left her.
I sat down as before and held her hand. It seemed natural to talk to her so I did, albeit softly.
I told her about all sorts of things. I told her about leaving my car on the pavement and how the bomb squad had been called out to check it. I told her that Charles had come up to London and how he had arrived with Jenny. I told her about Rosie and that she might be staying the night but not to worry because Charles would be there too as a chaperon. I didn’t tell her about the card and its violent message. I was pretty sure that she couldn’t hear me but I didn’t want to distress her, just in case.
‘And do you know,’ I said to her, ‘Jenny says you take away her guilt. Her guilt for leaving me. Now there’s a shock, I can tell you. I’ve never thought she felt guilty for a moment. The irony is that I had felt guilty, too, because I hadn’t given up riding when she wanted me to.’
I stroked her arm and sat there for a while in silence. For all its intensiveness, the Intensive Care Unit was a calm, quiet place with subdued lighting and almost no noise. Just the hum of the ventilator pump and the slight hiss of escaping air.
‘But I don’t feel guilty any more,’ I said.
‘Guilty about what?’ said a voice.
I jumped. Mr Pandita, the surgeon, had entered the cubicle silently behind me.
‘For God’s sake,’ I said, ‘you nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘There are worse places to have one,’ he smiled. ‘I have a friend who had a heart attack at a hotel where hundreds of cardiac surgeons were having a convention. They almost fought over him as he toppled off a bar stool.’
‘Lucky him.’ I nodded at Marina. ‘How’s she doing?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I think I would refer to her condition now as serious but stable. It’s no longer critical. I do believe your girl is going to live.’
I could feel the welling in my eyes, I could sense the tightening at the bridge of my nose and the pressure in my jaw. I cried the tears of relief, the tears of joy.
‘Provided we can bring her out of the unconsciousness safely tomorrow then she should make a complete recovery. But we’ll keep her sedated for the night just to be on the safe side.’
‘What time in the morning?’ I asked.
‘We’ll stop giving her the sedative in the drip around seven. We’ll remove the ventilator, and then we’ll see. Everyone is different but, if I was a betting man,’ he smiled again, ‘I’d say she should be awake by noon at the latest. That is, of course, if her brain wasn’t starved of oxygen, but I think that’s unlikely. There were no reports that she had stopped breathing at any time.’
‘Should I stay here the night?’ I asked.
‘You’re welcome to if you want,’ he said, ‘but it’s not necessary. She’s over the danger time. There shouldn’t be much change overnight and we can always call you if there is. The best thing you can do is to go home and get a good night’s sleep and be here for her tomorrow. She won’t be feeling too well, I’m afraid. The sedative tends to make patients feel rather sick.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ I said.
‘Actually I’m a mister.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘Off the street?’ I smiled at him.
‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘It stems from the time when surgeons were all barbers. They were the only people with sharp enough blades. Can you imagine? “A quick shave, sir, and I’ll whip out your appendix on the side.” In those days, doctors saw it as a failure to have to cut open their patients, and most surgery proved fatal. It was the option of last hope. So surgeons weren’t doctors and they were called mister. And it’s stuck. Now you progress from being a mister to a doctor and then finally back to a mister.’
‘For jockeys, mister means an amateur.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m an amateur.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I think not. You saved her life.’
He waved a hand. ‘All in a day’s work. Bye now.’
He moved on. There were probably others more needful of his skills.
I waved at the silent policeman as I went back out to Jenny. I thought it would be too soon for Charles and Rosie to be there but they appeared out of the lift at the same moment as I came through the door.
‘Great news,’ I said. ‘The official bulletin is now that Marina is no longer critical and she is expected to make a full recovery.’
