who’s behind it. He’s doing some more checking and will let us know. Probably talking to MI5,’ she said with a smirk.
‘Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.’
Kate got up and switched on the table lamp next to Alex. ‘How about that large scotch?’
‘That would be very nice.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I wonder when this is all going to end? It’s getting–’
The phone rang, interrupting him.
‘Not yet, by the sound of it,’ said Kate. ‘You get this one.’
Alex got up and went to the phone.
‘Alex.’ It was a woman’s voice, but he could hardly hear her.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to speak up a bit.’
‘Alex. It’s Vicky.’ Her voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper. ‘Since you dropped me off, I’ve been feeling awfully sick. My temperature is sky-high, and I keep getting dizzy. I’m a little scared.’
He could hear her laboured breathing.
‘I think I should see a doctor – quickly. Could you help me – please?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He exchanged a concerned glance with Kate. ‘Hang on, Vicky – I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He hung up. ‘That was Vicky. She’s very sick. I’m going to get her to a hospital.’
He headed for the door.
‘Hold on,’ Kate called after him. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Thirty minutes later they picked Vicky up and were on the way to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Other hospitals were closer, but the Radcliffe, on the eastern side of the city, at Headington, was considered the best and most advanced medical facility in their part of the country.
Huddled in a tartan blanket in the back seat, her head on Kate’s lap, Vicky looked gaunt and drained of colour. Her cold hand trembled uncontrollably as she gripped Kate’s feebly. It all indicated much more seriousness than Kate wanted to believe.
On arrival at the hospital, an efficient triage nurse immediately directed them into one of the emergency room cubicles where they eased Vicky on to a bed. Kate held Vicky’s hand while the nurse asked Vicky a series of questions. But Vicky was too out of it to be of much help.
Soon the doctor staffing the emergency room arrived. ‘I’m Dr Hunter,’ she said. She and the nurse talked briefly in lowered voices then, putting a blood pressure cuff on Vicky’s arm, she started her examination. When she was finished, she pulled the curtain partway around the cubicle and led Kate and Alex over to the nurses’ station. The doctor had a tight-lipped look. It suggested a gravity that unnerved Kate.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw that the nurse had picked up the red phone on the wall and was talking to somebody.
‘We’re taking her up to intensive care,’ Dr Hunter announced abruptly.
‘What do you think it is?’ Kate asked.
‘Looks like a nasty virus of some kind – we’ll know more when we’ve taken some tests.’
The nurse handed Alex a printed sheet. ‘Would you complete this, please, Mr Sheppard? You can leave it with the admissions desk at the front entrance. Don’t forget to fill in your address and a phone number where we can reach you, if need be. Thanks.’
Kate turned to Dr Hunter. ‘When should we call to find out how Vicky’s doing?’
‘Wait till tomorrow morning.’ She smiled, briefly. ‘I’m sure we’ll have some information by then,’ she added, turning away to talk with the nurse again.
In a matter of moments, the hydraulic doors opened with barely a sound as a trolley appeared guided by a muscular young man in blue hospital garb. The nurse pulled aside the curtain to Vicky’s cubicle and, with help from the orderly, slid Vicky on to the trolley.
Kate stole a glance at Alex who was on the opposite side of the trolley with his hand resting on Vicky’s shoulder. He looked heartbroken. Together they gave Vicky one last look. Her skin was colourless and waxen, her usually sparkling eyes vacant and resigned. To both of them, Vicky had always been a paragon of robust country life – to see her like this, like a total stranger, was alarming. Kate let go of Vicky’s hand to allow the trolley to pass through the door. As she did so, Vicky looked directly into her eyes. Kate desperately wanted to lean over and throw her arms around her, to hug and reassure her, but it was too late for that. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling to stifle the tears that could come any moment. Just as the double doors were about to close, Vicky managed the faintest smile. Then she was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Blue thou art, intensely blue!Flower! whence came thy dazzling hue?When I opened first mine eye,Upward glancing at the sky,Straightway from the firmamentWas the sapphire brilliance sent.
James Montgomery
The sandy gravel crunched under Kate’s bedroom slippers as she wandered aimlessly along the paths of the Parsonage garden. A wool cardigan over her cotton nightgown kept the early morning chill at bay. Even the quiet and beauty of her beloved garden could not ease her aching grief. The numbing reality had finally set in. She would never see Vicky again.
Early in the morning, three days after Vicky was admitted to the hospital, the phone had woken them. Kate had somehow known it would be the hospital. She and Alex had been calling frequently, inquiring about Vicky’s condition, only to learn that there was no improvement. If anything it was worsening.
The physician who had called that morning to inform them of Vicky’s death, a Dr Simon Maclean, had more or less confirmed what they already expected, that Vicky’s death was attributable to an unknown virus. He said that when the pathology tests were complete – within the next twenty-four hours – he hoped to be able to provide a more accurate cause of death. He thanked Kate for putting them in touch with Vicky’s father, saying that the hospital had contacted him and that he was on his way down from Scotland.
Soft shadows were starting to melt in and out as the watery sunlight rose over the east wall. She inhaled deeply and looked dolefully about her. Her eyes were still red from crying. On her right, haughty spires of back-lit foxgloves swayed ever so gently. She touched one lightly as she passed. She looked up and wiped her eyes for the hundredth time. Above her, rambling roses showered blossoms, like sea foam, out of trees. At the periphery of her vision she caught a darting flash of blue. A kingfisher, perhaps. She came to a black wrought-iron bench and sat down. Staring forlornly into space, she let go and allowed the images of Vicky to project on her mind. They were powerfully real.
Vicky’s death had overshadowed everything. The funeral service, in her home town of Aberdeen, had been simple and brief. Kate finally got to meet Alex’s favourite Aunt Nell, who had accompanied them on the train. Vicky’s nursery partner, Jill, also made the long trip. Sitting on the hard pew in the little stone church, clutching Alex’s hand, Kate had somehow managed to suppress visions of Vicky and the tears that were so near the surface. Those would come later.
Kate got up, crossed her hands in front of her, grasping her forearms and rubbing them for warmth. She ambled up the path and set her mind to focus on more hopeful thoughts, thoughts of their new home and garden, of her deepening love for Alex. Over the last several days, she’d seen yet another side of him; the caring manner in which he had responded to Vicky’s plight, his calm and selflessness in shouldering the ensuing responsibilities. They’d never shared bereavement before. She was so thankful to have someone with his level-headedness and compassion to help her through it.
Then there was The Parsonage and, of course, the question of the blue rose and the enormity of wealth that might – or now, with Graham’s recent bombshell, might not – be coming their way. Over the last several days she had finally been able to overcome her initial panic at the idea of losing The Parsonage. Despite his own distrust and contempt for Graham, Alex had managed finally to persuade her to disregard Graham’s callous threat. The paragraph proposing the compromise was quite specific – perfectly clear – Alex maintained. The Cookes were prepared to overlook voiding the transaction on the house as long as she and Alex agreed to turn over the
