That’s what it’s for.’
‘You suffered from anything in the past?’
‘No.’
‘It’s possible for me to find a trace, if you have.’
‘I haven’t,’ insisted Jordan.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Have you got any discharge? Irritation? Rashes? Need to pass water frequently?’
‘No. No symptoms, if those are the symptoms.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive,’ sighed Jordan, again. Why the hell had Lesley Corbin picked this man?
‘When’s the last time you had a full medical examination?’
‘I’ve never had a full medical examination.’
‘Who’s your regular doctor, from whom I can obtain your records and case notes. I’ll need you to sign the authority for me to ask for them, of course.’
‘I don’t have a regular doctor.’
The white-haired head came up again. ‘What do you do if you are ill?’
‘I’m never ill. If I were I’d go to a hospital.’ To have a regular doctor meant records being created and invisible men didn’t have records.
‘This is for court purposes?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll need to give you a full medical, as well as giving you the specific examination that’s been asked for. I can’t do one without the other.’
‘Why don’t you do that and get it over with?’ demanded Jordan, impatiently.
Jordan later decided he wouldn’t have agreed so readily if he’d known it was going to take almost three hours. He had to supply five phials for all the necessary blood tests and two for urine examination, as well as a faeces sample. There were two sets of chest and lower body X-rays and his blood pressure and rate was tested not just by an arm cuff but on a treadmill meter. His lung capacity was measured by his blowing into an asthma tube and his vision to the very bottom line of the alphabet chart. Although a prostrate assessment was ticked on one of the blood test cards the doctor also insisted upon a rubber gloved anal examination, which was a great deal more uncomfortable than with the later, narrower colostomy probe. The final forty-five minutes was a verbal exchange to discover any illnesses or complaints Jordan could have conceivably suffered during his remembered childhood up to that day, whether or not it had required doctor or hospital consultation, followed by a determined effort by Preston to complete a medical history of Jordan’s parents.
At the end the doctor said, ‘I think you’re the only person I’ve ever examined who never suffered a single childhood illness, nor has needed any medical advice since.’
‘I guess I’ve been lucky.’
‘And you’re sure you can’t remember a single illness from which your parents suffered?’
‘Seems I’ve inherited their healthy genes.’
‘What were the causes of their deaths?’
‘They died together in a car crash,’ said Jordan, which was a lie. His father had died first, of cancer, and his Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother of pneumonia but Jordan was bored and impatient to end the pointless encounter.
‘You’re responsible for payment, I assume?’
‘Wrongly,’ said Jordan, who’d anticipated the approach. ‘Your secretary will have the name and address of the lawyer who booked this if it’s not on the note you’ve got there. Send your account to her, along with the results.’
Preston was on the internal phone before Jordan finished speaking, his face clouding at the confirmation of what Jordan had told him. The doctor said, ‘Solicitors are very dilatory in settling their accounts. Will you please tell Ms Corbin that I expect payment within the period stipulated upon my invoice?’
‘Of course,’ said Jordan, without any intention of doing so. ‘You didn’t tell me how my examination went?’
‘I have obviously to wait for all the tests results but there’s every indication of your being remarkably fit: nothing obviously wrong at all.’
Apart from you knowing – and a record now existing – of every physical detail about me, thought Jordan.
The irritating medical examination, for which he’d allowed only an hour, completely disrupted Jordan’s schedule, leaving him with only thirty minutes to keep the afternoon appointment with the photographer. In the taxi taking him there Jordan decided to abandon until the following morning the intended visit to Hans Crescent to check for any further correspondence in his Paul Maculloch name; he was anxious to begin at once his money- manipulating casino tour.
Jordan had booked for passport photographs, waiting until he got to the studio to add three larger prints and agreed at once to the obviously increase fee, interested only in getting the picture session over as quickly as possible. He was back in the Marylebone apartment by six and out, showered, changed and with?20,000 from the bedroom closet safe to begin the chips-for-cash receipt switch by eight. For an hour he played poker at the high stakes table of one of his favourite gambling clubs in Brook Street, Mayfair, before quitting ?2,300 ahead to move to the roulette room. There he moved between three tables, increasing his winnings by another?7,000 before dropping?6,000 in an unstoppable consistent slide. By the time it did stop he was down to his poker profit. It took him another hour playing blackjack to take his winnings up a further?1,500. He cashed in and got his tax receipt for winnings of?24,500. Throughout Jordan remained constantly alert but failed to isolate anyone paying any particular attention or interest in him.
Jordan hesitated for a moment as he left the club, turning to the doorman for a taxi, but abruptly deciding, without any reason, to walk into Park Lane. When he reached Park Street the darkened interior of the last car in the parking line at the corner was briefly illuminated in the headlight beam of an approaching taxi, perfectly enabling Jordan to see a man he remembered at every table at which he’d played that night.
Nine
‘B eing followed!’ Lesley Corbin frowned but smiled very slightly as well. The combination made her nose wrinkle.
‘I believe so,’ said Jordan, discomfited by her doubting expression.
‘When, how, did you come to believe that?’
‘Three nights ago. I’d been gambling, in Mayfair. When I came out of the club I saw a man, waiting in his car. He’d been in every room in which I’d played, during the evening.’
‘Watching you?’
‘I hadn’t been aware inside. I only recognized him outside, in the car.’
‘What else?’
‘That’s it,’ said Jordan, further discomfited by the emptiness of what he was saying. He had abandoned the intention to go to Hans Crescent and that night returned to the same Mayfair club, where he’d lost almost?5,000. He didn’t see the man in the club or isolate anyone waiting in a car when he’d left to take the same route to Park Lane for a taxi.
The woman wasn’t frowning any more but the smile was hovering. ‘You haven’t thought you’ve been followed since?’
‘I haven’t been aware of it,’ qualified Jordan. ‘They watched me pretty effectively in France without my suspecting it, don’t forget. Do you think they’ve begun some sort of surveillance here?’
Lesley humped her shoulders. ‘They could have, although I would have thought they’ve already got all they need for their case as far as the adultery is concerned.’
‘So I’m becoming paranoid?’
