ambulance, which was temporarily trapped behind a hay lorry.
‘Who is it?’ he begged a cameraman running in the other direction.
‘Campbell-Black’s daughter. Looks nasty.’
Catching up with the ambulance, Wolfie drummed his fists frenziedly on the back door until it opened a fraction.
‘You can’t come in,’ said an ambulance man, putting his head out.
‘I bloody can. What’s the matter with her?’
‘Are you a relative?’
‘Brother,’ gasped Wolfie.
Seeing his blond hair and normally ruddy face now as white as Tab’s, they allowed him in, then were slightly startled when he began gabbling away in German, beseeching Tab to live.
78
Wolfie was magnificent. He comforted and found cups of tea for his sobbing stepmother and, later, for a stunned, horrified Taggie. He conjured up a large whisky for Rupert and, by acting as mediator, defused the situation when Rupert’s explosions of rage looked like antagonizing the hospital staff.
He also remained icily calm when the specialist listed the terrible alternatives so he could translate the details — albeit watered down — to the others, who were too shocked to take them in.
Tab had been rushed into Intensive Care, where X-rays had mercifully ruled out a broken neck or a fractured skull. But they would have to watch out she didn’t develop a subdural oedema.
‘What the fuck’s that? Can’t you speak English?’
The specialist’s lips tightened. ‘A blood clot inside the cavity of the brain, Mr Campbell-Black. We’ll keep examining her pupils for signs of bleeding under the skull.’
‘And if you find them?’ Wolfie’s voice shook only slightly.
‘We’ll whizz her straight off to a neuro-surgeon and drill straight through the skull.’
Helen’s sobs redoubled.
‘She’ll be all right.’ Wolfie put an arm round her shoulders.
‘How d’you fucking know?’ snapped Rupert. ‘And how long before we find out?’
He had never seen anyone so pale. Against Tab’s face, the white sheets, spattered with blood from another nosebleed, seemed warm as ivory. Nothing could be more inert than her little hand, which lay in his as cold and as still as a pebble on the shore. Helen, snivelling gently, was holding the other hand. In the corner sat a motionless Taggie and a silent Xavier, who had insisted on coming but who looked absolutely frozen with shock. Rupert, pacing up and down outside, was the first to see Fanshawe and Debbie.
‘Whaddja want?’
‘How’s Mrs Lovell?’
‘Unconscious.’
Fanshawe steeled himself.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we’re treating her fall as attempted murder.’ Then, seeing the fury in Rupert’s face, ‘Her right-hand stirrup leather was cut through, probably with a penknife.’
‘And that happened in a place crawling with cops! Why the hell should anyone want to kill Tab?’
Fanshawe refrained from pointing out that Tab had achieved an all-time high in bloodiness over the last few days.
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, sir. Can you remember who was near her while she was mounting? Nicking the leather would have only taken a couple of seconds.’
‘Dizzy, my head groom, saddled the pony,’ said Rupert, ‘but she’s been with me for ever. She adores Tab. Also,’ Rupert screwed up his eyes, ‘Dizzy gave her a leg up so no weight would have been put on the leather. Grisel brought the saddle over. Grisel’s an old softie — she wouldn’t hurt Tab. There was that make-up poofter, Rene, and Simone, she’s a duck, and Rozzy, that drip who’s bats about Tristan. Isa, her bastard of a husband was there, Baby, Mikhail. Everyone, really.’
‘Lucy Latimer was holding the saddle when Tristan sacked her,’ said Debbie, ‘but she’s done a bunk, evidently searching for her dog.’
‘We gather Mrs Lovell was upset because someone put the wrong saddle on her pony,’ added Fanshawe, ‘and there was a long delay before Lady Griselda discovered the right one under the table in Wardrobe.’
‘Tab’s saddlecloth is a very distinctive blue and black check,’ said Rupert. ‘Everyone on the unit would have recognized it and known Tab would be wanting it later.’
‘So the murderer could have cut the leather much earlier.’
‘And will strike again. He’s tried to kill Tab before,’ snarled Rupert. ‘Why the hell haven’t you put a hundred men round this hospital?’
Tab was in a twilight of pain. Black clouds whirled before her eyes, then became smoky grey mist but, as if they were thick elasticated cobwebs, try as she might she couldn’t struggle through them. Ahead shone a blinding light. Perhaps she was dead and had reached the other side. To the right she could make out a shadowy angel with a clipboard, who was ticking people off as they disappeared into the light. Tab was frantic to go through too. ‘Gertrude,’ she croaked, ‘I must say I’m sorry to Gertrude.’
‘She’s not here at the moment.’ The angel consulted the clipboard. ‘And we’re not ready for you either. There are people on earth who need you.’
And Tab had groaned as the mists came down again.
But suddenly they were clearing again and she could see Wolfie sitting on a chair. He looked so sad, but try as she might she couldn’t call out to him. Not even when a little white dog with a black patch trotted into the room.
Gertrude, Gertrude! Again Tab tried to speak, but no words came out. After licking her hand, the little white dog trotted purposefully over to Wolfie, and nudged his knees until he bent down and picked her up. Having licked his face, which seemed to be glistening with tears, Gertrude curled up with a contented sigh on his knee.
Once again, Tab battled to speak, but the mists descended blacker than ever. Then they cleared and Gertrude had gone. It was the most enormous struggle but finally she managed to whisper, ‘Wolfie, I’m here.’
Next minute her hands were seized and Wolfie was gazing down at her, trying to stop more tears pouring out of his reddened eyes, even more unable to speak than she was.
‘Oh, Wolfie,’ she whispered, ‘Gertrude’s ghost came in and jumped on your knee. She was so happy to be there, I know she was telling me she’s forgiven me, and you’re the one, and everything’s going to be all right. Oh, Wolfie, you have got a halo. I love you so much.’ Her voice faded as she drifted off to sleep again.
Wolfie stumbled into the corridor where he found Rupert.
‘She came round.’
‘Thank Christ! Did she make sense?’
‘Not at all. She was gabbling on about Gertrude’s ghost. Then she said she loved me.’ His voice broke. ‘She must be delirious.’
Next moment, he had collapsed on the sofa, put his head in his hands and burst into agonizing sobs. ‘I’m so sorry to be a wimp, Rupert, but I thought she was going to die, and I love her so much.’
‘I know you do,’ said Rupert, in an unsteady voice. ‘But she’s going to be OK.’
Tab’s first question when she came round was ‘Why did you go to France?’
‘Because you told me to.’
‘And why have you been crying?’
‘I was worried.’ Then, steeling himself because he felt he must level with her, ‘Tristan backed off from you earlier in the summer because he’d been told by my father that there was bad blood in his family and he should
