at all in establishing where the infection had come from. There had to be another linking factor.
As soon as he got back, Steven requested that the kitchen put together a variation on a picnic hamper which would supply dinner for two people, complete with a couple of bottles of decent wine. If Caroline didn’t feel like going out to dinner — and it was odds on that she wouldn’t after yet another ten-hour shift at St Jude’s — dinner would come to her. He arranged to pick it up from the desk when he left just after ten, but in the meantime he went upstairs to see if any more information had come in from Sci-Med.
The first message contained the lab report on Victor Spicer’s blood sample. It had contained a high level of antibodies to the new filovirus, indicating that he had recently been infected with the strain. Steven let out a grunt of satisfaction: it was good to see loose ends tied up, and now there was no doubt that Spicer had been the cause of the Manchester outbreak.
More information about Humphrey Barclay’s medical condition had come. He had suffered from rheumatic fever as a child and this had resulted in a weak pulmonary heart valve in later years. His condition had worsened over the last two years, leading to the need for surgery, which had taken place in March this year. The operation was successful and, until he contracted the filovirus, Barclay had enjoyed better health than he had done for many years.
‘Just like Sister Mary Xavier,’ murmured Steven. ‘You have successful heart surgery, you feel like a new person, and suddenly you’re dead.’ Matilda Spicer had not been specific about the type of surgery Victor had undergone, and Steven didn’t feel like contacting her again in the circumstances. He did remember, however, the name of the hospital, so he asked Sci-Med to make contact and request details.
He was getting ready to leave for St Jude’s when medical details on Frank McDougal came through. Steven scanned the screen with a frisson of anticipation and found what he was looking for. McDougal, too, had suffered from a heart problem. He had been diagnosed in December 1999 as suffering from age-associated degeneration of the aortic heart valve. Surgery had been performed to correct the fault in April this year and had been successful, so much so that McDougal had taken up hill-walking and had already bagged fourteen Munros (Scottish mountains over three thousand feet) during the summer.
‘Jesus wept,’ muttered Steven. He didn’t pretend to understand what was going on, but the elation at making a connection between the wildcards was more than welcome and long overdue. Four wildcards, four heart problems, four operations, this was too much of a coincidence to be one at all.
Caroline looked more tired than ever when she emerged from the changing room with Kate Lineham. She was losing weight, thought Steven; hollows were appearing in her cheeks.
Kate was trying to persuade her to take the following day off. ‘Do something else,’ she advised. ‘It doesn’t matter what, just anything else for a change.’
‘I’ll be here. I haven’t seen you taking the day off.’
‘I’m more used to this sort of work than you.’
‘No one is used to this sort of work,’ retorted Caroline, holding her gaze for a long moment.
‘You have a point,’ conceded Kate, ‘but there’s no sense in making yourself ill.’ She turned to Steven and said, ‘I’m off. See that this one gets to bed early.’
Caroline had had to leave her car at home that morning because it had refused to start, so Steven drove her back. ‘Rough day?’ he asked, although the answer was plain in her face.
‘The worst. You know, I’m beginning to wonder what the point is. We’ve had only three people show signs of recovery since I started down at St Jude’s. All the rest have died. All we do is wipe up blood and vomit and urine and shit… all day, every day, over and over again
… And then they die.’
Steven glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that tears were running down her cheeks although she was not sobbing and her face was impassive.
‘Kate’s right. You need some time off,’ he said gently.
‘No way,’ she said resolutely. ‘Not until we get some more volunteer nurses down there.’
‘Are you sure you’re not doing this out of some misplaced sense of guilt?’ said Steven as kindly as he could.
‘Maybe at the beginning,’ she agreed, without protest and to Steven’s surprise, ‘but not any more.’
‘Then why?’
‘You know, I think it’s simply because I hope someone might do the same for me if I ever need it,’ said Caroline. ‘That’s the best reason I’ve been able to come up with.’
‘I think you do yourself an injustice,’ said Steven. ‘But I won’t embarrass you by suggesting that you’re an exceptional human being, I’ll just feed you dinner.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘I am.’
They completed the journey in silence. Caroline leaned her head on the headrest and closed her eyes.
The food the hotel had provided was plentiful if, of necessity, cold. Since both of them were hungry but not particularly interested in food, it didn’t matter.
‘You haven’t said anything about your day,’ said Caroline as they sat in front of the fire nursing the last of the first bottle of wine.
Steven told her what he had discovered.
‘Heart surgery?’ she exclaimed. ‘What on earth can that have to do with the virus?’
‘I know it’s bizarre,’ agreed Steven, ‘but it’s also a fact and I think it’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.’
Caroline still looked doubtful. ‘Now, if they had all had surgery in the same hospital at the same time, I might have to agree that there was something fishy but they didn’t and even the timescale is all wrong. They had their surgery many months ago. The virus has an incubation time of around seven to ten days, so what exactly are you suggesting?’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Steven. ‘I think I need to talk to a surgeon so I can get some feel for what’s going on.’
‘In the meantime, maybe we can open that other bottle of wine?’
‘Water of Lethe coming up.’
After a while, Caroline slipped off her chair and sat on the carpet in front of the fire at Steven’s feet. She rested her head on his knee. ‘How long till Christmas?’ she asked. ‘I’ve lost track.’
‘Ten days,’ he said. The question made him think of Jenny. It seemed unlikely that he would be with her. He would have to speak to Sue and find out how she was going to take it.
‘Where will you spend it?’ asked Caroline, as if reading his mind.
‘Here, I should think. You?’
‘St Jude’s,’ she said quietly, ‘piling up bodies for collection. Wonder how God will square that one.’
He stroked her hair gently and she made an appreciative sound. ‘God, it seems such a long time since anyone did that,’ she murmured.
The wine and the heat of the fire conspired to bring her eyelids together and it wasn’t long before she fell fast asleep. Steven slid slowly sideways to stand up. He picked her up and took her upstairs to her bedroom, where he removed her shoes and loosened her clothing before putting her to bed and tucking the covers in around her. The central heating had switched itself off and the room was chilly.
Caroline stirred sleepily and without opening her eyes said, ‘Are you putting me to bed, by any chance?’
‘I promised Kate Lineham I would,’ whispered Steven, and he clicked out the light.
He’d had too much to drink to consider driving back to the hotel, so he settled down on the couch in the living room. He awoke some four hours later with a crick in his neck. Rubbing it vigorously, he padded over to the window, opened a curtain, and cleared a patch in the condensation. He could see by the light from the street lamps that large flakes of snow were falling, laying a carpet of white over street and garden. He shivered and looked at his watch: it was 4 a.m. Not the best time of day to feel optimistic, but something about the way the snow was silently covering the city invited parallels with the virus and nurtured thoughts about the nature of good and evil.
‘You must be cold,’ said Caroline behind him. ‘I didn’t put out any blankets for you.’
Steven turned and saw her standing in the doorway. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘Too many bad dreams. I need coffee. You?’
