‘The book with the gold writing along the spine, is that Hebrew? I’ve seen some like it in Whitechapel. What does it say?’ I wanted to prove I was no bigot. So I ploughed into the topic with interest.
‘That book is a Russian medical text, Mrs Lancaster.’
‘The name Robert doesn’t sound very Russian.’ Or Jewish, I thought.
‘The V in my nameplate stands for Vasily, but seeing as I didn’t want to be beaten to death at boarding school, I changed it to Robert.’
‘Why Robert?’
‘Robert the Bruce. I couldn’t quite bring myself to take the name of an Englishman, so I made do with him. Do you know, I think, yes I’m sure, you are the first person to ever ask me about that. Are you always this inquisitive?’
‘Yes! My grandmother used to find it unbearable. As a small child I would ask her “Why? Why? Why?” about everything. I could never simply accept things as they were. She said it drove her insane.’
‘I can imagine. You’ve been carrying heavy loads with one arm, correct?’
‘My grandmother used my arm to keep herself steady when we walked.’
‘You are aware you stoop to one side?’
‘Yes, because of her very short stature.’
‘Do you still walk her?’
‘No, she’s dead,’ I said, and laughed, my second inappropriate reaction so far. This elicited a puzzled flash of his brown eyes, so I explained further. ‘That’s how I was able to become a nurse. If she were still alive, I would still be rotting in Reading, stooped to one side, bored. She died after a fever. It was quite unexpected. Although she was ill for years, the doctor thought she would outlive us all.’ It was mostly the truth.
‘You should correct your posture; it will give you back problems later.’
He glanced at my bonnet, a signal that the consultation was over. He looked at it again and then back at me, as if willing it onto my head.
‘Is there something else, Mrs Lancaster? I’m not known for my scintillating conversation and I charge by the hour, so for your husband’s benefit, you might want to come to the point.’
This was it. I told him about Mabel. He professed not to know who she was, but he was lying – every man noticed Mabel. I explained about the officer, the bruises, the baby, the manager of the shop and his violent wife – a little too theatrically, perhaps, for he seemed bored, and what I described sounded more like a Punch and Judy show. He didn’t react at all. I had no sense if this was going well or if, when I finished, he would shout at me.
‘What made you come to me about this? You know what you are asking for is illegal,’ he said finally.
I had no answer. What could I say? That my husband had told me he had a weakness for whores and abortions?
‘I saw you at Itchy Park and you seemed a man of compassion. I thought it worth the risk of asking.’ In my panic, I pitched straight for flattery. He said nothing. ‘What will you do? Throw me out, refuse to see me as a patient? It seems a small price compared to what Mabel must pay. If not you, then someone else might say yes. I will keep asking.’
‘For God’s sake, Mrs Lancaster! If you walk up and down Harley Street asking doctors to perform illegal operations, what do you think will happen? You have put us both in a dangerous position, and for what? A noble urge to occupy a bored housewife? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. Now, please, take that hat off my desk.’
He began to write notes, ignoring me. I refused to move or pick up my bonnet. I dug my fingers into the underside of my chair and shut my eyes. After what seemed like an age he coughed and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, his nostrils flared.
‘So that we’re clear, Mrs Lancaster,’ he said, pointing at me with his pen, ‘I undertake charitable medical cases, along with a group of my peers: skin diseases, deformities, birth defects, infectious diseases. That’s why I was in your churchyard. I was there for charity, yes, but that was secondary to the scientific opportunity those people – unfortunately for them – represent. I’m not Jesus, Mrs Lancaster, despite being Jewish. I am a scientist. You should understand how scientists think – you married one.’
He stood up and began pacing up and down behind his desk, while I still sat lodged in the chair, gripping my seat.
‘I can’t just leave her,’ I said.
‘Yes, you can. You can do exactly that.’
‘I have an obligation.’
‘Please, Mrs Lancaster, spare me the Christian obsession with saving people from themselves. It’s nothing more than a narcissistic attempt to inflate the ego in the absence of any real purpose.’
That made me angry. I stood up. ‘Do not patronise me, sir. I’m not talking about God – I think he’s made it perfectly clear he’s not remotely concerned. I’m talking about offering someone a chance to rescue themselves. Didn’t you talk about miserable mothers giving birth to miserable children in poverty? Well, here’s one asking for help, ready to make a hard decision, live with the consequences and take responsibility, which is more than the father will ever have to do. Where should such a woman go, Dr Shivershev? Please do not say to Itchy Park. Would you help if you found her there?’
He stood
