take your shirt off. There. Not hurting the arm?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm.’ The doctor started probing and tapping. ‘Let’s have a look at your throat. Open. There. Tongue down. No, down. Yes. Is your throat at all sore?’
‘A bit. Sort of foul taste in my mouth.’
‘Yes. Hm. That’s strange. You haven’t been in contact with German measles recently?’
‘Not to my knowledge, no.’
‘No. Hmmm. Because, on a cursory examination, I would say that is what you’ve got. There’s a slight rash on your chest, hardly visible. The temperature and the sore throat are consistent.
‘Oh. Well, what should I do about it?’
‘Nothing much. It’s not very serious. If you’re feeling bad, stay in bed. It’ll clear up in a couple of days. You don’t have to rush back to work, do you?’
‘No, they’ve reorganised the shooting schedule.’
‘Oh.’ Doctor Lefeuvre obviously didn’t understand what that meant, but equally obviously it didn’t interest him much either. ‘Look, I’ll prescribe some penicillin.’ He scribbled on his pad. ‘You’d better check with Battle Hospital, tell them you’re going to take it. Just in case they want to put you on something else.’
‘Fine.’
‘Good. Oh. I’d better just have your address and National Health Number for the records.’ Charles gave them, digging the number out of a 1972 diary which was so full of useful information he’d never managed to get rid of it.
‘Right.’ Doctor Lefeuvre gathered his things together and prepared to leave.
‘So there’s nothing special I should do? Just rest?’
‘Yes. You’ll feel better in a couple of days. The rest won’t do the arm any harm either.’
‘OK.’
‘Oh, there is one thing of course with German measles.’
‘Yes.’
‘You mustn’t be in contact with anyone who’s expecting a baby. If a woman gets German measles while she’s pregnant, it can have very bad effects on the unborn child.’
Charles dressed with Juliet’s help (he didn’t like staying in bed alone) and rang Jacqui as soon as the doctor had left. He didn’t mention the ‘accident’ at Bloomwater because it would only upset her. In fact, she sounded particularly cheerful; it was the first morning she had woken up with no trace of sickness, and was cheered at the thought of entering the ‘blooming’ phase of pregnancy. No, nothing disturbing had happened. Nobody had rung. She was quite happy in her little prison.
Charles felt fairly confident of her safety for the time being. Though the shooting on the film set, if it wasn’t accidental implied that Nigel Steen knew of his involvement, he still might not have realised the direct connection with Jacqui, and certainly was no nearer getting the Hereford Road address. But she would have to be moved soon. Charles determined to ring Frances and ask her to take the girl in. It would be a strange coupling, but Frances wouldn’t refuse. He explained to Jacqui about the German measles.
‘Oh no, for God’s sake keep away from me,’ she said. ‘The child is born blind or something terrible.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay away.’
‘How long are you infectious?’
‘I should be better in two or three days. But I don’t know how long the quarantine period is. It’s probably just as well I haven’t been near you for the last week. Don’t worry though. I won’t come back till I’m quite clear of it. I’ll ring Doctor Lefeuvre and check.’
‘Who?’
‘Doctor Lefeuvre.’
‘Australian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good God.’
‘Why. Do you know him?’
‘Yes. He was the one who did my abortion in the summer.’
‘What? But it wasn’t a legal one, was it?’
‘No. Marius got Nigel to fix it up.’
‘Was Lefeuvre the family doctor?’
‘I suppose so. Marius didn’t talk about doctors. He kept saying he was never ill.’
‘So it was probably Lefeuvre who was called in when Marius died.’
‘Yes, it was. He was at the inquest.’
‘He was? Jacqui, for Christ’s sake. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I didn’t think it was important. Is it?’
‘Jesus! But there was no time to explain. And no point in worrying her. ‘Jacqui, just sit tight. Don’t worry about anything.’ He slammed the phone down. ‘Juliet, can I have your car keys? I’ve got to go up to London immediately.’
Juliet emerged dazed from the kitchen area. ‘But you can’t take the Cortina. Miles’ll be furious.’
‘I haven’t got time to worry about Miles. Give me the keys.’
‘Juliet was amazed by the sudden force of his personality and held out the keys, as if hypnotised. ‘But, Daddy, you can’t drive with that arm.’
‘I bloody can.’
XVI
Being back in London was a disappointment. The mad drive up the M4 with pain like barbed hooks turning in his arm had all been for nothing. He had screeched to a halt in the residents’ parking bay in an unimpressed Hereford Road, let himself in, banged on his own door and, keeping his distance, ordered Jacqui to go off to the pictures for the afternoon. Then he’d driven round to the surgery of Drs Singh and Gupta, with whom he was registered, only to find that both were out on their rounds. He rushed to St Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, and, after the hours of waiting that are statutory in hospitals, finally persuaded a callow houseman to examine him and pronounce him clear of German measles. It was evident from the young man’s circumspect excitement that he thought he’d got his first genuine schizophrenic hypochondriac. Charles ended up with a clean bill of health and a parking ticket.
As he sat in his drab room in Hereford Road, it all seemed a bit futile. The dark fears of the morning had subsided into childish fantasies. He felt he should be watching the road from behind the curtains, waiting for the badmen to arrive at High Noon, while in the background a voice intoned ‘Do not forsake me, o my darling’. But since his windows faced the back of the house, it was impossible. And in the familiar banality of his room thoughts of approaching badmen seemed ridiculous. He just felt tired and ill again. The excitements of the day had put him back considerably. Pain throbbed in his arm with agonising regularity. He felt himself drifting asleep.
Suddenly the phone rang. Swedish feet in wooden sandals clumped down the stairs past his door, then up again, paused, knocked, said ‘Telephone’ and continued back to their room.
He went down and picked up the dangling receiver. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello. It’s Joanne Menzies.’
‘Oh. Hi.’
‘Charles, can we meet and talk? About Marius’ death.’
‘Yes, sure. Have you got anything new?’
‘Not really. But I’m just convinced there was something fishy going on.’
‘Yes. There are a lot of things that don’t fit. When do you want to meet? After work?’
‘I’m not at work.’
