In his heart Avedissian had known that, from the type and position of the tumour, standard pain medication would not have been much use but he had been reluctant to say so to the couple. Once again the woman had read the truth in his eyes and had said, 'I really don't want my son to suffer.'
Avedissian had remained silent.
The woman had taken her husband's hand in her lap and said with plain meaning, 'Anything you can do… would be appreciated.'
Michael Fielding had died peacefully in his sleep two days later. His parents were at his bedside at the end and Avedissian had been on hand to comfort them. It seemed to all present that God's will had been done, but Sister Veronica Ashwood had disagreed. In her book, and her book was the Bible, God's will had certainly not been done. Murder had been done and she had noticed the dose that Avedissian had administered.
The trial had been a strange affair of medical fact and religious cant. Never had Avedissian been more convinced of Marshall McLuhan's assertion that moral indignation was a strategy for endowing the idiot with dignity. Any questioning of the rightness of letting a child suffer prolonged agony before certain death had been countered by a barrage of mysteries and miracles and the ways of the Lord being strange. The outcome had been inevitable but Avedissian had known that all along. The Lilliputians won the day and, having smitten Avedissian the Arrogant, they had gone on to set about the child's parents.
Two people who had loved their child so much that they had been unable to see him suffer unnecessary agony had been pilloried in the newspapers. Teams of ferrets on expense accounts had been let loose to dig up tales of miraculous recoveries after medical opinion had pronounced matters hopeless. They had been mainly instances of remission from carcinoma, a well-known feature of certain cancers, but this had not been mentioned. Did these callous parents now regret their action? was what the Daily Rag had wanted to know. Perhaps they had been led astray by an evil doctor?
To their eternal credit the couple had not gone for the easy way out. They had refused to blame Avedissian and had maintained a dignified silence throughout. They had been put through hell, but what had that mattered when compared to the Daily Rag's circulation figures and the right of the Rag's reader to feel superior over sandwiches in his tea-break?
A calm night gave way to a misty summer morning, with the air so still that Avedissian was conscious of the sound of his own breathing as he prepared to move off with the group. The sun rose to burn off the mist by eleven o'clock and baked the barren Welsh landscape as they made their way up the unshaded side of a valley to pause for breath at the top.
As they lay in the rough bracken Avedissian became aware of a distant beating sound. He recognised it as the sound of a helicopter's rotor-blade and searched the sky with his hand to his forehead against the glare. He spotted the yellow rescue craft down at the other end of the valley and watched it traverse from side to side in a search pattern.
'Lost climbers?' suggested someone.
‘They would have to be really lost to end up in this valley,’ observed Jarvis.
Avedissian took his point for there was no reason for climbers to be anywhere near this spot. There was nothing worth climbing in the area. It was just an endless, rolling wasteland.
As they all watched it the helicopter released three flares, two green and a red. The captain got to his feet and said, They're looking for us.' He said something to the sergeant who responded by rummaging in his pack and bringing out a Verey pistol. A single red flare was loosed into the sky and the helicopter stopped its meandering, leaned heavily over to starboard and came towards them.
It descended to twenty feet above them but did not land for fear of ditches and boulders. Instead a crewman was lowered on a line and the captain approached him in a crouching run. A brief conversation was conducted through cupped hands and ended with the captain coming towards Avedissian. They want you back at Llangern,' he said.
Avedissian pointed to Jarvis and asked above the noise, 'Him too?'
'Just you,’ replied the captain.
There was very little time for goodbyes. Avedissian shook hands with Paul Jarvis and Jarvis said that he was sure that they would be meeting again soon. The whirring blades insisted that Avedissian run towards the crewman and accept the sling that was offered to him. The crewman checked that it was properly positioned then signalled to the winchman above them.
Avedissian and the crewman revolved slowly like a dance-hall globe as they left the ground. Avedissian tried to look down but his clothing had bunched up, obscuring his view, and it was not until he was inside the winch bay that he could turn round and look back to the ground. He raised his arm in farewell and saw the gesture returned from the ground as they gained height and altered course.
As the helicopter skimmed over the hills and valleys Avedissian warmed to the idea that his time in the wilderness was apparently over. Thoughts of a hot bath and a good meal took precedence over why he was wanted back at Llangern. He relaxed and watched the countryside roll past the open bay then, as he put his hand to his face, he felt the rough beard that he had acquired and smiled as a distant voice from his past said, ‘Disgusting.’
The tarmac at the front of Llangern House felt ridiculously civilised to Avedissian as he walked towards the house. It was so incredibly easy to walk on after the stamina-sapping rough ground of the past week. He was met by the major who was waiting at the door. 'You are leaving us, Avedissian,’ he said. Avedissian's questions were met with a raise of the hand and the reply, 'No idea, old chap. All I know is that you're to be picked up at seven this evening. Time for a bit of a wash and some food, eh?'
Avedissian resigned himself to another wait and had started to climb the stairs to his room when the major called after him. 'Oh, and by the way, old chap. Keep the moustache. Lose the beard.'
That the day was warm did not detract from the pleasure Avedissian took in having a hot bath. He soaped himself repeatedly then made waves in the tub with his knees to clear the suds from his chest. He removed his beard with a fresh razor and brushed his hair into order.
As he looked at himself in the mirror and smoothed down his unaccustomed moustache between thumb and forefinger Avedissian had to admit that he looked an awful lot better for his time at Llangern. The flab had gone from his middle and the muscles on his shoulders and chest looked firm and hard. His hair was a bit on the long side but it only served to make him look younger. He felt better inside too. Total abstinence from alcohol and freedom from the cares of civilisation had cleared his head. He felt alert and capable and ready to serve Queen and Country in whatever role they required. He just wished that they would tell him soon.
After a meal that was over-indulgent in terms of quantity if not quality Avedissian was handed a pile of newspapers to read as he relaxed. It was his first contact with the outside world since he had come to Llangern.
The lead story in many concerned the success of the British Forces in Northern Ireland in an action which had resulted in the death of Kevin O'Donnell, a leading IRA figure. Another high-ranking terrorist was believed to have been seriously wounded in the same action. There was speculation as to whether or not the death of O'Donnell might lead to a new wave of violence as O'Donnell was widely believed to have been the moderating influence on the IRA’s war council.
There was speculation that interest rates might have to rise after a new run on the pound, which had sunk to an all-time low against a basket of European currencies. Entry to the European Monetary System was advocated as a possible measure for the future.
The failure of one of the royals to turn up for a charity function was commented on in one of the tabloids and speculation about health or pregnancy was raised.
A dismal performance by the England cricket team had the sports pages demanding a change in the captaincy.
Avedissian yawned and put the papers down. He checked his watch and saw that there was still two hours to go. The major came to tell him that his 'things' were now in his room so he went to investigate. Sure enough his clothes from home had been brought to Llangern and, what was more, they had all been laundered and pressed. Avedissian dressed in a plain blue shirt, dark red tie and dark grey suit and was ready to face the world.
At a quarter to seven Avedissian was taken down to the road by Land-Rover and sat chatting to the driver
