Chameleon (3 page)

'And where exactly do I fit in?' asked Jamieson tentatively.

'You are a surgeon, you can tell good practice from bad. You have also spent enough time in Microbiology labs to be familiar with their side of things. We would like you, if you decide to join us, to go up there and take a good look at the situation. Try to find out where the problem lies and if possible sort it out.'

'My presence will be resented,' said Jamieson.

'Indeed it will,' agreed Armour. 'What people see as outside interference is never welcome in any profession, perhaps least of all in ours.'

Jamieson nodded and asked, 'What if they should refuse to co-operate?'

'They can't,' said Macmillan. 'You will have the full authorisation of Her Majesty's government to make any enquiry you wish. We would prefer you not to stand on too many toes but on the other hand when it comes to playing silly buggers with peoples' lives personal dignity comes second.'

'I see.'

'You can have until tomorrow lunch-time to decide whether you want to join us or not,' said Macmillan. 'We must know by then.'

'If it's not a rude question ...' began Jamieson tentatively.

'You'll be paid a salary equivalent to that of a senior registrar,' said Macmillan.

'Time won't be necessary,' said Jamieson firmly. 'I've already decided. You can count me in.'

'Excellent,' said Macmillan. He got up and shook Jamieson's hand. Armour and Foreman did the same. 'Miss Roberts will give you details on the way out. The sooner you get started the sooner this business will be cleared up.'

'I'll travel up tomorrow if that's all right,' said Jamieson.

'You had better take this,' said Macmillan handing Jamieson the file on Kerr Memorial that lay in front of him. 'You will find information on the senior staff in here. It's as well to know something about the place before you arrive.'

Jamieson left the room and gave Miss Roberts the information necessary for her to complete the paper work for his appointment. She, in turn, provided him with documents of authorisation and two credit cards. A booklet on allowable expenses was included. He was asked if it would be convenient to have his photograph taken and undergo a routine medical examination that same afternoon. Jamieson said that it would. He had nothing else to do that day so he would have some lunch and come straight back.

Jamieson left the building feeling good for the first time in a long time. He had found himself a real job, not just a place on a refresher or retraining course but a real job and what was more, it sounded interesting. He phoned Sue from the first call box he came to and told her the news.

'That's marvellous,' said Sue. 'What is it exactly?'

'I'll tell you when I get home but it's something useful and I feel good about it.'

'I can hear that,' laughed Sue. 'When do you start?'

'Tomorrow.'

'That was quick!'

'... In Leeds.'

'Leeds!' exclaimed Sue with dismay in her voice. Does this mean we have to move to...'

'No it doesn't,' interrupted Jamieson. 'We stay where we are but if the job works out I may find myself away from home quite a bit. We can talk about it when I get back.'

'What time will you be home?'

'Early evening.'

'Bring some wine in with you,' said Sue.

It started to rain as Jamieson drove back along the A2 towards Canterbury. By the time he had passed through the town and was travelling along the lanes flanked by fruit farms he could tell from the heaviness of the sky that there was a lot more to come.

Water streamed down the windows of the cottage as Sue served up dinner and Jamieson told her about his job.

'Sounds like you are going to be some kind of medical detective,' said Sue.

'Not really. I think it's more a case of an outsider being able to see something that people who are too involved might miss.'

'The wood for the trees,' said Sue.

'That sort of thing.'

'More wine?'

'I have to work,' said Jamieson.

'On our last evening together?'

'I have to read through some papers about the hospital. I'm sorry but it is important ...'

Sue smiled at Jamieson’s discomfort and kissed him on the forehead. 'Go on with you then,' she said. 'I'll clear up.'

Jamieson took the file he had brought home upstairs to the small room he used as a study and turned on the desk lamp. The desk was directly beneath the window and he watched the rain beat against it briefly before adjusting the angle of the lamp and starting to work his way through the papers. He left the main light off, preferring instead to use the circular pool of light from the desk lamp as an island of concentration.

Two hours later, Jamieson felt satisfied that he had assimilated all the information necessary to give him a head start at the Kerr Memorial. He had familiarised himself with the names and backgrounds of half a dozen of the senior staff at the hospital and how they related to each other in the hierarchy of hospital life. He flipped the folder shut and leaned back in his chair to stretch up his arms into the darkness outside the scope of the lamp.

Sue came into the room and came up behind him to wrap her arms around his shoulders and rest her cheek against the top of his head.

'We have some unfinished business,' she said.

'We have?'

'This morning ...’

They paused on the landing outside the study door and Sue said, 'Ssh! Listen!' They listened together to the sound of the rain on the roof and of the larger drops falling from the branches of the willow tree outside. 'I love this place,' said Sue. Jamieson kissed her hair and said, 'I know, so do I. I'd like us to grow old here. I'd like to sit out there on a summer's evening watching my grandchildren playing round a house that stood here a hundred years before Bonnie Prince Charlie marched south.'

'Who's a sentimental old softy then?' said Sue.

'Me,' said Jamieson. 'Until tomorrow.'

Sue turned her face up to Jamieson and said softly, 'At least I've got you until then.' She pulled his mouth down on to hers.

Jamieson was up first in the morning. He was in the bath when he heard Sue get up and go downstairs. The sounds from the radio drifted upstairs as he towelled himself dry and looked out to see that it was still raining. He cursed softly at the thought of having to travel north on a wet motorway with spray from heavy lorries obscuring his vision. He looked up at the sky in both directions, hoping to find a break in the clouds, but found none. With a grimace, he padded back to the bedroom to begin dressing.

Jamieson came downstairs wearing a dark blue suit and adjusting his tie as if it were too tight. 'Do I look like a detective?' he asked.

'No, you look like a doctor.'

'Is that bad?'

Sue smiled and said, 'No, that is just fine.'

'Maybe I should wear a dirty raincoat and scratch my head a lot?'

'The nurses would probably give you a bath,' said Sue.

'All right,' conceded Jamieson.

'There was a murder in Leeds last night.'

'Not at Kerr Memorial I hope.'

'A prostitute in the city. It was on the radio.'

'Not the safest of professions.'

'I'll bear that in mind in case you don't take to your new job.'

Jamieson smiled and Sue said, 'You are nervous. I can tell.'

'A bit,' confessed Jamieson. 'I'll be glad when today is over and I've made a start.'

'I can understand that,' said Sue. 'You will call me this evening?'

'Of course,' said Jamieson. 'With a bit of luck this really shouldn't take too long.'

'This bug that's causing all the problems up there, what exactly is it?' asked Sue.

'It's called, Pseudomonas. It's a fairly common bug that likes to live anywhere where there's moisture. You often find it in flower vases and the like in hospitals but it becomes a problem when it gets in to open wounds and sets up an infection because it's difficult to treat. This one seems particularly bad.'

'It must be an absolute nightmare to go into hospital for something fairly simple and catch something much worse while you're there,' said Sue.

Jamieson nodded and said, 'It can happen all too easily and it's the sort of thing that erodes public confidence. That's why the Ministry are eager to see an end to it.' Jamieson picked up his bag and put his free arm round Sue. 'I'll call you tonight,' he said.

'Take care,' said Sue.

TWO

Gordon Thomas Thelwell was a product of his upbringing. Whatever capacity for human care and concern he had started out life with had been distilled out of him by a public school obsessed with self discipline and a lifetime's unquestioning adherence to upper-middle class notions of respectability and correct behaviour. His thin lips rarely smiled and, on the odd occasions when they did, bestowed on him the uneasy look of a man performing an unnatural act. When he spoke, his voice followed a level monotone as sombre as the suits he favoured. The starched rigidity of his shirt collars seemed to have been specifically designed to afford him the maximum of discomfort, always an essential element in the dress favoured by lay preachers.

Although eloquent enough when passing on the views of others, be they medical when instructing junior doctors or religious when reading the Sunday lesson, unscripted communication with his fellows had always been a bit of a problem for Thelwell. Small talk was uncharted territory. Humour lay in the province of the vulgar. Anger was displayed by a slight clipping of the vowels when he spoke and he had a penchant for biting sarcasm that showed scant regard for the sensibilities of others. Satisfaction on the other hand would be indicated by a cursory nod and a momentary puckering of the lips. In short, G.T. Thelwell was not going to win any popularity contest among the staff at Kerr Memorial Hospital but he was respected as a competent if unapproachable consultant surgeon and a pillar of the local community.

The fact that Thelwell was the father of two girls was the subject of some disrespectful comment among the more junior nurses at the hospital who could not, or preferred not to, imagine the cold, wooden Thelwell ever relaxing enough to make love to anyone. Those who knew his wife, Marion, recognised that she was the exact female counterpart of Thelwell himself but whereas Thelwell seldom smiled Marion wore a permanent dutiful smile of the kind adopted by royalty when opening biscuit factories and having to greet the entire production staff.

Marion, when not dealing with the day to day problems of 'Les girls' as she habitually referred to her daughters, immersed herself in charity work. Her particular interests being dumb animals and under-privileged children although lately she had taken to organising fund raising ventures associated with the buying of new equipment for the hospital. As chairperson of the Friends of Kerr Memorial, she had recently handed over two new incubator units to the hospital in a small ceremony reported in the local paper. A print of the photograph accompanying the article had been framed and now stood on her dressing table.

Like her husband, Marion Thelwell saw humour and passion as the enemy of duty. In another age she and her husband might well have found their true niche in India or some other far flung corner of empire where Thelwell would have been an authoritarian district commissioner and Marion would have played her full and supporting role in whipping the natives into order.

The alarm went off in the Thelwell’s bedroom at seven and Marion rose first as she always did to wrap her gown loosely about her before going to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. On the way back she checked that the girls were awake before returning to the bedroom to open the curtains. 'Oh dear,' she tutted. 'More rain.'

'Really,' replied her husband automatically.

'Do you have much on today dear?'

'Two exploratories and a hysterectomy and that damned man is coming up from the ministry.'

'Man, dear?'

'Some interfering busybody from the Department of Health is coming up from London to 'take a look at our problem' as they put it.

'I'm sure they're only trying to help, dear. Do you think you will be back by four?'

'Seems unlikely. I am informed by our illustrious medical superintendent that I must humour this nosey parker, give him every office, to use his words. Thelwell's voice was heavy with vitriol. 'Why do you ask?'

'I have a committee meeting at four. I wondered whether I should ask Mrs Rivers to look after the girls.'

'It would be as well. I'll call you later when I've dealt with Mr Nosey Parker.'

'Aren't you being a bit hard on this man?' asked Marion Thelwell. 'Surely the sooner this infection business is cleared up the better for everyone?'

Thelwell gave his wife a look that suggested she was questioning Holy writ and said, 'It's not a man from London we need at Kerr Memorial, Marion, it's a competent Microbiology department. If we had a laboratory that could do its job properly and find the source of this damned bug we wouldn't need outside interference. I thought you understood that?'

'Yes dear.'

'Good Morning Daddy.' A girl of eleven came into the room, her face pink from washing.

'Good morning Nicola.'

'Good morning Daddy.' A second girl, slightly taller than her sister but with the same scrubbed complexion came into the room and stood beside Nicola.

'Good morning Patricia.'

The ritual over, both girls were ushered out by their mother leaving G.T. Thelwell to rise and face the day.

'There was a murder in the city last night,' said Marion as she served Thelwell's breakfast of two boiled eggs. (Three minutes, fifteen seconds.) 'A prostitute.'

Thelwell gave a quiet grunt of disapproval as he looked around for the salt cellar. His exaggerated movement alerted Marion to the problem and she handed it to him. 'Considering the lives they lead, I'm surprised there aren't many more,' he said. He sliced the top of his first egg with a decisive sweep of his knife.

John Richardson, consultant bacteriologist at Kerr Memorial yawned and scratched at the stubble on his chin. He grimaced as he saw the rain outside and murmured, 'Ye gods, another day nearer the grave.'