Doctor Frigo (12 page)

I felt myself flushing.

‘Your annoyance, Doctor, is understandable, but bear with me for a moment. I would like to examine some possibilities. Dr Massot considers Villegas a hypochondriac. Do you?’

‘I think he’s the kind of man inclined to worry about his health. If you mean do I think him a malade imaginaire, no I don’t.’

‘Might he be one of those patients who can never wholly believe what they are told? Could he have been looking to you for a second opinion?’

‘How did they treat the condition in Mexico?’

‘They used an oral antibiotic and put him on something called a low residual diet. That’s what you would have done, too, I gather.’ He flicked through the file. ‘Do you want the name of the drug they gave him?’

‘It was ampicillin I expect. Do they say if it worked?’

‘Apparently yes. It had to be used, though, on three separate occasions.’

‘Three attacks in three years. Not bad. The first would be the worst – cramps, nausea, high temperature – but once it had been diagnosed there would be only minor discomfort because the antibiotic would be administered promptly in the early stages of an attack. As I said, this is a very common complaint. There’s nothing mysterious about it, Commandant. If the antibiotic used has been found to work well, with no side-effects, nobody in his senses would be looking for second opinions.’

‘Could he have been testing you?’

‘He did quite a lot of testing while I was there, referred to specific blood analyses which, as he probably guessed, we don’t normally carry out here to see if I understood their importance. He has a certain amount of superficial expertise. We get this occasionally, especially with patients who have been exposed to the American yearly check-up system. They tend to keep scores on themselves. But as for testing me with diverticulitis, I don’t believe it. The symptoms he described would obviously call for X-rays. The X-rays would show what the trouble was. There would be no test of my competence in that.’

‘Then we are left with the third explanation – that he wanted to establish a special relationship with you.’

I laughed. ‘By permitting me to diagnose and treat a condition he already knew he had.’

‘Why not? In that way he could express his gratitude to you, and you in turn could bask in his confidence. A charade perhaps, but an excellent foundation for mutual trust and esteem, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Excellent. Except that he changed his mind and dismissed me.’

‘We don’t know that he did.’

‘The message sent was clear enough.’

‘But Villegas didn’t send it. It came from your Uncle
Paco. What did you say to frighten him off, Doctor? Or don’t you know?’

I hesitated.

‘I would welcome the utmost frankness,’ he said. ‘In fact, Doctor, I insist on it.’

A long time seemed to elapse before I made up my mind. It can’t have been much more than twenty seconds, but after ten of them Commissaire Gillon began to tap his desk with a ballpoint pen. Delvert silenced him with a glance.

Finally I said: ‘I’m not sure whether I know or not. I think I may have offended Uncle Paco, yes. He was patronizing, treated me like a half-wit, so I responded in kind.’

‘How?’

‘I was a trifle impertinent, I suppose, and I reminded him that I wasn’t there to see him but Villegas. One thing he didn’t like at all was a reference I made to the Coraza Islands oil consortium. He assumed that I had been told about it by one of you two gentlemen. I don’t think he believed me when I denied it.’

‘And who
did
tell you about it?’ Gillon’s reaction was quite violent.

Delvert intervened smoothly. ‘I expect the Doctor heard some gossip at the Hotel Ajoupa.’ The look he gave me was faintly amused. ‘Wasn’t that it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What were the other things he didn’t like?’

‘I objected to being told for the second time in one hour that Villegas was in New York when my father was assassinated.’

‘Just that?’

‘I pointed out some inconsistencies between Villegas’ account and his own. Minor details, but he was obviously affronted, or pretended to be. I left then.’

‘And that was all?’

‘Yes, that was all.’ A spurt of exasperation with them made me go on. ‘Not much was it? After all, Commandant,
I could have pointed out that Villegas’ movements at the time were quite irrelevant. That is, if they were being offered as evidence, a defence against his possible involvement in the conspiracy.’

‘Then why didn’t you point that out?’

‘It hadn’t occurred to me then. You see, Villegas’ own account had been more circumstantial. Besides, what he had emphasized had been the political consequences of his absence – the Party’s failure to call a general strike. That made sense of a kind. Uncle Paco’s protestations didn’t.’ I paused and then decided to get it over with. ‘Any more than did Commissaire Gillon’s solemn information on the same subject.’

I expected another violent reaction. None came. He merely glanced with raised eyebrows at Delvert, who nodded.

‘That information, Doctor,’ Gillon said heavily, ‘was given to you at Segura’s express request.’

‘You said that it came from a secret French report, Commissaire. Was that just to make it palatable?’

‘Not at all. Segura asked us to confirm to you that there was no evidence connecting any member of their party with your father’s death. We were able, by reference to our own records, to do so.’

‘No
conclusive
evidence,’ I reminded him, and then Elizabeth’s Paco theory suddenly became more than just tenable; it was the only one that made sense. I opened my mouth to say something to that effect, but Delvert seemed to have read my mind.

‘Paco Segura,’ he interposed firmly, ‘is an ageing man who has always had more money than sense. In his unofficial capacity as Foreign Minister to the Provisional Government in exile of Manuel Villegas, he tends to act rather high-handedly. As sole paymaster of the group – at least until recently – he has become accustomed to getting his own way. I believe that, in the matter of your dismissal,
Villegas was not even consulted. The Commissaire, I think, agrees with me.’

Gillon nodded.

‘So we can suppose,’ Delvert continued, ‘that at the moment there may be a certain amount of heart-searching going on at Les Muettes.’

‘We can do more than suppose,’ said Gillon. ‘According to a report I received an hour ago violent arguments broke out this morning and have continued at intervals for much of the day.’

‘You know this for certain?’

‘My men are friendly with the villa staff. Antoine, the major-domo, is the informant. He can’t speak Spanish, of course, so we have no details, but apparently Madame Villegas is supporting her husband against Segura. Even making allowance for the fact that to Antoine high words in Spanish might sound more violent than they really were, we can be sure, I think, that Segura’s decision has been bitterly critized.’

‘Good,’ Delvert smiled. ‘So now we must make it easy for Villegas to reverse the decision. With minimum loss of face to Segura of course. You agree, Commissaire?’

‘I agree, I think the best way would be for Dr Castillo to act as if he knew nothing of Segura’s letter, to assume that all is well. Will you be at the hospital tomorrow, Doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you will please make a further series of X-ray appointments for next week and send a note of them to Villegas. You, or the X-ray department, can request acceptance and confirmation of one of the appointments by telephone. That is all. Just as if nothing untoward had happened.’

‘Even though the X-rays are not now necessary?’

Gillon glared at me. ‘How do you know they are not necessary?’ he snapped. ‘Have you changed your diagnosis, Doctor? You have heard nothing here to cause you to do so. You know nothing about anything except that your
patient found it necessary to cancel an appointment. Very well, you do your professional duty. You offer him a new one. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Commissaire.’

Delvert glanced at his watch and picked up his briefcase. ‘Just to make sure of a speedy response,’ he said, ‘I think it might be advisable to put a little additional pressure on Segura. That is something we might discuss privately tomorrow, if you agree, Commissaire.’

‘Of course.’

‘As it is – ’ Delvert got to his feet – ‘the Doctor and I have already taken up too much of your time.’

‘As always, a pleasure to co-operate, Commandant. I look forward to our further meetings. The hotel telephone operator will know how to reach me at any time convenient to you. Meanwhile, I imagine that you will not be sorry to rest after your journey.’

He could not quite conceal his pleasure at the prospect of our departure.

Delvert and I walked in silence over the bridge-of-sighs. As we went down the stairway to the Place, however, I prepared to part company with him.

‘I’m afraid I have no car,’ I said, ‘or I would gladly drive you to your hotel, Commandant. Still, at this time there should be a taxi by the café on the corner.’

He nodded. ‘You yourself will be walking home, eh, Doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘People are always complaining these days of what the Anglos call “jet-lag”. Something to do with the body’s metabolism I believe. Now I am one of those fortunate persons who have no trouble at all with long plane journeys. I may eat too much, but I always sleep soundly as well. Would you object if I walked with you?’

‘Of course not.’ What else could I say?

He took off his jacket and slung it over the briefcase as we walked down into the old town.

‘Pleasant houses, nicely restored,’ he remarked. ‘Are they very uncomfortable?’

‘The plumbing is original.’

‘You have my sympathy.’

When we reached the rue Racine he turned along it as if he already knew the way. ‘Your apartment is in number eleven, I think, Doctor.’

‘Yes.’

‘The Commissaire’s mineral water was refreshing enough, but you wouldn’t happen to have something more sustaining, would you? Rum for instance?’

‘Certainly.’

My lack of warmth at the prospect of entertaining him must have been noticeable, but as he chose to ignore it I did the best I could. Inside the apartment I took his jacket and put it on a hanger. He seemed to want to keep the briefcase so I asked whether he would like lime juice with the rum.

He didn’t answer for a moment. He was staring incredulously at Elizabeth’s vowel painting. It does tend to dominate the living-room.

‘What in God’s name is that?’ he asked.

‘The Defenestration of Prague.’

‘Ah. Yes, thank you, a little lime juice.’

When I came back he was still staring at the picture. He took his drink absently.

‘A E I O U.
Alles Erdreich Ist Osterreich Untertan.
Is that right, Doctor? The whole world is subject to Austria.’

‘According to the painter it’s
Austriae Est Imperare Orbi-Universo.
The house of Austria is intended to rule the world.’

‘Well I dare say it depends which history book you prefer to read. What a ridiculous way to start a major war though!’

‘Ridiculous? Throwing Imperial Catholic envoys out of a window? That wasn’t exactly a conciliatory gesture.’

‘Well none of the envoys was really hurt, was he? Humiliated, perhaps, but not hurt. I mean that blood
spurting all over the place is what you might have expected – after all, the Protestants were throwing them into a stone moat from a castle window twenty metres high – but it didn’t actually happen that way, did it?’

‘No?’

‘Well of course not. The moat was full of dung heaps. Smelly yes, but quite soft. Those poor gentlemen just bounced. The only one who was a little hurt was Baron Martinitz, but that was because his secretary landed on top of him. A young man called Fabricius. He apologized to the Baron and the apology was accepted, but the poor fellow never recovered from the shame of it. Breach of etiquette, you see. All the blood though – ’he chuckled – ‘it just wasn’t there.’

‘As the incident started the Thirty Years War I presume the blood is symbolic. Besides, it’s only the letters which are bleeding.’

‘You’re probably right. That’s the way Madame Duplessis would see it anyway.’

‘The painter is E. Martens.’

‘Yes, I see that’s how she signs her work, but I know her as Elizabeth Duplessis. Her husband, Raoul, works for me.’

His tone was pleasant but he was watching me carefully. I said ‘Oh’ with as little expression in my voice as possible. Then, to conceal my confusion, I turned away and started to mix myself the drink I hadn’t intended to have until he had gone.

When Elizabeth had said that she knew about S-dec, I had assumed that she knew about it – as she knew about most other things except the Holy Roman Empire – through assiduous reading of the books and periodicals that came to her weekly from Paris. The discovery that neither her estimate of the situation in which I found myself nor the things she had said about my father’s death could now be quite so easily dismissed as uninformed speculation was disturbing enough. The realization that this gap in my
knowledge of her background had been due more to my own stupidity than to any reluctance on her part to close it came as an even more unpleasant shock. I could remember now a moment when she had started to tell me something about her husband’s work. I had refused to listen. Jealousy preferred ignorance. All I had wanted to hear from her on the subject of Captain Duplessis had been an undertaking to divorce him.

Now I had the man’s superior to cope with. I put more ice in my drink and turned to face him.

‘Then you must be the emissary,’ I said.

He raised his eyebrows.

‘Elizabeth told me that she was dining tonight with an emissary from her husband.’

‘Captain Duplessis is a friend as well as a brother officer. It is natural, I think, that I should pay my respects to his wife while I am here. Do you object, Doctor?’

‘Obviously I am in no position to object, even if I wished to do so.’

‘And you don’t.’

‘Not in the least. I know, as you must, that Captain Duplessis wants his wife to divorce him. I too would like her to divorce him. But …’ I shrugged.