The Consultant's Recovery

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘No. Phone the ward first, get someone to tell him in person. He's a pal of Jonathan's; he'll be here like a shot.’

  Amy looked up. ‘Eleanor? Are you hurt at all?’

  ‘No. Just a bit bruised. Staff, he pushed me out of the way and got hit himself. If he hadn't, I –’

  ‘Go and sit down,’ Amy said gently. ‘Get the nurse to make you some tea. I think you're in shock.’

  She saw Joe's fingers feeling gently round the back of Jonathan's skull, trying to discover if there was a fracture. A rattling suggested that someone had brought a trolley, but Joe didn't want Jonathan moved just yet.

  And then, further down the corridor, she heard the lift doors sigh open and another, confidence-inspiring voice said, ‘Do we have a problem here?’

  An older man knelt by her and felt Jonathan's skull as Joe gave a quick report. ‘We can move him,’ he said eventually. ‘I want him down on my ward now. I've got a bed he can use. If you want, you can come with me, Joe.’

  ‘I want to,’ said Joe.

  The entire time, Jonathan Knight lay motionless.

  Jonathan felt terrible. He didn't know why. He wasn't really sure who or where he was, all he knew was that he had a headache worse than any pain he had ever suffered in his life before. He must have been unconscious but now he was coming to. He didn't want to come to. He'd rather go back to sleep. He wanted to sink back into the nothingness he was coming out of. Being awake hurt.

  Why was he here? He was Dr. Jonathan Knight, he was a consultant, he'd been looking round his ward and … and nothing. He remembered talking to Joe, to Amy, to Eleanor … and then nothing.

  ‘How d'you feel, Jonathan? You must have a headache but otherwise how d'you feel?’

  A voice, a voice he recognised. It was his friend Charles Forsythe. What was he doing here? And where was here? Why was he being kept in the dark? ‘Charles? What's going on? What is this place and can you, please, put on the light?’

  ‘You had a slight accident. One of those heavy drills fell on your head. Now, keep quite still.’

  He sensed someone leaning over him, for a moment caught the smell of an expensive shaving lotion, felt breath on his face. Someone was very close to him. Charles's voice asked, ‘Can you see anything, Jonathan?’

  ‘Not a thing. I –’

  Suddenly even the throbbing pain in his head was forgotten. He was a doctor; things were making sense to him. He reached up, caught Charles's hand in his. He could feel that Charles was holding a slim metal tube and he knew what it was. A torch. And he couldn’t see a thing.

  Terror rushed through his body. He tried to jerk upright, but Charles caught his shoulders and eased him back on the bed. ‘You've got to relax, Jonathan, just take it easy. I'm examining you. You've had a very nasty knock.’

  ‘I don't remember anything!’

  ‘Retrospective amnesia. A bang on the head often causes you to forget things. Don’t let it worry you.’

  ‘That's not worrying me. Charles, I can't see a thing. I'm not a fool. I'm blind, aren't I?’

  Charles's silence told him all he needed to know.

  Chapter One

  IT WAS hot. The kind of summer that came only occasionally in England. There was no sign of it changing either. The weather forecasters were saying that this could last through July and well into August.

  Tania Richardson walked across the lawns of the Frederick Bramley School for the Blind, smiling at the young people who were sitting outside, making the most of the good weather. Making the most appeared to mean wearing as little as possible.

  Not like herself. Even in the hottest weather Tania preferred to be well covered. She hoped there wouldn't be too many cases of sunburn. There would certainly be a few.

  She passed the open-air swimming pool, nodded at the guard on his high chair, saw the students swimming alone – a confidence-building exercise. And in this weather, a welcome one.

  She entered the administration block, went to the door marked “DERRICK GEE, MANAGER”. Outside she stopped and sighed. She loved her job as a rehabilitation worker, but having to work for Derrick wasn't one of the things she liked best about it. She waved at the secretary and entered.

  ‘Come in, Tania, come in. Sit down. Let me get you a glass of iced orange. It’s good to see you.’ Derrick was always pleasant, always polite. Perhaps too polite. Tania had a feeling that sooner or later he was going to want to take their friendship a stage further. And that she didn’t want.

  Derrick was in his late thirties, about ten years older than her. He was tall, thin, balding, and tended to wear super-fashionable clothes that just didn't suit him. The baggy linen suit he was wearing now must have cost a fortune, but it did nothing for him. Tania sighed again.

  She sat, accepted the iced orange and was glad when to begin with Derrick was business-like. ‘As you know, you're here on a temporary contract, Tania. This can be terminated by either side at a week's notice. I don't like this. I want you to have job security. We've applied for funding for another full-time rehabilitation worker. When it comes through I want you to apply, and I know you'll get the job.’

  She hadn't expected this so soon. Cautiously, she said, ‘that's very nice of you, Derrick. But I'm quite happy working the way I am at present.’

  ‘But don't you want the security of a permanent position?’ He was surprised at her lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Well, yes. But there are reasons – family reasons – why this job suits me the way it is. I'm sorry, I can't really explain.’

  This was a bit of a lie, but there was no way she would explain to Derrick just why she didn't want to be tied to a job. Two years ago she had been betrayed by a man nastily – viciously. For three months she had thought that he had been the man of her dreams, the man she would spend the rest of her life with. When she had told him – showed him, even – what worried her, he had talked about her, laughed at her. Then he'd laughed even more when she'd found out that she had to carry on working for him. No way would she give any man that kind of power over her again. She didn't want a permanent job.

  Derrick looked upset. ‘That's a pity. I thought you'd be pleased at this offer. I thought we might celebrate somehow.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘perhaps some time. But at the moment I've rather a lot to do.’

  ‘Of course.’ Derrick was disappointed but he wasn't going to show it ‘Incidentally, I came to work very early this morning. You were swimming. It looked wonderful – I thought I might join you tomorrow morning.’

  She was cautious. ‘I don't swim every morning.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Obviously Derrick felt that nothing was going right for him today. Time to be business-like.

  As he leafed through the papers on his desk Tania sighed again. She'd thought she'd be undisturbed, swimming in the early morning. But Derrick had seen her – and she knew he'd turn up the next morning. Too bad for him; she wouldn't be there. Too bad for her as well, she'd enjoyed her early morning swims.

  ‘I've got a new client for you,’ Derrick said eventually. ‘I assessed him myself in hospital yesterday. We also have reports here from the psychologist, the social worker and the neurologist.’

  ‘Neurologist?’ This was unusual but not unheard of. Usually there was a report from the consultant optometrist.

  ‘Yes, the neurologist. There's nothing whatsoever wrong with this man's eyes. He had a massive blow to the back of the head which damaged the optic nerve and the visual cortex.’

  ‘I see.’ Most of the cases that were referred to them were as a result of disease or damage to the eye itself. But it was a medical truism – all seeing was done in the brain. Trauma to the brain could make a man blind even though his eyes functioned perfectly.

  ‘This is a bit of an unusual case,’ Derrick went on. ‘We have to do the best for this man. He's a hospital consultant and a close personal friend of the neurologist.’

  ‘I do my best for all of my clients,’ Tania said, ‘no matter who their
friends are or what they are.’ Derrick's remark had irritated her.

  ‘I'm sure you do.’ Now that Derrick had got the message, he decided to get rid of Tania as quickly as possible.

  ‘The man's name is Jonathan Knight. He's a consultant in infectious diseases, aged thirty-five, not married and apparently no family available. But there's no shortage of friends, and no shortage of money. An independent sort of chap. At the moment he's completely blind but there's just a chance that he might get his sight back if he has an operation. The neurologist still has to give it the go-ahead. But he's not going just to sit and wait and see what might happen. He wants to proceed as if he's going to be blind all his life.’

  ‘There are worse ways of dealing with things,’ Tania said. ‘I like a fighter.’

  Derrick pushed the file over to her. ‘Go and see him when you can,’ he said, and then made one last despairing attempt. ‘You say you're busy tonight?’

  ‘Very busy,’ Tania said.

  ‘My name's Joe Simms,’ the friendly voice on the phone said. ‘I work with Jonathan and I'm a friend as well. Are you the professional help that's been promised us?’

  ‘I'm a rehabilitation worker, yes. My name's Tania Richardson. When would it be convenient for me to come to see Mr Knight? Or is it Dr. Knight?’

  ‘He likes Dr. Knight, he's not a surgeon. You can come at any time – the sooner the better. Can you come now?’

  She thought of the address. ‘I'll be there in twenty minutes.’

  Dr. Knight lived in style. She drove to a luxurious block of flats overlooking the river. She had to park outside – a card was needed to open the gates that led to the garages below the flats. When she walked to the entrance she saw that on the other side of the flats was a large walled garden, with walks, well-tended flowerbeds, garden furniture. A few residents were sitting there. It looked very pleasant. That would be handy later.

  She rang the bell marked “Knight”, aware that she was being observed by a camera high in the wall above. That didn't worry her – there were security cameras all over the Frederick Bramley School. Some evil people thought that a blind school would provide easy pickings.

  A voice spoke to her out of a grille. ‘Miss Richardson? I'm opening the door. Take the lift to the top floor.’ She entered a luxurious lobby, then a wood-panelled lift that whisked her silently upwards. There was only one flat on the top floor, the penthouse. And on the landing, waiting for her, was a tall, engaging man about her own age, with a shock of red hair.

  ‘Hi, I'm Joe Simms. I'm Jonathan's junior registrar – just a general dogsbody. I make life on the ward easier for him.’ She took to Joe at once.

  ‘How d'you like this bit of your work, then?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I hate it, I feel so helpless. I'm looking forward to you telling me what can be done. Incidentally, Miss Richardson, perhaps I should warn you. He used to be calm, but recently he seems to have developed a temper.’

  ‘At the moment he's entitled to one,’ she said. ‘It's not an unusual reaction to sudden blindness.’

  Joe led her into the flat, and she caught her breath as they walked into the living room. The entire far wall was a giant triangular window. Through it she could see the river, with ships sailing up the channel to the sea beyond.

  It was an austere room, obviously a man's room. The floor was polished wood, with a deep red Persian rug. Furniture was minimal and there was hardly anything on the plain walls. It was the room of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

  Then she saw him. He was sitting in a rocking chair by the window. At first she couldn't make out much about him because of the light that shone round him, and for a moment she wondered if he'd sat there on purpose.

  Joe said, ‘Jonathan, this is Miss Richardson, your rehabilitation worker.’

  ‘Rehabilitation? It makes me sound like a criminal.’

  He stood. ‘It would be wrong to say that I'm pleased to see you, Miss Richardson, wouldn't it? I can't see you and I'm not very pleased.’

  She walked towards him. ‘Let's shake hands anyway,’ she said. ‘Boxers do it before they fight, don't they?’

  He laughed as she reached for his hand. She was surprised at how gently he held it. ‘I hope we don't have to fight,’ he said.

  First, there was his voice. It was deep ‑ confident usually, she thought, but now sounding a little harsh.

  She was closer now and could see him more clearly. It was still hot and he was dressed casually in khaki chinos and a white T-shirt. She was aware of his body, the muscles of his arms, chest, and shoulders. He was lightly suntanned, but through being outdoors rather than lying in a salon.

  She could read body language. This was a man who normally would dominate a room, just by being in it. He had the voice, the body, and normally he would have the confidence. But now there was something about the angle of his head, the way he hunched his shoulders that suggested he was unsure of himself.

  And he hated it.

  Then she saw his face. His dark hair was long, as if he cared nothing for fashion. It wasn't a good-looking face but a tough one. There were deep frown lines on his head and around his eyes. He would never be a relaxed man – and now he was less relaxed than ever. Tania felt an unfamiliar tightening in her throat. This man was going to be a challenge! But what sort of challenge? Newly blinded adults reacted in a variety of ways.

  There was anything from calm acceptance to abject terror. She suspected that this man's reaction would surprise her. He would be different from any case she'd dealt with before.

  She had to make the right impression at once. ‘I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Knight,’ she said. ‘I'm hoping we can work well together.’

  ‘Work well? Aren't you here to help me?’

  ‘Certainly not. I'm here to make sure you can help yourself.’

  Then he smiled and his face was transfigured. Before he had been frightening. Now he was friendship itself.

  ‘That's an answer that I like,’ he said. ‘Joe, you ought to be getting back to the ward. Phone me this evening, I want to know how young Dane is getting on. We may need to up his dosage. And any problem, don't forget I'm here. I can still advise.’ Nerving herself, Tania interrupted. ‘Dr. Knight, I'm pleased to see you taking an interest in things, but right now you have other priorities.’

  He scowled. ‘Let's get this straight Miss Richardson. In ten days’ time a locum consultant will be taking over my job. Until that time I'm in charge. I've got a good staff, and I've every faith in them. But until the locum comes, I'm responsible.’

  ‘There are things that I've got to make clear, too,’ she said. ‘You've had a very nasty physical – and emotional – experience. Blindness is emotionally traumatic; it can affect people in different ways. If you're a good doctor you should know that your medical judgement could be suspect.’

  ‘What! Are you telling me my job?’

  Until that time she'd never realised just how threatening a soft voice could be, but she managed to keep the quaver out of her own voice. ‘I wouldn't dream of telling you your job. But I'm referring to my own, quite extensive experience.’

  ‘I see.’ For a moment there was a silence. ‘Joe, if I suggest something that really worries you, you have my permission to refer to anyone else you think experienced.’

  ‘I would anyway,’ Joe said laconically. ‘I think Miss Richardson has a valid point, though I suspect it's not true in your case. See you later, Jonathan. Bye, Miss Richardson.’ And he was gone.

  ‘Alone at last,’ Jonathan said as the door closed.

  ‘I suspect you're more alone than you've ever been in your life before,’ she replied.

  ‘You could say that. But I'll cope.’

  ‘I'm sure you will.’ For some reason she was finding it harder to deal with this man than any other client she had ever had before. There was a hardness to him that she couldn't penetrate.

  ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or coffee?’ she asked.

&
nbsp; ‘No. I'll make us both a hot drink. I've spent the morning arranging things so I can do that small thing. Amazing how such a simple skill becomes difficult when you can't see where you've hidden the tea caddy.’

  ‘You make the tea but I want to watch,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I can suggest a couple of things. Then we can talk. Incidentally, are you going to be on your own tonight? Are you happy about that?’

  ‘I'll be on my own because that's what I want. Joe offered to stay, so did … someone else, but I want to be on my own. Why?’

  Tania noticed the reference to someone else, but decided not to pry. ‘Well … family or friends are usually very useful in the first few days,’ she said carefully. ‘Both to do practical things and –’

  ‘And to act as an emotional crutch? That I do not need. Joe will call every day but I don't want anyone at night. Isn't that what you people want? For us to be self-sufficient?’

  ‘Ultimately, yes. But friends or family can ease the transition. This reaction of yours – that you're going to look after yourself no matter what. You might think it shows independence. But it might not. It might show fear masquerading as bravado.’

  ’You're saying I'm afraid!’ There was that frightening voice again.

  She tried not to show him that she was afraid of him. ‘An instant change from complete sight to total blindness? You'd be a fool not to be afraid, Dr. Knight. I know I would be.’

  ‘Calling a patient afraid and a fool. Remind me never to employ you as a doctor, Miss Richardson. Your bedside manner is alarming.’

  But Tania thought there was a grudging acceptance of her.

  They were now in the kitchen, as neat and sparse as the living room, she noted. She watched as he slid his hand along the back wall of the polished steel counter, felt for the kettle and filled it, using a finger to determine when it was full enough.

  ‘Tea or coffee, Miss Richardson? Until I get more skilled I'm afraid it can only be instant coffee.’

  ‘I'd prefer tea, please. Milk but no sugar.’

  There were mugs neatly arranged at the back of the counter, a box of teabags and differently shaped boxes of coffee and sugar. Jonathan turned and groped inside an enormous fridge for a carton of milk. She let him get on with it. He was clumsy and unskilled, but he was trying, and she had never met anyone who did so well without professional tuition. She noticed that the most difficult thing for him to do was to pour out the boiling water. He managed by not entirely filling the mugs.