But, what if I did not have to face it alone? What if each day were spent side by side with the woman I loved? Surely then, beneath the twin giants of love and friendship, these matters that seem to loom so large would dwindle into insignificance. Each success could become something to celebrate together, each hardship a burden that could be borne together until fortunes changed; and change they would, for with love on my side, how could I ever fail?
There and then, I decided; I would propose to Nell that very evening. We would marry in June at Waltham Abbey and honeymoon in Barbados. By day, we would scamper hand in hand along the beaches, in the evenings, we would sit and drink cocktails by the pool, and by night, we would make love until the dawn.
On our return, Nell would complete her studies, and then we would move to the Lake District and open up the finest funeral director’s business north of the capital. I would start a quiet private practice, and together, we would raise a family of beautiful, vertically-challenged children to care for us in our old age and infirmity.
I still had my mobile telephone in my possession, so I texted Nell, my hands positively shaking with excitement.
“R U comin 2 vzit me 2day?”
A couple of minutes later my telephone bleeped with her response.
“c U @ 7.”
*
Surprisingly, I managed to fall asleep, waking at the sound of a chair being pulled up to the bedside. I opened my eyes.
“Nell,” I exclaimed. “You’re here.”
“Hello, Rupert.” She smiled, but the smile was strained and her mood subdued, although one could hardly blame her, considering the circumstances. I pulled myself into a sitting position.
“Look here, Nell. I have something important to discuss with you.”
“Rupert,” she said softly, but I was not to be interrupted.
“I’ve had some time to think about things,” I explained. “I’ve realised what it is that really matters to me; what is genuinely important.”
“Rupert,” she said a little louder.
“And I’ve come to a very important decision. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Nell. You mean everything to me. Since I moved to London, I have faced some of the most awful, terrible situations of my entire life, yet I know I could face them all again, and a hundred times more, if only I have you at my side.”
“Please, Rupert, don’t,” she whispered.
I shuffled from the bed and dropped to one knee. “What I am saying Nell, is…will you marry me?”
I had imagined that she would be overjoyed, albeit overwhelmed. I had expected a smile, a gasp, maybe a few tears. What I received was a pitying stare and stony silence. All about me, I could feel the eyes of fellow patients swivel in our direction. It was almost as if the whole World had stopped to hear her answer, but she did not answer. Her expression said it all.
“Rupert,” she said firmly. “I’m leaving.”
“What?” I said.
“I’m leaving. Today. I’m moving back to Plymouth to continue my studies. This is goodbye, Rupert.”
“But why?” I gasped.
“Oh, Rupert,” she sighed, and for a moment, her expression softened. “You are a wonderful man; considerate, kind, funny. You never complain about lack of legroom at the cinema. The last few months have been so much fun, but now I don’t feel safe with you. Since the weekend, my World has been turned upside down. I’m frightened and I’m confused. This isn’t what I want anymore.”
“I can protect you, Nell,” I said.
“I don’t want to be protected, Rupert. I want to be out of danger. I have to get away from here. I need to be back home.”
“I could come with you,” I protested. “We could move there together, buy a little cottage on the coast. I could change everything. No more murders, no more guns, no more assassination attempts. Just you and me.” I shuffled a little closer to her. “Please,” I begged. “Give me another chance.”
She looked down at me and shook her head firmly.
“My mind is made up, Rupert. I’m moving back in with my husband.”
There were sharp intakes of breath from the other bays upon the ward. I knelt silently at her feet, mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Your…..husband?” I finally managed.
“Yes, Rupert. I’m sorry.” She leant forward and kissed me gently on the top of my head. “Take care of yourself, Rupert.”
I never saw her leave, for I was staring into the middle distance, my mind heaving. How could this be? How could she have said nothing?
I had opened myself to her, been ready to forsake all to spend my life with her, and she had cast me aside. I was bereft, abandoned, discarded, but more than this, I was furious; furious with Nell for her rejection, furious with Clara for her betrayal, furious with the World for heaping this misery upon me, but mostly, I was furious with myself for allowing myself to be so blind, so gullible.
I ground my teeth and hauled myself up, using the bed for support. The World swayed and rolled, and nausea clutched at my stomach, but I was resolute; I was not going to remain here in this Godforsaken hospital. I would sooner collapse and expire in the gutter than remain on this ward, wallowing in self-pity. I was going to my club, to wallow in decadence.
I pulled the curtains around me and changed from the striped cotton hospital gown into my own clothing and shoes. My wallet and keys were conspicuously absent, presumably in the care of the nursing staff, so I made my way to the nurses station and leaned myself against a wall to wait for assistance.
“Dr Harker.” One of the nurses had snuck up on me unawares.
“Might I have my wallet and keys, please?” I said. “I am leaving.”
“You can’t leave,” she protested. “You’re suffering from concussion. You have to stay in for observation.”
“I shall do no such thing,” I said firmly. “I have a very important meeting to attend.”
“But, doctor…” she began, but I raised my hand to silence her.
“I am sorry, Miss,” I said evenly, “but I have made up my mind. I am leaving.”
“You will have to sign a form,” she pouted.
“I shall sign anything you like.”
She skulked away forlornly, returning with a junior doctor in tow and a piece of paper in her hand.
“Doctor Harker,” said the young doctor, clad in his blue scrubs and with a stethoscope draped about his neck, “Nurse Morgan advises me that you wish to discharge yourself against medical advice.”
“That is correct,” I confirmed.
“You do understand, don’t you, that after a head injury such as this, there is the risk of bleeding inside the skull, leading to convulsions, coma and even death.”
“I understand,” I replied patiently.
“And if you do leave,” he continued, “should something happen to you, it will be entirely your own responsibility.”
“That is fine,” I said. “Where do I sign?”
The nurse presented me with pen and paper, and I signed upon the dotted line.
“There you are,” said I, returning the form. “May I have my belongings, please?”
The nurse went to find my wallet and keys, and the young doctor wished me a pleasant evening, advising me that were I to succumb to any malady or distress as a result of my injuries, that I should present myself to the nearest Accident and Emergency department without delay.
So counselled, I staggered from the ward, down to the hospital lobby and out into the chill night, where I stood gulping at the fresh air like a landed fish in an attempt to clear my head. After several minutes of this, I began to feel more robust, and so I parked myself on a nearby bench and telephoned for a taxicab. I sat awhile, watching the smokers huddled in the cold, shivering inside their dressing gowns as they braved the chill night air for a puff of nicotine-laden carcinogens. Some were connected to bags of fluid via plastic tubes leading into an arm or back of a hand, and they clutched at the drip stands while they puffed and
joked and chatted to one another. One valiant fellow had brought an oxygen cylinder with him, sucking hard on his cigarette for a few seconds before clamping his oxygen mask to his face and gulping at the precious gas before switching back to his cigarette for another deep drag. I was seized with an overwhelming admiration for his dedication to the pursuit of pleasure at the expense of all else, and by the time my taxicab arrived, I was positively champing at the bit to be away in order to indulge myself.
“The Blue Belvoir Gentlemen’s Club on The Spawn,” I demanded, climbing onto the back seat. “An extra guinea for you if we are there before the next news bulletin.”
“Boom! Wstrząsnąć- wstrząsnąć- wstrząsnąć pokój! (Boom! Shake- shake- shake the room!)” replied the driver. He floored the accelerator and, with a screech of burning tyres, sent us powering across the concourse and towards the exit. Rogue smokers scattered like ash on the wind as we thundered past in our chariot, and I threw back my head and guffawed as we skidded through the hospital gates and away to freedom.
We were at the club before the allotted hour, and I staggered from the back seat, grasping at the door to steady myself as I fumbled for my wallet.
“Należę do ciebie z, ‘cześć’ (you had me at ‘hello’)”, he wept gratefully as I handed him his fare and tip, and I hurried away as fast as my pummelled pebbles would allow.
“Good evening, Doctor.” I was greeted just within the entrance of The Blue Belvoir by the club’s doorman, and I felt my shoulders relax as I was swept away by the geniality and familiarity of my surroundings. I proceeded through to the main club and, although the club was already busy, I was heartened to see that my favourite table was vacant and that the floor show had yet to commence. I made my way carefully between the other tables (for my balance was still impaired, and I was rocking from side to side like an inebriate) and positioned myself so as to afford a fine view of the stage. As I gazed about me, I could feel my emotions rising once more. Although I loved The Blue Belvoir dearly, every part of the club, the stage, the soft piped music, the round tables with the eager clientele drinking and chattering, the beautiful dancers and bar staff mingling with the patrons, even the pristine, polished lavatories with their ever-stocked prophylactic dispensing machines, all of it reminded me of Nell and Clara, and I felt my anger coming to the surface.
I briefly contemplated summoning a taxicab to take me to Vajasmine’s in Trafalgar Square, but I recalled from a previous visit that its neon lights, pounding rock music and wipe-clean, shiny plastic furniture had grated against my sensibilities, forcing an early exit.
A young lady, whom I did not recognise, came to my table, bearing a menu. She was slim, blonde and clad in a bikini top and denim shorts, and very, very fetching.
“Hello,” she chirped. “I’m Hannah.”
“Hello, Hannah,” I said, looking her up and down approvingly. “I’m Rupert.”
“What can I fetch for you, Rupert?”
“I would like three gin and tonics, two double vodkas, twenty menthol cigarettes and a club sandwich.”
“My word,” she purred, “we have got a big appetite. Would you like anything else?”
“Yes,” I roared, causing her to take an involuntary step backwards, and turning heads at several neighbouring tables. “Bring on the dancing girls!”
*
20. England Expects
Thursday the 8th
It was a little after one in the morning when I staggered from my taxicab and up the path to the front door of number sixteen, Chuffnell Mews. I spent an entertaining few minutes scraping my key against the lock until it finally yielded, and I tumbled headlong into the hall with a clatter and roar. My head spun, and it took me some moments to climb to my feet, by which time the rest of the household was upon the stairs.
“Really, doctor,” huffed Mrs Denford, clad in her nightie and robe. “What a to-do.”
I mumbled an apology, but she did not hear, for she was away to her bed, shooing Gonzáles up the stairs before her. Using the wall for support, I made my way into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair, with Urban-Smith at my heels.
“You have the grace of a ballerina,” he observed.
“Coffee,” I slurred in response. “Coffee, coffee, coffee,” I repeated, slapping my palm upon the tabletop like a petulant child with each utterance.
Urban-Smith scratched his head, looking perplexed. “Am I given to understand that you would care for some coffee?” he asked.
“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” I roared. Upstairs, Gonzáles barked in response, and I raised my finger to my lips and giggled. “Shhhh!”
“You have been imbibing the imbibements,” observed Urban-Smith as he filled the kettle. “Have you something to celebrate?”
“Quite the contrary.” I swallowed hard as emotion welled within me. “I am low, Fairfax. Very low.”
He deposited my cup of coffee and took a seat opposite me at the table. “What has happened, Rupert?”
“It’s Nell.” I felt my face flush as I fought back tears. “She belongs to another. She visited me in hospital, while I was laid upon my sick bed, to tell me that our time was at an end.”
He nodded sympathetically. “She has decided to return to her husband?”
I was stunned. “You knew?” I gasped. “You knew that she was married?”
I must confess that his response confused me, for he was looking at me as if I had asked him if the World was truly round.
“Are you telling me that you did not know?”
I shook my head in wonderment. “No. She never told me.”
Urban-Smith rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Did it not strike you as odd that a fair-skinned woman from Plymouth should have the surname, ‘Mbebowale?’”
“Ermmm…” I ermmm’d.
“Do you know her parents’ names?”
“Michael and Susan,” I replied hesitantly.
“Michael and Susan Mbebowale?”
“Probably not,” I admitted.
Urban-Smith and I stared at one another across the tabletop.
“Good grief,” I groaned and buried my head in my hands. “How could I have not seen it?”
“I believe that you did see it, but chose to ignore it,” he replied. “We are all guilty of it; when we receive information that we do not consider to be in our best interests, we make a subconscious decision to pay it no heed.”
“I proposed to her, you know,” I mumbled through my hands.
“Pardon?”
“I proposed to her,” I repeated, and laid my weary head on the table.
Urban-Smith rose from his chair and came to stand behind me. He laid his arm on my shoulder sympathetically.
“You never said, Rupert.”
“I didn’t know,” I replied. “It was unplanned. Can you imagine if she had agreed? It would have been bigamy?”
“Yes, Rupert,” he agreed. “Very big of you.”
*
Urban-Smith excused himself and left me to wallow over my coffee. I retired to my bed a short while later, but awoke at around half past three with a severe headache and strong urge to vomit. The room spun about me, and I almost fell several times as I hurried to the bathroom, hand clamped over my mouth and my stomach pulsing menacingly. I barely made it to the bathroom in time and, throwing myself to my knees in front of the toilet bowl, I unleashed a most heinous and foul sickness that flowed and flowed until I truly believed that no man had ever released such a torrent, yet still it came until, at last, I collapsed to the floor, heaving and groaning, tears streaming from my eyes and nose, and pain wracking every part of my torso.
I lay for some hours, arm draped over the porcelain and head resting in a puddle of drool on the linoleum floor, until the sun had crept above the horizon and spilt beneath the blind to crawl across the room and warm me with its healing rays. At around seven o’clock, there came a spirited banging upon the bathroom door.
“Rupert. Rupert.”
I groaned loudly, for each ba
ng was like a hammer blow to my skull.
“Go away,” I spat. “I’m busy.”
“What are you doing, Rupert?”
I dragged myself to my knees and gazed at my grotesque reflection in the still water of the toilet bowl.
“I have been teaching myself to yodel.”
Bang, bang, bang. “Open the door, Rupert.”
“No,” I shouted petulantly. “Leave me be.”
I heard footsteps retreating down the stairs, then returning a minute later. A piece of writing paper was slid beneath the door, and there was a scrabbling for a few seconds until the key was pushed from its lock and dropped onto the paper. The paper was gently withdrawn, and within seconds, Urban-Smith stood towering over my kneeling form.
“Please,” I groaned. “Can you not see that I am dying?”
“What I see, Rupert,” he chastised, “is a man wallowing in self-pity. It will not do, it really will not.”
“I am but a hollow man, Fairfax. They have stripped me bare. They have taken my pride, my dignity and my courage. What have I left?”
“You have friends, Rupert,” he replied quietly. “And the city’s largest scrotum, of course.”
I giggled girlishly. “It is rather impressive, is it not?”
“Unquestionably. If you were to lay with your arms and legs akimbo, I should not be able to tell your up from down.” He kicked me gently in the side of the thigh. “You must snap out of it, Rupert.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Rupert.” He kicked me again, this time a little harder. “You have to get up from the floor.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Why should I?”
“I need your help, Rupert. There is much to be done. We have yet to discover the location of The Fourth Atman and of Saxon Schwarzkröte, not to mention the matter of Sir Godfrey’s cryptic message.”
“No, Fairfax.” I sighed at my reflection. “I am finished. I am battered and ruined and I can take no more. Someone else shall have to fight this battle. I must return to some semblance of a normal life; the time has come to put myself first.”
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