by Jan Andersen
‘Money is power. And power can be dangerous if used in the wrong way. You said a moment ago “if” you marry. Don’t you mean “when”?’
‘We’re not engaged yet.’
‘Ah, that’s evading the question.’
‘Perhaps it’s because the money frightens me. There can’t be any other reason.’
He did not answer, but reached for another hunk of bread which he piled high with the cheese and washed down with a long draught of wine.
She watched him for a moment, then, before she could stop herself, said, ‘Will you tell me what happened to your wife? You’re living with something unbearable that you’ve bottled up inside you for three years. One day it must come out.’
‘It came out all right,’ he said bitterly, ‘all over the newspapers. My name is not Armstrong, but Kendall.’
‘Go on,’ she said inexorably, ‘you’re going to tell me now. Nothing is going to stop you.’
For a moment she thought he was going to refuse. He looked across at the distant landscape through a gap in the sentinels, but his eyes were not seeing. And then he started talking, but again he was not talking to her but going over the whole thing to himself, aloud as if by talking he could erase it from his mind.
‘I was a surgeon, quite a good surgeon, I think. Though the last thing I wanted was publicity—most medical men loathe it because it colours everything they do later—it somehow came my way. Partly because I was rather younger than average and partly because I’d been successful in one or two new branches of surgery. The old school didn’t care for this much and I suppose like anyone else in my position, I made a few enemies. My great mistake was in thinking that nothing else mattered except my work. I drove through everything that lay outside it with a steamroller. That included my marriage.
‘I suppose perhaps I shouldn’t have married Roz; she wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in medicine—in fact the whole thing rather sickened her. But I was in love with her and nothing would have stopped me—all the advice in the world.
‘We had a daughter, Beth, as beautiful as her mother and with most enchanting ways. I think she made up for everything.’ He put his head in his hands and for a moment Jess thought he was not going to go on.
‘After a while my work at the hospital got heavier instead of lighter and social life was very difficult. Of course Roz resented it, but I couldn’t help it. As far as I was concerned, a life saved was more important than all the dinner parties in the world.
‘There came the day when Roz had fixed up something very special and I had promised faithfully to be there. I had even given instructions to my assistant, Hamilton, that I was not to be called out. But as I left the hospital a young man was brought in, a young man in the prime of life who couldn’t live without the chance of an operation only I could perform. Hamilton was learning fast, but at that point he wasn’t up to it. There was simply no one else to turn to that day. So I stayed. Even now, if I had my time all over again, I would still stay.
‘Unfortunately the patient died. I don’t know to this day why he should have died. I went home obviously tired and in a state of mild despair. I’d forgotten completely about Roz’s big party. She was very angry indeed and we had the worst row we’d ever had. She accused me—probably quite rightly—of blindness and selfishness. Why had she married me? She had no proper husband and Beth had no proper father.’
His voice was growing more and more hoarse as he came to the vital part of the story. Once again she thought he might not be able to go on. Then he took a deep breath, as though forcing himself to continue.
‘I’m afraid I lost my temper completely. I just dropped my things on the floor and stormed out. And I didn’t come back until I had walked for several miles and calmed myself down with a couple of whiskies. By the time I came back it was too late. Beth was already dead and Roz died a few hours later.’
‘Go on,’ said Jess, knowing this was not the moment to offer sympathy. He would probably break down completely.
‘Among the things I brought home from the hospital was what the layman would call my black bag. There were some dangerous pills in there. No one knows quite what happened, but it seemed most likely that Beth found the pills in there.’ He closed his eyes as the pain surged over him. ‘To imagine that anyone in my position could have left dangerous drugs where any child could have got hold of them! And to think of the horror Roz must have faced, alone, when she knew her child was dead. It was too much for her.’
‘And you?’ she said quietly.
‘I? I don’t think I cared much any longer. The vultures descended because I had committed a double—no, a triple crime. I was held responsible for the accidental death of my family. I was also hauled over the coals by performing a difficult operation on a man who might have lived.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, I knew he couldn’t have lived, but there were those who disapproved of the operation and said he would have stood a fifty-fifty chance without it. Somehow, with that patient I made a mistake. Hamilton might have been able to help, but his career was at stake too, so why should he help pay for my mistake?’
‘So, by coming out here, you tacitly acknowledged your guilt in everything?’ Jess was still steeling herself not to give way to too much sympathy. Instinctively she knew it would be wrong to treat this man like a small child who had lost its favourite puppy. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to have stayed?’
‘Perhaps,’ he said bitterly, ‘but perhaps also I was nothing more than a man of straw. Every newspaper and television camera was turned on me. I’m afraid I couldn’t take the endless questions. Because I was guilty of negligence over my wife and child—and I admitted it—then I must also be guilty of negligence over my patient. It was that which the hospital got me for. Even had I not left on my own accord I would have been forced to resign.’
‘And you’ve been out here seeking some kind of peace ever since?’
He turned to her and for a moment the black mask dropped down over his face. She was going to be put in the same class as those other questioners. Then he relaxed again and allowed himself that glimmer of a smile
‘I don’t know what to make of you, Miss Jess Stevenson. I’ve allowed you to ask me more questions than anyone has asked for nearly three years and I bear you no malice for it. You’re not hard, and yet you have some tough inner core that seems to allow you to see straight through to the point. I don’t think you would have accepted so completely all the lurid stories the newspapers made up about me.’ And then he switched abruptly again. ‘And I didn’t come straight out here. I went to South America—like all good escaping criminals—where an old medical colleague of mine was working with some of the poorer Indians there. I stayed with him for eighteen months and I think I might have got the sourness out of my soul completely if I hadn’t picked up some very unpleasant bug. He told me I was finished for that climate, but knowing I wanted to get the results of my research on to paper suggested I came here. And if you’re going to ask me where do I go from here, then I’m afraid I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.’
Jess was silent for a long time after he had finished, digesting all the facts. She had absolutely no doubt that he was telling the truth; the files in her room at the hotel were meaningless.
Aloud she said, as though she were continuing the train of her thoughts, ‘You’ll have to go back, you know.’
‘Will I?’ His eyes darkened. ‘You sound very positive.’
For the first time since they had been talking she faltered. ‘I ... I’m sorry, it’s none of my business, is it, but while you were talking, telling me about what happened, I felt almost as if I were involved myself. Perhaps it’s my training as a ... as a travel writer’—she nearly slipped up there—‘but people do prejudge. I do myself. You read something in the paper and you assume that is the only side to tell. I’m afraid it’s something we’re all guilty of.’
‘Go on,’ he said quietly. ‘Those are the first sensible words that anyone has said to m
e over this whole business.’
‘But your friends,’ she said helplessly, ‘they must have stood by you when you were in trouble?’
‘I’ve never made a lot of friends,’ he answered. ‘I suppose I’ve always been too busy. My wife’s friends—well, you can imagine what they said to me. The others were from the hospital. Some were against me, some for me. I didn’t want to split anyone apart, or ask them to stand by me if there was any doubt in their minds at all. That’s one of the reasons why I got out.’
‘I still say you have to go back,’ Jess said.
He smiled at her, a rather warm, sad smile. ‘I’m not sure that I’m strong enough. You see, I’m still a man of straw.’
But she shook her head. ‘I don’t think you are. At least you could prove your innocence over the patient that died. That much you could do for yourself.’
‘Not without help, and I don’t know anyone who’s prepared to give it.’ He stood up suddenly. ‘Do you know I’ve talked about myself for half an hour, something I don’t think I’ve ever done. It’s time to go. We’re up here to solve the problems of a travel-writer, not the insoluble ones of an ex-surgeon.’
For the rest of that afternoon they tramped the high paths of Monserrat where it seemed sometimes that they walked up on the roof of the world. For Jess it was an exhilarating experience and one that should have totally absorbed her, but all the time her mind was returning to Richard Kendall the doctor, the man who through one day’s appalling misfortune had lost his family and his livelihood.
It was late afternoon when they returned to the cabin and Jess realized that she had done more walking in a day than she did in a year in London. She was tired, but it was a pleasant, relaxing tiredness.
Richard came from the back of the cabin carrying two tall glasses of sherry. ‘You’ll need this,’ he said, ‘to get the last mile home. And tomorrow, be warned, your calves and ankles will ache. This mountain is tougher walking country than you think. I suggest you make it a writing day, not another walking one.’
‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘I only hope I can remember all those things you’ve told me.’
‘Well, the famous nearly lost notebook was much in use. The next walk we’ll do will be to the vineyards and the small fields and orchards where the monks have their farm. I feel I’m discovering the mountain all over again.’
This time she did not refuse. She realized she would find it lonely from now on exploring Monserrat without him. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply, ‘I should like that.’
When she collected her things later he insisted on walking with her to the cable. For the first time that day he was silent. In the empty housing shed they waited while the car was drawn up the last five hundred feet.
‘I was just thinking,’ he said idly, ‘about rescuing your notebook that first day. I thought the very worst of you.’
‘The very worst?’ she repeated. ‘You mean because I was so careless.’
‘No, because I thought for a moment you were one of the breed I still hate.’
She laughed. ‘And what breed is that?’
‘Reporter.’
Her laughter died. She felt as if someone had literally kicked her in the stomach. Fortunately he was looking away from her, watching the progress of the cable car.
She forced herself to speak calmly. ‘You’ve had a bad experience, I know, but they’re not all monsters.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps not, but never ask me to be polite to one. Here’s the car, Jess, and don’t forget to take it easy tomorrow. I’ll be in touch with you.’
She turned to get in, still not quite trusting herself to say anything more than she had to.
‘Jess?’
‘Yes?’ This time she had to look at him. His eyes were darker than ever and seemed to be looking right through her, as if they knew just what she was thinking. She felt suddenly chill.
‘I wanted to say thank you. I know you think I’ve given you a hand today, but I can’t explain just how much you’ve helped me.’ He touched her arm and for a moment his hand rested there. ‘I’ll always remember today. It’s been a turning point in my life.’ And then he turned swiftly from her and was gone.
Jess stared out of the window watching the land below change from a toy scene to one of real houses and trees. She felt cold, bitterly cold, and yet her arm burned where he had touched it.
The day which only a few moments ago had been such a marvellous day fell apart in ruins. She was a fraud, carrying out this ridiculous masquerade. Why had she not been strong-minded enough in the first place to refuse to do something she did not want to do?
All the way back to the hotel her mind was in turmoil, and she hardly heard what Carlo, the cable car man, said to her, or the jolly-looking Spaniard in the cafe at the bottom who always called out a greeting.
Once in her own room she tried to pull herself together and reason things out. She had come here to do a job and had been determined to carry it out as her father would have wished. Her guilt had been that she had condemned Richard Kendall as thousands of other newspaper readers had done as a careless surgeon and a callous husband and father. Until today she had had hardly a moment’s sympathy for him.
Now, because she believed his story, everything had changed. He was not the only one without courage; she lacked it too. If she had one tiny grain of it she must climb up there tomorrow, tell him that she was one of those monsters, a reporter, who had come to Monserrat specially to make him tell the real story of Richard Kendall. Well, he had done so, and thank you very much, her job was now done and she could go back to England and next week her editor would blazon it across the paper. It was a brutal thing to do. Yesterday she could have done it; today she knew it was impossible. If she did she knew she would break Richard Kendall’s faith in human nature once and for all.
She saw his face in front of her, first dark and angry, then full of compassion. It was Richard Kendall the man who won her over, not Kendall the surgeon.
She put her face in her hands. What was she to do? Write her story and run into hiding so that she need never face him again, or tell Oliver Preston that yes, she had his story, but she would never write it. He could have her resignation tomorrow.
It was an intolerable choice, but already she knew just what she would have to do.
CHAPTER VIII
By the time morning came Jess had not altered her decision, but she had decided to postpone doing anything about it. She had been on Monserrat barely a fortnight; there were still two weeks to go. Anything could happen in two weeks. Besides, she needed those two weeks so that Richard Kendall would perhaps not think so badly of her when she had gone. She might even find the courage to tell him of her dilemma.
He was right about the aches in her ankles. But after she had soaked in a hot bath at least some of the stiffness began to wear off.
She had started work on her notes after breakfast when the phone message came through. It was Rafael. Was it her imagination that his greeting was a shade less warm than usual?
With few preliminaries he said, ‘Jess darling, I would like you to come to Barcelona on Thursday this week. I hope you won’t say no.’
Jess hesitated only a fraction of a second. ‘No, of course I’ll come if you really want me too. Is it something important?’
‘To me it is. I am the President of the Spanish Jewellers Association this year. It is our banquet on Thursday night, so naturally I would like you to be there. You will need time to have your hair done and get dressed, so I will send a car for you about one o’clock. I’m sorry I cannot come myself, but I have a great deal of business to get through that day, and a speech to prepare. Jess, you have not said anything. Are you still there?’
‘Of course, but shouldn’t you have given me a little more warning than this?’
‘I do apologize, my darling, truly I do. There has been so much on my mind that I’m afraid I quite forgot. It was Ana who reminded me yesterday. I don’t know what I woul
d do without her. She is better than any secretary.’
‘She must be,’ Jess replied in a tight voice, adding silently: Why didn’t you take Ana to the dinner then?
‘Is it a formal affair, because I have no long dress with me?’
‘I realize that,’ he returned. ‘The chauffeur will drive you straight to the hairdresser’s where Ana will have arranged an appointment for you, then you will go to one of the best dress shops in the city where Ana will see that they have a choice for you. Then, before you go home to change, I would like you to come to the shop to choose some jewellery. Perhaps it sounds rather a lot for one day, but everything will be made as easy for you as possible and we shall not have to leave for the banquet until nine o’clock.’ He paused only for a second. ‘Now is everything all right, Jess?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said a little helplessly, ‘but are you quite sure you want to take me to something like this? Perhaps your mother—or even Ana?’ She held her breath.
‘Don’t be foolish,’ he snapped. ‘It is you I am marrying, not my mother or my cousin. It is time I introduced you to my colleagues and friends. And there will be many important people of the city there.’
When Jess put the phone down she found she was trembling a little. Rafael was rushing her, and she did not want to be rushed. In the formality of Spanish ceremony, if she were to stand by his side on Thursday, then it must be taken for granted that they would marry.