The Long Corridor

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I did. I did, and God forgive her because I never will, even if himself does.’

  ‘Did you see anything of Lorna at that time?’

  ‘The child? No. An’ would I have let her stay there an’ that goin’ on? You know me better than that, Miss Jenny. But why do you ask?’

  Jenny put her hand to her brow. ‘Elsie says she went dashing out of the house just after that. I believe she must have heard. I feel sure of it.’

  ‘She couldn’t have; there was no other place for her to be downstairs unless…unless she was in the mornin’ room. But then she never goes into the mornin’ room; it’s as cold as charity in there, as you know, even on the best of days.’

  ‘But if she was in there, Maggie, she could have heard every word, because there’s only a wooden partition filling the archway that used to divide the room.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ Maggie put her hand behind her and dragged at one of the stools from under the table and sitting down she mopped her face with her apron. ‘That child adores the ground he walks on. He’s all she’s got, an’ she’s always known it. She’s always known that her mother had no time or feelin’ for her.’

  ‘Maggie!’

  ‘It’s no use; you can’t stop me tongue from sayin’ the truth. She’s had no love for the child from the day she was born, an’ it’s all clear now why. She jumped into the marriage to save her face, and she hated the cause of it and the cause of it was the child. An’ she also hated the face-saver himself. Aw, how she’s hated him. There’s lots of things clear now, though it isn’t to say I hadn’t me doubts from the beginning. But I smothered them because I couldn’t bear the thought of himself being taken for a ride by the likes of her. An’ now this…I’m tellin’ you, if that child knows he’s not her father she’ll be lost entirely.’

  ‘But after this she would have known sooner or later, Maggie. You’ve got to look at it that way. What I’m afraid of is the way she’s learned it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Should you tell himself?’

  ‘Not for a while. Let him get his surgery finished; she might be back by then. She might walk it off, although something makes me doubt it.’

  ‘And me too. Anyway, I’ll not budge till I see her home…Did you have a drop of tea?’

  ‘No, Maggie.’

  ‘I’ll make you a cup then and bring it in to you.’

  ‘Do you mind if I sit in here?’

  ‘Do I mind?’ Maggie stopped in her journey across the kitchen. ‘I’ll be only too glad of your company. I never mind pleasures, and they are few and far between in this house.’

  There was hardly a word exchanged between them while they waited for Paul to finish the surgery. And it was turned half-past six when the sound of a car starting up in the courtyard took Maggie to the window, and as she peered through the fading twilight she exclaimed: ‘He’s off!’ She swung her head round to Jenny, and Jenny, behind her now, knocked sharply on the window, but the noise of the car must have drowned the sound for he did not turn his eyes in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘Well, what are we going to do now?’ Maggie spread out her hands, palms upwards.

  ‘I’ll go and ask Elsie where he’s visiting.’

  ‘He had no visits,’ said Elsie. ‘He had got them all in during the afternoon. Yes, even the flats.’

  ‘Do you know where he’s gone, then?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘I haven’t a clue. He generally tells me when he brings the cards across, but he didn’t bring them tonight. He just went straight out after he’d finished the last patient…What’s up, Jenny?’

  ‘Oh.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s a bit of trouble in the house.’ It was no use trying to hoodwink Elsie.

  ‘Bad for the doctor?’

  ‘It could be, but I hope not.’

  ‘So do I. Has no-one in there any idea where he’s likely to have gone…the missis or Maggie?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so…I’ll be seeing you, Elsie.’

  Jenny turned away. No, they mightn’t have any idea, but she had. She could see him speeding to Moor Lane.

  Two

  The bungalow was in darkness. Both the front door and the back door were locked and there was no key on the shelf among the paint tins inside the shed. Ivy had done what she had said she was going to do in the letter. He knew she would have done it but he’d had to come. He didn’t know how far away she was, whether she was over at Wheatley’s, or miles out of town, but he knew for a certainty that she had gone from him for good and all. He felt the loss of her weighing on him as if she were dead. It was impossible to think that he would never hold her in his arms again, feel the warmth and response of her kind body, and have those moments of oblivion and perfect rest with his head between her breasts…But it was over.

  On the main road once again, and driving towards Fellburn, it came to him that although his association with Ivy was finished the consequences were only about to begin. When he had received Beresford’s letter this morning it had puzzled him, but now it puzzled him no longer. It had come to him during surgery that Beresford was Bett’s secret weapon. Working through Beresford she would, as she had said, see him where she had always wanted to see him, outside the medical profession, outside of Romfield House. And it went without saying…you couldn’t be a consultant if you were no longer a doctor. Yet somehow at this point of emptiness the vital issue of his livelihood didn’t seem so important. He was a little tired of medicine, National Health medicine, jumping like a frog from one human being to another; he had been tired of this way of practising for a long while; this was why he had laid so much stress on getting the assistant’s post and so specialising a bit. Now he was in danger of losing the lot. Yet nothing would have mattered all that much, he supposed, if Ivy had been waiting for him and they could have disappeared into some backwater, and there lived out their existence together…

  He swung the wheel violently about and turned into Melbourne Road. Why was he kidding himself like this? He would have gone into no backwater with Ivy, nor would she have wanted him to; she would have wanted him to fight, fight to keep the place he had won through hard work. And hadn’t she given him the chance to fight? He had said to Jenny that Ivy had sacrificed herself, and she had done just that. Well, he would take it from there. If he sank, he sank, but he wouldn’t go down without first trying to swim.

  Mrs Beresford opened the door to him, and as he looked at her he was struck yet again by the fact that happily married couples grew more alike as the years gathered on them. Mrs Beresford was sparse-framed, prim behind her smiling façade, and swathed in invisible garments of moral righteousness. The Beresfords were churchgoing people. And so were many other doctors in the town, but the Beresfords were pi and sanctimonious, of the type that got under his collar and made him sweat. The Beresfords had found each other early in life. Each had what the other required; the marriage had been perfect, as perfect as marriages can be after forty-one years. They had three children, of whom they were proud. The eldest son was a medical missionary; the youngest son was a schoolmaster in a public school; and their only daughter was headmistress of a girls’ school. None of them was married except to their vocations. Doctor Beresford and his wife knew that they had been blessed with such a family only because of their own good living and example.

  Mrs Beresford, still smiling, ushered Paul into her husband’s study, saying, ‘Doctor Higgins, George,’ and left them immediately.

  The atmosphere of the room was foisty as if the windows hadn’t been open for years. Like the old fellow’s mind Paul thought.

  Doctor Beresford was sitting behind a long mahogany desk which was covered with letter holders and papers of various sizes, together with a number of books, two heavy brass inkwells, and a totem-pole paperweight. He did not rise to his feet nor offer his hand, but inclined his head and said, ‘Good evening.’

  ‘Good evening.’ Neither of them had named the
other; it was like a declaration of war. But this war was old, Paul knew, and dated back to his father.

  Doctor Beresford now indicated a chair with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ Paul made his tone light; he refused to be put in the position of a boy in the headmaster’s study, which was the attitude his colleague was taking up.

  ‘You received my letter?’ Doctor Beresford had his elbows on the arms of his chair now, his fingertips tapping slowly together. It was a position that some actors adopted when playing the doctor, and it looked just as much out of character in this instance.

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ It was impossible to maintain the light tone.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ The head bounced in time with the tapping fingers. ‘It was merely an opening, merely an opening. In a business like this one has to start some place.’ His eyes had been roaming over his desk as he spoke, but now they seemed to jump on Paul as he demanded, ‘You follow me?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘I’ve never considered you a stupid man, Doctor.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It took all his willpower not to add, ‘I cannot return the compliment.’

  ‘So we will stop fencing, eh?’

  Paul, deliberately now, put his elbow on the desk and leaning just the slightest bit towards Doctor Beresford said slowly, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be more explicit. I really don’t follow you.’

  ‘You’re making this very awkward for me, Doctor, so don’t blame me if I speak openly. I’m a doctor and also a man of the world…’

  ‘Your own particular world.’ He shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘What do you mean to infer by that?’

  ‘Just that the phrase is rather outdated; men no longer make the grand tour to become men of the world. We’re all men of the world now, particularly, as I said, of our own small worlds.’

  Doctor Beresford closed his eyes for a moment, wetted his thin lips and said, ‘We’re fencing again, Doctor.’

  ‘Then it’s up to you to come into the open at once, which will do away with the need for further fencing, won’t it?’

  Doctor Beresford sighed patiently. ‘I sent for you, Doctor, in the hope that I would be able to help you.’

  You did like hell. Again it was difficult not to put the thought into words.

  ‘This is a delicate matter, and it has always been my opinion that men of our profession should be men of integrity; however, there is always the odd one who runs amok and besmirches the nobility of our calling…’

  God in heaven!

  ‘…When this happens I feel that our dirty linen should be washed in private; that is, as much as possible…’

  ‘Doctor Beresford, what are you accusing me of?’

  ‘I am not accusing you of anything, Doctor Higgins. I am merely going to bring to your notice the penalty attached to having a liaison with a patient.’

  The two men stared at each other.

  ‘I hope you know that you are laying yourself open to an action for slander, Doctor Beresford.’

  ‘Now, now, Doctor, don’t get high-handed. I’ve told you, I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘Like hell you are.’ It was impossible not to say it.

  ‘Control yourself, Doctor.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Beresford, stop this cat-and-mouse game and come into the open…or should I get straight on to Parkins…Yes’—he nodded—‘I think that would be a very good idea. Parkins is my solicitor. Is he yours?’ He watched the thin nostrils draw inwards, the eyelids waver. For the first time the old man was wondering if he had been put on the wrong track.

  Doctor Beresford’s altered tone conveyed his feelings as he said, ‘Now, look, Doctor, don’t get heated. I’ve done this in good faith. I received certain information which left me no alternative but to follow it up, yet I didn’t do so; I thought it only fair to see you first.’

  ‘You thought it only fair to see me first! You knew if you followed any such information up where it would land you if you were wrong, and your implication is going to land you in exactly the same place…Court, because I’m not going to let this pass, Beresford; this is serious. You know what you’re doing, don’t you, what you’re insinuating? This is my career…’

  Doctor Beresford brought his fist gently into the palm of his other hand and wagged them for a moment under his chin. Then grabbing at a letter to the side of him, he demanded, ‘Look. What am I to do when I get a thing like this? Send it to the authorities?’ He thrust the letter at Paul. ‘That is what I could have done; but no, as I said I wanted to help you…Read it.’

  Paul’s hand was steady as he took the letter, but as he saw the writing he had to hold it in both hands to stop the paper from fluttering. Although it only confirmed what he already knew it still came as a shock to him.

  Dear Doctor Beresford,

  Knowing you as a man of integrity I feel bound to bring before your notice the unprofessional conduct of one of your colleagues. This doctor has for a number of years been having an affair with one of his patients, a woman named Ivy Tate, of Moor Lane. She also worked as a maid in his house for three years. He is in the habit of visiting her in the evenings two or three times a week, and on Thursday evening of last week entered her house at half-past seven and did not leave until eleven o’clock.

  As I understand that this doctor is applying for the post of Assistant Physician in the local hospital I think it only fair that the Regional Board should be made aware of the circumstances. I have no need to draw to your notice, Doctor Beresford, that this man has already got a wife and daughter.

  I know you will act according to your conscience.

  The letter ended here.

  The bitch! The vicious, vicious bitch!

  He drew in, through his teeth, a long filtered breath, and over the top of the sheet of paper he met Doctor Beresford’s eye. ‘Do you believe it?’

  ‘Now what do you expect me to say to that? I can only ask you, is it true?’

  ‘It’s true that I know Mrs Tate, and I knew her husband before he died. I attended him for a long while. And as this states’—he flicked the letter disdainfully—‘she worked in my house; I gave her the work to help her. It’s also true that I have visited her on many occasions.’ And now leaning well over the table until his face was only a foot from the old man’s he went on, ‘It’s also true, Doctor, that she’s about to be married.’

  They were staring hard at each other, eyes unblinking, and Paul kept the situation like that for some seconds before he went on. ‘I don’t usually visit her three times in one week, but there was a lot to talk about last week. She was very excited’—God forgive him—‘for I suppose you could say she’s making quite a good match. You see, she’s marrying a well-to-do farmer.’ Slowly he straightened his heavy back, and it was heavy, heavy as Judas’. It didn’t lighten the weight to know that this was how Ivy would have wanted him to tackle it. He finished with, ‘A little knowledge, Doctor. The old adage is right once again.’

  There was a slight pink tinge to Doctor Beresford’s sallow complexion and it was a full minute before he said, ‘In my place what would you have done? And a further question.’ He picked up the letter from where Paul had thrown it on to the table. ‘What would you do now?’

  ‘I’ll leave that to you, Doctor. As it says, whatever your conscience dictates. But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, I’m going to get in touch with Parkins first thing in the morning…Take that and present it to the Board by all means, but understand’—here his voice dropped to a growl—‘I’ll defend my name and not only before a medical council but, Doctor Beresford, in a public court. Goodnight to you.’

  ‘Now just a moment, just a moment.’ The old man pulled himself upwards, his hand extended across the desk, and Paul, now at the door, turned his head over his shoulder, not sufficiently far enough to look at the old man, but just enough to indicate his contempt. And again he said, ‘Goodnight, Doctor.’

  On lea
ving the house the cold night air hit him and made him conscious that his whole body was bathed in a lather of sweat. As he drove the car towards home the sweat ran into his eyes, and once he actually pulled up to mop his face. As he alighted from the car in the courtyard he saw that the curtains of the kitchen window were drawn aside. That meant Maggie was still there. But he didn’t want to see Maggie, or anyone else; he wanted to be by himself and think. The bluff he had used on Beresford would only get him over a short space of time, for if Bett named Ivy as co-respondent that would be that. Ivy’s marriage would do little to save him except perhaps stop Bett from proving her case. But the smear would stick, and he’d be lucky, damned lucky, if he kept his practice.

  As he crossed the waiting room towards the surgery Jenny came hurrying through the house door.

  ‘Paul! Just a minute.’

  He kept his eyes turned from her. ‘I’m going to be busy.’

  He had the surgery door open and she was close behind him. ‘Paul; you must listen a moment; it’s important.’

  He continued into the room, his back still towards her.

  ‘It’s about Lorna.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I—I think she must have heard you and Bett…in the drawing room. She ran out of the house after that. Elsie says she saw her running through the waiting room here. She—she hasn’t come back.’

  He stopped. ‘But she was up in her room. She always dives up there if we have—’

  ‘She must have been in the morning room.’

  He rubbed his hand round his face leaving traces of moisture along the edges of the pressure, then walked to his desk, round it, and came to confront her, saying flatly, ‘Anyway, she would have known sooner or later. It would have only been a matter of hours before her mother let her have the full story, if only as a means of taking another shot at me…By the way, Jinny.’ He pulled his nose between his finger and thumb. ‘I’ve just come from Beresford; she’d written to him.’