3 The Surgeon's Blade

by Faith Mortimer

  “So, if it’s convenient, I thought I might call round and fit it for you? How are you fixed this evening?”

  Libby thought fast. She had managed to get one part of her chaotic life almost in order with Nigel. Did she now want the possibility of being further involved with Robert – in any way – to perhaps screw things up again? So far her life was running true to form. She was hopeless with men and relationships.

  “I’m not doing anything much. So yes, that’s fine by me.”

  “Good. When’s the best time to come?”

  “Have you eaten? If not, why don’t you come over now, and we can eat here.”

  “Libby cooking? Wow! After what you told me in Alfredo's, this I can’t miss. What are you going to serve?”

  “Um, chicken.”

  “Fine. I’ll pick up some suitable wine. Give me about fifty minutes. See you then.”

  With mixed thoughts over her sudden change of evening plans, Libby decided she should interrupt her cooking and dashed upstairs to put on something a bit more attractive than the rather scruffy shorts and top she was wearing. She chose a summer dress in a pretty, soft material and picked a pair of sandals that complimented the colour. Light eye shadow and mascara; a soft, pearly lipstick and a squirt of perfume behind her ears. Her newly-washed hair shone from its recent shampooing, and she gave it another flick with her brush. She paused to check her appearance in the mirror and gazed at her reflection. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

  I don’t know why you seem so excited, she said to herself. He’s obviously got a temper, and probably has more than one other female in tow. So, we’ll make sure this is just a friendly visit. He’s here to put a new lock on the door – because he’s worried about my safety – and in return, I’m going to treat him to dinner. Nothing else, as I don't want to get involved. Yeah, said another voice as she skipped down the stairs in anticipation.

  Chapter 29

  One characteristic of Peter’s Asperger's syndrome was his acute attention to detail. Since early childhood, he had been fascinated by different technologies. Although he was capable of more, he favoured an easy job where he could be left much to his own devices. Peter preferred to apply his technical mind to his few hobbies, channelling his energies there.

  For as long as he could remember, his only hobbies had been amateur dramatics and trainspotting. For Peter, collecting the numbers and names of locomotives seen at railway stations and other vantage points was just the beginning. Ever since he had taken the first steps on his own to a London train station, he had developed a deep and astonishing knowledge about all manner of intricacies where locomotive engines were involved. If anyone cared to ask, he could have easily recited exactly where each and every rivet, nut and bolt that made up each engine was manufactured.

  The same could be said of his almost obsessional interest with amateur dramatics, and although he never took to the stage himself, he was a natural with stage make-up and masks. Perhaps this was why he was so concerned about the recent attacks on nurses within Southampton General Hospital.

  Peter had been following the newspapers carefully. His mind focused clearly on the initial attacks on nursing staff at St Thomas’s Hospital. There had been three vicious attacks on nurses and another attack on a radiographer.

  When the first nurse was stalked at Southampton General, she had said, according to the press, she thought her attacker was possibly wearing a mask. The attacker in both locations was believed to be a white male, of medium height, and thin. Peter’s main worry was quite simple; if the attacker was wearing a mask, unless a trap was laid and he was caught red-handed, there would never be any hope of him being identified. CCTV was important, but unless a couple of burly policemen happened to be on site at the time, the attacker was unlikely to be caught. They could sift through all the DNA samples they had on record, and it would prove nothing if they didn’t already have the attacker's sample. A photograph of the man was needed. Perhaps with all the extra security staff and CCTV, they would catch him.

  Peter wondered just what he should do next.

  Chapter 30

  Robert bolted upstairs to clean his teeth and check his facial stubble. He reckoned he could get away without shaving, and yet maybe Libby may be the type of woman who preferred clean-shaven men. As he shaved, he wondered if he should go the whole hog and splash some of his tangy aftershave on as well. He decided not to in the end. He had to keep things in perspective. This was not a date. He was going to see Libby only to fit a new lock on her door, and for repayment, she was giving him a meal. He wondered on how she would cook the chicken and pondered if it would be better to take on the task of cooking after fitting the lock. She had already told him she wasn’t a cook. He grinned at his reflection; he could always get fish and chips on the way home afterwards, if it proved a total disaster! He ran a comb through his hair, changed his mind, and splashed a dab of aftershave on his smooth cheeks. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he chuckled to himself.

  He ran downstairs and hunted for his car keys on the hall table. He found them under a soft toy rabbit belonging to Diana’s baby. He poked his head round the living room door and found mother and baby playing on the floor. He concluded there was something nice about having a tiny baby around the place again and was happy to watch them from the doorway. Diana was oblivious, and he grinned as he listened to her ridiculous baby talk.

  “I’m off then, Di. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. As I said earlier, Libby is treating me to some of her home cooking, and as I’ve yet to sample it, I may be home sooner than later! I might well have to settle for fish and chips. What time are you seeing Steph?”

  “She’s coming round about seven. We’re going to watch a DVD after we’ve put Poppy to bed and then have a glass or two of red wine. It’s a treat having so many different wines here. We’re a bit limited in Cyprus. Although many are pretty good, Cypriot wines are usually dry and full, so a good Rioja or Bordeaux makes a nice change. Stephanie’s bringing a takeaway, as you know.”

  “Hmm. Sounds like quite a girly night to me. I’m probably doing the right thing going out.”

  Diana laughed. “You've hardly told me anything about this Libby of yours, you know. I can’t remember you ever being quite so tight-lipped before. I’ll have to pump Steph for some info.”

  “She’s not 'my Libby'. She’s engaged to a surgeon. And I’m actually amazed she’s letting me go round there in the first place. I wonder if she cooks for her fiancé. Knowing Nigel, I doubt it, as he usually has a rod stuck right up his backside.”

  “Do I hear a hint of jealousy in your voice, dearest coz?” She laughed again at his expression. “Stephanie said you had the hots for Libby”

  “Stephanie knows nothing and should keep her nose out of my business. Yes, I do like her as a matter of fact, but we’re really not that compatible. We’ve already had a major argument.”

  “I wonder what about?” Diana raised her eyebrows at his discomfiture.

  “Pack it in. You’re not going to practice your amateur sleuthing on me. Keep it for your own murder mysteries back home.”

  “Aw, come on Robert. You know I won’t breathe a word. Besides, since Poppy was born, I’ve had nothing juicy to get my teeth into since our latest mystery out in Malaysia, and before that we had the murders in Cyprus. So I’m a bit starved of murder mystery et al. I was only wondering how you and Libby could already have had—”

  “Diana, I must be off. You’re as bad as Stephanie – always trying to fix me up. I don’t need fixing up with anyone, really I don’t, so please forget it. I’m happy as I am.”

  “Methinks you doth protest too much,” she said softly. “Is it still so very bad? So very upsetting to talk about?”

  “No. I am over it. I can rationalise now. And having you and baby Poppy here is good for me. I’m enjoying watching you with her. I’d forgotten just how a baby can bring people together, and she’s a lovely baby. She’s bonnie and happy just lik
e her mother.”

  “Just like Carole and Morwenna were. Still are in your heart. Go on, dear cousin. Have a nice evening with your friend, and I truly hope her food is worth it.”

  Robert gave a rueful smile as he left Diana sitting on the floor. He meant what he said. The deep, stabbing hurt on finding Morwenna and Carole at the foot of the cliff, with the waves crashing over the car were still very real. Over time, the pain was slowly receding. He would visit the garden of rest tomorrow, where their ashes were sprinkled under Morwenna’s favourite flower bushes. He hadn’t been for a while, and it was time to pay his respects once again.

  He hummed a tune as he walked from his front door and settled himself in his car. He knew telling Di to mind her own business was like waving a red rag to a bull. She would try her utmost to wheedle everything out of him. Besides, with his sister joining her later, he knew what a tenacious pair they were together. He exhaled noisily as he imagined what they would conjure up next. He backed out of his drive and decided to leave them to it. Where certain women were concerned, some things would always be out of his control.

  Chapter 31

  Stella settled herself onto a settee near the huge window. As she gazed across the panorama in front of her, she couldn’t help thinking how clever Nigel was when it came down to finding property that would always increase in value. In the deepening twilight, lights were coming on, spilling their brilliance over the streets and city gardens below; further away, she could see the steaming lights of a cruise ship as she made her way down Southampton Water into the Solent beyond. Nigel always spent time when choosing property. The house in Knightsbridge was one fine example. He had found it in a state of decay during their first years as housemen, and luckily, he had had the foresight to understand and see its potential. Nigel had badgered his father, who was a wealthy Queen’s silk, to assist him with the money for the property. Once Nigel had the keys in his hands, he employed an interior designer friend and building company to renovate the place. Now, over a decade later, Nigel stood to make a substantial profit if he ever decided to sell his London home. A few million pounds were not to be sneezed at, and Stella adored money. She reckoned Nigel to be worth a thousand times more than when they had first wed, and when the old man St John died, Nigel would inherit the bulk of his estate. For one reason or another, Stella knew she would never relinquish her stake in Nigel.

  Stella shifted her weight and tucked her legs under her. She was still wearing the binding on her leg, despite it being all but healed and didn’t warrant the large dressing at all. For the time being, Stella chose to keep the bandage in place as it suited her purposes. Nigel was attentive, and she enjoyed having him running around. It afforded her great amusement.

  Watching him while he poured generous measures of gin into tall glasses, she wondered about his latest fling with this nurse, Libby. Of course, Stella had made it her business to find out all about her, as she had with his 1001 other relationships over the years. Just because they lived apart, didn’t mean Stella had finished with her surgeon husband. She knew she would never have him totally to herself, but over the years, she had grown to accept it because she knew he always returned to her in the end. She made sure of that.

  “Slice of lime?” he asked, looking over in her direction.

  “Yes please, darling. Are you coming to join me over here? This apartment really does have the most marvellous view. Look! Isn’t that the new Queen Mary II leaving her berth?”

  Nigel crossed the polished wood panelled floor and peered through the glass. “Looks like her. Did you know at the end of November 2011, Southampton will no longer be her registered port?”

  Stella shook her head. “No”.

  “It’s changing to Hamilton, Bermuda. Strange to think that Britain once owned many cruising companies, including Cunard, and now doesn’t own one. They’ve all been sold, disbanded, or bought out by other cruising giants.”

  “Talking of boats, how’s your Tourbillon? Have you managed to get much sailing in this year? Thanks for the G and T by the way, this lime really gives it a zing,” she said, giving Nigel a warm smile as he sat next to her. She shuffled round so that her thigh was resting against his. “It’s a bit like your aftershave actually. I recognise it as the one I bought you the last time I was home.”

  Nigel nodded and returned her smile as he took a sip of his cocktail before replying, “No, regretfully, not nearly enough sailing. I’ve been frantically busy this summer, not just here but up in town too. Perhaps once the holidays are over, things will calm down, and I can actually do some cruising. I was planning a trip to the Channel Islands, but I had to scupper that idea.”

  Stella laughed. “But think of the money you’re making. Plenty of time for extended cruising once you’ve retired. Did I tell you my partner in New York has bought a brand new Hinckley and keeps it at the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club on Long Island? Have you ever visited there? No? Well I did, last May, and it was fabulous.”

  “Yes, I have. The club is twinned with The Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes. Sebastian’s a member and I’ve been with him a couple of times.”

  “I thought you couldn’t stand him the last time I was here.”

  “No. I just don’t like his racing tactics sometimes. He carves up far too tight and takes too many risks.”

  “And you don’t?” Stella replied archly.

  Nigel gave her a long look as if he was considering what she really meant. Stella noted his dark expression and decided to change the subject. She didn’t want him thinking she had guessed his plan.

  “So, are you thinking of dining in or out? If you’re intending to eat out, I’ve been told of a rather splendid little Italian restaurant in the back streets of Southampton. It’s called Alfredo’s. Do you know it?”

  Nigel paused while lifting his glass to his mouth, and Stella could have sworn he looked startled. He shook his head and turned the corners of his mouth down. “No I don’t. I’ve never heard of it.”

  Chapter 32

  Libby couldn’t help the skip in her step as she whizzed round her home, ensuring it was tidy and looked inviting. She laid the table for two with her best cutlery and wine glasses. She also decided that, if she was going to make the table look attractive, she would do it properly. After locating a boxed set of snowy-white table linen, she unearthed a couple of silver rings and slipped them over the napkins. Did it look too over the top? she wondered while studying her efforts. Flowers! She needed a small sprig of summer flowers to complete the arrangement.

  Having taken a pair of scissors from her kitchen drawer, Libby opened the French windows wide to the balmy evening air, enjoying the sweet scents of summer as she slipped outside. Her roses were still producing beautiful flowers, and she carefully picked a handful of the best creamy-yellow buds she could find. She glanced round her small garden and paused. It was warm enough to eat outside, and she wondered if she should bring the table onto the small patio. Perhaps, again, it was a tad too over the top. Robert was primarily coming over to fit her new lock. Besides, knowing her luck the weather would change and turn cold.

  Taking a last breath of air, she turned to go back indoors and noticed someone standing on the other side of the garden hedge. The side of her garden led to a small cul-de-sac, where there were about half a dozen smart houses. She supposed the person was waiting for someone because she could smell cigarette smoke drifting from that direction. Curious about her stranger, Libby silently moved towards her garden boundary. The hedge was thinner at one end, and she knew where she could part the foliage to get a clearer look beyond. As she edged closer, the figure darted away and made for the road. There was a blare from the horn of a passing vehicle that narrowly missed him. Annoyed because she had failed to see who it was, Libby ran indoors and opened the front door. A bus was pulling into the parking bay and peering through the filmy bus windows, Libby could swear she recognised the figure as he boarded and moved down the length of the bus. Standing on the front doorstep w
ith a puzzled frown on her face, Libby thought she had seen Peter, the hospital porter.

  What on earth was he doing down this road? Of course, there was no law to say he shouldn’t be here, but Libby felt a shiver run down her spine, especially after the other night. If it was him, why had he been standing so near her flat? Disturbed, Libby closed and bolted the door behind her. She leaned back against the solid wood, closing her eyes, feeling sick with apprehension. Keep calm! she told herself. It’s more likely to be a coincidence, and the man just resembled Peter. As her pulse rate slowed down, Libby opened her eyes and stole a look at her watch. It was time to check the kitchen and her cooking. She moved away from the door and gave a scream when the doorbell suddenly burst into life.

  Libby put her hand to her throat in fright, then realised her foolishness as the caller was probably Robert. Gathering her wits, she peered through the safety spy-hole and, sure enough, recognised his features.

  “What the devil was that scream for?” he asked, when she threw open the door. “Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”