From Higher Places

by Roger Curtis

  ‘I see a glorified boating pool. There must be a limit to what people would pay for that?’

  ‘Yes, surely. But let me give you a harmless example, in confidence, of course. There are friends – that’s what we prefer to call our members – who have paid a fortune just to have these rare birds that you see flying overhead. There is one – as a matter of fact a household name – who has paid considerably more for the option of being able to kill them, without fear of retribution or criticism. I hasten to say that he has not done so, and indeed is unlikely to, but to possess the power to render a species extinct appears to be exquisitely pleasurable to him. Can you imagine what it costs to set up that particular scenario? It is our willingness to do such things – to go to extraordinary lengths when it is required of us – that makes us quite unique.’

  She was tempted to ask about the legality of such enterprises, but decided it was wiser stay silent. Then darker questions began to enter her mind. Mark Preston had anticipated them.

  ‘Then there are the pleasures of the flesh. I make no bones about that since it must be in your mind to ask. Again we cater for extreme subtlety. Another example, to you trivial beyond measure but to one other most definitely not so. A friend recently commissioned a study – study note – of the conditions under which the simple scratching of his back could be made more pleasurable. Eventually we found the combination of device, technique, person and material – I refer to the cloth worn against the skin – that satisfied him. And he rewarded us most magnificently with his gratitude.’

  ‘Extraordinary!’

  ‘Extraordinary, yes. But there are countless other examples.’

  ‘Including some far closer to home?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Closer to the needs of – how shall we say – more conventional men and women?’ She paused. ‘Incidentally, are all your friends men?’

  ‘Well not exactly. Yes and no.’

  ‘You don’t seem very sure.’ She grinned at him impishly.

  ‘Perhaps it’s because there are so few seriously rich women. But it’s true that at the moment all the friends are men. On the other hand we cater for women as companions. That is what we call them – companions.’

  ‘And what might you offer them?’

  ‘Whatever a particular friend will pay for. But there are also social occasions when they – the companions – can participate. The last was a masked ball. They’re very popular.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Oh, the demands of business. I will have to leave you now, Sarah. When we next meet perhaps I can tell you a little more, if you’re still interested.’

  ‘There’s just one more thing I would like to know now. How can you be sure that one man’s gratification is not another man’s displeasure?’

  ‘We are constantly mindful of it. It is a condition of friendship that friends will show consideration towards one another and under no circumstances make moral or even ethical judgements on others. There’s a small committee that considers new proposals, specifically to obviate such eventualities. In practice there are never problems. Friends tend to be very private and civilised people.’ He rose from his chair, ‘Goodbye, Sarah Jane.’

  For the first time Sarah could appreciate the stature of the man, and not only physically. She wondered how his natural dignity might survive the negotiation of the flight of steps under her gaze. But he did not go that way and instead seemed to dissolve into the rock, as Maia had done.

  She had been left alone deliberately to reflect; of that much she was sure. She began to appreciate the pure isolation of this sky-bound paradise. She listened for the sound of London traffic, which she knew penetrated to the tops of the highest buildings; but there was none. All she heard was the plop of a gay-plumed diving bird at the far end of the lagoon. A butterfly she did not recognise alighted on the table beside her glass, its wings trembling in a breeze so gentle that she could not feel it upon her own skin. The scene assumed a dream-like quality. Her body throbbed with the sense of well-being that follows the first few sips of a potent spirit, when troubles of the mind and life’s responsibilities drift away like bubbles in the wind. She looked at the empty glass. Could it be…? But it did not matter. The wisps of cloud that had formed above danced in a sky that seemed more, not less, than real.

  When at last she looked back there was Maia smiling at her, arms held out in invitation. Join me, do not fear, do not think; above all, do not resist.

  Sarah took a taxi to Lightermen’s Mansions to see if Brian was home. Jeff appeared at the door, dishevelled, reluctant to let her in. ‘He decided to work after all. He’ll be at the hospital if you want him.’

  Edwin, Brian and Alice were examining radiographs against an illuminated screen when Sarah walked in. The three heads turned towards her in unison. She was surprised to see Alice; in that moment a supposition of naive innocence seemed to give way to the less wholesome charge of complicity. Edwin broke the silence.

  ‘Ah, the traveller returns!’

  ‘How was your afternoon’s shopping?’ Brian asked, with no particular expression. Sarah looked at him hard. Was he being sarcastic or just covering for her in his usual simplistic way.

  ‘She’s been to see the Tower, Brian,’ Edwin said. ‘It’s no secret and we’re allowed – indeed entitled – to ask how she got on.’

  Sarah felt she was being tested. Would she or would she not commit an indiscretion? Much might hang on that.

  ‘It was quite fascinating. Mr Preston was most kind in explaining things, particularly how one makes money in business today.’

  ‘And how does one?’ Edwin asked.

  ‘By finding a niche in a specialist market, it seems.’

  ‘Did he take you to the roof garden?’

  ‘I saw the swimming pool and the tropical vegetation, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Could you see Greenwich from up there? The observatory, perhaps?’ He said this looking directly at Brian.

  ‘It wasn’t the day for that, Edwin, as you well know.’

  ‘But you’ve satisfied your curiosity?’

  ‘Oh, quite, thank you.’

  ‘That’s good. Topic closed. Now, have a look at that.’ He pointed to a lab report in a file open on the bench. ‘What do you make of that?’

  She read through it. ‘Intermittent abdominal pain, but not much there to support a diagnosis. What’s special about it?’

  ‘Only that it’s one of our nurses,’ Alice said. ‘Debbie, from the theatre team. They’ve admitted her.’

  ‘Remarkably, she asked to talk to you, Sarah,’ Edwin said. ‘Perhaps you’d look by and have a few words when you have a moment. It seems to be a gift you have, to be trusted by patients. Make sure you hold on to it.’

  Brian, who had left the room during the last exchange, now returned looking anxious. ‘Sarah, there’s a call for you, a Dr Hislop.’

  ‘Oh my God. Something’s happened to Mother.’

  It was less of a crisis than she feared. Betty Potter had been found wandering in Tippett’s Lane in pouring rain and had been taken in by the Sharps to dry herself out and rest. Only later did she think to tell them that she had locked herself out and was on her way to fetch help when the rain came down. Dr Hislop’s tone was judgemental. ‘My other reason for ringing, Sarah, is to remind you that you haven’t visited your mother for a month now. Don’t you think that’s rather a long time?’ She returned to the others humiliated; she knew that her forced smile had failed to hide the downwards pull at the corners of her mouth .

  ‘Alice, I need to go home tonight. Can I borrow your car – mine’s in the garage.’

  ‘Sorry, I promised Jeff a lift.’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ Brian said. ‘You don’t look fit to drive. In fact, you didn’t look too good even before that call. I’m sure you can get an early train back
tomorrow. Better still, we can cover for you over the weekend.’

  They drove in silence for most of the way. Sarah’s feeling of guilt slowly abated, giving way to sombre reflections on her bizarre experiences earlier in the day. There were more questions than existed before. Mark Preston’s abrupt departure had caught her unawares; it had also left a disturbing after-image that kept returning. She wanted to tell Brian, but something in his taciturn manner advised against it; maybe he wouldn’t want to hear.

  ‘That’s the lane leading to mother’s. The Sharps are a bit further on, after the shops and just before the church.’

  They were expecting her.

  Sarah looked for a reaction in Brian’s face as he shook Tom’s hand, but found none, then tried to avoid Tom’s leering glance towards her. She knew they were sharing the same thought: evaluation of a point scored.

  Pauline waited her turn, hands meekly by her side, then kissed Sarah’s cheek.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Sarah,’ Tom said. ‘She panicked a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In bed, asleep. I think it’s better to leave her there, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m going to her.’

  There was a smile of contentment on her mother’s face. Another stormy day successfully weathered. Sarah looked at her watch. Ten past ten. The church bell would have rung. It would be a pity to wake her now.

  ‘I’ll collect her in the morning.’ Sarah looked at Brian, realising she would have no car.

  ‘Sarah, I really have to get back. I’ve a full list tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll bring her back. No problem,’ Tom said. ‘About ten?’

  ‘Nice people,’ Brian observed when they were back in the car. He’d obviously developed a relationship with them during her absence upstairs and looked surprised when she didn’t respond.

  Then it struck her. ‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. ‘I’d forgotten about Moffat.’

  But the dog was there at the end of the lane, patient in the headlights, waiting for her.

  The ladder was still against the house, apparently untouched.

  She fumbled with the door key, giving herself extra seconds to think. Then she relented. ‘You’ll stay for some coffee, Brian?’

  ‘I’ll need something to keep me awake.’

  ‘Your father,’ he called from the living room, ‘what sort of man was he?’

  Sarah shouted back from the kitchen. ‘Local figurehead, moderately successful businessman, neglected the family a bit. Why?’

  ‘Because there’s absolutely no trace of him. I’d have expected at least a photograph or two.’

  Sarah returned to scan the walls. ‘You’re right, they’ve gone. Whatever’s she done with them?’

  She sat next to him on the sofa, then looked away, aware that she was biting her lip. She got up to switch on the electric fire and put on a Sinatra record; almost in silence they made their coffee last until it had finished. It was difficult not to be nervous. Only later would she realise she had given Brian the impression of a kindling desire that was not there.

  ‘Brian, would you stay here tonight? I’m sorry, that must sound awful. The truth is I’ve never been alone in this house at night. Can you believe that? Besides, it’s getting foggy and I don’t want you to drive back in that.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful of you, Sarah, but how can I get back for nine-thirty?’

  ‘The odd times my father went to London he left at six-thirty to beat the traffic. I promise to get you up. I’ll even cook you breakfast if you like.’

  ‘I only ever eat corn…’ He checked himself in time and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Sarah, I’d be pleased to stay.’

  ‘And share my bed?’ It was difficult to keep her face expressionless, obscuring purpose.

  ‘I shall be perfectly comfortable here on the…’

  ‘… lying awake all night wondering why you said no. That would hardly be in your patients’ best interests, would it?’

  ‘Does being trapped absolve me from responsibility?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Looking back, as she would one day do, she would realise the significance of this moment. It was when the future pattern of events began to be woven around Brian’s resolve, from what, until then, had seemed random skeins of circumstance.

  They moved away from one another and simply held hands. Brian’s breathing became regular and Sarah was glad for him. Temporarily, at least, his mind would be untroubled. But she could not sleep.

  The house was quieter than she had ever known. By straining her ears she could just hear the ticking of the clock in the hall and Moffat’s sporadic restlessness in the kitchen. One o’clock struck and a gust of wind rattled the shutters of the bedroom window. She got up to check the fastness of the catch and pulled the curtain aside to look out into the all-concealing blackness, pure save for a shimmer where the tops of the tallest trees emerged into stifled moonlight. On such a night as this… Why now should her father’s words come to her, and from a story told so far back when image and fantasy had no connection with reality? And life was about love, and protection, and feeling secure. She brushed away a tear with the back of her hand.

  She was back in bed when it came. Not, this time, a sound imitating the light tap of branches upon the window, increasing in insistency and impatience. It came from downstairs: at first a click, then a faint scuffle as Moffat set out from the kitchen to investigate. Her mind raced. She had not expected this, but should she not have guessed? And then, surely, the awaited creak of the third riser; was someone or something mounting the stairs?

  ‘Brian, Brian. I think we have an intruder.’

  He woke abruptly, and almost as quickly rolled away from her, asleep. She shook him by the shoulders.

  ‘Help me… Please!’

  He got up, walked mechanically to the door and opened it.

  The silence remained absolute.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not imagining it, Sarah?’

  ‘Please check downstairs.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Five minutes later he returned. ‘There’s no one. I’ve checked everywhere. It must have been the wind, or Moffat, or your imag…’ She was grateful he stopped himself in time.

  ‘Thank you Brian, thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  She was as good as her word. Brian was woken by the smell of frying bacon and percolating coffee. He found his clothes folded neatly on the chair by his bed, together with a toothbrush, shaving tackle and a towel. When he left her on the doorstep she kissed his cheek and for the next two hours he became a commuter dreaming of a state of matrimony he had temporarily left behind. It was this sentiment, in Brian’s rash aside to Alice during the morning clinic, that would be conveyed back to Sarah.

  Tom delivered her mother precisely at ten, thankfully staying no longer than was necessary to bring her to the front door. Sarah had already arranged for the locks on the doors to be changed and left at the end of the afternoon as soon as it had been done, and after she had cautioned Betty to tell no-one.

  She arrived at the hospital in time to find Brian dictating his reports to GPs on referred cases. His rarely seen smile radiated goodwill. Then she noticed the several empty sherry glasses on the table.

  ‘Tell me then, who’s come into money?’

  ‘I have,’ he replied. ‘Well, indirectly at least. I’ve got an appointment at Tommy’s. In reconstructive surgery. And Sarah – and this is for you only – I’ve also got a Harley Street consultancy.’

  That night, alone in bed, Sarah reflected on what a relationship with Brian might mean. On the plus side were status and security. Not that, as a doctor, she could not achieve both, but there were limits, and her awareness of potential obstacles in her own career was
becoming ever clearer. And the downside? Well, what were men but ephemera? And Brian lacked the strength to constrain her. She recalled her advice to Alice about Jeff. That had seemed to work. Alice was enjoying herself, but Sarah knew – because Alice had told her – that she could be out of it in the twinkling of an eye. And that from Alice! There was only one snag: Alice had developed a crush on Brian and Sarah was loath to lose her as a friend. Edwin had told her that you can have a man as a husband, a friend or a lover, but you have only one chance and if it goes sour the other options are emphatically closed; so choose carefully, which it is to be?

  Besides all that, there was something about medicine that was beginning to gnaw at her self-confidence. She loved it and was potentially good at it, but there were things she couldn’t handle emotionally. Like poor Mr Gordon, and the children who came into casualty and, worst of all, the grief of friends and relatives. You must detach yourself, Edwin had told her, but she knew that however hard she tried the doubts about her chosen career might always be with her. Brian offered a kind of compromise and that consideration over-rode her regard for Alice.

  She lifted the telephone and dialled his number.

  ‘I just wanted to thank you for protecting me, and for...’ She managed to stop herself in time.

  ‘I’ve thought of little else.’

  ‘In spite of your other windfalls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let’s take it from there.’

  The character of the silence – his inability to respond in the face of emotional challenge – told her all she needed to know. She said goodbye and put down the receiver.

  The following day the team was busy in the clinics. The weather had turned; the sun that had coloured the leaves with coppers, reds and gold in the morning had been displaced by low sullen cloud and wraiths of mist drifting in from the river. Out-patients in their thick coats and all-weather gear filled the reception areas; what little space was left seemed occupied by the dampness rising from them. Sarah was glad when the natural darkness of early evening restored everything to normality. ‘You haven’t forgotten Debbie, have you?’ Alice reminded her. Sarah hadn’t.