She was stroking the plastic seat cover. ‘Soft, soft, with white leather seats.’ She stretched her arms above her head and gave another little shimmy. ‘I just knew he wanted to make love.’
Claire took a swift glance at Ruth. How much of this account was she really believing? Her mouth was slightly open and she was frowning. Was a little doubt creeping in, like a mouse from a hole beneath the skirting board?
‘I was tempted. I really was tempted.’ Her hands ran down her breasts. ‘And then I … I just lay back on the seat and gave in to …’ A swift glance at her sister, who kept staring straight ahead. ‘He lay on top of me and we …’ A dirty red flush spread over her face. ‘We …’
Her sister had turned her head to watch her, that slight, doubtful frown still there.
Heather licked her lips. ‘We … you know,’ she hesitated. ‘We made love.’ The phrase sounded awkward. Claire eyed her. This was a woman who claimed to have been made pregnant by three different men, none of whom had been her husband. No prude then.
Heather stopped speaking, apparently to gauge Claire’s response. And seemed to feel she should add something more. ‘I’ve worked it out,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve worked out the dates. I know.’
Claire was silent. Whatever Heather Krimble’s previous history, this story was plausible. And she did have that extra private knowledge. This is the way he works.
It was not only plausible, it was possible. The dates would match.
She dropped her gaze to the notes she had made prior to this consultation and picked up on one of the points she had highlighted from Dr Sylas’s letter. Each time, late in the pregnancy, Heather had doubts about the parenthood of the baby.
‘When did you realize?’
‘When the baby began to move. It felt … different. Livelier.’
‘And is it a boy – or a girl?’
‘We want it to be a surprise. Charles says it is a son. I believe we have a daughter.’
‘So there have been other encounters?’
‘No.’ A little smile. ‘Now I’m pregnant, Charles wouldn’t. You don’t do it to a pregnant lady.’
‘Plenty do.’
‘Not Charles.’ Said with pride. ‘He’s very particular.’
‘But you’ve met up?’
‘No. We have to be very careful.’
‘But you asked to be referred to him as your obstetrician.’
She even had an answer for that. ‘Naturally Charles would want to deliver his own child.’
‘But he doesn’t,’ Claire said bluntly. ‘With these claims, it wouldn’t be ethical.’
‘Oh.’ Hand slapped over mouth. ‘I didn’t realize that.’
Time to trick her. ‘You say that you have had further contact with Mr Tissot.’ She was not going to use his Christian name. ‘So how do you keep contact?’
At that, Heather turned nauseatingly coy, one shoulder turning away, pale eyelashes flickering. ‘That,’ she said, ‘would be telling.’
Claire was ready to bring this initial consultation to an end. ‘Just to recap,’ she said bluntly, ‘so there can be no misunderstanding, though we can’t be certain about Eliza, that Freddie was your husband’s child. The DNA proved it.’
Heather nodded but her eyes flickered away in the first indication that she had been caught out. She still had her answer at the ready. Almost bravely, she gave it.
‘The sample was obviously swapped. I know what I know,’ she said, eyes blazing. ‘I know who I’ve had sex with and when. And a woman has an instinct about the child she carries in her belly.’ With that, she gave her abdomen a hard punch.
‘Please don’t do that,’ Claire said. ‘It could hurt the baby.’
Heather had her answer ready. ‘So what do I do,’ she asked, ‘if the baby – or its father – is being naughty?’
‘Not that.’
Heather dropped her hands.
‘Tell me one thing,’ Claire said. ‘The encounter with Mr Tissot. Was it similar to the affairs with Mr Cartwright and Sam?’
Heather blinked. ‘I don’t want to go into all that,’ she said, pulling her shirt tightly around her, acting the prude now. ‘This one …’ Her fingers caressed her pregnant belly. ‘This one was conceived in true love. Charles adores me. He couldn’t keep his hands off me.’ She looked up at Claire and this time her predominant expression was innocence.
‘He denies this relationship.’
Heather’s eyes blazed. ‘Then he is a liar, both to me and to you.’
Claire tried again. ‘So how do you communicate, Heather?’
Mobile phone? Internet? Facebook? Twitter? Snapchat?
‘At this point,’ Heather said annoyingly, ‘I’m not going to tell you.’ She folded her arms, stuck her chin in the air.
And Claire’s doubts started to multiply. Her story had too many holes in it. Was missing too many solid facts.
By her side, Ruth was statue-still, eyes trained on the floor. Tightly reined in as though any movement might cast a shadow over her sister’s incredible tale of romance, lust and love.
In her body language, Claire read something very sad.
At some point, she was going to switch her focus to Ruth. Interview her alone and find out why she was so protective of her older sister. But for today, this was enough.
She closed her file.
NINE
Friday, 19 June, 4 p.m.
She’d arranged to see Heather in a week but after the two women had left, her feeling of uneasiness wasn’t fading. Facts and fiction were too tangled. And it was a strange feeling to enter into a patient’s world and not know where the boundary was between truth, lies and misconceptions. She paced her clinic room for a few minutes, before, still agitated, she picked up the phone. She needed to speak to Charles herself. See him face-to-face. Hear his denial again from his own lips. Watch as he formed the words.
He sounded relieved to hear from her. Succinctly, she related the essence of the consultation. ‘The trouble is, Charles, we know that you were at that party.’
He made a sound like a cough.
‘It just squeezes in under the wire of a plausible story.’
‘Claire.’ He sounded appalled. ‘You can’t even entertain the idea that she could be telling the truth. With her fantastic history? You cannot possibly …’ There was a sudden silence as his mind caught up. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he said. ‘That was years ago. And I fancied you like mad.’
She was supposed to say thank you?
‘We should draw a line under all that, Charles,’ she said briskly. ‘It has nothing to do with this.’ It was a thin lie and they both recognized it as such. ‘Her story had so much detail. And she sounds rational.’
There was silence on the other end. She didn’t fill it. She knew the way he worked. The question was how, also, did Heather? How did she know such detail? How did she know his modus operandi? The compliments, the flattery, the way he worked? His blinding stare?
On the other hand, there was a lot of detail missing. Particularly about subsequent contact. But DNA may neither prove nor disprove the story. Only the parentage of the child would do that.
‘I can’t keep this under my hat, Charles,’ she said. ‘It’s going to have to come out – or we’ll both be suspended, if not struck off. It’s a very serious allegation she’s making.’
The silence stretched. She heard him sigh. ‘You don’t have to point that out, Claire. It’s all the most fantastic fable.’
‘You may well be suspended pending a full investigation. So you should prepare for it.’
He came back fighting. ‘I’ll speak to the MDU myself, thank you.’
‘Yeah.’ He was cornered and they both knew it. She had to at least offer an olive branch. ‘If they want to speak to me I’m more than happy. I can’t give an opinion at the moment. It’s too soon. I’ve only seen her once with her rather creepy sister.’
Further silence fell. Thick as felt.
‘Charles …’ She almos
t felt his whiskers twitching, rat-like. ‘She will need to be seen by another obstetrician.’
‘Of course. I never want to see the fucking woman again – not in my entire life. Anyway …’ he was recovering, ‘as her obstetric history is OK, there’s no real reason for her to be under a consultant at all. The midwives can take care of her and the paediatrician can look after the infant.’
‘I thought the community obstetric team could pick her up.’
That was when the knot became even more tangled. ‘Community team?’ It sounded like a groan. ‘Oh, not Rhoda,’ he said. ‘Not my ex-wife. Put those pair of psychos together and they’d beat any three witches stirring their evil brew.’
‘Your ex is in charge of the community midwifery services?’
‘Yeah. They’ll gang up,’ he objected. ‘They’ll crucify me between them. They’ll feed off each other’s paranoia. It’ll cause sparks … Oh, no. Please, Claire. Spare me this. Rhoda doesn’t exactly have a high opinion of me right now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, let’s just say …’ His voice trailed away and Claire knew. She just knew that the reason Charles and his wife had split up was to do with his philandering ways. Some guys can’t help themselves.
So now Rhoda was to be brought into play. Hardly likely to help his case, was it?
‘Charles,’ she said, ‘we can’t all skip around you. You’re going to have to be at the very least investigated and cleared. In case you’d forgotten, Heather Krimble is claiming that you and she had sex and that you are the father of her baby. And she is a vulnerable adult with a history of mental instability. Now I know – we all know,’ she hastily corrected, ‘that the child’s father can easily be ascertained. But, whatever her previous history, Heather is currently making these very serious allegations.’
‘That’s why I asked you to see her,’ he said through tightly clenched teeth. ‘To certify her as fucking insane.’
‘It isn’t as easy as all that. She may have a distorted view on things. Charles, I have to ask you again: is there any truth in it?’
She didn’t even recognize the expletive he barked down the phone line. But she pursued its source. ‘Did you have sex with her in the back of your car at a party back in November? She says it took place—’ She broke off suddenly. ‘What sort of car do you drive?’
‘What the hell has that … A Jaguar.’
‘White leather seats?’
‘Well, yes, actually.’
Details. Little details growing like seeds.
‘Has Heather ever been in your car?’
Instead of answering, he went on the attack. ‘Whose side are you on, Claire?’
‘The side of the truth.’
She paused to allow him to let off some steam. ‘Her sister is backing up her story.’
He had his answer ready. ‘Bonkers, too.’
But it wasn’t strictly true so her honesty impelled her to add, ‘Or at least, she isn’t contradicting it.’
‘Get Ruth on her own,’ he advised. ‘You’ll soon get the truth out of her.’
‘I intend to,’ she said coldly. ‘Heather’s also claiming that you have ongoing contact.’
‘How?’
‘She wasn’t specific.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘But until I get to the bottom of this—’
‘With DNA,’ he provided.
‘Well, we’ll see. Until I get to the bottom of this I’ll continue to see her, speak to some of the people involved, her husband, maybe the two men she previously accused of having fathered her children. I have to say, Charles, I do still have an open mind but currently my suspicion is that this is a case of psychotic erotomania.’
‘Phew,’ he said, the confidence returning in his voice. ‘For a moment there I wondered whose version you were believing.’
‘As I said, I’m impartial.’
‘Well, thanks,’ he said.
‘My advice at the moment is to speak to the MDU and explain your take on this. Trying to hide behind Heather’s mental state and past history might be the worst thing you could do for you, for her and even possibly for me.’
His response was a sceptical and non-committal, ‘Hmm.’
She tried to coax him over to her point of view. ‘You’ll almost certainly be let off the hook.’
That produced a dry, cynical laugh.
‘Unless, of course, her story proves to be true.’
This time the response from the other end was a dialling tone.
Claire sat in her office fully aware of how critical an issue this was for Charles Tissot. It could well be the end of his career and the beginning of his descent into ignominy. Heather’s story was just about plausible. True or not, the allegation of sex in his car outside a party would be damaging – fatally so if Heather changed her story and claimed that the sex had not been consensual. And Rhoda Tissot wading in would hardly help matters. The only glimmer of light was that at the time of the alleged encounter Heather would not have been his patient. The breach had been when she asked to be referred to him and he accepted her.
Claire was deep in thought, recognizing that she was in a unique position – probably the only person who knew just how plausible Heather’s story was, how very neatly all those facts fitted in with what she already knew of Charles’s past predatory habits. But as this neat collection of detail did not necessarily make it true, neither did the holes in Heather’s story, including her previous history of false allegations, indicate it was untrue. It would take time and numerous interviews before she could sift fact from fiction and learn just what was really happening here. Instinct was pushing her towards rejection of Heather’s account, and to classify her as a sufferer from erotomania or de Clerambault’s syndrome. Her sister was sharing the delusion possibly out of a sense of misguided loyalty or a reluctance to doubt her sister’s word. Claire was also fully aware that the story could take so much unravelling she might never find the truth. Unless the DNA test on the child proved that Charles Tissot was the child’s father. She couldn’t resist a smile. Now that would be interesting.
As she filled in her notes and dictated a letter back to Dagmar Sylas, she reflected that although she was ninety per cent certain that this third child, like little Freddie, would prove to be the offspring of Geoff Krimble, she would not have staked her life on it. And the child’s life?
That stopped her in her tracks. The child’s life. Two had died. What would be the fate of this one?
And then, as emotions do, her view shifted. In a way, she felt sorry for Charles. If he was innocent it was bad luck getting caught up in this woman’s fantasy. He would be very lucky if the Medical Defence Union didn’t suspend him. Even if they didn’t, stringent conditions could be insisted on. He’d be very lucky if this episode didn’t leave some sort of scar on his professional reputation.
The law governing doctors’ behaviour is perfectly clear and aimed at safeguarding their patients, who are seen as vulnerable. Not manipulative, not liars, not deceivers. Innocent patients.
It is the patient who is seen as the victim, while doctors are perceived to be in a position of authority. And so doctors must keep to the strictest of moral and ethical codes when it comes to their patients. If anyone would know all these rules, Charles would. As a male obstetrician, he was particularly vulnerable. But, of course, this encounter had allegedly taken place at a party, outside his remit as a doctor, before Heather Krimble had become his most dangerous patient. Now her mind whirring round had got stuck on a cog. If Heather’s version of events was true, they had had sex before she had been his patient. It was only when he had become her obstetrician that the rules had been broken, which had been by Heather’s request.
And the parallels between her own experience and Heather’s story were not helping.
Oh, she thought, picking up the next set of notes. She would play her part, assess Heather’s mental state. The MDU would play their part and Charles Tissot would play his part.
But, like a broken record, a CD marked with fingerprints or a worn-out MP3 player, her mind led her to a question. For that drunken fumble years ago, did she think he was fit to practice? The thought haunted her. It would seem a harsh judgement. But what was making her uncomfortable were the little grains of incontrovertible truth. Heather had worked for Timothy Cartwright’s printing firm. There had been some contact between them.
On the Internet site she had searched last night, patients suffering from de Clerambault’s syndrome hadn’t imagined the entire scenario – simply misinterpreted gestures or words, taking them to extremes.
Sam Maddox had been a window cleaner at Heather’s house. Window cleaners were friendly people as they cleaned and scrubbed, peering in and smiling at those inside. He would have peered in through the windows, almost certainly given a friendly wave. To a healthy mind, they would realize this was a meaningless gesture, simple politeness. To a person with erotomania, it would be seen as an invitation, a seduction. That smile means that that man wants to …
Heather had been pregnant. Twice. Eliza’s DNA might not have been checked for paternity but Freddie’s had. And Geoff Krimble had been the child’s biological father.
Still tolling in the background was the reminder. Both these babies had died.
The real puzzle was Ruth. Why was she backing up her sister’s story? She had no mental problems. But she couldn’t have been there, watching the coupling through the steamy windows of the Jag.
She scanned the GP’s letter again, searching for something that might explain Ruth’s assertion that her sister’s story was true. Or at least why she hadn’t contradicted it. And this time she picked up on a point she had previously glossed over.
She has a brother, Robin, five years older, but he left home when she was nineteen and she claims she has had no contact with him since. He has, to all intents and purposes, disappeared. No one knows what has happened to him. I understand the police were informed and he’s officially listed as a missing person.
The Deceiver Page 8