by Helen L Lowe
He was diagnosed with asthma when he was four. His mother used to run a stable and one day he was helping to clean out a stall when he suddenly collapsed unable to breathe. It turned out that he was allergic to horse hair.
His last asthma attack had been nine years ago. It came on when he was treating a patient in the outpatient clinic. He found out afterwards that the child had come to the clinic straight from a riding lesson and horse hairs were on her clothes. He didn’t have his inhaler with him on that occasion either but casualty was just down the corridor and so medical assistance was at hand but his last panic attack, when he was ten, was indelibly engraved on his heart. He had pushed the memory of it to the dark recesses of his mind. And whisky kept it there.
* * *
When he rang Charlotte’s doorbell at 7:30 p.m. she was almost ready and he waited on the doorstep while she went back upstairs to get a shawl.
‘I wasn’t expecting a taxi,’ Charlotte said, as she stepped into the black cab, carefully rearranging the delicate material around her.
‘I thought a mini might compromise your ball gown - which looks beautiful on you, by the way.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right about the mini.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘You’re not looking too bad yourself. I’m impressed.’
‘Why, thank you, kind lady - I do my best to please.’
The evening was pretty much as Julian expected. A stark contrast between polite conversation with the VIPs and the alcohol induced hyper-happy of the plebs. He was relieved when it came to an end.
‘You know what your trouble is, don’t you?’ A very tipsy Charlotte purred into his ear during the last slow dance.
‘No - but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.’
She looked at him solemnly. ‘You haven’t drunk enough.’
‘You wouldn’t like me if I did.’
‘Yes I would - I’d love you - I bet you look sweet when you’re sloshed.’
‘Actually, I’m pathetic – I’ve been known to cry.’
She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him gently between words. ‘If you did . . . I’d know exactly . . . how to comfort you.’
* * *
Charlotte’s house in Bayswater was in complete darkness when they got back just after 3 a.m. Thinking that Daisy was asleep in bed, Julian tried to persuade Charlotte to keep the noise down but she was having none of it and searched frantically through her stack of albums. She finally decided on The Beatles “Rubber Soul” which she turned up to full volume. They started to slow dance and Charlotte pressed her body into his and reached up with her arms to bring his face down to hers. While she kissed him, he tried to get in the mood. He reasoned with himself that this beautiful woman could be just the medicine he needed right now but his conscience was telling him that it wasn’t fair to take advantage of her inebriated condition. When the track “Michelle” came on, her kisses turned into heavy petting and she started to undress him. She had his shirt unbuttoned and was undoing his belt when he gently stopped her.
‘Charlotte - that’s enough - I don’t think we should go all the way tonight.’
‘Are you turning me down, Dr Hartmann? Now that is so sexy.’ She used his belt to pull him closer. ‘Couldn’t you just imagine I’m one of your patients needing an examination - a thorough examination?’
‘Suppose Daisy walks in on us?’
‘She’s in Kent - Daddy’s punishing her for her behaviour at my party.’
‘You told him about me?’
‘I said she had been chatting up men who were twenty years older than her.’
‘Gee - thanks.’
‘Well, it’s true – almost - but don’t worry, you weren’t the first - anyway, that’s enough about my sister. Where would you like to do the examination, doctor?’
‘No, I meant what I said - not tonight.’ He removed her hands from his belt and fastened it again.
Charlotte stepped back from him looking hurt. ‘I can’t believe you’re turning me down.’
‘I’m not turning you down - I just think tonight is too soon and it’s been a very long day.’ Julian could hardly believe it himself. He rarely turned down an offer of sex from an attractive woman but he had to admit that being a gentleman wasn’t his only reason for saying no; to be honest with himself the panic and asthma episodes earlier that day had left him physically and mentally exhausted.
‘You are unbelievable.’ She turned off the music and switched the main lights on. ‘Well, you’d better leave.’
Julian followed her to the front door where his attempt at a goodnight kiss was rewarded by a resounding slap from her. They parted without another word and with Julian nursing his left cheek.
CHAPTER 7
Julian had cancelled his normal 8 a.m. morning call intending to sleep in but nonetheless the phone rang in his room at 8:05 a.m.
‘Hi, sorry to wake you up so early - I expect you thought you wouldn’t hear from me again.’
‘It crossed my mind.’
‘I was wondering if you could have lunch with me today.’
‘I got the impression last night that you didn’t want to see me again.’
‘Yes, I know - I’m sorry about that. I’ve never been able to take rejection well.’
‘I wasn’t rejecting you.’
‘Ok, I understand - I think, but let’s not discuss it any more. I thought if we met for lunch we could pretend last night never happened.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Do you know Kensington Tea Rooms in Kensington Gardens? If you walk across the road from your hotel and through the entrance to the gardens, it’s about a hundred yards on your right. Shall we say one o’clock?’
He couldn’t go to sleep again after that and went down to the restaurant for breakfast but despite the usual high standard of food his appetite had deserted him. The fact that he had drawn a complete blank in his search for Sam weighed heavy on his mind. He knew in his heart that there was no point in checking the shelters in outer London because he doubted that Sam was still clean and so would want to stay close to his supply of heroin. His best way of finding Sam was to find the dealer supplying him, which may or may not be linked with the Coleherne pub.
The day was warm enough for an outside table at the Kensington Tea Rooms. He chose a seat facing the direction Charlotte should be coming from and five minutes later he saw a girl walking across the grass towards the café. She was wearing a long multi-coloured kaftan, strings of beads around her neck, Jesus-style leather sandals and very large bright pink sunglasses. It wasn’t until she was a few feet away that Julian was confident the hippie apparition walking towards him was actually Charlotte.
She flopped down in the chair opposite him.
‘Are you ok?’
She pulled the sunglasses down over her nose to reveal a cracker of a black eye. ‘I’ve had better days.’
‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘It’s not as bad as it looks - well, not quite. Daisy came back in the night and we had a row about me telling Daddy what she’d been up to.’
‘And the black eye?’
‘It was an accident - sort of - Daisy threw a hair brush at me.’
A waitress came to the table to take their order.
‘Is keeping an eye on Daisy always so difficult?’ he said, when they were alone again.
‘Not always but she can be very secretive - I know she takes drugs - LSD and weed, I think. I’ve told her they can lead on to other drugs but she won’t listen.’
‘That must be awkward for you with your father relying on you to watch out for her?’
‘Yes, it is and with my job I don’t have time to babysit.’
‘Speaking of weed, did you know there was some of it at your party on Friday night?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I knew. It’s impossible to stop it - they bring it with them. Have you ever tried it?’
‘In my student days - it’s surprising how many doctors carry
on with it - you’d think they’d know better.’
‘So - you have no vices?’
He shrugged, ‘I drink too much - whisky mainly.’
‘And sex?’
He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t call that a vice.’
‘That’s not the impression I got last night.’
The waitress came back with their food and they waited for her to leave.
‘I thought you wanted to forget it ever happened,’ Julian said.
‘Well, I do - my rude behaviour, anyway - but I still think it’s a bit strange for a man of your age and experience to turn down sex when it’s offered on a plate.’
He picked up his knife and fork and then paused. ‘Am I going to get a chance to eat this or will the character assassination turn violent?’
She smiled. ‘Sorry - bon appétit.’
‘Merci, et vous aussi.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Don’t be, my mother was French - Daisy told me you’re a reporter.’
‘And she told me you’re a doctor.’
He nodded in reply.
‘She also said you were having a break - a holiday or something - are you here for long?’
‘Not sure yet - I’ve only been in London for a few days so far but I can see it being a lot longer.’
‘Are you here on business?’
‘Family business - I’m looking for my son.’
She stopped eating. ‘You’re married?’
He shook his head. ‘No - not married. He was the result of a relationship a long time ago. A “love child” I think is the popular term.’
She looked relieved. ‘How old is he?’
‘Sixteen.’ He picked up on her surprise. ‘We were only eighteen ourselves when she got pregnant.’
‘Oh . . .’
‘That makes me thirty-four. So you were right, I am pretty old.’
She blushed. ‘Sorry – I have a habit of saying things most people would leave unsaid.’
‘That’s ok - it’s no big secret.’
‘Well, to make it fair - I’m single - no children - and I’m twenty-nine.’
‘A nice age.’
‘Is it - why?’
‘You won’t think it is now but when you’re in your thirties you’ll remember it as being the best age ever - more coffee?’
She nodded.
He looked around for the waitress and caught her looking at him. Her cheeks were very pink when she came over to their table.
‘Two coffees please, one black,’ he said, and waited for her to move out of earshot. ‘Daisy mentioned you were working on the Thames Butcher murders.’
‘Did she?’ She sounded annoyed.
‘Sorry – shouldn’t she have?’
‘It’s just that we have to be careful. We can’t risk information being leaked to our competitors - not that I think you would.’
‘No, of course not but I’ve been reading a lot in the newspapers about the case - they say the police think the victims may be homosexuals – that it’s a gay hate crime.’
‘I can’t talk about it - sorry.’
‘It’s just that I’m worried about Sam, my son - he’s missing - I’ve checked out the youth hostels and shelters - I don’t know where to look next.’
‘Have you reported him missing to the police?’
‘Yes, but I was told it was very difficult finding missing teenagers. They gave me a list of shelters and soup kitchens but I’ve checked the ones in central London and drawn a blank except for a soup kitchen in Praed Street. One of the volunteers working there said he was there a few weeks ago.’
‘If he’s sleeping on the streets the only way to find him would be to check the places that are known to be used by the homeless - I could give you a list of them if it would help.’
‘That would be great, thanks.’
‘But try not to worry about him too much. London’s a big city remember and Sam will be just a tiny fish in a big sea - the odds of him being a victim must be more than a million to one.
‘Yes - you’re right - I’m probably worrying about nothing,’ Julian said . . . odds of a million to one should be reassuring, except that Sam’s whole life was one bad luck story and isn’t there a saying ‘if the odds are a million to one against something occurring, chances are fifty-fifty it will’.
After the meal they walked through Kensington Gardens back to Bayswater Road.
‘Why did you turn me down last night?’ Charlotte asked.
‘So we are going to talk about it.’
‘I just want to understand - that’s not asking too much, is it?’
Julian stopped walking and pointed to a bench. ‘If we’re going to discuss it let’s be civilised and sit down - and if you’re going to hit me again can you give me a warning - you’ve got a powerful right hand.’
She smiled. ‘Sorry - I promise I won’t hit you.’
He was silent for a moment, deciding how much he would tell her. ‘I’m going through a bit of an emotional crisis right now.’
‘Is it to do with the mother of your son?’
‘Yes – partly . . . how the hell did she know that?’
‘You’re still in love with her?’
He hesitated, feeling uneasy with her intuitive guesses. ‘Yes - I’ve never stopped loving her - but she’s married with children - we only met up again recently and that’s when she told me about Sam.’
‘That must have been a shock - what’s he like?’
‘He’s a nice kid and we got on well but he’s going through a tough time - he’s homeless and he’s on heroin.’
‘That’s awful – I’m sure you’re used to dealing with junkies, the homeless, prostitutes – all the dregs of society – but nothing could prepare you for that.’
‘Yes, it was a shock,’ he said, observing a dispassionate side to her character. ‘You certainly don’t mince your words.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘it’s the job, I’m afraid. Go on, please.’
‘Well, I found out yesterday that he goes to the Coleherne pub in Earl’s Court to fund his habit – it’s known as a gay pub, have you heard of it?’
She nodded.
‘I don’t know if he’s actually gay but he’s definitely behaving like one.’
‘You must be out of your mind with worry. So you’ve come to London to find him? What about your job - it’s in Portsmouth, isn’t it?’
‘It was but I left when my contract ended earlier this month.’
‘I see what you mean now about an emotional crisis - that’s enough to upset anyone - and there was me thinking you were gay.’ She laughed at the suggestion. ‘You know, my mother is really upset about the word “gay”. She said it was one of her favourite words and now she can’t use it without people sniggering.’
‘Well, it’s better than calling them queer or other names that are equally offensive,’ Julian said, standing up to continue with their walk.
Charlotte followed him and they walked side-by-side. ‘I’ve always wondered if gays are like that from birth, like a birth defect of some kind or if they turn gay after an incident when they are still developing their sexual maturity. I read an article once that blamed single sex boarding schools for turning out well educated homosexuals. What d’you think?’
Julian didn’t reply . . . that’s a fair enough question . . . so what do you think?
‘But it’s not a healthy set up, is it? All those communal showers and nights in dormitories - teenagers with testosterone levels going through the roof.’
Julian had stopped listening because his attention was on his heart which was doing a one hundred metre sprint.
She stopped walking and looked at him. ‘Have I just put my foot in it? Did you go to boarding school?’
Julian pressed his hand against his chest and stopped walking . . . shit . . . not now . . . please, not now . . .
‘Are you ok?’
He pulled an inhaler out of his pocket but in
his haste dropped it. Charlotte scooped it off the ground and helped him to a park bench a few feet away. He took two puffs from the inhaler and tried to control his breathing.
‘You’re asthmatic?’
He nodded but couldn’t speak, this attack was more severe than the one yesterday and his inhaler was years out of date. He took two more puffs.
‘I wonder what brought this on - I had a friend at school who had asthma attacks when she got upset.’
‘Sorry - I can’t . . .’
‘Shh - don’t try to speak. When you feel better I’ll walk with you back to your hotel.’
Thirty minutes later they were walking slowly across the grass in silence. When they walked through the reception of The Worsley, Julian collected his room keys from the desk and walked over to the stairs.
Charlotte pulled him back towards the lift. ‘I don’t think stairs are a good idea right now.’
They waited for the lift in silence.
‘Do you want to be alone now,’ she asked, as the doors opened.
Julian shook his head and reached out for her hand. ‘Stay - please.’
* * *
In the hotel room, Julian sat on the edge of the bed. He regretted asking her to stay. It was a decision made when he was feeling vulnerable and didn’t want to be left alone but now they were in his room the double bed, which took up the largest floor space, was impossible to ignore. He knew she would want sex but, once again, he wasn’t able to perform.
‘Do you want a drink - coffee?’ Charlotte asked.
He nodded.
She made him a black coffee with sugar and placed it on the bedside table. ‘Has the breathing improved?’
‘Yes - thank you.’
She sat beside him and held his hand. ‘Do you want to lie down and rest?’
‘Charlotte, you’re being very kind but . . .’
‘Let me help you,’ she said, cutting off his protest. She started undressing him and he didn’t have the mental or physical strength to resist. When she had helped him into bed, she drew the curtains and removed her own clothes before climbing in beside him.