A Question of Trust

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Then I shall have to ask for your resignation. This is a large and important hospital and I cannot risk its running being disturbed by what I can only term crackpot theories. And I would remind you also of the other matter of which we spoke, Mr Welles.’

  A long silence; then Ned said, ‘Very well. If that is how you feel, then you will have my resignation in writing in the morning. Meanwhile, I apologise for my behaviour, and for the undoubted distress I have caused.’

  Whereupon he left Sir Neil and the hospital calmly; but he arrived home with a sense of foreboding, aware that he had not only lost his job, but also made an enemy of one of the most significant members of his profession.

  Two days later Kit had another attack. As he walked into the kitchen, he suddenly lay down on the floor, his legs drawn up, screaming, in between sobbing and saying, ‘Tummy, tummy.’ And then he vomited. It was an absolute replay of the last time.

  Alice laid him tenderly on the sofa, ran to the phone and dialled the surgery number: could Dr Redmond come and see Kit immediately. Dr Redmond was out on his rounds, and wouldn’t be back for at least two hours. She could come to the surgery if she liked, and then she’d be sure of seeing him, otherwise he wouldn’t be making any more house calls until at least five.

  ‘And you can’t contact him?’

  ‘No, of course not. I only do it in the most acute emergencies. Of course, you could take your child to casualty.’

  Alice looked in at Kit; he was quieter. Maybe … but it was only a pause, and then the screaming began again. God, this was a nightmare.

  ‘I’ll bring him to the surgery,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  Kit’s screams were now joined by Charlie’s. Alice visualised sitting in the surgery for up to an hour, with three children, two of whom were screaming, one possibly vomiting; she wasn’t sure if she would be able to bear it. She rang Tom, without any hope at all: he was on his way to Purbridge. She did have a couple of friends in the road, but they had three children apiece; she could hardly wish Charlie on them.

  And then she thought of Mrs Hartley, her next-door neighbour who had more than once offered to help Alice. ‘My grandchildren are all teenagers – how I miss them. I’d love to have one of yours if you were stuck one day.’

  She was, surely, stuck now?

  She knocked tentatively on Mrs Hartley’s door, and explained her predicament. Could she possibly have Charlie? ‘We won’t be more than an hour, two at the most.’ Mrs Hartley beamed at her.

  ‘You be as long as you like,’ she said. ‘I’d love to have the baby. I’ve offered to help and I meant it.’

  ‘Oh – thank you,’ said Alice. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll get his bottle and his carrycot.’ She hoped she sounded like the mother of a child who enjoyed his bottle and lay gurgling in his carrycot for hours on end.

  She returned in minutes with Charlie in the carrycot, the bottle tucked at his feet; Mrs Hartley reached for him eagerly, as if Alice was giving her some long-yearned-after present.

  ‘You go on, lovey, you don’t want to lose your place. I’m sure the doctor will be able to sort Kit out; he does look bad, though. Come on, then, Charlie, we’re going to have a lovely afternoon together.’

  Alice, feeling rather like an executioner, thanked her and left, put the other two children in the back seat of the car, Kit swathed in towels against further vomiting, and drove to the surgery.

  ‘Yes, well, you were right to bring him back,’ said Dr Redmond. ‘But I stand by my original diagnosis. He’s quite quiet again now, and his abdomen is quite soft – it follows the pattern of appendicitis exactly. Very distressing for both of you, but not serious.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Yes?’

  He sounded slightly less patient.

  ‘If it’s not, what might it be?’

  ‘Well, hard to say. But I’m confident it is.’

  ‘And – how long would you leave it? Before operating, I mean? Supposing he got peritonitis as a result, then—’

  ‘Mrs Knelston, I do assure you Kit is a long way from developing peritonitis,’ said Dr Redmond, his expression carefully patient.

  ‘How can we be sure of that?’ Irritation was making Alice brave.

  ‘Well –’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I can arrange for him to see a consultant, if you like. How would that be?’

  ‘Well – mightn’t it take weeks?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. You’ve been reading the newspapers, they love running down our National Health Service. Maybe a couple of weeks, no more.’

  ‘But Dr Redmond, this has happened twice in three days. Surely—?’

  ‘Look, Mrs Knelston, I can’t do better than that. Bring Kit in if he has another of these attacks, of course, but I’d put money on it all settling down within a week. Now, if you’ll excuse me …’

  They were clearly dismissed.

  And now, thought Alice, I’ve got to face Mrs Hartley. Who will probably never speak to me again.

  Mrs Hartley was beaming as she opened the door. A blissful silence lay behind her in her house.

  ‘What a little angel,’ she said. ‘Oh, we’ve had such a lovely time. He took his bottle beautifully and then just lay on the floor, playing with some old rattles I found, and I sang to him, poor child, but it made him laugh. Anyway, he’s asleep now, in his carrycot. I’ll just get it unless you’d like a quick cuppa –’

  Alice could think of nothing she’d like more than a quick cuppa, but she had visions of Charlie waking up, taking one look at her and starting to scream, and after thanking Mrs Hartley profusely, she took the carrycot and went home.

  ‘You little monster,’ she hissed at Charlie, as she set him down on the floor.

  Tom arrived home exhausted and in no mood to start fretting over the health of Kit, who was fast asleep.

  ‘Hell of a day,’ he said. ‘Doorstepping, non-stop. Several people told me to bugger off, several more to mind my own effing business. Oh, politics is fun. Well, only ten days to go. Whatever happens it can’t be worse than this.’

  ‘Tom, I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad day,’ said Alice carefully, ‘but I’m really worried about Kit. Supposing it isn’t appendicitis, supposing it’s—’

  ‘Supposing it’s what? Look, he’s fine, Alice, sleeping like a – a baby. Obviously, whatever it is can’t be serious. And Dr Redmond is getting an appointment with a consultant. What more do you want?’

  ‘I – I want to be convinced,’ said Alice. ‘And I’m not. He’s in such pain when it happens. We had children in Thomas’ with appendicitis and it can be horribly painful, of course, but it wasn’t really like that – and if it is his appendix it could rupture and then—’

  ‘Alice,’ said Tom, ‘you’re being a typical nurse, thinking you know more than the doctor. Look, I’m sorry, but Kit seems fine to me, and I need to get some sleep. I think I might stay in Purbridge tomorrow and the next few nights. The journey is a killer. Now, you are still on for polling day, aren’t you?’

  ‘If Kit’s all right.’

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ said Tom and stalked out of the room; Alice heard him going upstairs.

  ‘Bastard,’ she said, too quietly for him to hear but it still made her feel better. Was the election really more important than his child’s health?

  It seemed it was.

  ‘Diana Southcott?’

  She knew that voice. Posh with an edge, she would have labelled it. Like its owner. She had been wondering if she might hear it again of its own accord, or whether she might have to use subterfuge. But no subterfuge required. Good start. Very good start. She’d only been back twenty-four hours.

  ‘Yes. It’s me.’

  ‘Leo Bennett.’

  ‘Oh – hello,’ she said. She didn’t want him getting all pleased with himself, thinking she’d recognised his voice straight away. Even if she had.

  ‘How was New York?’

  ‘It was amazing.’

  ‘Good. Did you like the Pierre?’


  ‘Loved it.’

  ‘Do any shopping?’

  ‘Didn’t have time.’

  ‘God. They really were making you work.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Diana, slightly primly.

  ‘I rang,’ he said, after a moment’s pause, ‘just on the off chance you might have changed your mind.’

  ‘About the story? No, absolutely not. Sorry, Leo.’

  ‘That’s OK. I thought that’s what you’d say. But you know … never give up.’

  ‘I’m sure you never do,’ she said.

  ‘Occasionally. How would you feel about lunching again anyway? Without having to worry about what you were or weren’t telling me?’

  ‘I’d feel quite happy,’ she said, smiling down the phone. ‘But not yet, I’m working all day the next few days.’

  ‘You really do work hard, don’t you?’ he said. ‘In that case, why don’t we make it dinner instead? If that could be sooner …’

  They arranged to meet two nights later. Diana wondered how her knees would react to seeing him again. Maybe it would only happen on the first meeting.

  Chapter 56

  Oh, no. Please, please, no. Not again. He’d been so well the last thirty-six hours … now he was lying on the kitchen floor, thrashing about with pain, screaming, ‘Tummy … tummy … tummy …’

  It was six thirty in the morning. Tom had just left, not that he would have been any help, Alice thought, racking her brain for someone who might be not Dr Redmond. Oh, of course, of course, she should have asked her before.

  ‘Jillie? It’s me, Alice. Look – I know it’s a lot to ask but could you – could you possibly come over? There’s something the matter with Kit. Recurrent abdominal pain. Three times now, each episode more severe. He’s screaming with pain, legs drawn up, vomiting … temperature a hundred and two –’

  ‘Sounds like appendicitis.’

  ‘I know, so the doctor has said, twice now. But I think it’s something else. I know it’s something else. No idea what. Jillie, please come.’

  ‘I’m on duty this morning, Alice. Operating. I was just leaving.’

  ‘Jillie, please. I’m really scared. I don’t know what do to.’

  A moment’s silence; then Jillie said, ‘Let me give them a ring. I’ll see what I can do.’

  She rang back in five minutes. Five very long minutes.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m on my way.’

  Alice met her at the door, gave her a hug. ‘Thank you so much for coming. I’m so scared. He’s really unwell. Come through, he’s in the sitting room. Oh, God, Jillie, what on earth is that?’

  There was an explosion as something extremely unpleasant, red in colour, came shooting out of Kit’s pyjama trousers.

  ‘I don’t know, not really. But can I have a look at your bottom, Kit, darling?’ said Jillie. ‘I’ll try not to hurt, I promise.’

  Jillie spent a little while examining him, then said, ‘I can feel something – in his rectum. He needs to see someone urgently. What’s your GP like?’

  ‘Hopeless. He just keeps saying it’s appendicitis.’

  ‘Well, you’re right, it’s more than that. Kit needs to see a specialist quickly.’

  ‘The GP finally agreed to that yesterday. He’s writing to someone.’

  ‘Writing! It’s a lot more urgent than that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But where – I mean, who?’ She looked at Jillie with panic in her eyes.

  ‘I think you should take him to see Ned,’ said Jillie quietly. ‘He’s one of the best paediatricians in London and he’d see him this morning, I know.’

  ‘You really think he needs to be seen that urgently?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I’ll call him then. Do you have the number for his rooms?’

  ‘Yes. Here –’

  Alice rang the number. It rang for quite a long time. She looked at her watch.

  ‘It’s only nine. Would he be there?’

  ‘He should be. If not then I – well, I do have his home number.’

  ‘Of course. God, Jillie, this is good of you. I – oh, good morning. Is that Mr Welles’s secretary?’

  ‘Yes. Can I help you?’ The voice didn’t promise great helpfulness.

  ‘I – wondered if I could speak to Mr Welles? I’m a prospective patient. Or rather my child is.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Mr Welles doesn’t speak directly to patients without a referral. So – I’m afraid …’

  ‘Could you hold on a minute?’ Alice put her hand over the phone and looked at Jillie. ‘He doesn’t speak to patients without a referral.’

  Jillie hesitated, then said, ‘Give the phone to me. Jennifer, this is Jillie Curtis. Yes. I’m very well, thank you. Look, I need to talk to Mr Welles. I’ve got a very sick child I want him to see. It’s desperately urgent. What? Oh – yes. Yes, I’ll hold on.’

  She had become very pale. Alice tried to imagine what she must be feeling, how painful this must be. She reached for Jillie’s hand and held it; Jillie smiled at her, rather wanly.

  ‘Oh – Ned, hello. Yes, I’m very well, thank you. And you? Good. Ned, I’m with Alice Knelston. Her little boy, Kit, is very unwell. Stomach pains, vomiting, fever. No, I don’t think so. But he’s producing what we were told to call a redcurrant stool. Does that mean anything to you? Yes, I thought it would. Look, can you see him this morning? I think it’s really urgent. Yes, of course, I’ll tell her. Thank you, Ned. Thank you so much. Bye.’

  She turned to Alice.

  ‘The red poo is very significant. I thought it was, but I didn’t feel confident enough to say so. We’re to get Kit up there just as soon as you can. We can take my car. Fine to bring Lucy. I can look after her, but I’m not sure about Charlie –’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Alice. ‘The lady next door, the love of Charlie’s life, will have him. I’ll just go and make a bottle and take him in there.’

  Mrs Hartley was delighted. ‘A whole morning with my little sweetheart. How lovely! Come to Nana, darlin’.’

  Charlie gurgled delightedly at the sight of her. He never gurgled …

  ‘Oh, Mrs Knelston –’ Mrs Hartley looked stricken suddenly. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling myself Nana. My own are all grown up, and it’s so lovely to be one again.’

  Jillie said she was delighted to think of Mrs Hartley as Charlie’s nana, and handed him and the bottle over. ‘I’ll bring in the carrycot and some nappies in a minute. Thank you so much. I hope we’re not too long.’

  ‘You be as long as you need. Poor little Kit, what a shame. We’ll have fun, won’t we, Charlie? How would you like to go to the park, eh?’

  Charlie gurgled again.

  * * *

  ‘There’s one thing I must do before we go,’ said Alice. ‘Tell Tom. I’ll ring him straight away. Are you OK with Kit?’

  ‘We’re fine. Only be quick. We don’t want to be late for Ned.’

  ‘Promise I won’t … Tom, it’s me. Look, Jillie’s here. She’s very worried about Kit, says he needs to be seen by a specialist right away. She’s very kindly arranged for him to see Ned, this morning. Straight away. Ned Welles. Yes. Yes, Tom, that Ned Welles. Now, actually. We’re just leaving. I just thought I’d better let you know. What? Yes, of course I know he’s a private doctor. What? No, of course I’m not going to cancel the appointment. Why should I? Tom, this is your son you’re talking about. Who is very, very ill. And possibly needs surgery right away. I beg your pardon? No, Tom, I won’t listen to you; I can’t believe you actually said that. No. Yes, of course I realise what I’m doing. Do you realise what you’re doing? Putting your principles before your son’s life. I can’t believe it. No. No, I will not go and see Dr Redmond again. Apart from anything else, he’s got no particular knowledge of paediatrics, whereas Ned is a paediatric surgeon. Look, I’ve got to go. Ned is fitting us in between patients. Jillie’s driving us up. No. No, I’m sorry, Tom, I’m not going to wait for you to come home. If you really want to see me you ca
n come to Ned’s rooms. I can’t listen to any more of this – it shocks me, it really does.’

  And then, as she put Lucy’s shoes on, shaking with rage and shock at Tom’s reaction, came the dreadful, ugly thought. Would Laura have done this? Gone against one of the most sacred tenets of Tom’s life? Defied his most deeply held belief? Would she? Or would she have done what he wished, battled on with the NHS, seen that Kit got the same swift treatment from them; whereas she, getting it through contacts and privilege, was doing what Tom most hated and despised. And as she stood there, suspended by indecision and her fear of not being a good wife, as good a wife as Laura had been, Jillie, her voice urgent now, called her to hurry, and Kit started crying again with pain and fright.

  Tom put the phone down. He was literally shaking with rage. Alice, his wife, taking his son to see a private consultant in Welbeck Street. He thought for a moment he was going to be sick. How could she betray him like this? She knew how passionately, how deeply he cared about the National Health Service, how he hated privilege, and the rights it bought to do things like seeing top consultants immediately, getting special care, jumping queues. It was so wrong, such appalling injustice: and she was putting her name – his name – to it. With a general election only a week away, when his loyalty to the National Health Service, his hatred of privilege, were under such scrutiny. He had been so proud of his speech, comparing the system of private doctors and hospitals, where only the rich could go, with apartheid. Now it could come back to haunt him.

  It only needed one person to have seen Kit at Ned Welles’s rooms, or to have heard he had been there, and – well, he could see the headlines.

  ‘Knelston the Bevanite sends sick son to Welbeck Street’ … ‘Bevan betrayed by his disciple’ … ‘What price principle now, Mr Knelston?’ God, it was awful. Terrible. He would be ruined. How could Alice have done this to him? Of course Kit mattered desperately, but he didn’t seem that ill, he’d been larking about in between attacks, apparently perfectly well. And the GP was sending him to an NHS consultant. It surely couldn’t take that long, they could press to have it hurried along … and there was always the emergency department.