Cruel Legacy

by Penny Jordan

  Richard frowned. Blake Hamilton had said nothing to him about giving her any such advice, although they had discussed the case.

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ Richard assured her only semi-truthfully. Both the Mail and the Telegraph had run stories on the article. Ian had rung him up to tease him about his publicity and so, of course, had a variety of other medical colleagues.

  What exactly was Blake Hamilton trying to do? He had not struck Richard as a particularly manipulative type of man; they had got on well together and had seemed to share corresponding views, and yet there was no doubt in Richard’s mind after listening to his patient that Hamilton had manipulated her… For what purpose: to discredit him further with David? But how could that possibly benefit Blake Hamilton, who had seemed to share his own contempt for David?

  ‘I don’t understand why he should have involved himself,’ Richard told Elizabeth later. ‘What is he trying to do…?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Elizabeth suggested reasonably.

  ‘It isn’t as simple or as straightforward as that,’ Richard told her. ‘We’ve got the Minister visiting us tomorrow. Brian’s in a real flap about it. It looks as if the Northern is going to get the new Accident Unit,’ he added quietly. ‘Nothing official has been said yet, but…’

  Elizabeth watched him unhappily. No matter what she said to him or how much she tried to comfort him, to help him adopt a positive attitude towards the prospect of his retirement, it would achieve nothing unless Richard himself changed.

  She had thought quite often recently about what would happen if he stopped work; there was no use trying to pretend or to avoid acknowledging that if Richard did retire it would change her life as well as his own.

  In the early days of their marriage she had always put Richard and his needs, the needs of his career first—girls and young women had done that in those days—and then her daughter had been born and her needs too had seemed more important than her own.

  But things… life had changed. She wasn’t that same young woman any more. She was enjoying the excitement of discovering how far she could push herself, how much she could achieve, how her mind, her brain was enjoying the feeling of being stretched and used in much the same way as her muscles did after a good exercise class… She was thriving on the challenges she was being offered far too much to give it all up and to stay at home now and help nurse Richard’s bruised ego… to comfort him in his self-inflicted self-pity… No, she couldn’t…

  Quickly she turned her head away, not wanting Richard to see her expression. How often had she counselled other women that it was healthy and good for them to be selfish sometimes, to put themselves and their own needs first; that their respect for themselves engendered respect in others?

  Giving such advice was one thing… acting on it was another… ‘Richard, have you thought of having a word with… with someone about how you feel about retiring…?’ she suggested quietly.

  She saw immediately that she had said the wrong thing. ‘For God’s sake Liz, you might have been brainwashed into believing that counselling is an instant cure for everything… Try telling that to someone who’s suffering from a perforated ulcer or a malignant cancer,’ he told her sourly.

  Elizabeth paused, tempted to point out the ineffectiveness of the evasive and defensive tactics he was adopting, but putting him in the wrong and trying to make him acknowledge what he was doing was hardly likely to help.

  ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d never brought the subject up in the first place,’ he continued testily. ‘Just because I don’t feel that I’m ready to retire, and that I’m being forced into it, it doesn’t automatically make me a candidate for the shrink’s couch.’

  Guiltily Richard avoided meeting Elizabeth’s eyes. He knew that he was over-reacting, but even the very mention of the word ‘retirement’ had become like touching a raw nerve, his body so sensitive to the anticipated pain that it reacted almost before that nerve was touched.

  And besides, what could counselling tell him that he didn’t already know himself? That his fear of retirement represented a very male fear of no longer commanding respect, being needed, having a defined role to play, being in control of life? And what the hell good would that do him?

  * * *

  ‘And this, Minister, is Mr Humphries, our senior surgeon.’

  ‘Mr Humphries.’ The Minister extended her hand towards Richard with a warm smile. ‘I’ve been hearing and reading some very good things about you. It’s a very welcome change to see us getting some good publicity for once, and to know that our senior people are so open to exploring new avenues of healing, especially when they’re connected with such an important issue as women’s health,’ she told Richard approvingly.

  At the Minister’s side, Richard could see David frowning as he tried to edge her away from him.

  ‘I understand that you were the initial instigator of the plan to open an Accident Unit locally, and that you’ve been one of the prime campaigners to raise funds towards it, and arouse local interest.’

  ‘The new motorway links opened locally have meant that we’re seeing far more road accident cases than we used to,’ Richard replied. ‘It’s a proven fact that the victims of these accidents stand a far better chance of surviving if their injuries are dealt with immediately by experienced staff… staff who are trained to recognise the nature of their injuries and how to deal with them. And of course we’re not just talking about when they actually reach hospital,’ Richard told her, warming to his theme. ‘Medical teams in the ambulances——’

  ‘Thank you, Richard,’ David cut in testily, glaring at him. ‘But I’m sure the Minister doesn’t need a lecture from you on…’

  ‘On the contrary,’ the Minister stopped David smoothly. ‘I consider it part of my remit, and certainly my responsibility, to be as well-informed as I can.’

  Richard could see that David was growing increasingly impatient.

  ‘Er—I don’t wish to rush you, Minister,’ he started saying, ‘but if I could just introduce you to our newly appointed psychiatrist, Mr…’

  ‘Blake!’ the Minister exclaimed warmly as she turned round. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she clasped Blake Hamilton warmly by the forearms.

  ‘Minister,’ Richard heard Blake responding formally.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she demanded, ignoring his attempt at formality. ‘I thought you’d gone back to Johns Hopkins…’

  ‘I did,’ Blake confirmed. ‘But… I had to come back for personal reasons.’

  ‘And you’re working here?’ she asked him, her eyebrows lifting a little.

  ‘like Richard, I believe that the future lies in treating the patients as a whole, not as a variety of different needs.’

  ‘So… you and… Mr Humphries would be working together in the new unit,’ she commented thoughtfully. She frowned as she looked at David. ‘I didn’t read any mention of this in your last report, Mr Howarth?’

  ‘Er… we hadn’t quite finalised our plans then,’ David told her.

  His colour was unusually high, Richard noticed, both with temper and mortification, but he made no attempt to challenge what Blake had said.

  ‘Of course initially it will mean some extra expense,’ Blake was adding quietly. ‘And we all appreciate the difficult situation the Health Service is in, with so many calls upon its finances, but from my work at Johns Hopkins I know that early counselling not only aids the patients’ speed of recovery but also ultimately is cost-effective, in that the counselling itself is far more effective in the early days after the trauma.’

  ‘It’s certainly a very innovative idea,’ the Minister commented.

  ‘And one with considerable media appeal,’ Blake told her.

  Richard saw the slightly sharp look she gave him, her mouth pursing slightly as she told him, ‘It’s the health of our patients that is our prime concern, not the approval of the media.’ But then her expression softened slightly as she added, ‘But you�
�re right, of course, Blake. It would be good publicity—show that we are forward-thinking and not wholly bound up with cost-cutting and bureaucracy, as so many of our detractors appear to think.

  ‘The PM is very anxious to improve the Health Ministry’s public image——’ She broke off, frowning. One of the aides behind her leaned forward to murmur something in her ear, and looked significantly at his watch.

  ‘It’s been interesting talking with you,’ she told Richard as she shook his hand a second time, her mouth curled into a small smile as she added, ‘I shall look forward to seeing the results your new unit achieves, although not, I dare say, its budgets. However, health care can never be wholly about finance. Good money-management is important, of course—we must never forget that we are housekeepers of the nation’s funds, not our own—but good health is even more so.’ Her eyes darkened a little and became slightly shadowed as she turned to Blake and told him, ‘We must arrange to have dinner and talk properly, Blake. It’s been a long time since Romania…’

  * * *

  ‘You should have seen David’s face when she made that comment about looking forward to seeing the results of the new unit,’ Richard told Elizabeth later as he related the day’s events to her. ‘He looked as though he was about to have a thrombosis…’

  ‘But I thought you said he was going to recommend the Northern for the unit…’

  ‘He was, but the Minister never gave him the chance…’

  ‘Can she do that? Go against his recommendations…?’

  ‘She is the Minister,’ Richard told her drily, ‘and before she left she apparently saw Brian and confirmed to him that we were to get the unit. He’s cock-a-hoop with it… and——’

  ‘He’s not the only one,’ Elizabeth interrupted him with smile.

  ‘You should have seen David’s reaction when the Minister saw Blake Hamilton. It seems the two of them met when he was out working in Romania for one of the relief agencies and she was there as a government adviser.’

  ‘That kind of experience must have a bonding effect on the people who share it,’ Elizabeth responded. ‘Those poor children, I don’t think any of us will ever forget the news footage we saw. To have witnessed the reality of what their poor little lives were at first hand must have left its mark on the people who were there.’

  ‘Mmm. Well, Blake had obviously impressed the Minister.’

  ‘And not only Blake. To judge from what you’ve told me, you did your fair share of impressing her yourself…’ Elizabeth commented.

  ‘Oh, she made some remark about the good publicity we’d got,’ Richard agreed, ‘but without Blake I doubt that it would have been enough to swing her decision our way… He’s a very clever man, is our Blake. Very clever…

  ‘After she’d gone I asked him why he encouraged her to come down on our side, when he could quite easily have put pressure on David to use him at the Northern where he could have had equally easy access to the new unit.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Elizabeth asked him curiously.

  ‘He said that, like me, he believed saving people’s lives should come before saving money, and that he felt that Christopher Jeffries was too easily influenced by David. “He’s a good surgeon,” he told me, “but rather too easily put upon…” The Minister wants the new unit to come into operation as soon as possible and she’s told Brian that she wants estimates in straight away—and she’s given him the go-ahead to make enquiries about that specially equipped ambulance-cum-mobile-operating unit we wanted.

  ‘God, half of me still can’t believe it. The relief… after what I’d been dreading… You’ve no idea…’ He stopped and smiled at her, buoyant with enthusiasm and excitement. ‘Call Sara; see if she and Ian are free this weekend; we’ll take them out somewhere to celebrate.’

  ‘Richard…’ Elizabeth began, and then stopped. Now was perhaps not the time to raise the subject that was troubling her. It seemed unkind to broach it while he was so ebulliently happy, but the issues raised by his reaction to his threatened retirement were still there, even if events had pushed them into abeyance.

  One day, ultimately, they would have to be faced, even if right now she felt a cowardly relief that they were not going to have to face them yet.

  Whether Richard chose to see his brief foretaste of what ultimately lay ahead as something constructive or destructive could only rest with him.

  And if he chose to ignore what he had learned?

  ‘Liz…’

  She looked up to find he was watching her.

  ‘Let’s enjoy today for what it is…’

  ‘And forget about tomorrow?’ she suggested wryly.

  ‘And forget about it—no…’ He came over to her and folded her in his arms, resting his chin on top of her head, his hand slowly stroking her hair. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he told her huskily, ‘and I know you’re right. I promise I’ll do my best to try to cultivate a more positive attitude…

  ‘This afternoon, when I’d started to come down a little, I told myself how lucky I’ve been… not just because of the unit, but because I’ve been given a chance to… to see what lies ahead and to prepare for it.

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you and pretend I feel any differently about it—I don’t… but perhaps I can learn to feel differently. In fact,’ he added softly, drawing her closer, ‘I’ve already thought of one way I can make very good use of all this free time I’m ultimately going to have—a leisure activity eminently suitable for a man of my age with a proven beneficial effect on the cardiovascular system. You haven’t got anything planned for this evening, have you…?’

  ‘This evening…?’ Elizabeth laughed, and teased him, ‘All evening…?’ as his hand stroked up over her body and lingered caressingly against her breast.

  ‘All evening,’ Richard confirmed, laughing with her.

  ‘Mmm…’ Her mouth curled into a smile as he kissed the side of her throat. ‘Fifty pence says you can’t…’

  ‘You’re on,’ Richard told her.

  Elizabeth felt him move slightly, and as she peered over his shoulder she saw that he had the fingers of his free hand crossed behind his back.

  She was still laughing as she turned to walk upstairs with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE Volvo estate car Blake arrived to pick her up in wasn’t somehow the kind of car she had expected a man of his professional stature to drive; a top-of-the-range Jaguar, BMW or Mercedes would have been more the type of car Philippa would have expected him to own—shiny and expensive, rather than merely comfortable and clean.

  Andrew would have been highly disdainful, but then Andrew had always placed too much emphasis on outward show and material possessions.

  It had been hard to know exactly what to wear this morning—or perhaps easier to worry about her clothes than all the other issues her decision to accept Blake’s job offer had raised. Had she been working in an office it would have been much easier—a suit, a skirt and blouse—but what did a housekeeper-cum-surrogate mother wear?

  Bearing in mind the fact that she was going to be meeting Anya’s social worker as well as Anya herself, Philippa had opted for a simple plain white T-shirt and her jeans, but had brought with her a navy jacket she could wear to add a touch of formality if it proved necessary.

  A little to her surprise, Blake was wearing almost exactly the same sort of outfit, except that he did not have the jacket, and the T-shirt he was wearing moulded the contours of his body far more snugly than her own did hers.

  Inadvertently she found herself looking at him for just that little bit too long.

  His forearms were taut and sinewy, with far more muscle than she would have expected in a man whose occupation was mainly sedentary; his skin was tanned a warm golden-brown, a legacy from the time he had spent in America, she guessed.

  Even the soft furring of hair on his arms had a faint golden sheen to it… Would the rest of his body hair be the same colour or slightly darker still, the way she r
emembered it?

  Her stomach did a somersault.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes… Yes, I’m fine…’ Instinctively she took a step back from him, widening the gap between them before risking meeting his eyes.

  When she saw that they were registering only good-mannered concern, she relaxed slightly.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve dressed casually,’ he approved as he opened the car door for her. ‘Anya’s parents were more concerned with their cause than their appearance and she tends to be slightly afraid of anyone dressed too formally or in uniform.

  ‘She’s never actually been to South America, of course, but her parents still lived there spiritually in many ways. An overriding point in my favour as far as the Social Services were concerned is the fact that with me she would have the opportunity to become more integrated into the mainstream of everyday life; she’s completely fluent in Spanish, but she’s never had a doll and appears more knowledgeable about the difficulties of arming revolutionaries than she does about playing games with other children.’

  ‘That isn’t necessarily a disadvantage,’ Philippa commented drily. ‘In fact I should think it would make her extremely popular with her peers. Children are all potential revolutionaries…’

  ‘With adults their oppressors?’ Blake suggested, laughing.

  As Philippa shared his laughter she was sharply aware of how much shared adult male-to-female laughter had been missing from her life.

  Andrew had not had a good sense of humour, frowning disapprovingly whenever he’d heard the boys telling her jokes. Philippa had the suspicion that he’d considered that spontaneous genuine laughter in a woman was somehow something not quite acceptable… like spontaneous genuine enjoyment of sex?