Death Before Time

by Andrew Puckett

  “That’s Patrick’s village there,” Helen said pointing, although all he could make out was a church tower poking up through the blanket of trees.

  He’d forgotten about Fitzpatrick’s orgy and hadn’t understood what Helen was talking about at first when she’d told him she’d like to accept his offer of a lift.

  “If you’ve changed your mind about going, don’t worry,” she’d said.

  “No, I’d like to take you,” he’d said.

  He’d picked her up at her house and she’d directed him south to a narrow road that threaded its way up through the downs. Spring had sprung at last and it was warm enough to drop the hood. The trees and hedges were dusty green, lambs bleated and blackbirds warbled throatily as they reached the summit - and the scarp …

  “I wouldn’t like to come off the road here,” he said now as the MG’s snout pointed down. The exhaust burbled gently in protest as he switched round a series of hairpins, then the road levelled out and after a mile, they ran into a village square.

  “That way,” Helen said, and a few minutes later, they pulled up in the gravel outside a long, low cottage.

  Fitzpatrick came out to meet them.

  “You look ravishing, my dear – or should that be ravishable?”

  “Hello Patrick,” she said as he kissed her cheek.

  She did look good, Fraser thought, she was wearing a primrose shift as airy as a flower over designer jeans.

  Patrick led them down a stone passage and into a long living room split by a fireplace – the house was much bigger than it had seemed from the outside. A score or so of people generated a low buzz.

  “Come and have some punch,” Patrick said, taking them over to a drinks table. “Don’t worry, it’s not strong.”

  Philip, who was talking with Edwina and a couple of others nodded and smiled. A woman got up and came over to them.

  “My wife, Marie,” Patrick said.

  She was about thirty, startlingly pretty with red hair and milky skin. “Hello, pleased to meet you,” she said. “Love your dress, Helen … ”

  Fraser had been expecting an Irish accent, but it was English, with more than a hint of estuary.

  As Patrick ladled punch, Fraser became aware of another figure beside them .

  Patrick said, “Ah … Fraser, may I – er - introduce you to Nigel Fleming, Chief Executive and also my boss …”

  The head baboon, thought Fraser as they shook hands.

  The nerviness he’d noticed in Patrick before had suddenly erupted again … And not a lot of love lost …

  “So how long have you been with us now, Fraser?” Fleming asked him as Patrick smartly faded away.

  “A wee bit over a month.”

  “Are you enjoying it here … ?”

  He might not look like a baboon, Fraser thought as they exchanged half a dozen meaningless sentences – he was about six foot tall, fleshy pale, with a dark widow’s peak – but he was without any doubt the tribe’s dominant male, powerful enough to simply not care about what others thought of him.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy your time with us,” he said, the shutters coming down as he judged Fraser, found him wanting and turned away to look for someone more interesting.

  Helen was with Philip. Fraser was about to go over to them, but the intimate way they were talking made him hesitate. He mingled rather unsatisfactorily for a while – then a bell rang in the hall and Patrick hurried out. A moment later, a fantastic figure appeared in the doorway. It wore full evening dress with cloak, cane and top hat. The entire room was stunned to silence.

  “Good evening everyone,” the figure said in fruity tones, and resolved itself into George Woodvine, whom Fraser had last seen in Edwina’s office with the local MP … what was her name? She was with him now - did they go everywhere together, he wondered? Matlock, that was it, Patricia Matlock – he remembered her now, with her short blonde hair and blue eyes ...

  “Are we to see the infant?” Woodvine enquired, “Or is this a celebration in absentia?”

  “As usual, your timing’s impeccable,” said Patrick. “Marie’s feeding him now and he’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Let me take your cloak.”

  Woodvine handed him his accoutrements, then turned to greet Fleming, who’d walked over to him.

  “Good evening, Nigel.”

  “Good evening, George.”

  Not a huge amount of affection there either, Fraser reflected.

  Philip and someone else came in with trays of Champagne. Patrick returned with Marie, who was holding a baby.

  “Would you do the honours, George?”

  “Delighted.” He turned to the guests – “Are your glasses charged? Excellent – “ He turned back to the baby and solemnly addressed it – “May you be blessed with the health, humour and comeliness of both your parents.” He raised his glass, and his voice - “I give you Patrick Fitzpatrick the second.”

  As this echoed round the room, the baby let out an outraged howl and everyone laughed as Marie took him out again. Fraser found himself next to Philip Armitage.

  “You decided to come, then Fraser?”

  “Patrick made it difficult to refuse.”

  Philip grinned at him, his expression saying it was good to see him socialising rather than sulking.

  They exchanged a few words, then he said, “I think Nigel’s going, I’d better go and say goodbye to him.”

  Fraser looked round for Helen and saw her with Woodvine by the drinks table. He made his way over.

  “George,” she said, “this is Fraser Callan, our new staff grade.”

  “We’ve already met,” Woodvine said with a smile, his white teeth and thick white hair accentuating the ruddy tan of his face. Holding up the whisky bottle, he continued, “Will ye take a wee dram wi’ me Fraser?” The accent was perfect and Fraser and Helen both burst out laughing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Woodvine said.

  “Noo,” said Fraser. “I’d love to, but I’m driving.”

  “My commiserations.”

  “I enjoyed your speech,” Fraser said.

  “For its brevity, I imagine.”

  “And its felicity.”

  Woodvine looked at him, his eyes grey and very clear. “Now that is a compliment,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “George…” a voice called softly.

  They looked round – it was Patrick, who’d come back into the room.

  “I’ll speak to you both later,” George said, and went over to him.

  “I think you made an impression there,” Helen said quietly. “It’s usually George who does the impressing.”

  “Oh, he did that fine well,” Fraser said. “His entrance was something to behold.”

  By common accord, they drifted over to the room’s perimeter.

  “Glad you came?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t at first.” He told her in a low voice about his time with the head baboon. “He seemed to have a pretty negative effect on Patrick too,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “It’ll change now he’s gone.”

  “Why?”

  She lowered her voice. “He and Patrick don’t get on … well, actually, they loathe and detest the sight of each other, but Patrick had to invite him and Fleming had to come. Patrick always goes a bit flaky when he’s around.”

  “Why do they loathe and detest each other?”

  “Ancient history. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Tell me now, no one can hear us here.”

  She glanced round, bent her head closer. “Remember what I was telling you the other day about St James’?”

  He nodded, breathing in her musky perfume.

  “Well, Fleming blames Patrick for not foreseeing it.”

  “With any justification?”

  “Patrick’s Director of Community medicine, so in theory it was his responsibility.”

  “Sounds to me more like Fleming trying to duck the buck.”

  She grinned. “Ah, but y
ou like Patrick, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Very much, but …”

  “But what?”

  She smiled, but shook her head.

  Something had changed, he thought. She seemed … more alive towards him? Was it Ranjid’s absence, he wondered? He was at a meeting in Wolverhampton for the day.

  He said, “Where does George Woodvine fit into all this?”

  “He’s the Trust’s Chairman.”

  “So in theory, he’s the boss?”

  She shook her head again. “Not even in theory. He’s the non-exec Chairman. Fleming has all the real power.”

  “Then what’s the point of him – George, I mean. Other than entertainment value.”

  She smiled, said, “He chairs the meetings and keeps an eye on things. Remember I told you how Patricia Matlock set up a committee to deal with the St James’ scandal? Well, he, Patrick and Fleming were the other members. They were the ones with the most to lose.”

  “So they’re all bound together whether they like it or not?”

  “Something like that ... ”

  “Ladies and gentlemen … “

  They turned as, with a flourish, Patrick pulled a cloth away to reveal a table of food. People oohed and aahed, formed an orderly queue, ate, and then drank some more. Patrick circulated, chatting with everyone, a happier man.

  Helen said, “What will you do when you’ve finished here, Fraser?”

  “No idea. I’ve been wondering about going abroad again.“

  “Again?” she asked, and he told her about his time in Africa.

  “Yes,” she said, looking at him. “I can see you burnt as a berry somewhere in shorts and a pith helmet.”

  He laughed. “Why d’you say that?”

  “There’s something restless about you.”

  There was a roar of laughter from the other side of the room by the drinks table where a crowd of people surrounded George Woodvine.

  “You’re right about things changing,” he said, wanting to change the subject. “Is it because Fleming’s gone or Woodvine’s arrived?”

  “Both, I expect – plus the alcohol effect.”

  “Speaking of which,” he pointed to her glass, ”Can I get you another?”

  “Mm … some more punch please. White wine if there isn’t any.”

  He’d just scraped enough from the bottom of the punch bowl to fill two glasses when Woodvine caught sight of him.

  “Ah, Dr Callan, I presume – the very man.”

  Fraser smiled, wondering what was coming.

  “I’ve been telling all these good people here of the vicissitudes Patricia and I have undergone on our tours of the nation’s hospitals.”

  His ruddy face was certainly showing the alcohol effect, Fraser thought, although his diction was perfect. He listened along with the others.

  “Last week we had to visit a hospital in – er - Warwickshire, I think it was. Anyway, the manager showed us in and I said to the patient in the first bed, who was swathed in bandages, poor fellow. How are you feeling, my good man? I asked, and he said: O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us To see ourselves as others see us.”

  His accent, as before, was perfect.

  “Well, I stepped back, wondering if this was some kind of subtle insult and Patricia said to the next man, who was also covered in bandages: Are you happy with your treatment here? and he said: Wee sleekit, cow’rin’, timorous beastie O what panic’s in they breastie?

  “Well, she wasn’t too pleased about that, I can tell you, so I spoke very firmly to the next man, also well wrapped: We’d like to know what you think about this place and he said: The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men Gang aft a-gley.

  “Well, that did it. I turned to the manager. What is going on here? I demanded. And d’you know what he said to me?”

  Woodvine paused and looked around…

  “He said: Didn’t you know? This is the Burns unit.”

  There were howls of laughter, from Fraser as well, although he’d seen it coming.

  “You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?” said a voice beside him and he turned to see Patricia Matlock.

  “Aye, but it was the way he told it.”

  “He has the giftie, then?”

  “He has that. D’you really go round looking at hospitals?”

  She nodded. “All over the country, and we’ve had some pretty bizarre experiences, although nothing quite like that.”

  “Why d’you do it?”

  “To collect data, make contacts. Health is a special interest of mine.”

  Aware of the drinks in his hand, Fraser smiled and said, “I’m on an errand, so I’d better go.”

  She smiled back at him. “I think you might be too late.”

  He stared at her, then over to where he’d left Helen – she was still there, but so was Ranjid Singh. They were both holding drinks and talking.

  Chapter 6

  “I … see what you mean,” Fraser said slowly. “That’s – er – very observant of you.”

  “I find it pays to be observant,” she said, “In every sense of the word. Don’t you?” Her voice was husky, sexy, slightly pissed. Her blue eyes roved his face.

  He put one of the drinks down and took a sip from the other. “Now you’re being enigmatic.”

  “Well, you obviously haven’t been drinking much if you can say that so easily.”

  “Driving. How did you and George get here?”

  “In a taxi, why -? Oh, I see. You saw us arriving together and he, of course, has been drinking … but is it so obvious that I have?”

  He made a mouth and rocked his hand from side to side. She gave a tight little smile.

  “What I meant, Fraser, is that knowing things can prevent one making a fool of oneself.”

  “Important in your job, I imagine.”

  “In any job, Fraser. But just at the moment, important to you.”

  “In what way?”

  She considered him a moment, then said, “I think you’ve blundered into deep and rather murky waters. T’were better you hadn’t stepped in at all, but now that you have … ” She leaned closer, entering his space unasked, “Think about it, Fraser…” she said, and melted away.

  What the hell was all that about? He looked round at Helen and Ranjid wondering whether to join them - then Ranjid caught his eye and walked over.

  “Hello Ranjid,” he said brightly. “I thought you were in Wolverhampton.”

  “I was. I came away early.”

  “Interesting meeting?”

  “Very, thank you – “ He caught Fraser’s eye movement, turned, and they both watched as Helen went to the door that led to the passage. Ranjid turned back to him and said, “It was very good of you to bring Helen here, but I shall be taking her home. Is that understood?”

  “Does she know that?”

  “She does.” He made as if to go, then turned back, took Fraser’s arm and led him a little way from the drinks table.

  “A word to the wise, Fraser – it might be an idea if you were to leave.” His grip tightened on his arm, “By which I mean – leave the party, now, and leave the hospital … soon.” He gave a tight, sweet smile. “Believe me Fraser, you really are superfluous in every possible way.” He tapped the side of his nose, winked, then walked back to where he had been standing.

  He’s mad, Fraser thought, Raving, keening, howling …

  He felt as though people must be staring at him, but they weren’t … what the hell should he do? If he tried speaking to her, God knew what might happen. Patrick emerged from the kitchen, caught his eye and came over.

  “Can I get you anything, Fraser?”

  “I’m OK, thanks … “

  “A shandy, that’s what you need – come with me.”

  It was Patrick’s turn to grasp his arm and lead him firmly to the kitchen – where Helen was waiting …

  “What was he saying to you?” she demanded.

  “That he’d be t
aking you home, among other things.”

  “Like hell he is, we’re going – now. Thanks, Patrick.”

  “My pleasure and privilege, darling.” He opened the back door, kissed her cheek and shook Fraser’s hand.

  They hurried out across the gravel, he unzipped the tonneau and they got into the car. He reversed, then drove out through the gateposts.

  “Should we find another way back?” he asked.

  “There isn’t an easy one. I don’t think he’ll follow us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Is that so?” He looked into the mirror, but couldn’t see any car lights. “I think he’s mad enough for anything.”

  She looked at him. “What else was he saying to you?”

  He quickly told her ... “What’s going on, Helen?”

  She sighed audibly, said, “I thought I’d explained it.”

  He didn’t say anything. The engine purred, the night was soft and warm, closing round them like an intimacy. She said, “We had an affair. It was stupid and I’m regretting it.”

  “Had, or are having?”

  “Had, so far as I’m concerned, but he’s having some difficulty in accepting that.”

  “What was he saying to you earlier?”

  “What he always says, that we have to talk. It might have helped if you’d come back with the drinks,” she said pointedly.

  “I saw you there with him and … I didn’t know what to think …”

  “So I noticed.”

  He changed down as they started up the hill. “He’s mad, Helen.”

  “He’s neurotic.”

  “Has he threatened you?”

  “Not as such.”

  “As such … does Philip know?”

  “A little.”

  “I think you should tell him, all of it.”

  He concentrated on his driving as he went up through the hairpins, then said as they reached the top, “He gives me the ghoulies apart from anything else.”

  “Give you the what?”

  “Ghoulies – as in ghoul.”

  “I thought for a moment you were being – Ahh - !”

  She gripped his arm as from nowhere, a roebuck sprang high over the road in front of them, its eyes glittering in the headlamps … another one followed –

  It hung above the car for a moment like an airship, then vanished into the night as though it had never been.