A Risk Worth Taking

by Robin Pilcher

  “For heaven’s sakes,” Dan exclaimed, standing up and banging his foot into the other shoe.

  “He had a urinary infection about two years ago, and it really weakened him. The disease is so much more advanced now that this one could be a real problem.”

  “Have you managed to move him?”

  Katie shook her head. “No. Max is sitting with him.” Her voice quivered. “He can hardly speak, Dan.”

  Pulling on a shirt and a pair of jeans over his T-shirt and sports shorts, Dan realized that it was time for him to take control. He walked through the main room, giving Katie a quick, reassuring hug as he passed her, and banged on Josh’s door. “Josh, get up! We’ve got a problem.”

  Josh had appeared in the doorway of his bedroom by the time Dan had pulled on his jacket. True to the habit of a teenage male who had just woken from his slumbers, he scratched slowly at the crotch of his boxer shorts, but desisted the moment he realized that Katie was in the room.

  “What’s up?” he asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “We’ve got to get Patrick up to Inverness. He’s had another collapse.”

  Josh was immediately galvanized into action by the news. He disappeared into his bedroom and started pulling on any article of clothing that came his way. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Look after Max and Sooty until we get back,” Dan replied as he did up the zip of his jacket. “If they want to go to school, take them. If not, just stay with them at Auchnacerie. And call Pete at the factory and tell him what’s happened and that we’re all out of action for the day.”

  They saw the ambulance turning into the drive as Katie hit the final straight to Auchnacerie at speed. By the time that she pulled the Golf into the courtyard behind the house, the paramedics already had the stretcher out of the vehicle and were standing at the back door of the house. Katie abandoned the car, leaving Dan to turn off the engine and shut her door.

  He stood watching as Patrick was unceremoniously tilted from one side to the other as the paramedics negotiated the narrow doorway. Despite the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, his chest heaved at the effort of breathing, yet he turned his head fractionally and looked directly at Dan as he was being hoisted into the back of the ambulance. There was little movement in his facial muscles, but Dan noticed a slight wrinkling of the eyes as the stretcher was slid onto its tracks. It was the only way that Patrick could convey a smile.

  “Could you follow on in my car, Dan?” Katie asked as she hurried out of the house, stuffing essentials into her canvas bag. “I’m going to travel with Patrick.”

  “Of course,” he replied, helping one of the paramedics to close the back door of the vehicle while the other started up the engine.

  As the ambulance reversed back, the Saab shot into the courtyard, immediately pulling over to one side to allow it to pass. Josh got out of the car and walked across to his father, and they stood watching as the vehicle made its way slowly down the driveway.

  “What did he look like?” Josh asked.

  “Not too good. He’s having a real problem breathing.”

  “Shit,” Josh said quietly. He gave his father a pat on the back. “Where are Max and Sooty?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably in the kitchen.”

  “Right, I’ll go and see how they’re getting on. I don’t suppose you’ll have any idea when you’re going to get back from Inverness?”

  “No. It’ll depend on what the doctors say at the hospital.”

  “Well, keep in touch. Have you got your mobile with you?”

  “Yup, I have,” Dan replied distantly, continuing to watch on after the ambulance had disappeared around the final bend in the road. “So, what do you think this time, Josh? Is everything going to be all right?”

  There was a pause before Josh answered. “I don’t know. All I can say is that I don’t have that same feeling of total confidence about this one. But then again, this is Patrick we’re talking about.”

  Dan let out a quiet laugh. “You’re right. It is.”

  The hospital was situated on the outskirts of Inverness, a tall, modern-looking building with every one of its windows protected from the sunlight by Venetian blinds. As the ambulance pulled into the emergency bay, Dan veered off and made his way to the car park.

  He waited for an hour in the foyer of the hospital, then, having never been a great fan of the smell of medical establishments, he went out and sat in the car. With the sun on his face and still with the aftermath of a hangover, he dozed peacefully as he listened to the morning story on Radio 4.

  He was awoken by the sound of the passenger door being opened. Katie got in and slumped back in the seat with a long, exhausted breath.

  “How is he?” Dan asked.

  “The doctor told me that he is ‘stable,’ whatever that means.”

  He reached over and patted her knee. “A lot better than ‘critical,’ I would think. How long do you reckon they’ll keep him here?”

  “No idea, but I have little doubt that as soon as Patrick kicks off the infection, he’ll be yelling to get out of the place as quickly as he can.”

  Dan laughed. “No doubt.” He reached forward and turned off the radio. “So what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I should leave him.”

  “No, I agree with that.”

  Katie turned to Dan. “What about you? You’ll be wanting to get back to Fort William.”

  “We only have the one car.”

  “Yes, we do, don’t we? So what should we do?”

  “Right,” said Dan decisively. “If you stay here with Patrick, I’ll head into Inverness. I need to do some shopping and I’ve also got to go to the train station to book the girls’ tickets for Christmas.”

  “I never knew they were coming up.”

  “One of their last requests before they left, believe it or not.”

  “Is Jackie coming up too?”

  Dan shook his head. “Unfortunately not. She says that Rebecca Talworth has decided to hold a charity auction on Christmas Eve, of all the times to pick, so she’s not going to be able to make it. She’s not an easy person to persuade otherwise, either.”

  “What a pity.”

  “I know. Anyway, I’ll give Josh a call and ask him to look after Max and Sooty for the night, and then I’ll see if I can find us a couple of rooms in a hotel somewhere nearby.”

  “I’m sorry, Dan. This is a complete nuisance for you. I should have driven up here myself, only—”

  “Listen, it’s no bother at all. Nothing matters except that Patrick gets better again. Seascape will survive without us all for a couple of days, and no doubt our offspring will as well.”

  Katie reached over and gave him a long kiss on his cheek. “You have been an absolute star over the past four months, Dan the Man, and I don’t think I have ever thanked you for all you’ve done for my family.”

  “It’s been a pleasure, Katie. I really mean that. You helped me get out of a rut too, remember?”

  Katie put a hand on his arm and sat back, staring at him quizzically. “Tell me, what would you rather have done? Run Vagabonds or work with Patrick?”

  Dan laughed. “I don’t think you need to ask that question, Mrs. Trenchard.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe I do.” She opened up the car door. “What time will you be back?”

  “Say six o’clock this evening?”

  “All right. I’ll be waiting for you in the foyer.”

  She closed the door and Dan watched in the rearview mirror as she ran across the car park, a small, brave figure in a pair of multipanelled tartan trousers.

  24

  The offices of the Business Development Department of the Highland Regional Council took up two small, fluorescent-lit rooms on the third floor of an ugly Victorian building on Bridge Street in Inverness. There were two desks in each room, and in order to get behind them, it was necessary to squeeze past the bank of filing cabinets th
at lined the high, cream-coloured walls. This posed an almost insurmountable problem for the well-built figure of Maxwell Borthwick every time that he had to take a seat at his desk.

  Hemmed in by these permanent reminders of just how boring his job was, Maxwell sat reading through a thick, acetate-covered business plan that had been placed on his desk that afternoon by the weasly faced director of business development, Cyril Bentwood.

  “Could you have a quick glance at that for me, please, Maxwell?” he had asked, as he had taken his sheepskin car coat and ghastly porkpie hat from the chrome coat stand. “And I would appreciate your thoughts on it first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course, Cyril,” Maxwell had replied, sticking up a middle finger at his boss as he turned and left the room, his work finished for the day at five o’clock precisely.

  Maxwell detested Cyril Bentwood at the best of times, but his sentiments towards him had become even more acidic now that the little Englishman had been given the opportunity to tighten his control over Maxwell’s geographical movements. And that had all come about due to the incident in Oban when that bastard from Seascape had hoisted his beloved BMW up onto those pallets.

  It had taken a full six hours and a hefty £50 backhander before he had managed to persuade the obtuse forklift driver to bring the car down, and even though he had driven like the wind back up to Inverness, he had still missed out on a full day’s worth of work. Cyril, of course, had reveled in it all. “One has to be trustworthy as a civil servant, Maxwell,” he had said. “We are funded by taxpayers’ money, and, as such, it is our duty to honour our work commitment. I am disappointed that you do not feel ready to respect this. Of course, I shall overlook your unscheduled absence from the office on this occasion, but if there happens to be a reoccurrence, I’m afraid that I will be left with no alternative other than to recommend that you be moved to some lesser office in the Council.”

  It had taken all Maxwell’s self-control to stop himself from reaching over the desk, picking up the man, and hanging him up on the coat stand alongside his car coat and porkpie hat. What the hell did he mean, a “lesser office in the Council”? What on earth did he think he was running? The bloody Bank of England?

  But he had taken the telling-off. He had had no alternative, and now Cyril Bentwood was making sure that he curbed Maxwell’s wandering instincts by getting out of him as many work-hours as he possibly could.

  Maxwell leaned back in his chair and linked his podgy fingers behind his head. It was going to be a long evening. He had been reading the wretched document for nearly two hours now and he hadn’t even reached the end of the background report. His mind was far too active for this kind of work. That was his problem. He was better suited to the realms of nationwide administration, applying his brainpower to the running of his beloved country. It was he who should be throwing documents onto the desks of insignificant little pricks like Cyril Bentwood to read.

  He got up from his chair and picked up the electric kettle from on top of a filing cabinet and gave it a shake. He reckoned that there was enough water in it for one small cup of instant coffee. He certainly wasn’t going to be bothered to go through the rigmarole of contorting his way out of the office just for a half-pint of water. He pressed the switch on the kettle, and then, pushing his chair hard into the footwell of the desk, he walked across to the tall, dirt-smeared window and looked down onto the crowded street.

  With Christmas just two weeks away, the shops in Inverness were remaining open every night until eight. He loved the atmosphere of the bustling crowds, yet it was not so much that it put him in the joyous spirit of Christmas, but more that it resembled what he had always imagined that living in a big city, like Edinburgh or Glasgow, would be like. And that, above all, was what he yearned for.

  He pulled a silk handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped away a bead of sweat from his enormous brow, a late reminder of the delicious tangy heat of the vindaloo curry that he had enjoyed at lunchtime. He stopped suddenly, his handkerchief pressed to his face, and stared down at the two figures that picked their way, side by side, through the crowds on the pavement. Well, speak of the devil, he thought to himself. Look who’s turned up in Inverness. Seascape’s own bloody Dan Porter. Maxwell cupped his hands against the glass to get a clearer view of his companion. He knew that he recognized her. Yes, of course, it was Trenchard’s wife. He was sure of it. What on earth were they doing together so far from home at this time of the day?

  He reached up and undid the catch on the window and managed to slide it open on the third attempt. He leaned out onto the sill and managed to catch sight of them again just as they cut across the flow of pedestrians at the bottom of the street and entered the brightly lit foyer of the Caledonia Hotel.

  Maxwell pulled his bulk back into the room and shut the window. He turned, a broad smile of satisfaction puckering up his flabby cheeks. “Oh-ho-ho!” he said out loud, “now what do we have going on here?”

  He took his jacket from the back of the chair and, as quickly as possible, squeezed his way to the door of the office, flicking off the switch of the kettle as he passed. He glanced momentarily at the document on his desk before killing the fluorescent lights and closing the door behind him.

  “Can I help you, sir?” asked the bright-faced receptionist of the Caledonia Hotel.

  “Yes, I do believe you can,” Maxwell replied cheerfully, as he glanced quickly over to the seating area in the foyer, just to make sure that the two persons in question were not present. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have a Mr. Dan Porter staying here at the minute, would you?”

  “If you could wait a moment, sir, I’ll just check for you.” The girl typed quickly on the keyboard of her computer and then ran her finger down the screen. “Yes, we do, sir.” She put a hand on the receiver of her telephone. “Would you like me to put you through to his room?”

  Maxwell waved a hand dismissively. “No, don’t worry. I think I’ll just surprise him. I’m an old friend of both Mr. Porter and Mrs. Trenchard. I take it that she’s staying here as well?”

  The girl consulted her computer once more. “Yes, she is.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. I haven’t seen either of them for so long.” He leaned forward on the top of the high reception desk and smiled conspiringly at the girl. “I know it’s probably against company policy, but you wouldn’t just give me their room number, so that I could go up and give them a bit of a surprise.”

  The girl bit at her lip. “I’m not supposed to, sir.”

  Maxwell stood away from the desk. “Of course. I quite understand.” He made sure the girl saw that he was pondering the dilemma. “Would it be possible then to buy a bottle of champagne for them, so that I could send it up to their room?”

  “Of course it is,” the girl replied with a smile before looking back down at her computer screen. It was she who leaned across the desk this time. “Their room numbers are three twenty-one and three twenty-two,” she whispered to him.

  Maxwell felt disappointed that they were in different rooms, but he managed not to make it apparent to the girl. “Thank you. I very much appreciate it,” he replied in an equally secretive tone. He turned and made his way towards the lift.

  “What about the champagne, sir?” the girl called after him.

  Maxwell turned and shot her a wink. “Let’s leave that until later, shall we? One surprise at a time.”

  For the rest of the evening, Maxwell became their shadow. He was desperate not to let this opportunity go a-begging because he knew that his chances to get even with Porter were going to be few and far between. Having found an open service room on their corridor, he kept watch through the barely open door until they eventually left their rooms together about half an hour later. He had never had to make his way down three flights of stairs so fast in all his life, but he managed to reach the ground floor just as they were walking out of the hotel. As luck would have it, they had parked in the car park down by the river, about thr
ee rows away from where his BMW sat.

  He followed them at a safe distance as they made their way out of town, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought they were heading for the A9, the main road that linked Inverness with the rest of the world. But just before the slip road, they signalled to the left and pulled into the car park of Raigmore Hospital.

  He waited for them for an hour, killing time by listening to a Runrig album on the minidisc system that he had had recently installed in the BMW. When they reappeared through the glass doors of the hospital, he stabbed at the OFF switch and slumped down into his seat. He watched them get into the Golf, reverse out of their parking slot, and move off towards the exit. He started his own car, but did not move. He wanted to see which way they turned at the bottom of the road. The indicator light flashed to the right, and he knew that they were heading back into Inverness.

  Cutting the engine once more, he got out of the car and walked across to the hospital entrance. He had a pretty shrewd idea of what was going on, but he just had to make sure. He only had to ask a few words of the woman at the reception desk to have his thoughts confirmed, and he left the hospital with a smile on his face and a jaunty bounce to his step. He heaved himself into the BMW and let out a long, slow laugh. So Patrick Trenchard was in the High Dependency Unit, was he? He started up the car and reversed back at speed. Right, Maxwell, he thought to himself, let’s see how we can turn this to our advantage.

  25

  It had been Dan’s decision not to eat in the hotel dining room that evening. He had glanced into its dazzlingly bright interior and seen the young shirtsleeved businessmen seated at the tables, their mobile phones clustered around them as if they were an integral part of the dinner service, and he felt that he didn’t want to be part of them. He also had a suspicion that the superior-looking headwaiter might take unkindly to the scruffy clothes that he had hastily thrown on that morning. So he and Katie left the hotel and walked across the street to a cheery-looking establishment called Buchan’s Steak Bar. They sat opposite each other at a small table tucked away into the corner of the restaurant, next to the door that led to the gents’ lavatory. They had been lucky enough to get a seat at all, as the place was seething with feasting late-night shoppers, and every square inch of the floor space was taken up with enormous shopping bags and parcels of every size and shape. Yet although the room was filled with the general clamour of pre-Christmas merriment, the mood at their table was solemn.