The staff nurse waylaid him at the entrance to the ward. “The doctor has requested that only family should be visiting Mr. Trenchard for the time being,” she said.
“I quite understand that. It’s just that I’m a very old friend and I was just passing through Inverness on my way up north. I promise that I’ll only stay for a couple of minutes.”
The staff nurse smiled and led him to Patrick’s bed.
Maxwell was delighted to see just how ill Patrick Trenchard was. He lay prostrate on the bed, his mouth and nose covered by an oxygen mask, and his eyes flickered open and shut in synchronisation with the effort of his breathing. He was a mere shadow of the loud-mouthed braggart with whom Maxwell had had dealings in the past. He leaned over Patrick and grinned into his face. He saw a stirring of recognition in the wrinkles on his forehead.
“I bet you’re surprised to see me, aren’t you, Trenchard?” he said in a quiet voice.
He detected a slight narrowing of Patrick’s eyes.
“I am really sorry to see you like this, Trenchard. Never mind, you’ll soon be up and about, won’t you?”
Patrick turned his head slowly as if trying to look for the bell.
“No, no, we don’t want to call the nurse, do we? Not yet anyway.” Maxwell looked around and saw a chair against the wall opposite. He went over and picked it up and brought it over to Patrick’s bedside and sat down.
“So how is your friend Dan Porter? Been stacking any more cars recently, has he?”
He witnessed a slight stretching to Patrick’s mouth.
“Oh you think it’s funny, do you? Well, let’s see if this wipes that pathetic smile off your face.” He moved his chair in closer to Patrick’s bed and leaned over so that his mouth was inches from Patrick’s ear. “You see, I just happened to be in the Caledonia Hotel last night, and lo and behold, who should be staying there but your wife and your good friend Dan Porter. Now, I thought it was a bit odd that they seemed to be getting on rather too well, so I took it upon myself to do a bit of . . .”—he sucked loudly on his blubbery bottom lip—“yes, a bit of ‘sleuthing,’ and I think that you’ll be rather grateful that I did.” He cast a glance around the ward for dramatic effect. “You see, at about two o’clock this morning, I was sitting, rather uncomfortably I might add, in a service room on the third floor of the hotel, watching their rooms. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw what happened next. Do you want to know what I saw?”
Patrick stared fixedly at the man.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Well, what happened was that your friend Porter came out of his bedroom and knocked on your wife’s door, and in the blink of an eye, the door opened and your wife threw herself—no, maybe catapulted might be a more appropriate word— into Porter’s arms. There was a moment when they just held each other, right there in the corridor, before your wife, very deliberately, undid the buttons on her sexy little pyjama top and let it fall to the ground. Well, I have to say, Trenchard, that I was sincerely impressed. She certainly has a good pair of paps, that wife of yours. And they were certainly good enough to get Porter jumping into that room.” Maxwell’s face took on a serious expression. “Well, now, I’m a man of integrity, and I did nothing untoward like listen at the door for the sound of heaving bedsprings, but I left in the knowledge that I could do you a great favour in letting you know what happened.” He sat back with a sigh and slapped his knees with his hands. “Well, that’s just about it. My story is told.” He leaned forward again. “So what do you think of that, Trenchard?”
Watching carefully for Patrick’s reaction, he was amazed, and somewhat perturbed when, beneath the clear plastic of the oxygen mask, he saw Patrick’s mouth stretch into a grin. He saw Patrick’s hand rise from the bed and a finger slowly beckon to him. Maxwell got to his feet and leaned over Patrick, watching him as he lifted the oxygen mask from his face. His voice was slow, but perfectly clear and perfectly precise.
“Why—don’t—you—mind—your—own—fucking— business, you—fat—bastard.”
Maxwell jumped back from the bed as if Patrick had just poured boiling water into his ear. He watched with a shocked expression as Patrick let the mask plop back onto his face and then moved his hand slowly, but without faltering, towards the bell. He pressed the button and the buzzer sounded noisily around the ward. The staff nurse was at his bedside in a matter of moments. She could tell by the flick of Patrick’s hand that visiting time was over. As she led Maxwell to the exit, he turned and glanced once more over to where Patrick lay. He was staring at the ceiling, and although most of his face was hidden beneath the oxygen mask, Maxwell could tell by the wrinkling of his eyes that he wore a smile of utter contentment. It was almost as if he had just been informed that his illness had been vanquished and that a full recovery was now a certainty.
27
As Dan had suspected, Josh had no wish to leave Fort William. They had talked about it as they drove back to the cottage, and Josh had made it plain that he never wanted to live in London again. His new life was in Scotland with friends the like of which he could never possibly meet in the seething mass of the metropolis. And so Dan had left him, with the dogs and with the Saab, and headed back to London on the overnight sleeper alone.
The taxi dropped him outside the house in Clapham at ten o’clock the next morning. Having paid the cabbie, Dan stood on the pavement, staring at the stained-glass front door and wondering if he was pleased to be back. And then he heard the sound of Mrs. Watt coming out of her house and he made a bolt for the gate to avoid meeting her. He let himself into the house and slammed the door shut, dropping his suitcase to the floor. He leaned his back against the stained glass and shut his eyes, taking in the familiar smell of his own home. Yet, this time, it seemed alien. In the past it had given him comfort and a sense of security, but now it just seemed old and stale. It was as if he didn’t really belong to the house anymore.
But it was his home, and it was his family, and he had made a commitment to the girls to let them finish their schooling at Alleyn’s. He had to be thankful for everything he had achieved because, by God, it could have turned out so differently. He could have been stuck in Tottenham Hale with Sharon or Janice or Kathleen, and their one child, working in that bloody fabrication shed. But he had made it to here, to this fine house in Clapham, where he lived with his wife Jackie, their three wonderful children, and two deranged dogs. He was, indeed, a lucky man.
He walked through to the kitchen and realized as he entered the room that he had hardly ever done so without being greeted by the appalling smell of one of Biggles’s misdeeds. He thought of the dogs, and then he thought of Josh, and then he thought of Patrick and Katie, and he yearned to be back with them all. He had only been away from them for a matter of hours, and already he missed the intuitive wisdom and boundless enthusiasm of Josh, the drive and the sense of humour and the fight in Patrick, and the quiet resilience and strength of character in Katie. And last night, on the train, as he tossed and turned on his narrow bunk, he missed having her body curled in next to his. He would never forget that night, as long as he lived, when he lay on top of her, absorbing her pain and sorrow into his very being.
He filled up the electric kettle and turned it on, and then saw the four piles of mail sitting on the shelf next to the telephone. He thumbed through the first one, sorting out the junk from the readable, and he was about to open a letter from Broughton’s, the company for which Nick Jessop worked, when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Millie? Is that you?” It was Jackie’s voice.
“No, it’s me—Dan.”
He heard the footsteps stop, and then ascend the stairs at speed. He flicked his head back dismissively and continued with the opening of the letter. It was a brief five-liner.
Dear Dan,
I have been told by one of my colleagues, Nick Jessop, that you might be interested in seeking a job with Broughton’s. I am, of course, familiar with your past achieveme
nts in the City and therefore was hoping that we might meet for lunch in the near future. I know that you are in Scotland at present, but on your return, do please e-mail me at [email protected] to let me know if you want to take this further.
Yours sincerely
Good old Nick, he thought to himself. He doesn’t give up, does he? He fluttered the letter down onto the kitchen table and then heard the sound of Jackie’s footsteps coming down the stairs once more. She entered the kitchen and stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She made no move to come towards him to greet him.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at her. “This is a bit of a surprise. I didn’t expect to find you here.” He walked over to her and made to give her a kiss on the mouth, but she turned her face so that it landed on her cheek. He put his arms around her and gave her a hug. It was like holding a lump of wood.
“I was going to say exactly the same thing myself,” Jackie said, pushing him away. “What are you doing back? I thought you were going to be up in Scotland until mid-January.”
“I know,” Dan replied, walking over to the sideboard and unhooking two mugs. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“No thanks.”
“How are the girls?”
“Fine. They both spent last night at Jessica Napier’s house.” She bit at the side of her mouth. “So why are you back?”
Dan spooned coffee into the mug. “My contract finished early,” he said, realizing that he had just told Lie No. 2. “So I thought that I would just come back and see if I could find myself a job.” He flicked his head over to where the letter lay on the table. “Things look promising, as well. I’ve been asked to meet some guy from Broughton’s.”
“But what about Christmas? The girls are meant to be joining you and Josh in Scotland.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about that.” Dan poured water into the coffee cup, and then took a spoon from the drawer and gave it a stir. “I made a bit of money with Seascape. Not a huge amount, but I never spent anything, so I thought that I might check out the Internet for a cheap skiing holiday somewhere.”
“What about Josh?”
“Josh didn’t want to move out of Scotland. He’s totally settled up there. I left him with the dogs and the car, and he’s as happy as Larry.” He dropped the spoon into the sink. “But you can come skiing if you want.”
Jackie shook her head. “You know I can’t. Rebecca’s got this charity auction, and I have to be there.”
“Of course.” Dan took a sip of coffee. “So, tell me, what’s been the news with you? Are you taking a bit of a break at the minute?”
Jackie leaned her shoulder against the doorpost and fixed him with a steely glare. “Dan, I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“How long have you been having an affair?”
The mug jigged in Dan’s hand and boiling coffee spilled over his wrist. “What?” he exclaimed, transferring the mug to the other hand and flicking his wrist to cool down the scald.
“You heard me. How long have you been having an affair?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Jackie pushed herself away from the doorpost and pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “Dan, I know that you’ve been having an affair. You’re not a very good liar, you know. You never were. Your face has gone beetroot, and so has your hand, thanks to that coffee.”
Dan bit at the inside of his cheek as he stared at his wife. I know I’m not a very good liar, he thought to himself. That’s what I told Katie. “I have not been having an affair, Jackie,” he said in a voice that was as controlled as he could make it.
Jackie slammed her hand hard down on the table. “Come on, Dan. Let’s at least be adult about this! Why don’t you just admit it to my face? On the other hand, why do I need that kind of proof? Your actions speak well enough for you.”
Dan kept staring at her. How the hell could she have known? There was no way anyone could have told her, because nobody knew about it except Katie and himself.
“Did you not know, Dan, that the best way to express guilt is through silence?”
Dan heaved out a long sigh. He could not be bothered with telling Lie No. 3, because it would only lead on to Lie No. 4, and then Lie No. 5.
“It was only one night, Jackie.”
Jackie drummed her fingers hard on the table. “One night. Well, at least that’s a start.” She got up and walked towards him. “But the trouble is that I don’t believe you, you rotten bastard. I reckon that it was going on for a lot longer than one night.”
“It was not,” Dan replied, moving back from the threatening presence of his wife.
Jackie stopped inches away from him and glared into his eyes. “And to think that you’ve made me feel so guilty about everything over the past few months. How dare you make me feel that way when you’ve been carrying on with another woman.”
Dan frowned at her, having absolutely no understanding of how she had found out about Katie and what she was talking about right now. “What do you mean, I’ve made you feel guilty? Guilty about what?”
Jackie hit back. “So what was it like screwing her, Dan? Was she so much better than me?”
“Oh, come on, Jackie. It was only one night, I promise you. That’s all. Her husband was—”
“I know!” she interjected. “I know everything! Her husband was killed on the eleventh of September two thousand and one in New York, and you, the kindhearted friend, stepped in with your solace and your compassion, and you made love to her and you got her pregnant.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jackie marched over to the sideboard and opened a drawer, and pulled out a fistful of papers. She held them up in her hand and Dan could make out in the corner of the topmost sheet the black horse logo of Lloyd’s Bank. “Every month, from your bank account, there is a transfer of two hundred and fifty pounds into Debbie Leishman’s account in New York.”
Dan put down the mug of coffee on the sideboard and covered his face with his hands. Oh my God, he thought to himself, it’s all been a bloody misunderstanding. I’ve just admitted to sleeping with a woman, and Jackie had absolutely no idea about it.
“Oh, yes,” Jackie continued, “you do that! You cover your face, Dan Porter, because I’ve found you out. And do you know how I did that?” She turned and pulled another piece of paper from the drawer. “Do you know what this is?”
“No, Jackie, I have no idea,” Dan replied resignedly.
“It’s an e-mail from your Debbie bloody Leishman. When I got back from Milan, I went to check my e-mails and of course you know as well as I do what pops up onto the screen when the computer is switched on. Your wretched in-box!” She held the piece of paper up in front of her as if she were about to sing an aria. “Dear Dan, I really don’t know how I can thank you for continuing to be such a wonderful friend.” She read it in a whining American drawl. “Without your support, I could never have afforded to stay off work so long with the baby. He continues to do well, and very soon I shall send you a real long update on how he is progressing and a photograph so that you can see for yourself just how like his daddy he is turning out to be. I still have wonderful memories of that weekend we had up in Maine. Oh, that we could wind back the clock and make it all happen over again. With my love, as always, Debbie.”
She scrumpled up the piece of paper and lobbed it over her shoulder. “So, Dan Porter, you are a father four times over. What a stud you are!”
Dan slowly shook his head. “Are you quite finished?”
Jackie let out a short laugh. “What do you mean, ‘quite finished’? I’m barely started, Dan.”
“The father of that baby, Jackie, was John Fricker, and for your information, he and Debbie were not married. They had, however, been living together for about three months before he was killed in the World Trade Center. And because they weren’t married, Debbie was not eligible for compensation. She was a working
girl and she wasn’t dependent on John. She didn’t even know she was pregnant when he died. Anyway, after the baby was born, I took it upon myself to help her in the only way I could.”
Jackie’s mouth was set hard and her eyes narrowed with contempt. It was the first time ever that Dan had seen her look ugly. “So what’s all this about ‘the wonderful weekend that we spent together in Maine’?” Her voice changed once more to the sugary American accent.
“That was John, Debbie, and myself. If I remember right, it was after that weekend that they became a couple.”
Jackie had had her direction planned from the start, but she knew now that it had been a false trail. She backtracked through their conversation to seek out her next point of attack, her head quivering with the effort. “So, who did you have an affair with?” she eventually blurted out.
Dan flopped a hand dismissively at her. “I’ve had enough of this witch-hunt, Jackie.” He poured the remainder of his coffee into the sink. “I’m not telling you.” He turned to face her. “Anyway, what’s all this business of me making you feel guilty?”
Jackie bit hard on her bottom lip. “I’m leaving you, Dan.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m leaving you.”
“For heaven’s sakes, Jackie. Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. You can’t leave. We’ve got a marriage. We’ve got children. You can’t just turn your back on twenty years of accumulation.” He leaned a hand against the sink. “Jackie, it was only one night.”
Without speaking, Jackie turned and walked over to the door. She opened it and cast a glance over her shoulder at him. “Goodbye, Dan.”
“Jackie, you are being totally irrational.”
But she had closed the door behind her before he had finished the sentence.
Dan leaned his bottom against the kitchen sink and crossed his arms and looked out at the bare little garden at the back of the house. Better to leave her for a bit. It was just another of their rows. Admittedly, she had every reason to feel hurt and angry, but they would be able to sort it out. They had always been able to do so in the past. He heard her moving around upstairs, going from one room to the other, and then her footsteps began to descend the stairs once more. They sounded denser this time, and it occurred to Dan that she could well be carrying something of considerable weight.
A Risk Worth Taking Page 27