She sipped at her drink again.
“So,” she said. “Story of my life. Tedious, isn’t it?”
“No,” he said. “In fact...”
“I had to have been out of my mind,” she said. “Running down to London whenever his wife was away — this was after I’d made the move to Oxford, actually my first attempt at breaking away from him. Six years ago, I was twenty-four. Impossible, of course, I simply had to keep seeing him. All those places I’ve been to on the continent were with him. Idyllic, in a way. Love with the proper stranger and all that. None of the bother of having to live together, of having to really know a person. Anyway, I’ve ended it. Or at least I hope I have.” She shrugged. “You’ve caught me at a good time, David.”
“Have I?”
“Indeed. You have no idea how long it took me to fall asleep after you rang me last night. There you were in your narrow bed, contemplating all sorts of kinky sex, and there I was alone in mine, staring up at the ceiling in a perfect dither. Should I ring him back, or should I not? Will he think me brazen if I do? Will he think me hopelessly prudish if I don’t? I must have visited the loo a dozen times after your call. Eventually, of course, I ended up doing what we should have done together. Am I shocking you? Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re happily married, and you wouldn’t dream of compromising your integrity.” Her eyes met his. “Are you?” she asked.
He did not answer.
“Forgive me,” she said, “I know this is a difficult time for you, and I’ve no desire to make it any more difficult. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first saw you sitting alone in that vast crimson room.”
“I don’t understand that,” he said.
“Nor do I. But take it for a fact.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You needn’t be, you’re a quite attractive man.” She paused. “And you?” she said, arching her brows. “Have you been thinking of me?”
“If not you, then someone who was once very much like you.”
“Was?”
“A long time ago.”
“Who?”
“Someone.”
“Did you love her?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then love me,” she said.
He sensed the air of tension the moment he stepped into the waiting room. He had lingered too long by the pool with Hillary and had arrived at the hospital at six minutes to four. By the time he’d taken the elevator to the third floor and walked down the corridor to the waiting room, it was close to four o’clock. But there was none of the minutes-before restlessness among the people gathered there. The clock on the wall read two minutes to four. The minute hand lurched visibly as he glanced at the clock. A minute to four. But no one was standing. Something was wrong. He looked around at the faces. The Dolly Sisters. The fat man in the business suit. Another man, a newcomer he had not seen before. Mrs. Horowitz. He saw reflected on all the faces an unnatural calm that shrieked panic.
“There’s an emergency inside,” Mrs. Horowitz said. “They won’t let us in.”
“Until it’s resolved,” the pink lady said.
She was the same bossy woman who’d been training the new volunteer yesterday. David wondered what “resolved” meant in her vocabulary. Dead? He took a seat beside Mrs. Horowitz and lit a cigarette. She was already smoking. Her face looked more flushed and excited than he had ever seen it.
“Do they know who it is?” he whispered.
“They won’t tell us anything,” she said, loud enough for the bossy pink lady to hear. “It could be anybody.”
It’s my father, David thought. Who else could be dying in there?
“It’s my mother,” Mrs. Horowitz said. “I know it is.”
“You don’t know that,” one of the Dolly Sisters said. Helen, was it?
“My brother looked fine this morning,” the fat man said.
“Does this happen a lot here?” the newcomer asked. “These emergencies?”
“Excuse me, sir,” the pink lady said, “but do you have a patient here?”
“My father,” he said.
“His name?”
“Arthur Henley.”
“And you say you’re his son?”
“If he’s my father, I’m his son,” Henley said.
Good for you, David thought.
“What happens if this isn’t settled by the time visiting is up?” Henley said. “Will they let us in no matter what time it is?”
“That’s up to the head nurse,” the pink lady said. “Right now, they have their hands full.”
“What’s happening in there?” Mrs. Horowitz asked. “Do you know what the emergency is?”
“I have no idea,” the pink lady said.
“Can you find out?”
“The sign on the door says ‘No Admission,’ ” the pink lady said. “That means me, too.”
“Well, can you make a call in there?” the fat man said. “Find out who’s in trouble?”
“They have their hands full,” the pink lady said. “Excuse me, sir, but do you have a patient here?”
“Yes, I have a patient here. I was here yesterday, nobody asked me did I have a patient here. Why do you think I’m here if I haven’t got a patient here? You think I like hospitals?”
“What is your patient’s name?” the pink lady asked, unruffled.
“Carmine Bastiglio.”
“Would you spell that, please?” she said, looking at her clipboard.
“It starts with a B, look under your B’s. Bastiglio.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, finding the name. “Are you a relative of the patient, sir?”
“I’m his brother,” Bastiglio said.
“I’m sure this will be resolved in no time at all,” the pink lady said. “Would anyone like coffee?”
No one answered.
“If no one wants coffee,” she said, “I’ll have to wash out the pot and lock up the coffee maker. I have to leave no later than four-fifteen. I have to take the keys down to Mrs. Thorpe in the Volunteer Section and then catch the hospital jitney to the bus stop. That takes time,” she said. She looked at her watch. “Last call,” she said cheerfully. “Anyone for coffee?”
“Without coffee,” Bastiglio said philosophically, “the entire system would collapse.”
“Would you care for some coffee, Mr....?” She consulted her clipboard, seemed about to try pronouncing his name, gave it up, and said, “Sir?”
“No coffee, thank you,” Bastiglio said. “I never got in the habit. If my brother hadn’t got in the habit, he wouldn’t be here now with a heart attack.”
“No coffee?” the pink lady said. “Anyone? Are you sure?”
“No coffee already,” Mrs. Horowitz said testily.
“I’ll wash out the pot then,” the pink lady said, as though ready to carry out a dire threat.
“My mother’s dying in there,” Mrs. Horowitz whispered, “and she’s hocking us about coffee.”
“You don’t know it’s your mother,” one of the Dolly Sisters said. The younger one. Jean.
“She looked terrible today,” Mrs. Horowitz said.
“In there, they all look terrible,” Bastiglio said philosophically.
“It’s no picnic in there,” Helen said.
“Really,” Jean said.
“I haven’t even seen him yet,” Henley said. “My father. He was operated on this morning. What if it’s him dying, and I don’t even get to see him?”
“An emergency doesn’t necessarily mean someone is dying,” the pink lady said from the sink, where she was washing out the coffee pot.
“No, it means somebody’s dancing up and down the aisles in there,” Mrs. Horowitz said, and everyone laughed.