The curtains were opened and daylight streamed in. As he was slowly brought up into a sitting position, Rafi looked down to see his right arm bandaged up and his side, from his ribs to his knee, covered in dressings. He felt light-headed and his bottom felt burning hot. Kate smiled at him. Her face was tired but gone were the puffy red eyes.
‘Thank you for saving my life,’ she said as she held his hand. ‘I shall always remember…’ She couldn’t continue as the horror of the gunfight flooded back.
‘Was anyone else hurt?’
‘There were a few minor cuts from flying glass, but otherwise you were the only casualty other than Dranoff, who was taken out by Brett, the SAS soldier, following you down the stairs. Popovskaya has been captured and is safely locked away. It was all a bit of a cock-up,’ Kate explained. ‘The two SAS men watching the front entrance of the hotel missed Dranoff. How did you know it was him?’
‘Hunting and shooting types driving smart Range Rovers in smart shooting kit don’t drape their Barbour coat over their shoulder in the pouring rain and don’t wear scuffed, heavy, black boots. When I couldn’t see his face, which he’d covered with his hat and a Barbour slung over his shoulder, I guessed it might be Dranoff. I picked up the gun and ran to warn you.’
Rafi stopped speaking for a moment. ‘When he saw you and pulled out the sawn-off shotgun and swung it towards you, I thought I was going to lose you.’ There were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t see Kate’s as she’d turned away.
Another person had entered the room – it was Colonel Turner. ‘Good to see you in one piece. Sorry about the cock-up. Thanks to your quick thinking, a real disaster was averted. I hear you got peppered by the sawn-off shotgun. and that your dive for cover behind the wrought iron banisters saved you. They tell me that the wooden handrail was blown to smithereens. The SAS man behind you was very impressed by your reactions: shooting to attract the attention of the terrorist and diving at the same time. He wondered if you had military training.’
Rafi grinned. ‘Simple good fortune – I missed my footing as I looked for the darn safety catch and for something to shoot at. I couldn’t aim straight for the terrorist – there were too many people I could have hit. I actually tripped just as I fired at the big glass window.’
‘Good work all the same. I’m pleased to see you on the mend. I’ll drop by when you’re up and about for a debriefing.’ The surgeon appeared at the door. The colonel excused himself and left.
Rafi spent the next half an hour being brought up to speed on his various injuries. ‘There’s quite a number,’ said the surgeon, running through them as if they were on a shopping list. ‘A posterior dislocation of the elbow which has been successfully relocated; fourteen stitches in the head and two drill holes as a result of the emergency surgery to relieve the pressure; six pellets in the thigh and buttocks and several more in the flank, which went into your intestines and lung – we’ve patched them up, but I had to remove a small part of your lung.’ The surgeon paused and smiled. ‘With a good convalescence, you’ll soon be right as rain.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Rafi weakly.
Time passed slowly, but Rafi started to feel stronger and more able to face the world.
During a further inspection of his wounds, Rafi asked, ‘Doctor, how much longer will I be in hospital?’
‘If you can find somewhere quiet to convalesce and someone to care for you, you should be able to leave tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow would be great,’ replied Rafi
A kindly physiotherapist arrived and went through a gentle exercise regime aimed in particular at his elbow. This was followed by a dietician who talked about what he should eat whilst his intestines and body mended. Late in the afternoon the surgeon and doctor reappeared. They were pleased with Rafi’s progress. They chatted with Kate and, to Rafi’s surprise, announced that if he wished he could be discharged and could return to the comfort of the hotel. Kate was given a series of contact names and numbers, plus a schedule of when he should attend the local surgery.
‘Any ideas on what we should do for clothes and headgear?’ Kate asked the nurse. After a short discussion, Kate opted for the short journey to the town centre to buy Rafi what he needed. An hour later she reappeared carrying a couple of large bags.
‘Sorry to have taken so long.’
Rafi dressed in comfortable, warm clothes. With Kate’s help he stood up and for the first time in days he looked at himself in the mirror. He was horrified by what he saw. His eye sockets looked skeletal. Two thirds of his hair was missing. A jagged scar with stitches ran from just above his hairline to the top of his head and his bruised scalp was a dark reddish purple.
His legs felt wobbly and he sat down on the bed more quickly than he’d intended – to the great discomfort of his unhealed wounds.
Kate spoke to the nurse about the practicalities of getting back to Newquay. They opted for the simplest solution and took a taxi. The journey seemed to go on forever. Rafi didn’t know how or where to position himself. His body ached and his head throbbed. They drew up in front of the hotel at 8 o’clock.
The cold wind cut through his clothes. Kate helped him inside and across to the lift. The area at the bottom of the stairs looked very different. There were temporary carpets. Boarding covered the plate glass window which separated the reception area from the seating area at the bottom of the stairs and also the stained glass window on the half landing. Builders’ dust sheets were draped all over the banisters.
Kate had phoned ahead to check with the hotel that they were still welcome. The proprietor and his wife were there to greet them. It transpired that they felt their staff had let Rafi and Kate down, revealing their whereabouts to the tabloid press. The?500 bung that the chambermaid had received had been donated to a local charity. She’d kept her job on the basis that her apology was accepted. She was there waiting at reception with a bunch of flowers. She stepped across and passed them to Rafi. She took one look at him and crumpled, promptly bursting into tears.
‘I am sorry; I just did not think. The journalist was so convincing. Will you forgive me, please?’ she stuttered through her tears.
Kate put an arm around her. ‘You weren’t to know. At any rate he probably would have found us sooner or later. At least it’s all in the past and we’re still in one piece… Your flowers look lovely. Thank you. Perhaps you could help us find a vase?’
Rafi was exhausted by the time he arrived at their room. He slowly shuffled into the bedroom and sat gingerly on the bed. His backside hurt like hell. He curled up on his left-hand side. Kate cradled his head in her lap.
For the next two days he remained holed up in the suite. His wounds were healing well and he started to get his energy back. Kate, it seemed, was enjoying her role as nurse.
On the second day the phone hardly stopped ringing. Saara, the major, Kate’s parents, her brother and Emma all wanted to hear how he was and to pass on their love and best wishes. Jeremy phoned to apologise that he couldn’t drop by as he’d been given another assignment, which necessitated a bit of travelling, but he looked forward to seeing them soon.
In the middle of the afternoon, while Rafi was sound asleep, a call came in from the Prime Minister. Rafi was very groggy. The PM enquired after his health, conveyed his best wishes and hung up. A nice touch for someone so busy, Rafi thought.
While he recuperated, Rafi went through the newspapers. Post-Stratford, things were slowly returning to normality. In particular, there was one small article by Pete Lockyer which caught his attention: it showed a picture of Maryam in a smart suit sitting in a stately drawing room. Apparently she had not gone to prison, but was helping the police with their enquiries. Strange, he thought, and made a mental note to ask Jeremy what was going on.