Melissa wondered whether he was out but his car was there, a grey Range Rover sitting in front of the garage. She made her tea and took it through to the drawing room where she picked up the morning paper and sat down to read it. She found she couldn’t concentrate: she certainly didn’t want to but she kept wondering where he was. In the end she threw down the paper and walked out into the hall. ‘John,’ she called, trying to make it sound as flat and uncaring as possible. God, it was awful what so much loathing did to you, she thought. ‘John?’ There was no reply.
She went upstairs and checked his study before knocking on the door of his bedroom — they’d had separate rooms since the business involving his secretary some years before. There was no response but she looked in anyway, considering he might have climbed into the bottle and passed out as he often did when problems came to call. The room was empty. The bed was made… but it was made properly, the way Mrs Allan, their cleaner, did it. But this wasn’t her day… and neither was yesterday.
Melissa walked slowly up to it and smoothed the top cover unnecessarily. The bed hadn’t been slept in for the past two nights. Just what the hell was he up to? What parliamentary ‘researcher’ was he pouring his heart out to this time, before pulling her pants down? But his car was there. Where the hell was he?
Melissa cursed as she opened the back door and saw it had started to rain heavily. She pushed it to while she put on wellington boots and a Barbour jacket before stepping outside and hurrying over to the garage and stable block. ‘John, are you there?’
She found John in the stables. He was hanging from a roof beam.
Melissa felt her heart miss a beat as she stood there transfixed by the sight of his face. It was blotchy purple and white, and his swollen tongue was lolling out of the side of his mouth, making him look like some hideous gargoyle on the wall of a medieval cathedral. His body was turning slowly in response to the draught coming in from the open door. Above him the rain battered mercilessly on a small skylight.
‘Oh, Christ,’ she murmured as she moved in closer to remove the envelope pinned to a rail. It was addressed to her. In it, John apologised for all the pain and distress he had caused, not only to her but to his constituents as well. He understood their anger but hoped that in time they would come to see that it had been a genuine error of judgement.
Melissa looked up at the body, her eyes showing a mixture of frustration and anger. ‘A suicide note…’ she murmured, ‘and you bloody typed it.’
Steven was sitting with his feet up, reading the paper, when Tally got home at six thirty. ‘Here as promised,’ she announced. She was slightly flushed from hurrying.
‘Well done,’ said Steven. He got up and gave her a hug. ‘A whole evening to ourselves. What takes your fancy, dinner or a movie?’
‘Why don’t you choose? I’ve been the one working late all the time.’
‘Dinner,’ said Steven. ‘We haven’t had the chance to sit down and talk for ages.’
‘Okay, I’ll shower and make myself smell nice while you decide where we’re going.’
Steven’s suggestion of Italian was warmly received by Tally. ‘Any particular reason?’ she asked.
‘I thought we might go to Bar Firenze. We enjoyed it last time: noisy, cheerful, chaotic, and Italians make great sweets.’
‘And I can flirt with the waiters.’
‘While I have a second sweet.’
‘As if I would,’ said Tally, sidling over and putting her hands on Steven’s shoulders, ‘when I’ve already got the best.’
‘Madam is too kind,’ said Steven, kissing her lightly on the lips. ‘Come on, hurry up. Time and pasta wait for no man.’
‘So how was your day?’ he asked as they sipped an aperitif. He thought he saw a questioning look appear briefly in Tally’s eyes. ‘Isn’t that what people like us say?’
‘Yes,’ she conceded, disappointed at the implication that he might be playing a part. ‘I suppose it is. My day was hectic, stressful, frustrating and thoroughly unsatisfying as they all are these days in a health service that’s falling to bits. I spend half my time dealing with management demands that I tick boxes and meet targets stipulated by politicians who don’t actually give a damn about anyone but themselves but are determined to create the impression that they do. It’s all about image. Substance doesn’t matter as long as things look right on the surface.’
‘I wish I hadn’t asked. But if that’s the case, it does leave a rather obvious question begging to be asked, doctor…’
Tally looked thoughtful for a moment, as if considering a slap-down, but then decided that the question did merit an answer. ‘Because… there comes a time, through all the shit and management crap, when it’s just me and a sick kid and I’m the one who can make the difference… and when I’ve made it and the kid walks off the ward, trailing his little Thomas the Tank Engine suitcase behind him and Mum and Dad have that look in their eyes — that special look — there’s just no feeling like it.’
Steven swallowed and nodded. ‘Fair enough.’
‘How was your day, doctor?’
Steven gave an apologetic shrug, trying to avoid giving an answer after what had gone before, but Tally’s expression made it plain she was waiting for one. ‘I attended a management meeting this morning. The company knew about the agreement over vaccine production we heard about this morning on the radio. It’s considering a big change in emphasis.’
‘You mean it’s going to tender for the manufacturing contract?’ asked Tally.
Steven nodded.
‘You’re right; that is a big change in emphasis. I hope they’ve thought it through.’
‘Although it’s not a party political thing, they seem to think that the fact it was a Conservative initiative might well help the party’s cause in the election. They see that as a good thing.’
‘I suppose it might even influence me,’ said Tally. ‘How about you?’
‘I won’t be voting.’
Tally could see by Steven’s expression that he meant it, and they’d been down this road before. ‘Well, I won’t give you a lecture on what people have suffered in the past so that we can have the right to vote,’ she said. ‘I know you have your reasons.’
‘Correct. I detest the lot of them.’
Tally gave a little smile. ‘I won’t even argue that there must be some good ones. I will simply drop the subject and move on.’
‘Good.’
‘What do you think about the company’s plan?’
Steven thought for a moment. ‘They want to do the opposite from the big guys. They want to change the emphasis from research to production. Less risk equals more happy shareholders. The contract will have to go to tender but they sounded like they really want it; they were talking about coming up with a very competitive bid, cutting every last cent to win it.’
Tally paused while Steven refilled her glass. ‘Where does the head of security fit into all this?’ she asked.
‘We’re not going to be the only company hoping to land the contract. Knowing what the other guys are bidding could be a huge advantage. It’ll be my job to ensure that our figure stays a secret.’
Tally nodded. ‘And if your company lands the contract and the emphasis shifts away from research… where would that leave you?’
Steven smiled as he filled his own glass. ‘I suppose I could be out of a job if the research element of the company disappears completely, but maybe they’ll find something else for me to do, cleaning the lavatories or something.’
‘Pathetic, Dunbar.’
‘It was, wasn’t it? I’ll have to work on my self-pity. What do you say to another bottle?’
‘Grazie mille, signore.’