“But Neil is going to die without treatment!” protested Eve.
“You don’t have to point that out,” retorted Neef. “Don’t make things worse.”
Eve got up and looked at Neef as if she had suddenly lost all respect for him. Without saying anything more, she turned on her heel and left.
Neef went home alone and sat looking out at the garden with a drink in his hand. He couldn’t be bothered making himself anything to eat. He had little heart for anything. Despite knowing that he was right in what he’d said, he was tortured by the look of disgust on Eve’s face before she left. In her eyes he was letting Neil die while he was in a position to save him. Maybe he should have played the hero so beloved by films, the man who said to hell with rules and regulations and did his own thing. Crap! If everyone did that, there would be anarchy. Medicine would be full of charlatans injecting their latest elixirs and cure-alls without fear of come-back. It might have been different if he had the assurance of someone other than Max Pereira that the vector was safe but with suspicion hanging over Pereira, that was a non-starter. After two drinks he fell asleep in the chair. When he woke up he found Dolly lying in his lap. He scratched her behind the ears and said, “At least you haven’t left me, little pal... or are you thinking of going too?”
Dolly was clearly in the mood for some attention. She rolled over in an invitation to Neef to scratch her tummy. The attention was cut short when the phone went.
“Neef.”
“It’s Eve. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. It was just... I was so.”
“I know,” said Neef. “Let’s forget it.”
“I’ve got some news.”
“What?”
“The application is going ahead after all.”
“What?” exclaimed Neef.
“I asked around my colleagues about Baroda and one of them came up with something useful. I’ve just used it.”
“What do you mean, you’ve used it?” asked Neef uneasily.
“I phoned Baroda and said I was doing a piece about saunas in the area being used as a front for brothels. I asked him if he’d like to tell me why his green Jaguar is regularly parked outside the Executive Sauna in Melton Place.”
“Good Lord.”
“In the end, we came to an arrangement. He withdraws his objection to the license application and I develop amnesia over his car.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“Well done.”
“He said the application would be forwarded tomorrow. I said it would be nicer if it went off in the post tonight.”
“Frightening,” said Neef.
“What is?”
“You are, when you’re in pursuit of something you want.”
“It’s that kind of a world,” said Eve.
“You sound more like Max Pereira every day.”
“Anyway, I am sorry about my behaviour earlier. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow,” agreed Neef.
Neef felt hungry all of a sudden.
Fifteen
Charles Morse died at eleven next morning. Kate was with him. Neef was warned by Mark Clelland at University College that it was about to happen and took the opportunity of going over to be there for Kate if she needed him. When Kate came out of Charlie’s room and saw Neef standing there she came forward, put her hands on his chest and allowed him to wrap his arms round her. Her tears flowed freely.
“I am so sorry, Kate,” Neef whispered.
Kate nodded mutely against his shoulder. Clelland acknowledged his presence with a nod of thanks.
A nurse ushered them into a small sitting room and brought tea. Neef poured it and Eve gradually composed herself. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s all happened so quickly.” She got up slowly and walked over to the window, holding the cup in her hand.
“Look at them,” she said. “Buses, cars, taxis, people going about their business as if nothing has happened but it has. My Charlie is dead. Why don’t they realise?”
Neef got up to go towards her but Kate turned and stopped him. “It’s all right, Mike, really. I’ve been preparing myself for this. It doesn’t look like it but I have. Just give me a few moments.”
Kate took slow steady breaths in an attempt to compose herself but she failed; the tears started to flow freely down her cheeks. “Oh Mike,” she sobbed. “What am I going to do without him? He was everything to me, my whole reason for... being. What’s the point in going on without Charlie?”
“I know, I know,” soothed Neef, wrapping his arm round her shoulders. “You need time Kate. Hang in there.”
Kate eventually calmed down and took a sip of her tea. “Are they any nearer to finding out how Charlie got his cancer?” she asked in a voice she was struggling to keep the tremble out of. She flicked at imaginary dirt on her knee with her fingernails.
Neef shook his head. “No, it’s still being investigated.”
Kate was silent for a while then she said, “For God’s sake, tell me something happy.” She was half laughing, half sobbing.
Neef decided to take her at her word. “Thomas Downy’s cerebellar tumour has almost completely disappeared.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yup. No doubt about it.”
“I take back everything I thought about Dr Pereira,” said Kate.
Neef nodded. “Maybe we were a bit hard on him. Thomas Downy certainly owes his life to him.”
“Thank God there’s still some good news in the world,” said Kate, trying to smile through her tears.
“Come on, I’ll run you home,” said Neef.
When Neef got back to the Unit, Ann Miles told him that Tim Heaton had been trying to get in touch. “I thought he might be,” he replied. He returned Heaton’s call, hoping that he could sound surprised when he had to.
“Michael, I’ve got some good news for you. Peter Baroda has apparently changed his mind. Your application has gone in after all.”
“It has?” exclaimed Neef, suddenly realising an acting career wasn’t for him. “That’s marvellous.”
“I don’t know why he changed his mind but he did and that’s the main thing.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Neef. “Wonderful news.”
“Thought you’d be pleased. By the way, I forgot to ask yesterday about your brain tumour patient. Still progressing satisfactorily?”
Neef screwed up his face. It wasn’t Heaton who had forgotten to ask — as Heaton well knew, it was he who had forgotten to call Heaton and tell him.
“Tim, it completely slipped my mind in the excitement,” he said. “Progress has been more than satisfactory. The tumour has shrunk to the size of a pea. With a bit of luck it will be completely gone by next week.”
“Splendid!” said Heaton. “John Marshall has been working on a press release I asked him to draft, just in case.”
“Fine,” said Neef.
“This is just what the hospital needs,” said Heaton. “A cure for cancer.”
“Hang on...”
“It’s a start,” said Heaton. “You can’t deny that.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Neef.
“I’ll let you know the minute we hear anything about the application.”
Neef’s last call of the day came from David Farro-Jones.
“I’ve been through Eddie Miller’s autopsy records for the past three months, Michael. There’s absolutely nothing there to back up his story.”
“That’s a relief,” said Neef.
“I’ll say,” agreed Farro-Jones.
“And still no new virus?”
“No new virus. We’re going to have to stop looking. It’s taking up too much time.”
Charles Morse’s death sparked off a new round of newspaper attention on the following day. Cancer Death Toll Rises as Authorities Continue to grope in the Dark was the headline in the Citizen and this tack was followed by virtually all the others. One of the papers had managed to corner the local Member of Parliament and put him on the spot. He assured his constituents that he had written to the Health Secretary demanding immediate action and that she had assured him that appropriate steps were being taken.