“Come on, Clare,” I said, desperately searching for something to encourage her. “Madeleine will track down Jacob soon and he’ll be home before you know it—”
If I was hoping to hearten her, I had the opposite effect. The tears spilled over and trickled down her white cheeks. She scrubbed at them angrily.
“I’ve caused so much disruption to everyone,” she said, forlorn. “Jacob was so excited about this trip. There are some classic bikes coming up for grabs this week that he’s been trying to get hold of for years. And now I’ve messed it up for him.”
“How can you say that?” I asked quietly. “If it was Jacob lying here and you were away you’d drop everything to be back with him, in a heartbeat. You know you would.”
“Jacob wouldn’t have got himself into this in the first place,” she said, sobbing now. “Jacob’s too s-sensible to have made such a stupid decision on the s-spur of the moment.”
“We all make them,” Sean said. “The big decisions are never the ones that trip you.”
Clare looked at him and tried for a smile that was only partially successful. “Even you, huh?”
“Especially me,” he said, giving her one of his smiles that usually made my knees buckle. But despite his light tone I knew it was no easy responsibility for Sean. When he made the wrong decisions, people died. He’d so nearly become the victim of his own error of judgement.
“So how do you do it?” she asked. “How do you go on like nothing has happened, day after day?”
She was talking personally now. Clare knew I’d been driven far enough to kill. Hell, she ought to know. Death wasn’t an abstract concept to me. It was a reality. Maybe that was precisely why she was asking.
I glanced at Sean, sitting calmly on the other side of the bed, that sometimes cold face creased with concern over my friend’s tears. In a twisted way I took comfort from the fact that her anguish disturbed him. It seemed to indicate a measure of humanity that, watching him dealing Eamonn, I’d been deeply afraid he’d lost.
“You just—” I broke off, helpless. Just what? Got over it? Moved on? “I don’t know,” I said at last. “You just do.”
There were people moving around the ward all the time, so I’d ignored the footsteps behind me until they stopped close by.
“Charlotte,” said my father’s voice, quietly reproachful.
I turned in my seat and found him eyeing Clare’s distressed face. He was wearing surgical garb. The top of his head was covered by a bandana that seemed absurdly jaunty, given his position.
“I’d like a word with you before you leave.” His tone made it clear that departure was going to happen sooner rather than later. We rose obediently and said our goodbyes to Clare.
“We’ll call back this evening,” I promised.
“Clare is scheduled to go back down to theatre this afternoon,” my father said as we walked away. “I would suggest you leave any further visits until tomorrow.” From him it was an order.
He waited until he’d got us outside the entrance to the ward before he delivered his next punch.
“Please do not harass my patients,” he said coldly, once he’d got my attention, “or I will ask for you to be excluded.”
I couldn’t suppress a gasp at that. Sean was standing behind me and I felt his hands close on my upper arms. I wasn’t sure if it was to stop me hitting my father, or to stop himself. I swallowed.
“It was one of the consultants who was harassing her, not us,” I snapped. I took a breath and said, more calmly, “Why’s she going back into theatre? Is she all right?”
My father regarded me for a moment. “The damage to your friend’s limbs may well require a number of surgical procedures over the coming weeks,” he said, icily mild. “I trust I do not need to consult you about each of them?”
“No,” I muttered. “Of course not.”
His gaze remained on me a moment longer, then shifted to take in Sean. His curt nod of recognition was the only greeting he imparted.
“Sir,” Sean said, the same noncommittal response he’d given to officers in the army who had yet to earn his respect. He let his hands drop away and I saw my father’s eyes narrow, as though he didn’t like Sean touching his daughter. I stepped forwards.
“I’m sorry,” I said, making peace. “Clare was crying when we arrived. I was worried about her.”
“I understand,” he said stiffly. He transferred his scrutiny from Sean back to me. “Why are you limping?”
“I’m not,” I said automatically, surprised.
“You have a problem with your knee.”
I shrugged. I knew exactly what was the matter with that knee but I wasn’t about to tell my father. “Then I suppose I must have banged it,” I said.
He was silent for a moment, as though he sensed I wasn’t telling him the whole truth. Another figure appeared, wearing the same kind of pale blue outfit, and hovered just inside his line of sight. He nodded to them.
“As I mentioned, Clare won’t be up to visitors again today,” he said to me, with a touch of impatience. “I have your number, Charlotte. I’ll call you when there’s any progress to report.”
I nodded, feeling dismissed.
“Put some ice on that knee,” he said as he moved for the door, his parting shot. And to Sean: “You should take better care of her.”
I felt Sean stiffen as the comment hit home on all kinds of levels.
“Yes sir,” he said, his face expressionless. He waited until my father had turned his back and was three paces away. “And so should you.”
My father’s hearing was excellent, always had been. But he carried on walking without a break in stride, as though Sean had never spoken.
I waited until we were nearly back to the Shogun before I asked the question that had been in my mind ever since Clare put the subject there.
“So how do you cope with it?”
Sean was in the middle of fishing his car keys out of his jacket pocket. He stopped and half-turned towards me. “With what?”
“With having blood on your hands,” I said.
He went still again but his answer came fast enough that I knew it was something he’d either been asked before, or had asked himself.
“I concentrate on what isn’t there,” he said. “On the blood that never got spilt because I did my job and I was good at it.”
“So it doesn’t bother you?”
He shrugged. “Not as much as it probably should. But I’ve never lost a principal I was guarding and I never killed anyone I didn’t intend to,” he said, his words cool and totally matter-of-fact. “There’s not many people in our line of business who can say the same.”
I was still thinking about a response to that when Sam’s Norton Commando came burbling into the car park. Sam spotted me and pulled up alongside. He cut the engine and fumbled with the strap on his helmet.
“Hi, Charlie!” he said, flicking wary little glances in Sean’s direction. “How’s Clare?”