‘Major!’ It was Nurse Carraway, entering the room on her silent rubber heels. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just taking a look at my flowers.’
‘I didn’t think you were strong enough to walk.’
‘Willpower, that’s all.’ He shuffled back to his bed and sat down on its edge, where General Esterhazy’s heavy knuckles had recently rested.
‘Well, anyway, it’s time for your medication.’ She was holding a tiny paper cup filled with liquid in one hand, and a yet smaller cup containing a mixture of tablets in the other. Dreyfuss accepted both. He put the liquid down on his bedside cabinet and picked one of the tablets out at random, holding it between forefinger and thumb. It was oval-shaped and purple in colour.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. He felt bolder now that Parfit had arrived.
‘What do you mean? It’s just medication.’
‘No, come on, you’re a nurse. What kind of medication? What’s its purpose? What’s its medical name?’
She seemed flustered. Dreyfuss had not seen her flustered before.
‘Well?’ he goaded.
She smiled. ‘Major Dreyfuss, if you don’t want to take the tablets, that is your concern. But I should warn you that I’ll have to report—’
Dreyfuss laughed, shaking his head. ‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Go on, shove off.’ His grin was purposeful. ‘You’re not a nurse. A nurse on the wards would know what the drugs were called, nicknames, medical names, Christian names. A real nurse would know that. But you, Nurse Carraway, you don’t know anything. As General Esterhazy might put it, you don’t know squat! Incidentally,’ he was on his feet again, shuffling forwards, ‘which one of them do you work for, Stewart or Esterhazy?’
‘Major Dreyfuss,’ she spluttered, ‘I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘What’s more,’ he went on, enjoying this, ‘the doctor who came to see me that first time had never seen you before. Plus,’ he said, staring at her legs, ‘I can’t see too many nurses wearing silk hosiery, can you?’
She was staring at her legs too now, as though unable to believe their treachery.
‘Go on,’ he said tiredly, ‘go and make your report.’ And with this he fell back onto the bed and lay there shading his face with his arms. There was a pause of several seconds before he heard her shoes squeak. She had turned round and was going to the door, which opened silently. Dreyfuss felt tired and tricked and used. His head was thumping, and he wondered if any of the tablets in the cup would ease it.
‘Bravo.’
It was Parfit’s voice. Dreyfuss took his arms from his face and jerked his head up. Parfit was standing in the doorway, holding the door open with the tip of a polished black leather brogue. He came into the room, letting the door close softly. His shoes made a solid clacking noise on the flooring as he approached the bed.
‘Do you always eavesdrop on people’s conversations?’ asked Dreyfuss.
‘Goes with the territory, I’m afraid. So how are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Yes, for the moment perhaps. But everyone around you seems ever so slightly agitated. I shouldn’t think your safety here could be guaranteed for much longer. What do you say?’
‘You mean I can leave?’
‘Well of course you can leave. Nobody’s been forcing you to stay.’
Dreyfuss groaned.
‘Unless, of course,’ Parfit said, ‘they got you to sign any papers.’
‘What kind of papers?’
‘Papers committing yourself to their care?’
‘I haven’t signed anything.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Very well then. I’ll just make a few arrangements, and then we’ll have you out of here.’
‘Have you told them I’m leaving?’
‘Who?’ Parfit seemed amused. ‘Esterhazy and Stewart? Good Lord, it’s not up to them, is it? It’s up to the doctors and the hospital administrator. I foresee no problem.’
‘They won’t be very happy.’
If anything, Parfit’s smile broadened. ‘No,’ he said, ‘no, they won’t, will they?’
He was about to leave, but Dreyfuss stopped him.
‘One question, Parfit,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘What took you so long to get here?’
‘We’ll talk about that elsewhere,’ Parfit said, looking around the room. His meaning was clear: walls really do have ears. Dreyfuss nodded. Parfit again turned to leave.
‘Parfit?’
‘Yes, Major Dreyfuss?’
Dreyfuss was smiling too. ‘It’s nice to see you again,’ he said.
12
Cam Devereux arrived at London’s Heathrow Airport desperately tired and in need of the vacation this was supposed to be. His cotton sports shirt was sticking to him, and his scalp tingled as he ran his hands over his thinning hair. He was so tired. But how could he rest? His mind felt inflamed. How could he stop himself replaying events, seeing that stranger arrive at the ground base control room? Seeing the stranger given an office of his own and a console, ignoring the curious looks of the other controllers? Seeing Argos itself gliding erratically towards earth, flailing across the runway...?
Yes, he needed a vacation. They’d told him that. He needed a complete break; everybody did, everybody connected with Argos. They had ordered him to take a break. So he had chosen to come to London, despite their protests about leaving Europe well alone. London was a city he could happily get lost in, and wander through all day from district to district. He liked almost everything about it, including the things the Londoners themselves seemed to loathe, such as the subway system. So, having waited for his baggage, he headed downwards, beneath the ground, far away from the sunlight and the sky, and bought a ticket to Green Park station, from where it would be only a short walk to his hotel. The other people who got into his compartment of the Tube train were travellers like himself, hauling too much baggage behind them. He himself was travelling light by comparison. You could always buy what you hadn’t brought, especially with the thick wallet of travellers’ cheques they had given him.
‘Look on it as a bonus,’ they had said. A bonus for what? he was tempted to ask. But he had never questioned anything in his life... until now. Now, his head was full of unanswered questions and fears. He again examined his fellow passengers, and saw that they looked every bit as nervous as he felt. First-timers in London, he supposed, and wary of every step.
Maybe at last he could stop looking over his shoulder. Maybe he could stop worrying about what he had seen, what they seemed to know he had seen. And had paid him to forget about, paid him by way of a holiday, a swanky hotel, a plastic wallet full of paper money. Maybe they’d leave him alone. And maybe when he stopped worrying, he’d stop thinking about it too.
Maybe, but he doubted it.
Still, he had to make it look like a holiday. He would visit a few of the sights, do a little shopping. All the time waiting for his new controller to make contact. He had asked for one, and they had agreed to his request, though reluctantly. But he had negotiated from a position of strength. He had information after all, didn’t he? He had something to tell. If only he knew what it was...
13