Something feather light brushed my cheek and then he was gone.
I switched off the light and sat in the dark, trying desperately not to wake Peterson and I was completely unsuccessful, because I heard him move and the next minute, he was sitting beside me on the bed.
He said, ‘Hey,’ and put his arm around me.
I struggled not to make foghorn noises.
After a while, I wiped my nose and said thickly, ‘Do you think Leon will come back?’
‘God, I hope not. I’m practically in bed with you. I’m wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. You’re only wearing a T-shirt and you’re decent by less than an inch.’
I opened my mouth to reply but at that moment, Hunter came in to see what all the noise was about. We had to endure another of her all-purpose bollockings, and after that, I curled myself around Bear 2.0 and tried to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day we were allowed visitors. Markham, Schiller, Van Owen, and Roberts were the first through the door, bearing gifts. I wasn’t forgotten – they’d brought chocolate, which was kind of them.
They wanted to hear everything. Schiller and Van Owen sat on Peterson’s bed. Roberts bagged the only chair and Markham leaned against the foot of my bed.
‘So, tell us how you got the pox.’
‘Plague,’ shouted Peterson. ‘It was the bloody plague, I tell you. I’ve never had the pox in my life.’
No one was listening.
‘Did Max really have to chop off one of your testicles? Which one was it?’
‘The one nearest the window – what do you think?’
‘Don’t tease him,’ said Schiller. ‘He’s faced great peril.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Peterson, rummaging in the box of goodies they had brought him. ‘Trust me – you don’t know what peril is until you’ve had Maxwell come at your groin with a Swiss Army knife and that look in her eye.’
They all looked at me.
‘Well, there’s gratitude for you. Next time you get a swelling in your groin, you can handle it yourself.’
There was a thoughtful silence.
‘Yes,’ said Markham. ‘The other Maxwell never knew when to shut up, either.’
*
We were released back into captivity a couple of days later. Peterson was white and wobbly, but plague free. And pox free, too. Hunter had done him a certificate to that effect, which he proudly displayed to everyone who asked. And everyone who didn’t.
I think they gave up waiting for me to fall sick. As usual, I’d completely failed to live up to people’s expectations.
On our last morning, they brought our clothes. I came out of the bathroom to find a complete set of blues laid out on my bed. Not greys – real, proper, historian blues. I touched them gently.
Peterson stood behind me, saying, quietly, ‘Have I thanked …?’
I turned and smiled at him. ‘An honour and a privilege, Dr Peterson.’
He stretched out his hand. ‘Tim,’ he said. ‘The name’s Tim.’
My heart sang. I was as proud then as the day when I was awarded my first set of blues, back in that other world.
They gave us a round of applause when we went for lunch. Tim proudly flourished his certificate.
‘Pox-free, ladies. Please form an orderly queue. No pushing.’
I sat with him and Dieter for lunch, and we were just finishing when someone said Dr Bairstow wanted to see me.
I sighed. Now what?
And finally, there she was, sitting demurely behind the desk in Dr Bairstow’s outer office. Just when I’d given up all hope of ever seeing her again.
I stopped dead. Peterson walked into the back of me.
I said cautiously, ‘Good afternoon.’
She inclined her head, regally. ‘Good afternoon.’
I stared. She continued calmly to stack assignment files.
‘Um, I believe Dr Bairstow wanted to see us …’
At that moment, the Boss himself opened his door.
‘Ah. Good afternoon to you both. May I introduce Mrs Partridge, my new PA?’
‘Oh my God,’ said Peterson. ‘Did Colonel Albay shoot Miss Lee on his way out?’
A very real possibility.
‘Miss Lee is to return to her old position as assistant to the Chief Operations Officer.’
The Chief Operations Officer paled. ‘What?’
I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Been there – done that – got the scars.
‘All this is for later discussion. Mrs Partridge, may I introduce Doctors Maxwell and Peterson.’
‘Hello,’ said Peterson, who had obviously never been brought up not to talk to strangers. ‘I’m Peterson.’ He held out his hand.
She rose gracefully. Her manicure was exquisite. ‘How do you do. I am Mrs Partridge.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Partridge. Welcome to St Mary’s.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling at him. Everyone smiles at Peterson. He beamed back.
She looked at me.
Sometimes I just can’t help myself.
‘Yes. Welcome to St Mary’s. Nice to meet you, Mrs Peacock.’
‘Partridge,’ she said, expressionlessly.
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Almost certain, yes.’
‘Partridge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not Peacock?’
‘No.’
‘I could have sworn …’