They had to wait in the Accident & Emergency Department for two hours before they were seen, and then they had to wait a further hour for an X-ray. Not broken, said the harassed doctor at last, but there was a hairline fracture on the metacarpus – the little finger, and a tendon was badly bruised. No treatment was needed, other than to strap it firmly up, which they would do now, and then to keep it immobile for about twenty-four hours. And they would put a couple of stitches in the cut, which was quite nasty, although luckily not sufficiently deep to have damaged any nerves. Michael’s own GP would take them out in three or four days, and would check on the damage to the tendon. And in the meantime, here was a prescription for some strong painkillers which could be got from the hospital pharmacy; they would help Mr Sallis through the next twenty-four hours.
Drive a car? he said, in answer to Michael’s question. Good God, quite out of the question. Apart from anything else, with the tendon injury it would almost certainly be impossible to hold the steering wheel.
‘I’m sure I could manage,’ said Michael a bit desperately.
‘I don’t think you could. Can’t someone drive you home? Oh, London. Oh, I see. But you really mustn’t drive yourself.’
‘I’ll sort something out,’ said Michael.
Since Edmund knew the White Hart’s number, and since dialling a number with one hand in a sling would be awkward, he phoned them on Michael’s behalf to see if there was a room for the night. He accepted the use of Michael’s mobile phone to make the call – he was a bit old-fashioned when it came to mobile phones, he said; he found them intrusive and he had never acquired one. Still, here was an occasion where it was very useful indeed. It took him a moment or two to understand about switching the phone on, and about tapping out the number, and then there seemed to be a problem with getting a signal. Perhaps he should get out of the car to make the call – would that help?
Getting out of the car apparently solved the weak signal problem, but the call itself did not solve the problem of where to spend the night.
‘No rooms at all?’ said Michael, rather dismayed.
‘No. Sorry. It’s a very small place – only three or four rooms.’
‘What about a railway station? If there’s a train to London I could get a taxi at the other end.’
‘Well, the nearest station is twelve miles from here, but I do know the last train to London is mid-afternoon, and that’ll have long since gone. I’m trying to think where else we could ring for you—’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Michael. ‘Why don’t I just doss down in Mrs Fane’s house – you wouldn’t have any objection, would you? I’d be quite all right there.’
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ said Edmund doubtfully, and added in a reluctant voice, ‘I daresay I could ask my cleaning lady to make up a bed in my spare room, only it isn’t very—’
The speed at which Sallis refused this offer indicated very strongly that he had no more liking for Edmund than Edmund had for him. But he was perfectly courteous about it. He said, ‘Please don’t go to that trouble. I really don’t want to disrupt you, and I think I’m beyond phoning local hotels to find a room. I’m quite happy to stay at the house. It’s warm and comfortable, and the gas and electricity are still on.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Edmund, his eyes on the road as they drove along. ‘The phone’s been disconnected, but everything else is on.’
‘And I can get a taxi to the station tomorrow morning – I’ll phone British Rail presently and find out the times.’
‘What? Oh, there’s a train around eleven. Straight through to Euston.’
‘Good. The car can be collected later – if I still can’t drive by the weekend I can probably get the AA to help out.’