‘Goodness, don’t overwhelm with me with your hospitality.’
Diana was driving up the King’s Road, had turned into Oakley Street, then realised she was very near the hospital. She could pick him up, give him a lift. He never took his car to either of the hospitals, he liked to walk, but if he was that tired . . .
It was quarter to five when she walked in; she didn’t announce herself. She sat down, deliberately screening herself behind a pillar, lit a cigarette, and picked up a magazine from the table. Five o’clock came, quarter past . . . so much for Ned’s idea of leaving on the dot.
A lift came down; two men and a girl got out. One of the men was Ned, but he didn’t see her, screened as she was by the pillar; and anyway, he wasn’t alone. The girl was with him and they were engrossed in conversation; she couldn’t hear what they were saying but she could see the girl quite clearly. And recognised her. From her photograph. Recognised her pretty, heart-shaped face, her blonde hair – less curly, a bit unkempt in fact – recognised her long, slender legs. She realised she had studied that photograph rather thoroughly, after all . . . Tom’s perfect wife, as described in the article at any rate.
It was odd, looking at someone and knowing you’d been in bed with her husband. Been given considerable pleasure by her husband. About whom you knew all sorts of intimate things. Very odd.
Alice had now seen her. But she had no idea, of course, who she was looking at. That was even odder, Diana thought: like being invisible. Alice looked very tired: tired and upset. But why on earth was she here? It was hardly Knelston territory: completely the reverse, indeed. Tom would die rather than set foot over such a threshold.
Suddenly, Diana couldn’t bear it any longer; there would be no use asking Ned what Alice was doing there, he was incredibly discreet about his patients. She walked forward, smiling, and said, ‘Ned, darling, hello.’
She was quite safe, he had no idea about her and Tom; there would be no denouement. He looked surprised to see her, and obviously more than a little annoyed at her interrupting his conversation with Alice.
‘Diana, what on earth are you doing here?’
‘I came to pick you up, give you a lift home. I was just passing, and I thought as I was coming for a drink anyway, we could move the whole thing forward.’ She smiled at Alice, held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Diana Southcott.’
‘How do you do?’ said Alice. She smiled at Diana, but it was clearly an effort. She had a pretty voice, Diana noticed, a voice that told of an expensive education: a cut above Tom socially, then. Interesting.
‘And are you – one of Ned’s lucky patients? Oh, no, how silly of me, it would have to be your child, or children . . .’
‘I – no – that is –’
‘Diana, I’m sorry,’ said Ned, and now he was looking seriously annoyed. ‘But you’ll have to excuse us. It was kind of you to think of giving me a lift, but I’m mid-conversation with Mrs Knelston, as you see, and I’m not quite ready to leave. I still have a couple of patients to see. In fact, I think I shall have to postpone our drink.’
‘Perfectly fine,’ said Diana airily. ‘I’ll ring you in a few days. Goodbye, Mrs Knelston, so nice to meet you. I hope whoever the patient is recovers soon. Bye, Ned.’
‘Sorry about that, Alice,’ said Ned. ‘That must have seemed very rude. I’m afraid she has a hide like a rhinoceros, as they say. She’s a famous model.’
‘Really? She is very beautiful. She seemed to know you rather well.’
‘Oh, we were young together,’ said Ned. ‘Went to lots of dances, things like that. Now then, as I was saying, Kit is doing beautifully. Don’t worry about the inflammation round the wound. It’s a natural reaction. I’ll call in again tomorrow, of course. Has Tom been in?’
‘No,’ said Alice flatly, her face expressionless, ‘he hasn’t. He couldn’t risk being seen.’
‘Alice,’ said Ned gently, ‘try not to be too hard on him. He’s had an awful shock too.’
‘Really? Ned, he was all ready to sacrifice Kit on the altar of his beastly politics.’
‘I don’t think it was quite like that.’
‘Of course it was. And I can never forgive him.’
‘Never is a long time. And don’t forget he had to sustain the news about Laura too.’
‘I know. That was bad of me.’ She sighed. ‘Far better he never knew. But it was sort of – relevant. Anyway, I’d better get back to Kit.’
Diana sat on her sofa, smoking, drumming her long red fingernails on the telephone table and waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the phone to be answered. If she ran a hospital she’d see callers got a better service than this. Suppose she was an emergency, suppose –
‘St Mary’s Private Hospital.’
‘Oh – hello. I wonder if you can help me. I want to send a present to one of the children there. Can I just address it to the room?’
‘Yes, of course. We’ll send it straight up.’
‘Right. Then I wonder if you could tell me his room number. His name is –’ God, she realised she had no idea which of the children it was. ‘The name is Knelston.’
‘I’m afraid we don’t give out any information about our patients.’ The voice was soothing but firm.
‘I see. But I have got the right hospital at least? You do have a child called Knelston there?’
‘As I said –’ less soothing now – ‘we don’t give any information. I’m sorry. Might I suggest you check with the child’s parents?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She didn’t want anyone reporting strange phone calls to Alice. ‘Thank you so much.’
Well, she’d only been double-checking. It was quite clear the child was there. But – in a private hospital? Why?
The press office at Transport House weren’t terribly interested in Tom Knelston when Donald rang them next morning, or about whether or not his child was in hospital. With only a few days to go to the election, they had better things to write about.
‘Might be different if he was actually an MP. But he’s not. Not a big enough name.’
Lucy had just fallen downstairs from the landing where she was rather pathetically looking for Kit, and was screaming while Tom held a cold handkerchief to the rapidly swelling bump on her head when the phone rang.
‘Yes?’
‘Tom? It’s Donald. Look, we like the idea of a picture of you and Kit in the hospital for the local press. Thought it would help. They’re going through hell up there without you. Can’t Alice’s mother take over?’
‘No,’ said Tom shortly, ‘she can’t.’
‘But Tom, it’s your entire political future at stake.’
‘Can’t help it.’
‘Right, well, tell me what hospital the child is in, get down there soon as you can, and I’ll organise a photographer. Then we can do a heart-rending interview.’
A flood of bile rose in Tom’s throat; he realised he was shaking. He set Lucy down, told her to go and play with her dolls.
‘I most definitely don’t want to do that either,’ he said. His voice sounded odd, even to himself.
‘Why the hell not?’