His expression was now so agonised, so full of fear at her possible answer, that Jillie found herself quite unable to speak; she sat staring at him, was trying to shape a careful, truthful, yet kindly response, when the door of the café opened and someone was suddenly at their table and the someone said, ‘Jillie, hello, am I early? So sorry, shall I—’
And Jillie looked up and saw it was Alice standing there – and she was at once filled with relief and anxiety. Relief that she had a respite before answering this question, and anxiety that poor Tom Knelston, who had already confronted one strange woman under the most extraordinary, painful circumstances, must now confront another. She jumped up, hugged Alice and said to Tom, ‘Would you excuse me one moment?’ and pushed Alice towards the door.
‘Jillie! What is this? What’s going on?’ said Alice, half laughing, half indignant.
‘Alice, I’m so sorry to do this to you, and you’re not really early, but could you possibly go away for maybe quarter of an hour and then come back? I’ll explain when we’re having lunch, but I can’t ask this poor chap to endure meeting you.’
‘Am I really so hideous?’ said Alice, smiling, her blue eyes dancing. ‘Jillie, is this a new boyfriend? You could have told me. Yes, all right, all right, I’m going, but I will be back in fifteen minutes flat. I’m cold and wet and hungry, so you’d better be finished by then – and I don’t want to play gooseberry this afternoon, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘OK. But – oh, goodness, quick question, don’t ask why. Do you think placenta previa could be diagnosed while the baby was still in utero?’
‘Gosh, you don’t ask for much, do you? I’ve only been doing my midders for two months, but – um – well, maybe, head not engaged at term?’
‘Oh, God,’ said Jillie. ‘I was afraid you might say that. I thought so too. Oh, Alice, what am I going to do?’
‘I can’t answer that question, I’m afraid, because I have no idea what this is all about. I’m going to go and walk round the block, and then I’ll be back and—’
‘Yes, all right, all right. Fine. Now go away.’
Tom was already standing up and winding his scarf round his neck when Alice returned. Jillie introduced them; but he was so exhausted by the trauma of the morning, of reliving the events of the past month, that he could scarcely see Alice Miller, but he did absorb the fact that she was blonde and not very tall and smiled very politely at him, which was nice of her considering she’d been sent back out into the foul weather for his convenience. Her voice as she said, ‘How do you do, Mr Knelston,’ was very light and clear and rather posh, like her friend Jillie’s, and clearly the school they’d been at together was not one Laura would have taught at.
Jillie walked with him to the door and shook his hand and said he mustn’t hesitate to contact her again if he wanted to. She gave him a telephone number which she said was her home; and he told her, truthfully, she had been more helpful than she could possibly know and went out into the sleet which was now lashing London, feeling calmed and even, briefly, comforted. For Jillie Curtis had told him that while it was just possible that Laura’s condition might have been diagnosed had she been in the maternity ward at St Thomas’, it would have been extremely unlikely, and the only certain symptom was the onset of bleeding which of course had come too late for anyone to have saved her, however great their skill.
‘Which is true,’ said Jillie staunchly, as Alice looked at her. ‘That is the only certain symptom . . .’
‘And the head not engaged?’
‘That’s not certain. She was three weeks from term. She hadn’t even had the stitch removed. Don’t look at me like that.’
‘You lied,’ said Alice. ‘And I’m not looking at you like anything and I would have said the same thing, but it wasn’t completely true, was it? Did he mention anything the midwife might have said about that?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Jillie!’
‘Well, he said she’d said the head wasn’t fully engaged, but sometimes it wasn’t, right until the woman went into labour.’
‘Which is true. But—’
‘But nothing. It is true. Then she just said that the next time Laura came to the clinic, they’d probably take the stitch out.’
‘Well, that’s all right then. Obviously not even an issue. But—’
‘Don’t,’ said Jillie, putting her hand over Alice’s mouth. ‘Don’t say it again, please. I didn’t lie. If it was anything, it was a sin of omission. So can we please not talk about it any more? Oh, God, Alice, what a morning.’
‘Yes. Poor, poor man. What a terrible, dreadful, awful thing.’
‘Oh, Alice, I tell you something. I’m never going to forget this day as long as I live.’
‘Actually, I don’t think I will either,’ said Alice. ‘Such a sad, sad story. He was awfully handsome,’ she added, sipping thoughtfully at her tea. ‘Did you notice?’
Chapter 15
1949
Finally. After all those years, starting at Oxford before the war, his training interrupted by it, Ned was an honorary at St Peter’s, with his own rooms in Welbeck Street; not without some nepotism, of course, and Ned was first to admit it, both regretful and thankful for it. The night he had actually signed the lease on the rooms, and celebrated it with some rather good champagne in the company of Michael Southcott, he had thought that this was his reward for putting up with his father for every moment of his thirty-two and a half years. It was no more than he deserved.
He had also signed a second lease, on a small house in Chelsea; he was tired of living at home under Sir James’s hyper-critical nose, and as his father said, it would come in handy when he got married.
‘Time you got on with that now,’ Sir James had said more than once. He was learning to crush the panic, to smile and say yes of course, but surely he had enough challenges for a year or two now, building up his practice, gaining experience. ‘That’s all well and good,’ Sir James had said, ‘but all the best girls will be taken the rate you’re going. You mark my words, you could be sorry.’
Ned said he would do his best.