Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [49]
‘Do you think he has some?’ queried Laska, still preoccupied with what she’d heard Joe Bartholomew saying.
‘Haven’t got a clue,’ said James. ‘Anyway, I’m only a nurse – never get involved in medical politics, that’s my motto.’
‘You never seem to say much about what you hear,’ said Laska. ‘I sometimes think you’re keeping me in the dark.’
‘I’d tell you anything that involved you,’ countered James – again, a little too automatically for Laska’s liking. ‘But, honestly, I just keep my head down.
It’s safer that way.’ He looked around nervously, as if Laska’s own fears and uncertainties were rubbing off on him. ‘Especially at a time like this,’ he added. ‘I feel that. . . ’ He paused again, avoiding eye contact with Laska.
‘There’s something going on, stuff happening in the background that perhaps I don’t even want to know about.’
Remembering Joe Bartholomew’s guilty conversation with the nurse, and Dr Smith’s recent pronouncements, Laska reached out for James’s hand. He seemed surprised at this unannounced boldness.
‘I know,’ she said, with a smile.
∗ ∗ ∗
83
Joe Bartholomew and Susannah Harvey pushed open the door and staggered inside, giggling like guilty children.
Beneath their feet was that morning’s post. Susannah bent down to pick up the letters and bills. ‘Sorry,’ she breathed.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Joe.
Susannah handed over the post. ‘Top one’s got a health trust postmark,’ she commented casually.
‘Must be for Liz.’
‘It’s got your name on it, babe.’
‘A mistake, then. Don’t you hate it when that happens? I had a credit-card invitation for my dog once.’
‘Don’t tell me, you’ve never owned a dog,’ said Susannah.
Joe turned on the main light and pulled off his coat, draping it over the back of a sofa. ‘Drink?’
‘Go on, then,’ said Susannah. She found the remote, switched on the television, settled down to watch the news.
Joe pulled the bottle of champagne from the fridge – that would need replacing in the morning – and uncorked it swiftly. The cork exploded from the neck of the glass bottle and arced through the air, landing somewhere in the corner near the earthenware pot of utensils. Damn, he’d have to find that.
Couldn’t leave a trace.
Later.
He swept back into the room, hurriedly cleaned flutes in one hand and the bottle in the other.
Susannah looked up and grinned, a big, earthy smile that warmed his heart.
‘That stuff goes straight to my head,’ she said.
‘That’s the idea.’
‘You don’t have to get me drunk,’ she commented. ‘I am very likely to end up in bed with you anyway.’
Joe grinned, pouring out the champagne.
‘Sit down,’ said Susannah. ‘Let’s take it easy.’
Joe did as he was told. ‘The thought of going to bed with a beautiful woman. . . It always makes me a touch excited!’
‘Your wife is a beautiful woman.’
Just for a moment the atmosphere faltered. Joe’s face stiffened.
‘Still, I’ve got one thing she’s not got,’ added Susannah lightly. She pulled open her coat; she still had her nurse’s uniform on, but tugged up the skirt to reveal black stockings underneath. ‘A little imagination goes a long way.’
Joe passed her a glass. ‘Drink up,’ he said.
∗ ∗ ∗
84
It was almost dark by the time Laska returned to her room. The clouds, which all day had been the colour of lead and ash, were now split with gashes of sullen red. The ribbons of the sunset reminded Laska of the tiny cuts that had appeared on her pale arms, which she had successfully hidden all day. Only now, when she once more found the sanctuary of her room, did she feel able to give in to the itching that she had been ignoring all day.
Away from prying eyes, she vigorously rubbed her lower arms. The marks had almost completely vanished, but she felt them as keenly as when she first noticed them.
She turned over and over in her mind what she had discovered about Joe Bartholomew, wondering at the synchronicity of it all. Smith was suddenly asking questions about her, her upbringing, her father; James had said that Oldfield seemed interested in Liz Bartholomew