Private London - James Patterson [37]
So that Saturday lunchtime found her there – pushing her trolley round in a foul mood.
The place was busier than ever and Penelope had to manoeuvre her way around hordes of extremely overweight shoppers. But Tesco stocked a ready meal called Finest Spaghetti Bolognaise, perfect for one. It was her Saturday-night treat when she settled down to watch Casualty, her favourite soap, and she would be very put out if she missed out on it. Luckily they had some in stock. She had backup in the freezer, but it wasn’t the same thing as fresh. Not the same thing at all.
Still, she was a bit flustered, a bit hot and not in the best of tempers when she returned to the surgery.
She had left her mobile to charge and there were three missed text messages on it waiting for her return, and one voice-recorded message.
As Penelope listened to the message the fragments of any remaining hope of a better day vanished quickly. The phone fell from her hand to clatter on the hard floor of the dental surgery’s staffroom.
Her colleague Debra Brooking turned in surprise as she poured hot water from the kettle into a Pot Noodle.
‘Everything all right, Penelope?’ she asked. ‘Not bad news, is it?’
Penelope nodded, her face ashen. ‘It’s my brother. He’s just been run over by a train.’
Chapter 48
HALF AN HOUR later Penelope Harris was standing in front of the reception desk at the Stoke Mandeville hospital, her face flushed with anger.
‘What do you mean, I can’t see him? He’s my brother!’
‘I know that,’ said the increasingly flustered receptionist on the general admissions desk. ‘You are aware of the circumstances of the accident?’
‘His car was on the railway line. A train hit him.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘I know he was badly mutilated. But I should still be able to see the body.’
‘It’s not so straightforward, I’m afraid.’
‘Why the hell not?’
The receptionist reddened and shrugged apologetically as a man in his fifties, wearing a white coat and with the obligatory stethoscope round his neck, appeared. ‘It’s okay, Maureen,’ he said. ‘I’ll take this.’
Penelope turned to him. ‘Are you in charge here?’
‘I’m Mister Ferguson, one of the surgical registrars,’ he said.
‘Good. I want to see my brother.’
Ferguson nodded. ‘Please come with me.’ He gestured with his hand and led Penelope into a small room with a couple of sofas and a cold-water dispenser.
‘I don’t understand. Why can’t I just go and see him?’
‘He’s in surgery, Miss Harris.’
Penelope stepped back. ‘What are you talking about? They told me he’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. He had a donor card. His heart was viable. He’s going to save a young woman’s life.’
Penelope shook her head, not believing what she was hearing.
‘I understand that your brother was a teacher. The young lady receiving his heart is a gifted young pianist. She’s recently been given a musical scholarship to Corpus Christi College at Cambridge University.’
‘No,’ said Penelope.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘My brother would never have carried a donor card. We have discussed this.’
The surgical registrar gestured apologetically. ‘I can assure you that he had a card in his wallet …’ He hesitated. ‘And he left a note.’
‘What note?’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Harris, but your brother committed suicide.’
‘No … there’s been some mistake. It’s not my brother. You’ve got the wrong person.’
‘The man had your brother’s wallet and was driving his car.’
Penelope shook her head again. ‘Maybe they were stolen.’
The registrar didn’t respond and Penelope tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Well, if it is him, then I don’t want the transplant to go ahead. He wouldn’t have wanted it – I know that for a fact.’
‘It’s too late, Miss Harris.’
‘I refuse. Let us be very clear about this: I am not giving you permission.’
‘The girl’s heart has already been removed. They are in the process of replacing it with your brother’s now.’
‘Well, I want it stopped!’
Chapter