The Surgeon Was a Lady Read online

  “And do you know the date of death?”

  Again there was a lot of shuffling going on at the other end of the line.

  “October... Nineteen an’ sixty, it was... thassit... No... I tell a lie. November, it was... in nineteen an’ sixty... Mo, gimme them bleedin’ glasses, darling.’ Can’t see a bloody fing with these buggers... November...” he stopped and raised the spectacles up an inch on his forehead... Yeah... November the fird... thassit.”

  Ted knew he was getting somewhere fast, even if the battle was fierce.

  “Can I ask you, Jacobi... would you know if Sylvie was married?”

  “Course she was... Sylvie was a good gel.”

  “And would you know if she had other children... besides this one that she had when she died?”

  Ted felt that this was an unnecessary question to ask, but he thought he might as well be shot for a sheep as a lamb, now that he was in the middle of this verbal crossfire and he hoped to conclude his enquiries with this one phone call.

  “Sure... she did. Sylvie ‘ad annuver kid, just two years ‘fore she kicked the bucket ‘avin this l’il gel. Don’t know oo ‘er daddy wos though.. Sylvie never bovvered ‘bout fings like that... Excitin’ times they wos... an’ terrible too when she snuffed it. Could’n b’lieve it meself... nor could Mo... Could ya, love?

  Mo grunted something from the other end of the room, it seemed but Ted couldn’t hear what she said properly.

  “So you knew Sylvie well then, Jacobi?”

  “Sure did ole darlin’... Near nigh pissed meself when I ‘eard the news wot she’d kicked the bucket, I did... I stopped sendin’ artists ‘cross there shortly arter she passed on... She was one of the last wot I signed up... that’s why I can remember so much ‘bout Sylvie... I was gettin’ past it, you know... Arthuritis an’ that settin’ in and me ole prostrate playin’ me up. Do you know I have to git up four an’ five times in the night sometimes... an’ well, them things ain’t best talked about... Them prostrates is a bugger...”

  Ted smiled at the vivid description of Jacobi Solomon’s ailments and of his nocturnal toilet activities in sympathy with Sylvie’s death as he remembered a saying from his student days... “Never correct another’s English, until you can see the invisible stupidity of your own.”

  “Would you know what happened to the other little one... and who the father of that first one was?”

  “Fink that little ‘un growd up, but the favver wasn’t no English man. ‘E was from one of them foreign parts. India, I fink.”

  Ted dropped his pencil and stared at the opposite wall. All the colour seemed to go from his sight and everything looked black and white.

  “India, you say Jacobi? Are you absolutely sure of that?”

  “Well bleedin’ ‘ell ole darlin’ that’s wot I writ ‘ere... and that’s wot it says... an’ no mistake... No mistake there... was there Mo?” He confirmed categorically that there was no mistake in what he writ until he added as an afterthought that it might have been Russia... and Mo came to the phone to help him out.

  “Didn’ ‘e say ‘e near nigh pissed ‘isself? Well then wot more d’ye want than that. A man don’t piss ‘isself fur nothin’ ye know” she barked and banged the phone down.

  ***

  So... Sylvia Marks... Alias Sylvana De Marco had married a man from India or Russia... Or had she just shacked up with him and had a child by him, two years before she gave birth to Willie... How strange!... And she wasn’t the actress that Willie had thought her to be... Wouldn’t regal Wilhelmina Reinhardt be surprised to learn that her mother was a stripper... Ted wondered if she had been a good one... And if the man from India or Russia wasn’t Willie’s father... Then who was?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fred yawned and stretched his arms high above his head as he looked around the darkened room to take stock of all that had happened to him in the two months he had been employed as Doctor Paul Fehrenbach’s night Carer.

  He had steadily grown to have a great affection and respect for his patient in that time, seeing the quiet and humble demeanour of Paul and wondering how on earth he could possibly have thought of marrying the hard and unfeeling Wilhelmina Reinhardt. The attraction of opposites, he supposed and that was the best answer he could arrive at as he studied Paul dozing peacefully, half propped up in his bed, as was his usual method of sleeping. He could hear Paul breathing lightly in the silence of the moonlit room... the sky outside, inky blue and star studded, where a light wind rustled gently through the trees in the garden below and an old owl hooted contentedly somewhere nearby. Life was peaceful for Fred and he knew it as he watched Paul’s face in the light of the moon with his ethereal look of tranquillity... His smooth, flawless skin, white and delicate, emphasized the darkness of his eyes and his lips quivered from time to time... full sensual lips, half open, flinching occasionally as if in pain. He began to consider what Paul may have been like as a doctor before the accident that reduced him to the state in which he now was. He imagined him to be a sensitive man... a caring man and a man devoted to his vocation and was thinking further when Paul’s hand jumped and he woke up with a start. He whimpered and Fred leaned forward.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  Paul coughed and saliva froth appeared at his lips. Fred wiped it and smiled. A smile that wanted to say how much he understood his patient’s needs and how he wanted to alleviate any inconvenience that he knew he must have. Paul’s face shook and fell to one side, but a smile played around his lips as Fred took his hand and touched his talking fingers... but no words came.

  “I’d tell you a story, but I can’t think of any at the moment, old chap... Would you like a song... or is that too inconvenient for this occasion?”

  Paul tried to raise his head and his mouth twisted a little, but no words came from his pale lips; neither happy nor sad... from his world of perpetual silence. None ever did, except the faint stifled screech of pain which invaded his world at irregular periods... mostly in the night and Paul’s fingers moved slightly in the warmth of Fred’s palm. “Yes, you’d like that, eh?” he answered for his friend and the patient closed his eyes again and lay back sighing deeply as Fred held his hand firmly but gently, stroking his fingers as he sang into the darkness.

  “There was an old man who had a young wife,

  He bought her a golden fork and a knife.

  He kissed her and hugged her and told her he loved her,

  And she kissed him and thanked him, but still gave him strife.”

  Paul’s shoulders shook and he coughed again, but his fingers asked for more.

  “Now then, this dear old man, he’d spent all his money,

  With pleasing his young wife with full cream and honey,

  But she got so fat...”

  “Bravo... Encore, but not just yet, eh?” Fred turned to see Willie standing in the bedroom doorway. “Well, you two look a pretty sight, don’t you... and holding hands too... People will talk if you do this more often boys... you know that?” Fred scowled at her but she returned his glare with a smile. “You sure know how to make a guy laugh, don’t you Freddie boy,” she lisped and tottered where she stood and Fred could smell alcohol on her breath. “Another stanza like that and you’ll have my darling husband in tears,” she murmured as she waved her hands in the air and Fred caught her just as she was about to fall over Paul’s bed. “Oh my... my... A real little Florence Nightingale you are too... aren’t you, Sweetie?” she whispered as Fred glared at her.

  “Ssshh! You’ll wake your husband up and he’s only just gone back to sleep,” he snapped, but Willie ignored him as she slumped forwards and her hair flopped against her brow.

  “Spends his bloody life asleep,” she muttered and her eyes closed slowly as she spoke and her tongue moved around her lips. “How’s about you an’ me having a little drinkie,
eh handsome...” she said and Fred’s fists tightened.

  “I think you’re a little tired. Mrs. Fehrenbach... Don’t you think it would be best if you lay down?”

  “Spoken like a true man,” she grunted, “Where shall we lie?” She grabbed Fred’s hand and pressed it to her breast, but he pulled away and stared at the bed, hoping that Paul had not seen what she had done as her head fell back and she hiccuped loudly. “Oh pardon... I do beg your pardon... I do... I do... I do... “ she went on as Paul moved in his bed and Fred went to him, but Willie interrupted.

  “Never mind him, darling... It’s me you should be looking after or are you going to scold me again for being so rude?” She pulled at Fred’s trousers as she shouted. “You’re nice and warm, darling... I can feel your strong thighs through your pants... and we could...”

  “Shut your mouth,” Fred barked and as he pushed her away and her eyes widened with surprise. “Have you no respect for your husband at all? Do you know what you’re doing to him?”

  Willie raised a cynical eyebrow and laughed, pushing her hair to the top of her head from the nape of her neck, before she fell to her knees.

  “He’s an idiot... You know that... I know it... the whole fucking, stupid world knows it. Come on. Let’s go next door. We don’t want him to see us at it, do we?”

  Fred stood over her, staring wildly before he brought his hand down and slapped her hard across the face.”

  “You’re pissed, but that’s no excuse for your behaviour,” he shouted, “Now get to your room now...”

  Willie tried to stand up but fell across Paul’s bed again and he woke up with his face distorted in pain as she threw her arms around him.

  “My darling... my darling... I do love you so... This bastard tried to seduce me, he did. He’s mad.. Look! Can’t you see it in his eyes? Save me darling... Save me Paul... Please darling.” Fred grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her from the bed, dragging her screaming from the sick room. “Save me... Save me...” She kept repeating but Fred ignored her protests as he picked her up and slung her across his shoulders, like a sack of flour. He walked along the corridor to her bedroom and opened the door.

  “You’re not going to have your wicked way with me, darling... Are you?” she asked as she blinked a tear and her mascara ran down her cheeks. “I won’t have it... I won’t have it... do you hear me?”

  Fred threw her onto the bed and picked up her handbag which had fallen to the floor. He threw that on top of her.

  “If you want me to look after your husband, you must leave me to do it my way, but if you want me to look after you, well... you can think again. Let me know in the morning. Good night.”

  He closed the bedroom door quietly and returned to Paul.

  “Everything is alright Paul... Willie has just had a little too much to drink. She’ll be OK in the morning. Now try and get back to sleep.”

  He poured some water into a glass and handed it to his patient with two pills, but Paul strained as he tried to sit up. Fred pulled the pillows from behind the sick man’s head and held him until he had taken the pills, before he bashed the cushions with his fist to make them more comfortable. Paul lay back; his face full of anxiety... His breathing was heavy and strained as he tried to reach out for Fred’s hand... With pleading eyes. Fred smiled and touched his patient’s fingers lightly.

  “Don’t worry... I won’t leave you... I promise... Now try to get to sleep.”

  ***

  Willie woke up the following morning around midday, with a blinding headache. She was furious when she remembered the incidents of the previous evening, or rather, the early hours of the morning and she remembered only too vividly, the savage way that Fred had treated her, but strangely her memory failed her when she thought of what she had said to her husband and his Carer. She regarded that lapse to be irrelevant as she marched up and down, head in hand, like a she bear in heat and went to Fred’s bedroom. Without knocking, she burst through the door, ripping the sheets from him as he slept and his brown lithe, naked body recoiled and stiffened in his bed before he realized what was happening.

  “What the hell... What’s going on here?” He shouted as he grabbed the sheets before they fell to the floor and covered himself.

  “Don’t act so bloody shy, you...” Willie screamed. “I’ve seen it all before, but I want an apology for the way you spoke to me last night.”

  “Early this morning,” he added, “How’s your jaw?”

  “Well, have it your own way. I don’t give a toss what time it was. You were bloody insulting. Not the conduct I would expect from a gentleman.”

  He ran his fingers through the tight curls on his scalp.

  “I act quite differently when I meet a lady,” he said, without looking at her. “Now either leave this room and let me get dressed... or let me sleep on. I’m tired.”

  Her face softened as she watched him pull the white sheets over his bronzed body and she put her hand to her flushed cheek.

  “Fred... You know what I’m like. You know how I feel about you. Can’t I slip in beside you, just for a little while?”

  He sat up in bed.

  “Know what you’re like?” He asked wildly, “Why... I hardly know you at all... Or you me. Why can’t we stick to our business relationship? You do your job and I’ll do mine,” he snapped.

  She closed her eyes and he thought she was going to cry by the way she screwed up her face.

  “Fred... Fred, I know you must be angry, but it is your fault,” she blurted and he stared at her speechless, before she went on. “You must know how you turn me on. You must realize that. You’re a man... You’re not blind and you’re not... you know, the other way...”

  He stepped out of the bed and wrapped the sheet around him as he walked towards the door where his dressing gown hung from a hook, but she side-stepped him and pulled the sheet away.

  “I’m gonna have you, Mr. bloody Clean... if I have to rape you to do it.”

  She reached out to touch him, but he held her hand and pushed her way from him. As she came back, he raised his hand and brought it down again on her cheek and the smacking sound resounded around the room, but she defied the pain as her lips shook and a trickle of blood seeped from the side of her mouth and she refused to cry.

  “I don’t care what you do to me... I want you,” she screamed before he took her by the shoulders and pushed her out of the door, slamming it closed behind her as she went and she met Nurse Clements in the corridor, looking all tearful and dishevelled.

  “Are you alright, Willie? I heard noises. Is Paul alright?”

  Willie tried to turn away as she lowered her eyes.

  “Yes... Everything’s fine Clemmie. I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all. Too much booze last night, I guess. I’m not due back at St. Mark’s until Friday, so I have plenty of time to recuperate,” She tried to laugh but her emotions were too full and she burst into tears.

  “Willie... Willie... Something is wrong. Come, I’ll make some tea and you can have a couple of aspirins. Let’s go down to the kitchen.”

  Willie followed Clemmie like an obedient child.

  “It is Paul,” she said quietly as she sobbed, “You were right Clemmie,” she lied. “He isn’t getting any better and he’s due for his check up with Professor Wexinford next week.”

  Clemmie was surprised at the sudden change of emotions and concern in Willie’s outlook with regards to her husband, but she said nothing of her suspicions as she gave her employer the aspirin tablets with her cup of tea.

  “I was going to remind you about his appointment. I have it in my report. It’s next Wednesday the 10th. Perhaps we might have some better news then. Well, let’s hope so, eh?”

  Clemmie left Willie in the kitchen as she went upstairs to look in at Paul. He was asleep... Just as she had left him,
half-an-hour ago, but as she passed Fred’s room, she stopped to listen... Before she knocked quietly.

  “Are you alright, Fred?” She asked just above a whisper.

  There was a rustling sound coming from his room.

  “Yes, I’m OK Clemmie... Just a bit tired. I’ll be down for tea around 5.0 or 5.30 if that’s alright?”

  Clemmie was concerned when he spoke her name... He always used some other name for her in jest when he was in his normal frame of mind... He only used ‘Clemmie’ when he was worried about something...

  “That’s fine, Fred... You come down just when you feel like it... Sleep well,” she said and returned to the kitchen where Willie was still drinking her tea, but she noticed two butt-ends in the ashtray on the kitchen table and Willie had started to light another cigarette. Her no smoking resolution... Had gone for a Burton... it seemed.

  “Fred must be tired,” she said as she watched Willie from the corner of her eye. “I haven’t seen nor heard him this morning and he’s usually quite chirpy at breakfast time.”

  She poured herself a cup of tea and watched Willie’s reaction to her concern. “He’s doing very well with Paul too,” she added as Willie blew a cloud of blue smoke into the air and waved it away with her hand as she threw her spent match to the floor.

  “I’m not so sure, Clemmie...”she said slowly, “I’m not so sure... I think I may have made a mistake in my choice of night Carer after all.”

  “But I thought he was doing ever so well,” Clemmie said and her cup shook in her hand.

  “Don’t you think he’s a little bit... Strange Clemmie?”

  Clemmie swallowed hard.

  “Strange... Strange?” she enquired with great concern “In what way do you mean?”

  Willie flicked her cigarette and narrowed her eyes as the smoke trickled upwards and over her face.

  “Oh... You’ve got nothing to worry about... Nor have I,” she laughed nervously. “He’s strange alright, but it shouldn’t affect us.”

  “I don’t understand.”