The Surgeon Was a Lady Read online

  “I think he’s queer, Clemmie... You know, queer as in Gay... In fact I’m sure he is and I’m very concerned for Paul.” Clemmie’s cup shook a little and she rested it in her saucer on the table as she watched Willie’s face. She had a peculiar expression that puzzled Clemmie as she went on. “And the last thing we want in this house is any sort of scandal, do we now?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  “Oh no... we don’t want anything of that nature, Willie,” Clemmie agreed but her thoughts wandered up the stairs to Fred’s room and a gentle smile swept over her face. “Nothing like that... No way,” she confirmed as she poured herself another cup of tea, but Nurse Clement’s thoughts and mind had already sauntered up the stairs to Fred’s room... And had gone in...

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ted Sutherland debated the best way to tell Willie of his findings, via Jacobi Solomon. This actress or stripper that Jacobi knew so well, could be someone other than Willie’s mother, but it was a strange coincidence... He had to admit... And all the facts pointed to the same conclusion... So that, somewhere, Willie had a step-brother, or sister of whom she had no knowledge.

  He went over the facts, in his head as he saw them, time and time again and no matter how he tried or in whichever angle he approached them, two and two still made four... And Russia became distant from India and India narrowed down to Sri-Lanka... and to Fred... Whatever his name was...

  He started to dial Willie’s phone number and then he hesitated as his thoughts started to play havoc with his head... and he began to suspect the worst... Supposing it is a pure coincidence, he thought... Supposing this Fred whatever he calls himself wasn’t the child who had been born to Sylvana, two years before she gave birth to Willie... Supposing that child had been another little girl?... Then of course, everything would be alright. There would be no mystery... He could close that part of the file and Willie could go on living just as she had been doing without any interference or disruption in her life... but what, if on the other hand, Fred McTavish or whoever he was, was the child in question? What then? Wouldn’t that put the cat amongst the pigeons?... and how did he arrive at Willie’s house as a male Carer just at the moment that Willie needed such a person to look after Paul? The coincidence was preposterous, but no matter how Ted tried to rid his mind of the conjecture, the more puzzled and confused he became.

  He considered the dangers of such a man living in Willie’s house, if he was whom he suspected he might be... Especially as she herself had said he was gorgeous... She openly admitted that... and that she loved men... What was it she had said about this Fred fellow?... What was it? Ah yes he remembered. ‘Thirty-two and looking more like an eighteen year old... ‘ was how she described him. ‘Gorgeous... Gorgeous... Gorgeous,’ she had said if he could remember rightly... Of course he could... Hw could he forget... It wasn’t just one gorgeous... but three... and that word rang in Ted’s head like a church steeple bell. ‘It’s not me you should be worrying about... it’s Fred,’ she had said... hadn’t she and a cold chill ran down Ted Sutherland’s spine. My gawd... if Willie acted according to her instincts, she would still have all the problems she has now, plus a teeny-weeny smattering of incest, thrown in for good measure. ‘This Fred is all male,’ she had said... ‘All male... ’

  Monica came into the office as he was mentally deliberating but he carried on thinking without taking any notice of her.

  “Coffee?” she asked softly and in her usual carefree manner, but Ted went on thinking in silence. “Coffee?” she asked again... a little louder this time, but with the same results. She coughed. “Coffee... with a little arsenic,” she enquired and Ted looked up and laughed.

  “I think the arsenic without the coffee would be best, Monica, thank you,” he replied.

  “Oh dear... One of those days, is it?” she asked and he folded the papers together that had been scattered across his desk and gave a deep sigh.

  “Coffee it is, Madame,” he said and banged his fist down on top of the bundle of notes before him. “It could well be a bunch of those days, Monica... but who the hell cares?”

  “That’s the spirit. Do you want to be miserable on your own or shall I bring a coffee in here too and join you?”

  “Oh please do Monica. I’m leading too much of a loner’s life already. I should be out mixing with more people. I’ll become an old hermit, the way I’m carrying on, won’t I?”

  “Oh... I don’t know...” she smiled as she looked at him from below her eyelids and went out to the kitchen to get her coffee. “Might make you more interesting to the ladies... this hermetical life of yours,” she remarked on her return.

  “Yes, I suppose celibacy does have its own allure... doesn’t it... or does it, I wonder?”

  Monica shrugged her shoulders and sipped her coffee.

  “What do you wonder, Ted?”

  “Oh nothing much, Monica... just day dreaming as usual... going on about the bachelor state again... but whatever I do, you won’t think of taking the veil, will you?”

  Monica laughed and her eyes twinkled.

  “No bloody fear of that. I’m on the Zambada competition this evening with Frank. I can’t imagine the good Sisters doing that sort of thing now... would you?”

  “Certainly not with Frank,” he answered.

  “Oh that’s unfair. Frank does the Zambada better than anyone else I know.”

  “Well... at four foot, two inches, he hasn’t got far to reach the ground, has he?” Ted joked.

  “Right... that’s it,” she declared... “Arsenic coming right up.” but Ted was becoming too absorbed in his present pursuit to enjoy too much light conversation.

  “Wish I’d asked his name... I should have done,” he murmured as if from out of the blue and Monica looked up.

  “What?”

  “His name Monica... If only I’d asked his name,” he repeated and she gave him one of her funny looks, as she collected the cups and left the office.

  ***

  “Hello, may I speak to Jacobi Solomon, please?”

  There was a wicked chuckle on the other end of the line.

  “Zat you, Mr. Suvverland... Ted... It’s me, Jacobi... Your talkin’ to ‘im.”

  Ted was hesitant... It was more difficult to start another conversation with Jacobi Solomon than he had imagined, especially when the latter hastily informed him that he had taken his dentures out to relieve his gums...

  “Oh... hello Jacobi. Glad you remembered me... How’s Mo?... Is she O.K?

  “Sure she’s fine... Can’t come to the dog an’ bone though... she’s parin’ ‘er corns. Can I ‘elp?”

  “Well... I wanted to ask you if you knew the name of the man... You know the man from India... or Russia, who married Sylvana... er, Sylvie Marks?”

  There was a few seconds of silence before Jacobi spoke again.

  “If’n ye can ‘ear a sound... It’s me scratchin’ me ‘ead,” he said and Ted sighed as he stared at the ceiling.

  “And do you know his name, Jacobi?”

  “Nope... can’t say as I do, ole darlin’, why?”

  “Oh I’m just trying to tie up some loose ends here, that’s all. Are you sure you can’t remember this fellow’s name?”

  “’Ang on a jiff... Whassat you said, love... No not you, Mr. Suvverland, I’m talkin’ to Mo. ‘ere. Whadya say there gel?... Mr. Suvverland... Are you there, Mr. Suvverland?”

  “Yes, I’m still here Jacobi.”

  “Well Mo. says can ye give ‘er a cock linnet... she’s just parin’ ‘er uvver foot and she’s a bit out o’ puff if ye knows what I mean... S’no easy fing ‘avin to cross yer legs over yer bleedin knees when yer eighteen and an’ arf stone, izzit?”

  Ted waited patiently until Mo had completed her personal chores, with his biro held in readiness.

  “She
says its Jipperana... or summink like that.”

  “Could it be Vijayananda?”

  “Oh... ‘old on... Yed better speak to the gel ‘erself... Here Mo... ‘ave a word wiff this geezer, will ya an’ watch that bleedin knife you could fall on it an’ ruin yerself.”

  Mo. took the phone from Jacobi and wiped it with a damp tea towel before she started to talk. She had very high standards of hygiene.

  “What ya want, mate?” she asked and sucked her lips, also emphasizing the absence of her dentures and with an air of superiority as a sign that she was an authority over anything she cared to talk about.

  “The name you said, Mo... Could it be Vijayananda ?”

  Mo. blinked and transferred the earpiece to her good ear.

  “Could be I s’pose... Spell it for me, will ya?”

  Ted spoke carefully and slowly into the phone.

  “V.I.J.A.Y.A.N.A.N...”

  “Thassit... You got it in one, mate... that’s what ah said... Jipperana, didn’ I? Maybe you should get yer bleedin’ ears s’ringed or summink.”

  Ted breathed a sigh of relief and assured Mo. that we would attend to his ears at the first available opportunity and that he would be sending her a little something, for her information... for her and for Jacobi too, of course.

  “Are you there, Mo?” he called out as he hadn’t heard her reply, but it was Jacobi who answered the phone for her.

  “Gorra go ole darlin. She’s gorn an’ cut ‘er bleedin’ toe parin’ them bunions,” he shouted but before Ted could commiserate, the phone went dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Salmon salad for tea Fred... OK?”

  Clemmie was concerned as Fred sat down at the kitchen table. He seemed quieter than usual.

  “Yes... Yes, sure that’s OK Clemmie.”

  She expected him to call her by some other name that he always seemed to invent right out of the blue.

  “Are you alright, Fred?”

  Fred stared at Clemmie and there was a distant look in his eyes.

  “Alright... Yeah sure I’m alright. Why do you ask?”

  She grinned and pulled a face.

  “Just ‘cos dat’s de way ah is,” she mused... and he laughed heartily as he reached out and took her hand in his.

  “You need de right face for to speak like dat, baby,” he said and Clemmie looked sadly at her hand in his.

  “Don’t Fred... Don’t speak like that, please. You speak so nicely. Why do you try to spoil your lovely voice?”

  He smiled with his eyes but he didn’t release her hand.

  “I don’t really know. I suppose I’m self conscious about something and this is my way of telling people that I don’t care. They can take the Mickey, but I can do that about myself too.”

  Clemmie looked at him sadly.

  “But what are you self conscious about Fred? You’re a...” she stopped suddenly and he could see her blushing. “You are a very handsome and presentable man... and you must know that,” she went on.

  “What am I self conscious about, you ask, well, I’m coloured for starters, aren’t I?” he said and Clemmie couldn’t believe her ears.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said angrily... “We are ALL coloured if it comes to that... You just happen to be a different colour to what I am. Fred... you’re a strange man. I like it when you’re happy and when you’re singing your funny little songs to Paul, but there’s a sadness about you sometimes that comes through all your fun. It can’t be because of the colour of your skin, surely?”

  He ignored what she said as he looked down.

  “Do you mind my doing this?” he asked and glanced at their entwined fingers.

  “Not if you want to,” she said softly.

  “OK.. You don’t like me using my Caribbean lingo when I’m with you, so I won’t do it again. Promise... Dat’s de last time... honest,” Fred replied emphasizing his ‘H’.

  “Where do you get all these funny songs from anyway?”

  “Oh I pick them up here an’ there... My... this salad is delicious,” he added and she preened with his appreciation.

  “You haven’t had any salad cream. Its home made. My auntie sends it to me.”

  “Mmmm! thanks and could I have another cup of that delicious tea please... Does your auntie send you that too?”

  “Oh I’m sorry, Fred. I should have poured it for you.”

  Clemmie poured a cup for Fred and one for herself before she pulled her chair towards the table and sat down beside him.

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asked, munching a stick of celery noisily between his teeth.

  “I had mine with Paul at 3.30. He has to eat little and often... Oh Gosh! There I go again. Aren’t I a know-all and you knowing more about these things than me.”

  Fred touched Clemmie’s hand again.

  “Paul is a very sad creature, Clemmie... Isn’t he?” he said softly and squeezed her hand tenderly. “I feel so inadequate when I’m with him... I mean, he must have been a very clever man to have become a doctor and now... look at him.”

  “He has only been like this for the past four or five years. I think it was an accident that happened a couple of years after they got married.”

  “But he doesn’t have any physiotherapy or anything... why not?”

  Clemmie sipped her tea.

  “He did have physio for over two years and then it was found to be useless... if anything it made him more tired, so they abandoned the idea.”

  “Do they think he will ever come back to what he was before the accident?”

  Clemmie shrugged her shoulders and bit her lip.

  “He is due to see the Consultant next week, but I think all that can be done, has been done... except for surgery, of course.”

  “Is there a chance of full recovery in that way?”

  Clemmie shrugged her shoulders again.

  “Willie would be the best person to know that, I would think. After all, she is the neuro-surgeon in the family, isn’t she... Her father was a very eminent surgeon before her, I understand.”

  Fred seemed to be thinking of what Clemmie had told him, but as he turned to speak to her again, his thoughts had changed.

  “Can I hold your hand... really hold it, I mean... when I’ve had my tea?” he asked and Clemmie looked surprised.

  “Fred?”

  “Yes Clemmie?”

  “Fred... will you do me a very big favour, please?”

  He moved closer to her and pushed his plate aside.

  “I’m finished eating now...” he said and rolled his large dark eyes.

  “Not what you’re obviously thinking,” she said, “But it is important to me.”

  He looked seriously at her.

  “Of course... You have only to ask.”

  “Really?” she asked again.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said and she scolded him.

  “Don’t say that, please. Don’t ever say that,” she said and Fred looked into her eyes. He liked what he saw there and he smiled.

  “Would you miss me... if I died?” he asked and she turned her face away from him before she answered but it was not the response he expected.

  “Finish your salad and drink your tea... It’ll get cold.” she said.

  “Well... OK but that’s not much of a favour to ask me, is it?”

  Clemmie stretched her hands out around the tea cosy to feel its warmth.

  “Will you please let me call you Seyone?” she asked shyly and his eyes widened as his eyebrows rose and his teeth sparkled against his deep purple lips, as he smiled slowly.

  “You know... Nobody says that name like you do, Clemmie... It’s as though I’m hearing it for the first time.
Seyone... Seyone...” he repeated.

  “You will then?” she pleaded.

  “If it makes you happy, yes of course, but whilst we’re on that subject of names... what’s yours?”

  “Clemmie,” she answered perkily, “You know that.” she said, but his eyes told her that she should be honest with him and she hung her head. “I never use it... My Christian name, I mean... because it’s like Willie being short for Wilhelmina... and sounding like a man’s name. I have the same.”

  “What?” he laughed... “Is your name Willie too?”

  “No... not Willie... silly.”

  “Well then... what is it?”

  “It’s Daniella... and I hate to be called Danny... It sounds so masculine and besides when I came here, I thought Willie might think I was trying to crash in on her style.”

  He touched her hand again and played with her fingers.

  “Daniella... Daniella... Danny... That’s a beautiful name. It sounds like music.” he called out and Clemmie blushed again.

  “It does sound rather nice when you say it Seyone... and you can call me Danny, if you like,” she whispered and he squeezed her hand gently, making her blush again.

  “Well then... that’s our secret, eh Danny? We’ll be re-baptized this very instant.

  You Danny... Me Seyone,” he said and made a gesture like Tarzan and Jane... and he blessed the occasion by spraying both their heads with a sprig of damp celery and the water ran down her forehead... but he kissed it away.

  ***

  “I’m sure Paul thinks you are wonderful, Seyone, especially when you sing him all those happy songs,” she said.

  “Well now... I can’t tell him my sad ones, can I?”

  Danny pushed her cup away from her, across the table.

  “Do you have any sad ones?” she prompted and watched his reaction carefully, but as she looked into his eyes, she knew she should never have asked him that question. She knew there was no need.”

  “Would you listen to me if I told you one,” he asked and she nodded enthusiastically.

  “I’d love to hear your sad story, Seyone. I really would, but you won’t make me cry, will you?” she asked and he gave her a strange little smile as he began to speak.