“Never.”
“And how much do you drink on an average day?”
“A glass of wine at dinner, but not at lunch. It would send me to sleep in the afternoon.”
“Then, frankly, seventy should be a doddle, as long as you don’t get run over by a bus.”
“Not much risk of that, since our local bus only visits the village twice a day, despite Emma regularly writing to the council to complain.”
The doctor smiled. “That sounds like our chairman.” Dr. Richards closed the file, rose from behind his desk, and accompanied Harry out of the consultation room.
“How’s Lady Clifton?” he asked as they walked down the corridor.
Emma hated the courtesy title of “lady” because she felt she hadn’t earned it, and insisted everyone at the hospital still call her Mrs. Clifton or “chairman.” “You tell me,” said Harry.
“I’m not her doctor,” said Richards, “but I can tell you she’s the best chairman we’ve ever had, and I’m not sure who’ll be brave enough to replace her when she stands down in a year’s time.”
Harry smiled. Whenever he visited the Bristol Royal Infirmary, he could sense the respect and affection the staff felt for Emma.
“If we win hospital of the year a second time,” Dr. Richards added, “she’ll certainly have played her part.”
As they continued down the corridor, Harry passed two nurses who were taking a tea break. He noticed that one of them had a black eye and a swollen cheek which, despite heavy makeup, she hadn’t been able to disguise. Dr. Richards led Harry into a small cubicle that was empty apart from a bed and a couple of chairs.
“Take your jacket off. A nurse will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” said Harry. “I look forward to seeing you again in a year’s time.”
“Once we’ve got all the tests back from the labs, I’ll drop you a line with the results. Not that I imagine they’ll be much different from last year.”
Harry slipped off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair, took off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed. He lay down, closed his eyes, and began to think about the next chapter of William Warwick and the Three Card Trick. How could the suspect possibly have been in two places at once? Either he was in bed with his wife or he was driving up to Manchester. Which was it? The doctor had left the door open and Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone saying “Dr. Hands.” Where had he heard that name before?
“Will you report him to Matron?” the voice asked.
“Not if I want to keep my job,” said a second voice.
“So old wandering hands gets away with it again.”
“As long as it’s just his word against mine, he has nothing to fear.”
“What did he get up to this time?”
Harry sat up, took a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket, and listened carefully to the conversation that was taking place in the corridor.
“I was in the laundry room on the third floor picking up some fresh sheets when someone came in. When the door closed and I heard it lock, I knew it could only be one person. I pretended not to notice, picked up some sheets, and made a beeline for the door. I tried to unlock it, but he grabbed me and pressed himself up against me. It was disgusting. I thought I’d throw up. No need for anyone to know about this, he said, just a bit of fun. I tried to elbow him in the groin but he had me pinned against the wall. Then he swung me around and started trying to kiss me.”
“What did you do?”
“Bit his tongue. He yelled, called me a bitch, and slapped me across the face. But it gave me enough time to unlock the door and escape.”
“You have to report him. It’s time the bastard was removed from this hospital.”
“Not much chance of that. When I saw him on ward rounds this morning, he warned me that I’d be looking for another job if I opened my mouth, and then added”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“when a woman’s got her mouth open, it’s only good for one thing.”
“He’s sick, and shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”
“Don’t forget how powerful he is. He got Mandy’s boyfriend sacked after he told the police he’d seen him assaulting her, when he was the one who’d hit her. So what chance would I have after a grope in the laundry room? No, I’ve decided—”
“Good morning, Sir Harry,” said a staff nurse as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. “Dr. Richards has asked me to take a blood sample and send it to the labs. Just a routine check, so if you could roll up one of your sleeves.”