This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

“During the past year, Matron has been collecting evidence, and she has asked me to set up an official inquiry.”

“Be my guest,” said Hands. “You’ll find nothing will stick, and I’ll be completely exonerated.”

“Nothing will stick? An unfortunate choice of words, I would have thought, Dr. Hands, unless of course…”

“You say another word, Lady Clifton, and I’ll instruct my lawyers to issue a writ for libel.”

“I doubt it. Like you, I’ve made sure there are no witnesses, and while I accept that you may be cleared of all the charges, I intend to make sure that your reputation will be in tatters, and you’ll never be able to find a job in this country again. So I suggest—”

“Are you threatening me? If you are, it could well be your reputation that ends up in tatters, once the inquiry proves to be a waste of time and money—and just when BRI has once again been shortlisted for hospital of the year.”

“Yes, I had considered that,” said Emma. “In the past your strength has always been that it was your word against that of a young nurse. But this time you won’t be dealing with a frightened young woman but the chairman of the hospital. And yes, I am willing to risk my reputation against yours.”

“You’re bluffing,” said Hands. “You’ve got less than a year to go, and you really wouldn’t want this to be the one thing you’re remembered for.”

“Wrong again, Dr. Hands. When I expose you for what you are, I suspect your colleagues and the sixteen nurses who have provided written evidence—” Emma tapped a thick file on the desk in front of her, which was nothing more than a surveyor’s report—“will be only too grateful for my intervention, while you’ll find it difficult to get a job in a minor African state.”

This time Hands hesitated before he spoke. “I’ll take my chances. I’m confident you don’t have enough evidence to open an inquiry.”

Emma leaned forward, dialed an outside number, and switched the phone to speaker. A moment later they both heard the word, “Editor.”

“Good morning, Reg. Emma Clifton.”

“Which one of my reporters do you want strung up this morning, Emma?”

“Not one of your reporters this time. One of my doctors.”

“Tell me more.”

“I’m about to instigate an inquiry into the behavior of a doctor at the hospital, and I thought you’d want to hear about it before the nationals get hold of the story.”

“That’s good of you, Emma.” Hands began waving at her frantically. “But if the story is going to make the final edition, I’ll need to send a reporter over to the hospital immediately.”

“I have an appointment at eleven,” said Emma, looking down at her diary, “but I’ll call you back in a few moments if I can rearrange it.”

As Emma hung up, she spotted beads of sweat appearing on Hands’s forehead.

“If I’m to cancel my appointment with the reporter from The Bristol Evening News,” she said, once again tapping the file, “I’ll expect you to be off these premises by midday. Otherwise, I recommend you pick up today’s final edition, in which you’ll discover exactly what I think of doctors like you. Be sure to stay by your phone, as I have a feeling they’ll want to hear your side of the story.”

Hands rose unsteadily from his seat and left the room without another word. Once the door had closed, Emma picked up the phone and redialed the number she had promised to call back.

“Thank you,” she said, when a voice came on the line.

“My pleasure,” said Harry. “What time will you be home for dinner?”

* * *

“If you’re going to spend the next month in London,” said Harry after he’d heard Emma’s news, “where do you intend to stay?”

“With Giles. That way I’ll be able to keep a close eye on his every move.”

“And he on yours. But I can’t see him agreeing to such a cozy little arrangement.”

“He’s not going to be given much choice,” said Emma. “You’ve obviously forgotten I own the freehold of number Twenty-three Smith Square. So if anyone’s going to be looking for temporary accommodation, it will be Giles, not me.”

GILES BARRINGTON

1979–1981