The “Tommy’s, Guy’s, King’s” brief still rested on top of a dozen other urgent files, including a confidential DNA report by two distinguished American academics. She already knew the results of their initial findings, and now at last she felt able to share the good news with Harry.
Emma jumped up, grabbed the phone on the sideboard, and dialed Harry at the Manor House.
“This better be good,” he said, “because Alexander is just about to decide whether to jump in the crate going to America or the one going to England.”
“It’s good, better than good,” said Emma. “The DNA report shows that Arthur Clifton was without doubt your father.”
There was a long silence before Harry shouted, “Alleluia, that is indeed good news. I’ll put a bottle of champagne on ice so we can celebrate when you get home this evening.”
“America,” said Emma, and put the phone down. After taking several phone calls during breakfast, she still hadn’t had a chance to consider the arguments for and against Lord Samuels’s proposal before her driver pulled up outside the front door at 7:25 a.m. It was going to be another back-to-back day.
Emma read the detailed submissions from both presidents during her journey across London, but hadn’t come down in favor of either side by the time her car pulled into Harley Street. She placed the file back in the red box and checked her watch: 7:57. She hoped the discussion wouldn’t go on for too long, as she needed to be back at the department for a meeting with the new chairman of the BMA, a firebrand, who she had been warned by her permanent secretary considered all Tories should be drowned at birth. What Pauline described as the King Herod solution.
Emma was about to press the bell of No. 47A when the door was opened by a young woman.
“Good morning, minister. Let me take you through to Lord Samuels.”
The president of the Royal College of Physicians rose as the minister entered the room. He waited until she was seated before offering her coffee.
“No, thank you,” said Emma, who didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary, while trying not to give the impression that she was in a hurry.
“As I explained yesterday, minister, the matter I wish to discuss with you is personal, which is why I didn’t want us to meet in your office.”
“I fully understand,” said Emma, waiting to hear his arguments in favor of Guy’s and St. Thomas’s being joined at the hip with King’s.
“During question time yesterday”—Ah, thought Emma, so I must have made some blunder after all, which he was kind enough not to raise in the chamber—“I noticed that when you paused to take a drink, you spilt some water over your papers. You then answered the question without referring to your notes so no one noticed, although it was not for the first time.”
Emma wondered where all this was leading, but didn’t interrupt.
“And when you left the chamber, you stumbled and dropped some papers.”
“Yes, I did,” said Emma, her mind now racing. “But neither incident struck me as important at the time.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Samuels. “But may I ask if you’ve recently found it difficult to grasp objects like cups, your briefcase, even your pen when you’re signing letters?”
Emma hesitated, before saying, “Yes, now that you mention it. But my mother always accused me of being clumsy.”
“I also noticed that you hesitated on a couple of occasions while you were addressing the House yesterday. Was that because you were considering your reply, or was your speech in some way restricted?”
“I put it down to nerves. My brother is always warning me never to relax when I’m at the dispatch box.”
“Do your legs sometimes feel weak, so you need to sit down?”
“Yes, but I am nearly seventy, Lord Samuels, and I’d be the first to admit I ought to take more exercise.”
“Possibly, but I wonder if you would allow me to conduct a short neurological examination, if only to dismiss my own concerns.”
“Of course,” said Emma, wanting to say no, so she could get back to her office.
The short examination took over an hour. Lord Samuels began by asking Emma to take him through her medical history. He then listened to her heart and checked her reflexes with a patella hammer. Had those tests proved satisfactory, he would have apologized for troubling her and sent her off to work. But he didn’t. Instead, he went on to assess the cranial nerves. Having done so, he moved on to a close study of her mouth, looking for fasciculation of the tongue. Satisfied that he was far from satisfied, Lord Samuels said, “The examination I’m about to conduct may be painful. In fact, I hope it is.”
Emma made no comment when he produced a needle and proceeded to stick it into her upper arm. She immediately reacted with a yelp, which clearly pleased Samuels, but when he repeated the exercise on her right hand, she did not respond.
“Ouch!” she said as he stuck the needle into her thigh, but when he proceeded to her lower calf, she might as well have been a pincushion, because she felt nothing. He moved on to her back, but Emma often couldn’t tell when he was sticking the pin in her.
While Emma put her blouse back on, Lord Samuels returned to his desk, opened a file, and waited for her to join him. When he looked up, she was sitting nervously in front of him.
“Emma,” he said gently, “I’m afraid that what I’m about to tell you is not good news.”