"Giles?" I said. Nothing. "Giles? It's Bridget."
The moaning noise came again.
I walked along the corridor. "Where are you?"
"Here."
I pushed open the door. This room was lurid green and hideous with huge lumps of dark wood furniture everywhere. Giles was lying on his back with his head turned to one side, moaning slightly, the telephone off the hook beside him.
I sat on the bed and he opened his eyes slightly and closed them again. His glasses were skew-whiff on his face. I took them off
"Bridget." He was holding a bottle of pills. I took them from him. Temazepam.
"How many have you taken?" I said, taking his hand.
"Six ... or four?'
"When?"
"Not long ... about ... not long."
"Make yourself sick," I said, thinking that they always pumped overdosed people's stomachs.
We went together into the bathroom. It wasn't attractive, frankly, but then I gave him lots of water and he flopped back on the bed and started to sob quietly, holding my hand. He had called Veronica, his wife, it emerged groaningly, as I stroked his head. And he had lost all sense of himself and self-respect by begging her to come back, thereby undoing all his good dignified work of the last two months. At this, she'd announced she definitely wanted a divorce and he felt desperate, which I could totally relate to. As I told him, it was enough to drive anyone to the Temazepam.
There were footsteps in the corridor, a knock, and then Mark appeared in the doorway.
"Will you ring the doctor again?" I said.
"What's he taken?"
r /> "Temazepam. About half a dozen. He's been sick."
He stepped out in the corridor. There were more voices. I heard Rebecca go "Oh, for God's sake!" and Mark trying to quieten her down, then more low mumbling.
"I just want everything to stop. I don't want to feel like this. I want it all just to stop," moaned Giles.
"No, no," I said. "You have to have hope and confidence that everything will turn out all right, and it will."
There were more footsteps and voices in the house. Then Mark reappeared.
He gave a half smile. "Sorry about that." Then he looked serious again. "You're going to be all right, Giles. You're in good hands here. The doctor'll be round in fifteen minutes but he said nothing to worry about."
"Are you OK?" he said to me.
I nodded.
"You're being great," he said. "A rather more attractive version of George Clooney. Will you stay with him till the doctor comes?"
When the doctor had finally sorted Giles out half the people seemed to have left. Rebecca was sitting tearfully in the baronial hall with her foot up, talking to Mark, and Shaz was standing at the front door, smoking a cigarette, with both our bags packed.
"It's just so inconsiderate," Rebecca was saying. "It's ruined the whole weekend! People should be strong and resolute, it's so ... self-indulgent and self-obsessed. Don't just say nothing, don't you think I'm right?"
"I think we should ... talk about it later," said Mark.
After Shaz and I had said our goodbyes and were putting our bags in the car, Mark came out to us.
"Well done," he barked. "Sorry. God, I sound like a sergeant major. The surroundings are getting to me. You were great, back there, with ... with ... well, with both of them."