Private London (Private 4)

‘Everything all right, Penelope?’ she asked. ‘Not bad news, is it?’

Penelope nodded, her face ashen. ‘It’s my brother. He’s just been run over by a train.’

Chapter 48

HALF AN HOUR later Penelope Harris was standing in front of the reception desk at the Stoke Mandeville hospital, her face flushed with anger.

‘What do you mean, I can’t see him? He’s my brother!’

‘I know that,’ said the increasingly flustered receptionist on the general admissions desk. ‘You are aware of the circumstances of the accident?’

‘His car was on the railway line. A train hit him.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘I know he was badly mutilated. But I should still be able to see the body.’

‘It’s not so straightforward, I’m afraid.’

‘Why the hell not?’

The receptionist reddened and shrugged apologetically as a man in his fifties, wearing a white coat and with the obligatory stethoscope round his neck, appeared. ‘It’s okay, Maureen,’ he said. ‘I’ll take this.’

Penelope turned to him. ‘Are you in charge here?’

‘I’m Mister Ferguson, one of the surgical registrars,’ he said.

‘Good. I want to see my brother.’

Ferguson nodded. ‘Please come with me.’ He gestured with his hand and led Penelope into a sm

all room with a couple of sofas and a cold-water dispenser.

‘I don’t understand. Why can’t I just go and see him?’

‘He’s in surgery, Miss Harris.’

Penelope stepped back. ‘What are you talking about? They told me he’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. He had a donor card. His heart was viable. He’s going to save a young woman’s life.’

Penelope shook her head, not believing what she was hearing.

‘I understand that your brother was a teacher. The young lady receiving his heart is a gifted young pianist. She’s recently been given a musical scholarship to Corpus Christi College at Cambridge University.’

‘No,’ said Penelope.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘My brother would never have carried a donor card. We have discussed this.’

The surgical registrar gestured apologetically. ‘I can assure you that he had a card in his wallet …’ He hesitated. ‘And he left a note.’

‘What note?’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Harris, but your brother committed suicide.’

‘No … there’s been some mistake. It’s not my brother. You’ve got the wrong person.’