Desert Barbarian
'It's my fault,' Clare whispered. 'All these years, my fault…'
'No,' Marie urged, stroking her hair. She hesitated, biting her lip, then said recklessly, 'Dad loves you, he loves you!'
Clare lifted her head then, her blue eyes wild. 'Do you think I don't know that?' Her voice held an agony of pain and self-reproach.
Marie was silenced. The lift purred to a halt, Stonor moved over to his sleek silver-blue limousine, unlocked it, turned and helped Clare into the back. Marie slid in beside her. Stonor got into the driving seat and started the engine.
They sat in the white-tiled corridor staring at a green baize-covered swing door which constantly admitted and expelled a number of medical staff. Above the door a large white-faced clock registered the minutes with a slow, remorseless click as the large black hand moved on. They had been there for two hours. No news had come out. James was in one of the rooms on the far side of that swing door, fighting for his life.
Stonor came back for the second time with coffee in plastic cups. Clare accepted hers without comment, her face frozen. Marie looked up as she took a cup from him. Stonor's eyes were still icy. She knew he would never forgive her for what she had said to him when her father collapsed, but at this moment she did not care. She hated him. She hated everything he stood for: Unex, the impersonal brutal world of high finance, the spiritual desert of business where money meant everything and people nothing, where accountants were masters. She thought of the empty open spaces of the desert, the miles and miles of arid sandy waste. That night beside the campfire she had seen in it a terrible beauty. Now she saw only the bleached bones of its victims, the death and horror of its sterility.
Stonor moved away again. Marie drank her coffee without tasting the plastic, crumpled up the cup and threw it into a waste bin. The slap of feet along the corridor made them all turn their heads. A nurse in clean white apron and cap glanced at them without expression, went through the swing door. The black hand moved on once more with a sharp c
lick.
A tired doctor in a crumpled white coat, stethoscope hanging from one pocket, came out of the door, paused and stared at them.
Stonor rose and moved over to him, speaking in a low voice. Clare rose, her eyes stretched in agony.
The doctor glanced at her, smiled politely. 'Mr Brinton is resting at the moment. I'm afraid there's no point in waiting any longer. No one can see him tonight.'
'He's still…' Clare's voice broke off helplessly, her hands made a pathetic gesture of appeal.
'He's holding his own,' the doctor said firmly. 'That's all I can say at the moment. There's no immediate danger, I assure you. I want you to go home now and sleep. Then you can come back here tomorrow and perhaps by then you may be able to see him.' He looked at Stonor. 'I could prescribe something to help her sleep.'
Clare gestured again, irritably. 'I have sleeping pills, thank you. Never mind me. You swear James is all right?'
He smiled gravely at her. 'Mrs Brinton, he has had a serious heart attack. You must judge for yourself what that means. All I can tell you is that he's holding on… if the will to live is there, he may pull through. It all depends on him now.'
'The will to live,' Marie said huskily. She looked at Stonor, but his face was mask-like. 'But has he got that?'
Stonor took the doctor's arm. 'Couldn't his daughter see him for a moment? Just look at him.'
The doctor looked surprised, glanced at Clare, who stared at the floor sightlessly.
Marie said huskily, 'No, my mother must go in… if anyone can give Dad the will to live it's my mother.'
Clare's head lifted. She stared at Marie, her lips shaking. 'Marie…'
'Go in and stand by his bed, Mother,' Marie said softy. 'Say his name. The firm doesn't matter—you do.'
The doctor and Stonor exchanged glances, then Stonor nodded. The doctor hesitated, then said to Clare: 'Will you come with me, Mrs Brinton?'
Clare followed him through the swing door.
Alone with Stonor, Marie sat down again and folded her hands in her lap. After a moment he came and sat beside her, his long legs stretched out across the corridor.
'That was very brave of you,' he said quietly.
'Was it?' Her voice was savage. 'I was only thinking of him. I know he loves her. She may just pull him back. It was a chance worth taking.'
He put a hand on hers, but she pushed him away. 'Don't touch me! You've done enough for one day. Why do you stay here? Why don't you go? I can't stand the sight of you!'
'I'll drive you home when your mother comes back,' he said, his voice level.
'We can call our chauffeur, thanks,' she said.
'I'll drive you,' he repeated expressionlessly.