him.’
Tally took Steven’s hands in hers. ‘You don’t think he could have faked the whole thing just to get you back, do you?’ she said earnestly.
‘Of course not,’ exclaimed Steven, and then was relieved to see it had been a joke as the smile appeared on Tally’s face at his reaction.
‘Good, otherwise he’d have another thing worrying him and she’d have a scalpel in her hand.’
Next morning Steven drove straight to the flat in London and parked the Honda in the basement garage, taking his gear up in the lift. Only two journeys were required; he’d left as much as possible in Leicester in an effort to minimise the change. The heating gurgled and protested for a bit but finally sorted out its problems and settled down to a steady hum before he left for the Home Office. He had changed into a dark suit and tie, Macmillan’s stipulated dress code; he wouldn’t be there but somehow it seemed only right.
‘How nice to see you,’ exclaimed Jean Roberts when Steven appeared in her office. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard the rumours about your coming back; I’m so glad they were true.’
Steven and Jean had known each other a long time, and it was good to be exchanging pleasantries again. Jean asked to be brought up to date on Jenny and her life in Scotland, and Steven got the latest details about the Bach Choir, of which Jean was an enthusiastic member. When they reached a natural hiatus, Jean asked, ‘Will you be using Sir John’s office?’
Steven shook his head. ‘No I’ll use the small one for the time being. Let’s not give up on him yet. Apart from anything else, I’ve only agreed to take a look at the thing that’s been concerning him most. I take it you have some notes for me?’
‘Quite a lot, actually.’ Jean pulled out several files from her desk drawer. ‘In the absence of any specific requests from Sir John, I had to go for blanket cover.’
‘Wow,’ said Steven, surveying the pile. ‘Where do I begin?’
Jean smiled. ‘How much do you know?’
‘Let’s see. Almost twenty years ago, a journalist went up to Newcastle to cover a story and never came back. He, his editor and several others died. Officially the story he was covering was about an operation that went wrong in a hospital where a new health scheme was being introduced at the time – the very successful brainchild of the then health secretary, John Carlisle. The scheme was abandoned for some unknown reason, Carlisle dropped off the radar and ended up taking his own life last week. Someone else connected with the scheme was recently blown to bits in Paris. How am I doing?’
‘I think you’ve grasped the main points very well.’
‘But most of this was nearly twenty years ago,’ said Steven. ‘What triggered John’s interest?’
Jean appeared thoughtful. ‘Looking back, I think it was a lunch he had with Detective Chief Superintendent Malloy. He came back from that wanting details about the operation you mentioned. Apparently the surgeon’s wife was one of those who died in Paris too, and the name had rung a bell with Sir John. It just seemed to go on from there.’
‘Thanks, Jean. Maybe I’ll go see him again before I make a start on this.’
‘Give him my best.’
John Macmillan was resting with his eyes closed when Steven arrived at the hospital, causing him to pause at the door. He was wondering whether or not to just leave when Macmillan seemed to sense someone was there and opened his eyes. ‘Steven.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I have a brain tumour.’
‘Stupid question. Have they scheduled the operation?
‘Next week.’
Steven sat down beside him. ‘It’s going to take more than a clump of cells to fell the John Macmillan I know.’
Macmillan smiled serenely, as if he knew better. ‘Have you seen Jean?’
‘I’ve just come from the Home Office. She gave me what she thought were the relevant files – all of them.’
Macmillan managed a chuckle.
Tally took Steven’s hands in hers. ‘You don’t think he could have faked the whole thing just to get you back, do you?’ she said earnestly.
‘Of course not,’ exclaimed Steven, and then was relieved to see it had been a joke as the smile appeared on Tally’s face at his reaction.
‘Good, otherwise he’d have another thing worrying him and she’d have a scalpel in her hand.’
Next morning Steven drove straight to the flat in London and parked the Honda in the basement garage, taking his gear up in the lift. Only two journeys were required; he’d left as much as possible in Leicester in an effort to minimise the change. The heating gurgled and protested for a bit but finally sorted out its problems and settled down to a steady hum before he left for the Home Office. He had changed into a dark suit and tie, Macmillan’s stipulated dress code; he wouldn’t be there but somehow it seemed only right.
‘How nice to see you,’ exclaimed Jean Roberts when Steven appeared in her office. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard the rumours about your coming back; I’m so glad they were true.’
Steven and Jean had known each other a long time, and it was good to be exchanging pleasantries again. Jean asked to be brought up to date on Jenny and her life in Scotland, and Steven got the latest details about the Bach Choir, of which Jean was an enthusiastic member. When they reached a natural hiatus, Jean asked, ‘Will you be using Sir John’s office?’
Steven shook his head. ‘No I’ll use the small one for the time being. Let’s not give up on him yet. Apart from anything else, I’ve only agreed to take a look at the thing that’s been concerning him most. I take it you have some notes for me?’
‘Quite a lot, actually.’ Jean pulled out several files from her desk drawer. ‘In the absence of any specific requests from Sir John, I had to go for blanket cover.’
‘Wow,’ said Steven, surveying the pile. ‘Where do I begin?’
Jean smiled. ‘How much do you know?’
‘Let’s see. Almost twenty years ago, a journalist went up to Newcastle to cover a story and never came back. He, his editor and several others died. Officially the story he was covering was about an operation that went wrong in a hospital where a new health scheme was being introduced at the time – the very successful brainchild of the then health secretary, John Carlisle. The scheme was abandoned for some unknown reason, Carlisle dropped off the radar and ended up taking his own life last week. Someone else connected with the scheme was recently blown to bits in Paris. How am I doing?’
‘I think you’ve grasped the main points very well.’
‘But most of this was nearly twenty years ago,’ said Steven. ‘What triggered John’s interest?’
Jean appeared thoughtful. ‘Looking back, I think it was a lunch he had with Detective Chief Superintendent Malloy. He came back from that wanting details about the operation you mentioned. Apparently the surgeon’s wife was one of those who died in Paris too, and the name had rung a bell with Sir John. It just seemed to go on from there.’
‘Thanks, Jean. Maybe I’ll go see him again before I make a start on this.’
‘Give him my best.’
John Macmillan was resting with his eyes closed when Steven arrived at the hospital, causing him to pause at the door. He was wondering whether or not to just leave when Macmillan seemed to sense someone was there and opened his eyes. ‘Steven.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I have a brain tumour.’
‘Stupid question. Have they scheduled the operation?
‘Next week.’
Steven sat down beside him. ‘It’s going to take more than a clump of cells to fell the John Macmillan I know.’
Macmillan smiled serenely, as if he knew better. ‘Have you seen Jean?’
‘I’ve just come from the Home Office. She gave me what she thought were the relevant files – all of them.’
Macmillan managed a chuckle.
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