Read Online Out of the Sun by Robert Goddard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Goddard
Ads: Link
about behind the previously empty counter further along, though, Harry waved and hurried down to speak to her. He was known to the staff now and she gave him a welcoming smile.
"Hello, Mr. Barnett. You're in late."
"Not the only one. Was that David's specialist I just met leaving his room?"
"No. Mr. Baxendale won't be in again till tomorrow. That was just another visitor. David's been very popular today."
"Who was he?"
"He didn't give a name. A colleague, I think he said."
"A colleague of David's?"
"Yes."
"From Globescope?"
"Globescope? What's that?"
The nurse's uncertainty made no difference. If the man was a colleague of David's, he had to be from Globescope. And if so .. . But a jog as far as the main entrance yielded only severe breathlessness and dismal news from the receptionist, who vaguely recalled a man matching the description Harry panted out leaving a few minutes earlier. Outside, in the drizzly London night, there was naturally no sign of him.
Harry lit a cigarette to ease his frustration and stood smoking it in the shelter of a pillared porch looking out across Queen Square. A missed chance to speak to somebody with inside knowledge of Globescope was bad enough. But a more tantalizing possibility was already worming its way into his thoughts. Could David's unidentified colleague also be responsible for the letter and the telephone call? Could he be the nameless messenger who seemed to know more about Harry's past than Harry did himself?
,
TWELVE
"We'll see what your mother has to say about this, shall we, David? I'm prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt, you know. Ken could be the real problem. I realize that. I expect you do too. Is he pressurizing her, do you think? Only he's certainly trying to pressurize me. But don't worry. In my case, it isn't going to work." Harry smiled in acknowledgement of his own stubbornness. It was stubbornness, after all, that had kept him at the hospital since mid-morning, awaiting the maternal visit David was bound to receive, a visit that would give Harry the chance to put to Iris some of the questions that were troubling him. He could have telephoned her, of course. But she might have refused to speak to him. He could have gone out to Chorleywood to see her. But she might have slammed the door in his face. Ken certainly would have. Except Harry was hoping Ken had gone back up to Manchester to captain his segment of industry. All of which left David's hospital room as the most certain ground on which to confront Iris.
Spending most of Monday there had already enabled Harry to squeeze some information out of David's specialist. But Mr. Baxendale, a kindly if cautious man, had only confirmed his worst fears. "There is no realistic prospect of a recovery from such a profound coma, Mr. Barnett. Sooner or later, Mrs. Hewitt is going to have to decide how to deal with that fact." As for the alleged neuro biological expertise of Donna Trangam, Baxendale was politely dismissive. "She visited David once, shortly after his admission, and offered me her fairly radical opinion on coma treatment. But she had absolutely no clinical experience. Besides, she returned to the United States almost immediately thereafter and I haven't heard from her since."
"When was this?" Harry had asked. "I mean, exactly."
"Hard to say. David was transferred here from Charing Cross on the fifteenth of September. A few days after that, I suppose."
"And another few days before she left?"
"Probably."
Unlike his son, Harry was no mathematician. But simple arithmetic was not beyond him. Donna Trangam's sudden departure for the States coincided more or less with Gerard Mermillod's death in Paris on 22 September. Of course, her destination was an assumption on Baxendale's part. She might actually have gone to Paris. Or via Paris. Either way, it did not sound like the workings of chance. Not much did to Harry any more. Conspiracy. Concealment. Confusion. They were the prevailing echoes.
"What
"Hello, Mr. Barnett. You're in late."
"Not the only one. Was that David's specialist I just met leaving his room?"
"No. Mr. Baxendale won't be in again till tomorrow. That was just another visitor. David's been very popular today."
"Who was he?"
"He didn't give a name. A colleague, I think he said."
"A colleague of David's?"
"Yes."
"From Globescope?"
"Globescope? What's that?"
The nurse's uncertainty made no difference. If the man was a colleague of David's, he had to be from Globescope. And if so .. . But a jog as far as the main entrance yielded only severe breathlessness and dismal news from the receptionist, who vaguely recalled a man matching the description Harry panted out leaving a few minutes earlier. Outside, in the drizzly London night, there was naturally no sign of him.
Harry lit a cigarette to ease his frustration and stood smoking it in the shelter of a pillared porch looking out across Queen Square. A missed chance to speak to somebody with inside knowledge of Globescope was bad enough. But a more tantalizing possibility was already worming its way into his thoughts. Could David's unidentified colleague also be responsible for the letter and the telephone call? Could he be the nameless messenger who seemed to know more about Harry's past than Harry did himself?
,
TWELVE
"We'll see what your mother has to say about this, shall we, David? I'm prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt, you know. Ken could be the real problem. I realize that. I expect you do too. Is he pressurizing her, do you think? Only he's certainly trying to pressurize me. But don't worry. In my case, it isn't going to work." Harry smiled in acknowledgement of his own stubbornness. It was stubbornness, after all, that had kept him at the hospital since mid-morning, awaiting the maternal visit David was bound to receive, a visit that would give Harry the chance to put to Iris some of the questions that were troubling him. He could have telephoned her, of course. But she might have refused to speak to him. He could have gone out to Chorleywood to see her. But she might have slammed the door in his face. Ken certainly would have. Except Harry was hoping Ken had gone back up to Manchester to captain his segment of industry. All of which left David's hospital room as the most certain ground on which to confront Iris.
Spending most of Monday there had already enabled Harry to squeeze some information out of David's specialist. But Mr. Baxendale, a kindly if cautious man, had only confirmed his worst fears. "There is no realistic prospect of a recovery from such a profound coma, Mr. Barnett. Sooner or later, Mrs. Hewitt is going to have to decide how to deal with that fact." As for the alleged neuro biological expertise of Donna Trangam, Baxendale was politely dismissive. "She visited David once, shortly after his admission, and offered me her fairly radical opinion on coma treatment. But she had absolutely no clinical experience. Besides, she returned to the United States almost immediately thereafter and I haven't heard from her since."
"When was this?" Harry had asked. "I mean, exactly."
"Hard to say. David was transferred here from Charing Cross on the fifteenth of September. A few days after that, I suppose."
"And another few days before she left?"
"Probably."
Unlike his son, Harry was no mathematician. But simple arithmetic was not beyond him. Donna Trangam's sudden departure for the States coincided more or less with Gerard Mermillod's death in Paris on 22 September. Of course, her destination was an assumption on Baxendale's part. She might actually have gone to Paris. Or via Paris. Either way, it did not sound like the workings of chance. Not much did to Harry any more. Conspiracy. Concealment. Confusion. They were the prevailing echoes.
"What