Dick Francis - Under Orders

There was a clatter behind him and a trolley surrounded by medical staff was wheeled quickly by from right to left. I only had a glimpse of the person on it and I couldn’t tell if it was Marina. Then a dazed-looking Rosie came into view.

‘Rosie,’ I shouted. She didn’t hear.

Tony, the guard, started to say something but I pushed past him and ran down the corridor.

‘Oi!’ he shouted. ‘You can’t go in there.’

But I had already turned the corner.

‘Rosie,’ I shouted again.

She turned. ‘Oh Sid, thank God you’re here!’ She was crying and seemed to be in a state of near-collapse.

‘Where’s Marina?’ I asked urgently.

‘In there,’ she said, looking at some doors on the right.

There was a glass circular window and, with trepidation, I looked through.

Marina lay very still on a trolley with about six people rushIng around her. There were two bags of blood on poles with plastic tubes running to needles on the backs of each of her hands. I could see a pool of blood down near the foot of the trolley — it was as though the blood was going straight through her.

‘What are you two doing here?’ asked a voice.

I turned to see a stern-looking nurse in a blue uniform with what appeared to be a green dishcloth on her head.

‘You’ll have to go back to the waiting room,’ she said.

‘But that’s Marina in there,’ I said, turning back to the window. If anything, the activity had intensified. One of the staff was putting a tube down her throat. Her face looked horribly grey.

‘I don’t care if it’s the Queen of Sheba,’ said the nurse. ‘You can’t stay here. You’ll be in the way.’ She mellowed. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you can wait. You’ll be told what’s happening as soon as we know.’

Rosie and I allowed ourselves to be taken by the arms and led down the corridor. We went round several corners and were shown into a room with ‘Family Waiting Room’ painted on the door.

‘Now stay here and someone will be along to see you.’

I mumbled ‘thank you’ but seemed to have lost control of my face. All I could see was the image of Marina so helpless and vulnerable on that trolley. ‘Please God, let her live.’

I sat down heavily on one of the chairs. I’d again lost control of my legs, too.

‘I’ll send someone in with a cup of tea,’ said the nurse. ‘Now, wait here.’

I nodded. I don’t think I could have moved even if I had wanted to. All I could think about was whether Marina was going to be all right. Rosie sat with her head in her hands. She had been awfully close to the action both on the pavement and in the ambulance.

After a few minutes a kindly woman in an apron brought us a cup of tea each. Strong, full of milk and with at least two sugars, just as I didn’t take it. Delicious.

‘What happened?’ I finally said to Rosie.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were red from crying and she had a hangdog expression.

‘I’m so sorry, Sid,’ she said. ‘We only went outside for a bit of air.’

‘It’s all right, Rosie. It wasn’t your fault.’

But I could see that she thought it was.

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘It was all so fast,’ she said. ‘We were going to walk once round the square, but had gone only a few yards when a motorcyclist drew up and sat there on his machine looking at a map. He beckoned us over to him, pointing at the map. I couldn’t hear what he said due to the noise of the engine. Marina went across the pavement to him and he just shot her. I think the gun was under the map.’

‘Could you describe the motorcyclist?’ I asked her. ‘Would you be able to identify him again?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she replied slowly. He was wearing a crash helmet — you know, one of those ones that covers the whole face. That’s partly why I couldn’t hear what he said.’

‘How about the motorbike?’ I asked.

‘It was just… just a motorbike,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what type.’

She paused and I could tell she was replaying the scene in her mind.

‘At first I didn’t realise she had been shot. I mean, I didn’t hear a gunshot or anything. Marina doubled up and grabbed her knee and the motorcycle roared away. Then there was all the blood. It literally spurted out of her leg all over the place.’

I looked at her dark trousers and I could see that they were covered in Marina’s blood.

‘I did my best to stop it and screamed for someone to help. It seemed ages before the Institute’s security men ran out. They called the ambulance but that took ages to arrive, too.’

The door into the waiting room opened and I jumped up.

‘Are you with the girl that’s been shot?’ asked the head that appeared.

‘Yes,’ said Rosie and I together.

‘Good. Wait here, please.’ The head withdrew and the door closed.

I paced around the room. It took a huge effort not to run out of the door and back to the circular window.

‘Why don’t they come and tell us?’ I said. But I knew the answer. They were busy doing their best. I prayed that their best was good enough.

‘She lost so much blood,’ said Rosie. ‘I held her leg in both my hands and squeezed hard to stop the blood but it oozed between my fingers and ran all over the pavement. It was horrible.’ She shuddered.

‘You did brilliantly, Rosie. Without you, she would have probably died there on the pavement. At least here she has a chance.’ I hoped so anyway.

The door reopened but it wasn’t a doctor that came in but a uniformed policeman.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said, nodding to each of us in turn, and showing us his warrant card. ‘Do either of you know the name of the young lady who was shot?’

‘Marina van der Meer,’ I said. ‘Do you know how she’s doing? I really need some news.’

‘The doctors are still working on her, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything further.’ He took a notebook out of his pocket. ‘How do you spell her name?’ he asked.

I told him and he wrote it down.

And her age? And he wrote that down, too.

‘And what is your name?’ he asked me.

I told him that as well. Come on, I thought, where’s the bloody doctor?

‘And you, madam?’

Rosie’s name went into the notebook along with our dates of birth, although why they were important, I couldn’t imagine.

‘Are either of you related to the young lady?’ In other circumstances, his use of the term ‘young lady’ would have been amusing. He made Marina sound as if she were about fourteen. She was certainly older than he.

‘I am,’ I said.

‘Are you her husband?’ At least he hadn’t asked if I were her father.

‘No, I’m her…’ What am I? I’m too old to be a boyfriend. I hate the term ‘partner’. I used to partner horses in races. Significant other? No.

‘… fiancé,’ I said.

‘Are you therefore her next of kin?’

I didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Next of kin’ always seemed to go with ‘inform’ and ‘death’.

‘Her parents live in the Netherlands,’ I said. ‘I have their address somewhere at home. She also has a brother. He lives in the States.’

‘And you, madam?’ said the policeman, turning to Rosie.

‘I work with Marina at the London Research Institute. I was there when she was shot.’

His eyes opened wider. ‘Were you? My superiors will want to take a statement.’

He turned away and spoke quietly into his personal radio. I didn’t catch everything he said but I did hear him say ‘witness’.

One of the medical staff came into the room. He was dressed in blue trousers and matching blue smock, with one of the dishcloths on his head.

‘You’re here with the girl who was shot?’ he asked.