Dick Francis - Under Orders

Bernie was another of the team of porters/security.

I used Derek’s pencil to turn the envelope over. It was stuck shut. It looked like a birthday card.

‘I’ll open it,’ I said.

I used another sheet of paper to hold the envelope down on the desk and used the pencil to slit it open. Only touching the sides I withdrew the contents. It was a card but not a birthday card. It said, ‘Get Well Soon’ on the front, along with a painting of some flowers. I used the pencil to open it.

There was some writing, again in capital letters:

‘NEXT TIME SHE’LL LOSE A HAND. THEN SHE’LL BE A CRIPPLE, JUST LIKE YOU.’

Charles drew in his breath sharply. ‘Not much doubt about that, then.’

‘What does it say?’ said Jenny, coming closer and reading it. ‘Oh!’

‘Don’t let anyone touch this. I’m going to get something to put it into for the police,’ I said.

‘Can you get fingerprints off paper?’ said Charles.

‘I’m sure you can,’ I said.

‘You can also get DNA from saliva,’ said Rosie.

I turned to her. ‘So?’

‘If someone licked that envelope to stick it shut then they will have left their DNA on it,’ she said.

I stared at her. ‘But won’t it have dried out by now?’ I asked.

‘The DNA will still be there.’

‘Could you get a profile from it?’ I asked.

‘I can get a profile from a single fruit fly you can hardly see,’ she said, smiling. ‘This would be a piece of cake.’

‘Shouldn’t you leave that to the police?’ said Jenny.

‘There’s plenty of stick for both of us,’ said Rosie. ‘I would only need a tiny bit of the envelope. And I really want to do it.’ She looked at me.

‘So do I,’ I said. ‘I’ll fetch some scissors and two plastic bags.’

Derek had stood listening to it all.

‘Like something out of Agatha Christie,’ he said. ‘Death on Ebury Street.’

‘No one’s died yet,’ I said. At least not here. But I thought of Huw Walker and Bill Burton.

We went up to my flat and I raided the refrigerator to find some food. I made a plateful of ham and mustard sandwiches and found some bananas lurking in a fruit bowl behind the kitchen television. The others kindly let me have first go but then they also tucked in with relish.

I went into my office to find Marina’s parents’ number. I tried to call them but there was no answer. I wrote down their address to give to the police, just in case.

I went back into the sitting room. Rosie was on a mission and she wanted to go off to Lincoln’s Inn Fields straight away with her bag containing its piece of envelope.

‘What’s the hurry?’ I asked. ‘It takes hours for the stuff to move in that gel anyway.’

‘Not with the machine in my lab,’ said Rosie. ‘I can get results much quicker than Marina could. The whole thing would take me less than an hour.’

I knew that Rosie was desperate to do something that, in her eyes, would compensate for what she saw as her failure to keep Marina from harm and I wasn’t going to stop her. I was also interested to know if there was DNA on the envelope and if it matched our previous sample. It wouldn’t, however, give us the answer to the puzzle.

‘Do whatever you like,’ I said. ‘I’m going to change and then I’m going back to the hospital. I’ll call the Superintendent after I’ve gone and tell him to collect the card from reception. I don’t want to spend another age being interviewed.’

‘I don’t mind going with Rosie to her lab,’ said Charles. ‘We’ll come on to the hospital after.’

‘And I’ll go with Sid,’ said Jenny.

I left the car in the garage and we took two taxis. It was a long time since I’d been in a taxi alone with Jenny.

‘Just like old times,’ I said.

‘I was thinking the same. Funny old world.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Here I am, going with you to see the woman who’s taken my place and I am desperate that she should be all right.’

‘Are you?’ I asked.

‘Of course. I liked her last Sunday. You two go well together.’

I looked out as we passed Big Ben and absentmindedly checked my watch.

‘I do want you to be happy, you know,’ she said. ‘I know we’re divorced but it doesn’t mean I don’t care for you. I just couldn’t live with you. And…’ She tailed off.

‘Yes?’ I said. ‘And what?’

She didn’t answer. I didn’t press her. I really was glad she was here and I didn’t want to have a scene.

We arrived at the entrance to St Thomas’s and I started to get out of the cab.

Jenny put her hand on my arm, the real one. ‘I’m not sure how to put this,’ she said. ‘And obviously it’s not the reason I want her to get better but,’ she paused, ‘Marina… takes away my guilt.’

I sat back in the seat and looked at her. My dear Jenny. The girl I had once loved and ached for. The girl I thought I knew.

‘Are you getting out, guv’nor?’ asked the driver, breaking the trance.

‘Sorry,’ I said.

Jenny and I climbed out of the taxi, paid, and went into the hospital.

Dr Osborne in Casualty had said that the first three hours would be critical, but he had said that over four hours ago and Marina had survived so far. Every passing minute must surely improve her chances.

When we arrived at Intensive Care, Jenny said she would wait on the same chairs outside by the lifts, and read. I noticed that she had borrowed a book from my flat. I was surprised to see that it was an autobiography by a leading steeplechase trainer, someone I had ridden for regularly, and someone Jenny and I used to argue about.

I put on the regulation blue uniform and went in to be met by the police guard that had belatedly appeared in the unit. Yes, a nurse agreed, she could vouch for Mr Halley; he’s Miss Meer’s fiancé. Pass, friend.

Marina looked the same as when I’d left her.

I sat down as before and held her hand. It seemed natural to talk to her so I did, albeit softly.

I told her about all sorts of things. I told her about leaving my car on the pavement and how the bomb squad had been called out to check it. I told her that Charles had come up to London and how he had arrived with Jenny. I told her about Rosie and that she might be staying the night but not to worry because Charles would be there too as a chaperon. I didn’t tell her about the card and its violent message. I was pretty sure that she couldn’t hear me but I didn’t want to distress her, just in case.

‘And do you know,’ I said to her, ‘Jenny says you take away her guilt. Her guilt for leaving me. Now there’s a shock, I can tell you. I’ve never thought she felt guilty for a moment. The irony is that I had felt guilty, too, because I hadn’t given up riding when she wanted me to.’

I stroked her arm and sat there for a while in silence. For all its intensiveness, the Intensive Care Unit was a calm, quiet place with subdued lighting and almost no noise. Just the hum of the ventilator pump and the slight hiss of escaping air.

‘But I don’t feel guilty any more,’ I said.

‘Guilty about what?’ said a voice.

I jumped. Mr Pandita, the surgeon, had entered the cubicle silently behind me.

‘For God’s sake,’ I said, ‘you nearly gave me a heart attack.’

‘There are worse places to have one,’ he smiled. ‘I have a friend who had a heart attack at a hotel where hundreds of cardiac surgeons were having a convention. They almost fought over him as he toppled off a bar stool.’

‘Lucky him.’ I nodded at Marina. ‘How’s she doing?’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I think I would refer to her condition now as serious but stable. It’s no longer critical. I do believe your girl is going to live.’