Bernard Knight - Dead in the Dog

‘What’s queer about being shot at, Les?’ demanded a captain from the West Berkshires, rather indignantly.

‘Not like the CTs to fire off a few rounds, then bugger off!’ objected the Australian. ‘Even in Jimmy’s last attack they killed a couple of blokes.’

Robertson flushed, both at being repeatedly called ‘Jimmy’ and at the insinuation that his latest moment of glory had not been all that glorious.

‘An attack’s an attack, Les!’ he snapped petulantly. ‘What d’you think all those holes are in the walls — giant termites?’

There was a guffaw from the group at this witticism, but Arnold just grinned.

‘Good on you, mate! I’m glad they didn’t call on me, just up the road from you. I need my beauty sleep every night.’

Alec came back with the beers and he and Tom leaned against one of the pillars that supported the high roof while they looked around at the talent in the room. The disc jockey had found one of the request records and now Tony Bennett was crooning about a ‘Stranger in Paradise’, giving the swaying couples the excuse to cling together as if they had been welded front-to-front, their feet hardly moving.

‘Some nice-looking birds here, Alec,’ murmured the pathologist. Stuck in his laboratory all that first day, he had so far hardly laid eyes on a QA, apart from their motherly Matron, Doris Hawkins. ‘Who’s the dark-haired one, in the slinky blue dress?’

Watson grinned. ‘You got it in one, Tom! Everyone notices her first. That’s our in-house femme fatale , Lena Franklin.’

Howden looked across to the centre of the dance floor and saw a slim, sexy-looking woman in her late twenties, with dark hair in what he called a Gina Lollobrigida style. Her eyes were enhanced catlike with make-up and her glossed lips were in a slight pout as she rested her chin on her partner’s shoulder. Her dress was a westernized version of the Chinese cheongsam , a skin-hugging sheath of blue silk with a high collar and a slit up each side to the thigh. Tom could almost see the disapproval coming off some of the older wives, like a black cloud ascending to the fans overhead. Lena was certainly a dish-and-a-half, he thought. No wonder David Meredith was brassed off at the prospect of losing her to someone else.

‘Who’s the guy she’s with? That her new bloke?’

‘Nay, he’s some prat one-pipper from the Hussars. Looks as if she’s using him to fire up our master gasman — to say nothing of Jimmy Robertson.’

Looking around the crowded room, they found their anaesthetist standing with Peter Bright against the opposite wall, an untouched beer in his hand, scowling at the pair on the dance floor. As they watched, a handsome redhead in a white dress rose from a nearby table where she was sitting with several more nurses and a couple of young men. Going up to Peter Bright, she said something, but he smiled and shook his head.

‘That’s another factor in the equation, Tom,’ said Alec, who seemed to be a mine of information on the scandals and intrigues of Tanah Timah.

‘Who’s she?’ Tom asked, as he watched the auburn-haired girl talk animatedly to the surgeon.

‘That’s our Joanie. . Joan Parnell, QA sister on Medical One. She’s like a rash!’

‘What d’you mean — like a rash?’

‘She’s all over you! Especially if you’re Peter Bright, she’s got the hots for him even though everyone knows he’s after Diane Robertson.’

Joan had now wrestled the glass from Peter’s hand and putting it down on a shelf, was dragging him to the dance floor, leaving David Meredith alone and even more darkly morose.

‘I’m getting confused over all this,’ muttered the pathologist. ‘It’s like one of these Whitehall farces, with people popping in and out of bedroom doors.’

‘You won’t get that, at least not on hospital premises,’ said young Watson. ‘Both the Matron and our Old Man keep their beady eyes firmly on the bedroom doors in BMH.’

Just then, Alec spotted a couple of members leaving the bar and they quickly slid on to their vacated stools. ‘That’s better, we can see the action in comfort now,’ he said smugly.

The nubile Joan Parnell was wrapping herself enthusiastically around their surgeon on the dance floor and Peter Bright, though enjoying the feel of a lithe body in his arms, was casting wary glances around the room as they revolved slowly to the music.

‘Pete’s on the lookout for the evil eye from Memsahib Robertson,’ explained Watson, his boyish face alive with interest at the goings-on around him. ‘Though I haven’t seen her here yet, maybe the shooting has given her the vapours.’

Tom was still doggedly working out the romantic permutations. ‘Her husband’s here, anyway. You reckon he’s having a fling with this Lena woman, the one that our gasman is keen on?’

‘That’s it — and rumour has it that for years he’s been playing away with Rosa, until just recently.’

‘Who the hell’s Rosa?’

‘The wife of his manager, Douglas Mackay. They’re here somewhere, I’ve seen them.’

‘Bloody hell, this is like something out of Somerset Maugham!’

Tom buried his face in his Tiger while he sorted out the machinations in his mind. ‘Any more shenanigans I should know about, while you’re at it?’ he asked, when he surfaced.

‘Not that I know of,’ admitted Alec regretfully. Then he brightened a little, ‘Apart from our dear Commanding Officer, of course!’

‘Jesus, don’t say he’s been rogering someone too? I thought he was married?’

‘He is — that’s the point! His missus was out here with him until two months ago, then she suddenly ups and goes home to UK. She was a right old battleaxe and the whisper is that she got fed up with him. But no one knows why?’

‘Where does he live, then?’

‘He’s still in his married quarter in Garrison, thank God. By rights, he should quit and come to live in the Mess, now that he’s on his own. That would be bloody awful, having the old bastard amongst us, but I think he’s got some pull with the Brigadier, who’s letting him stay on in his house. He’s only got three months to go before RHE, so perhaps we’ll escape a fate worse than death!’

Howden looked along the bar to where James Robertson was regaling another relay of listeners with his tale of derring-do.

‘Doesn’t he know his wife’s having it away with Peter Bright?’ he murmured.

Watson shrugged. ‘Dunno — but it’s difficult to keep any secrets in an incestuous place like TT. If the padre farts, everyone knows within ten minutes, so even though Jimmy Robertson is as thick as two short planks, he must surely have his suspicions.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t want to know, especially if he’s at it himself.’

Alec nodded over his glass. ‘Quite possible — he’s had plenty of practice, I hear. The delicious Diane is said to have been putting it about for years. Not much else to do around here,’ he added cynically.

Their scandalmongering was interrupted when a beckoning hand waved at them from one of the tables. It was Major Hawkins, the Matron, resplendent in a pink dress that looked like a floral bell-tent. She was sitting with four other girls who Tom assumed were QAs.

‘Come and meet some of the staff, doctor,’ she said kindly. Tom was warmed by her words, as he hadn’t been called ‘doctor’ since he left Tyneside — it was either ‘Captain’ or ‘Howden’. The two men perched on the arms of the girl’s chairs and Alec helped the Matron to introduce them. Tom caught a couple of names, but remembered only one afterwards as Lynette, a slightly chubby brunette with a pretty round face and a Yorkshire accent.

They all launched into the usual polite babble of ‘Where do you come from. . was it cold at home when you left. . d’you play tennis. . what d’you think of it so far,’ until Tom was in a haze of pleasant disorientation, but temporarily cured of his homesickness.