Richard Gordon - SURGEON AT ARMS

'I only see it as being rather hard on mother.'

'That's ridiculous.' Graham became angry. 'You know perfectly well most of the time your mother hasn't even the first idea who I am.'

'Still, she is my mother. I feel sorry for her.'

He really had little affection for his mother. But he was desperately frightened about doing the 'wrong thing'. He was becoming aware of inner forces which could drive him along the same devious paths as his father, and that must be avoided at all costs. Graham's life had already made his son an easy target for ridicule, not only from Alec but from any of the other students disposed to a bit of ragging. For security he must fly into conventionality.

'Now you're just being pompous,' said Graham curtly. Desmond turned red, and Graham rebuked himself. He'd been too savage. Desmond was really very young, and confused with the ways of the world. Just as he had been himself at the same age. 'Come, Desmond,' he added more kindly. 'Try and adjust yourself. Clare won't be more to you than a stepmother in name. She'll be terribly tactful. I promise you that. You'll come to like her tremendously.'

Desmond hesitated, and said, 'I think I prefer to make up my own mind about people, Dad.'

Graham called for the bill. Desmond really could be terribly difficult when he wanted. Just like Maria.

Everyone at Smithers Botham seemed to know about the baby from its conception. Graham had confided in John Bickley, and he supposed Denise had spread the news with enthusiasm. Crampers had grunted something at him-congratulatory, Graham hoped. Even Captain Pile had made the point of repeating that no woman whatever was permitted to give birth within the hospital's glass-topped walls. Graham didn't care about the notoriety. He rather enjoyed it. He told himself more forcibly every day he was delighted with their child. A young life, something to perpetuate himself right to the end of the century, was an anodyne for any painfully intruding ideas about death and extinction. He could have no possible reservations about it whatever, he decided. And it would be wonderful for Clare. He treated her with the greatest tenderness, physical and mental. As for the effect on the mother-to-be of her circumstances in general, and her standing in the eyes of everybody at Smithers Botham in particular, it never crossed his mind to enquire.

All this happened in the busy fortnight following the Sunday when they rang the church bells. Then he had a letter from the Ministry terminating his contract at the annex.

'I want to see Brigadier Haileybury,' said Graham to the sergeant in the hall. 'My name's Trevose. I'm a surgeon. The brigadier knows me well.'

'Have you an appointment, sir?'

'No. But I'm aware that he's in the building and I don't intend to leave until he gives me an interview.'

The sergeant looked uneasy. The wild-eyed civilian seemed an unlikely crony of the austere brigadier. 'If you'll wait here, sir, I can but pass on your message.'

'Please do.'

He left Graham alone in the hall, which like the inside of all requisitioned houses had bare walls and floor, was furnished with trestle-tables and fire-extinguishers, and had the decorations badly knocked about. Haileybury now held sway in a country mansion fronting the River Itchen south of Winchester, in preparation for the 'Second Front', Graham supposed, whenever that might be established. Within a minute the sergeant came clattering down the oak staircase, announcing that the brigadier would be delighted to receive his visitor at once.

The office upstairs was large, warm, and bright, overlooking the river, where in season Haileybury amused himself fishing for trout. There was a neat, busy-looking desk, filing cabinets, maps and charts on the wall. A lieutenant with twined-serpent R.A.M.C. badges, who hovered in attendance, was gently waved from the presence.

Haileybury extended his large red hand. 'An unexpected pleasure, Trevose.'

'Is it so unexpected?'

The brigadier pursed his lips. 'Won't you sit down?'

Graham took a small hard chair and began, 'Haileybury, do you know the one thing the powers-that-be in this war could do with me? They couldn't court-martial me. They couldn't put me in jail. They couldn't even tell me off. The only way they could save themselves the nuisance of my existence was to sack me. They have.'

Haileybury put his finger-tips together and blew on them, rather noisily.

'You're perfectly aware of that, of course,' Graham added accusingly.

'It has come to my ears.'

'Why did you do it? Why did you throw me out?'

Haileybury looked shocked. 'I?'

'I've a certain right to know, you must admit.'

'But, my dear fellow, I couldn't possibly be responsible for your dismissal. That would be a civilian matter, quite outside my province.'

'In all the years we've been squabbling, Haileybury, you've invariably done two things that I often enough have not Told the truth and been honest.'

There was a silence. 'I see,' said Haileybury.

He got up, crossed silently to a filing cabinet, and still without speaking removed a folder.

'Your suspicions are correct, Trevose, I must agree,' he admitted, sitting down. 'Though only partly correct. I certainly made representations to the proper authorities. And I can hardly pretend otherwise than that my views were bound to carry some weight.'

He opened the file. My God! thought Graham, he's more of my cuttings than I've collected myself. He imagined Haileybury painstakingly snipping each one out, muttering to himself and shaking his head sorrowfully.

'Very well, the annex has been getting some publicity,' said Graham. 'And what of it? It's cheered the patients up. It's encouraged my staff to keep working flat out. It's given the civilian population something to feel proud of. Hasn't it put up the morale of your own men? At least they know there's a unit to look after them efficiently, if they get their faces smashed up. It's made a hell of a difference in the R.A.F., I happen to know for a fact.'

'That isn't the point,' said Haileybury.

'You don't imagine it's done me any personal good, do you?' demanded Graham irritably. 'I've neither the desire nor the need to push my own interests. I'm only concerned with those of my patients.'

'I think we know each other's views on these matters too well for the need of repetition. I will only emphasize that mine have remained quite unchanged by the war.'

'Oh, you're stupid, ridiculous, blind, smug. Of course I can't help getting into the papers. I'm part of the scene. Nobody objects if General Montgomery or Vera Lynn or whoever you like gets photographed for the front pages, do they?'

'I think you're putting it rather extravagantly, Trevose.'

'Then tell me why you're getting me kicked out? No, don't bother. I know. Through spite, that's all.'

Haileybury drew a deep breath. 'You must be perfectly aware,' he said calmly, 'that there has been a great weight of complaint. However understandable your enthusiasm-perhaps even commendable-you have rather created the impression…well, the impression that nobody else in our profession is doing anything for the war at all. It has all been brought very sharply to the notice of the Ministry and the Service departments. And to myself personally.'

'By whom?' Twelvetrees at Smithers Botham, Graham thought, perhaps even Crampers.

'You might prefer me not to name names. The last time I unwittingly did so, I understand it led to a good deal of remorse on your part.'

The reference to Tom Raleigh made Graham shift uneasily in the chair. He continued in a more subdued voice, 'You might at least tell me why the Ministry should have chosen this particular moment to pounce. It couldn't have come at a more awkward time for me personally.'