silence behind us in the sitting room.
‘Is this really a good idea?’ I whispered as I rinsed out some mugs.
He shrugged.
‘It might do some good,’ he said. ‘We’ve got sod all else, but don’t tell anyone I said so.’
When we returned, it was to a silent room. Baird had picked up an old magazine from the floor and was looking at it absently. Dr Daley had removed his coat and, wearing a rather startling yellow shirt which might have come from an expensive Italian designer or from an Oxfam shop, was sitting beside Finn on the sofa. I held out two mugs of tea and Daley took them both and placed them on the table. He felt in his trouser pockets as if he’d lost something and didn’t know what it was.
‘Can I smoke?’ His voice was almost unnaturally deep, with a certain languid drawl. I remembered the type from med school. Socially assured in a way I never felt myself to be.
‘I’ll get an ashtray,’ I said. ‘Or an equivalent.’
I immediately felt more at home with him than with Baird or Angeloglou. He was well over six foot; the cigarette packet looked slightly too small in his long-fingered hands. He lit a cigarette immediately and was soon tapping the ash into the saucer I gave him. He must have been in his mid forties, but he was hard to assess because he looked tired and distracted. He had dark smudges under his grey eyes and his straight sheet of hair was a bit greasy. It was a curiously crowded face, with fierce eyebrows, high cheek-bones and a wide, sardonic mouth. Finn looked small and frail and rather bland beside him. The paleness of her face was only accentuated by her thick dark hair and her sombre clothes. She had evidently not eaten for days; she was gaunt, her cheek-bones prominent. She was unnaturally still, except that her eyes flickered, never settling on anything. Her neck was bandaged and the fingers of her right hand constantly strayed to the edge of it, picking at it.
I ought to be saying that my heart went out to this cruelly abused creature, but I felt too compromised and confused for that. This was an absurd setting for meeting a new patient, but then she wasn’t my patient, was she? But exactly what was she? What was I meant to be? Her doctor? Older sister? Best friend? A stool-pigeon? Some kind of amateur police forensic psychologist sniffing for clues?
‘Are you enjoying life in the country, Dr Laschen?’ asked Baird airily.
I ignored him.
‘Dr Daley,’ I said, ‘I think it would be a good idea if you and Finn went upstairs to look at the room where Finn will be staying. It’s the room at the back on the left looking over the garden. You can have a look round and tell me if I’ve forgotten anything.’
Dr Daley looked quizzically at Baird.
‘Yes, now,’ I said.
He led Finn out of the room and I heard them mounting the stairs slowly. I turned to Baird and Angeloglou.
‘Shall we step out into some of this countryside that I’m meant to be enjoying so much? You can take your tea with you.’
Baird shook his head as he saw the state of my kitchen garden.
‘I know,’ I admitted, kicking a pink plastic object Elsie must have dropped out of the way. ‘I had this vision of being self-supporting.’
‘Not this year,’ said Angeloglou.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It seems as if I’ve got other things to do. Look, Inspector…’
‘Call me Rupert.’
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
‘Are you serious? All right. Rupert. Before I start anything, there are some things we need to talk about.’
I extracted the old envelope from the pocket of my jeans.
‘Is this official?’ he asked.
I shook my head.
‘I don’t give a fuck whether it’s official or not. You got my name as an authority on trauma.’
‘An authority on trauma with an isolated house in the country near Stamford.’
‘Fine, well, I should start by saying, even if it’s only to you two that, in my professional capacity, I don’t consider this to be professional.’
‘It’s
‘Is this really a good idea?’ I whispered as I rinsed out some mugs.
He shrugged.
‘It might do some good,’ he said. ‘We’ve got sod all else, but don’t tell anyone I said so.’
When we returned, it was to a silent room. Baird had picked up an old magazine from the floor and was looking at it absently. Dr Daley had removed his coat and, wearing a rather startling yellow shirt which might have come from an expensive Italian designer or from an Oxfam shop, was sitting beside Finn on the sofa. I held out two mugs of tea and Daley took them both and placed them on the table. He felt in his trouser pockets as if he’d lost something and didn’t know what it was.
‘Can I smoke?’ His voice was almost unnaturally deep, with a certain languid drawl. I remembered the type from med school. Socially assured in a way I never felt myself to be.
‘I’ll get an ashtray,’ I said. ‘Or an equivalent.’
I immediately felt more at home with him than with Baird or Angeloglou. He was well over six foot; the cigarette packet looked slightly too small in his long-fingered hands. He lit a cigarette immediately and was soon tapping the ash into the saucer I gave him. He must have been in his mid forties, but he was hard to assess because he looked tired and distracted. He had dark smudges under his grey eyes and his straight sheet of hair was a bit greasy. It was a curiously crowded face, with fierce eyebrows, high cheek-bones and a wide, sardonic mouth. Finn looked small and frail and rather bland beside him. The paleness of her face was only accentuated by her thick dark hair and her sombre clothes. She had evidently not eaten for days; she was gaunt, her cheek-bones prominent. She was unnaturally still, except that her eyes flickered, never settling on anything. Her neck was bandaged and the fingers of her right hand constantly strayed to the edge of it, picking at it.
I ought to be saying that my heart went out to this cruelly abused creature, but I felt too compromised and confused for that. This was an absurd setting for meeting a new patient, but then she wasn’t my patient, was she? But exactly what was she? What was I meant to be? Her doctor? Older sister? Best friend? A stool-pigeon? Some kind of amateur police forensic psychologist sniffing for clues?
‘Are you enjoying life in the country, Dr Laschen?’ asked Baird airily.
I ignored him.
‘Dr Daley,’ I said, ‘I think it would be a good idea if you and Finn went upstairs to look at the room where Finn will be staying. It’s the room at the back on the left looking over the garden. You can have a look round and tell me if I’ve forgotten anything.’
Dr Daley looked quizzically at Baird.
‘Yes, now,’ I said.
He led Finn out of the room and I heard them mounting the stairs slowly. I turned to Baird and Angeloglou.
‘Shall we step out into some of this countryside that I’m meant to be enjoying so much? You can take your tea with you.’
Baird shook his head as he saw the state of my kitchen garden.
‘I know,’ I admitted, kicking a pink plastic object Elsie must have dropped out of the way. ‘I had this vision of being self-supporting.’
‘Not this year,’ said Angeloglou.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It seems as if I’ve got other things to do. Look, Inspector…’
‘Call me Rupert.’
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
‘Are you serious? All right. Rupert. Before I start anything, there are some things we need to talk about.’
I extracted the old envelope from the pocket of my jeans.
‘Is this official?’ he asked.
I shook my head.
‘I don’t give a fuck whether it’s official or not. You got my name as an authority on trauma.’
‘An authority on trauma with an isolated house in the country near Stamford.’
‘Fine, well, I should start by saying, even if it’s only to you two that, in my professional capacity, I don’t consider this to be professional.’
‘It’s
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