‘I hate bloody hospitals,’ John muttered, trying to stop the questions that were zipping through his mind. ‘Who hit me and how the hell did he get into the building?’ he muttered, trying to lift himself up higher on the pillows. ‘And why would anyone want to get into my office?—I don’t have anything worth stealing.’
‘The police think he slipped in behind you. The cleaning woman was outside apparently and she’d left the doors open. All those offices get visitors and she wasn’t to know what he was up to.’
‘So much for the security of an entry phone,’ John said, resting his head back gingerly on pillows that seemed to be lined with stiff water-proofed material.
‘They’ll be asking questions and no doubt someone will give a description of him,’ Rees said. He shifted on the chair and John realized that his uncle was ill at ease in these surroundings, or perhaps he was just irritated by the need to be there at all. John felt the usual twinge of guilt, that somehow he’d interrupted Rees’s plans for the day and that now his uncle was counting the lost minutes. Probably he was entirely wrong, but for as long as he could remember he’d never been able to read his uncle’s mind because the man was so private. To make amends, he tried to be constructive.
‘Rachel,’ he said. ‘She must have seen the man.’
Then the curtains were pushed back and a young Chinese lady doctor moved to take his pulse.
‘I’m Dr Wu. Your X-ray is all right, no fractures, no need for stitches.’ She smiled slightly as if she could hear her own fractured English. ‘And you can go as long as you promise to take it easy for a day or two. Head injuries are not to be taken lightly and there is a degree of concussion.’
John assured her that he wouldn’t do anything too energetic.
‘I’m visiting my sister for a lazy weekend.’
‘That would be sensible, but before you leave a policeman wants a word with you.’
And Rees immediately stood up. ‘I’ll go and see if I can find out anything about Tracy,’ he said, and moved smartly through the curtains.
There were two policemen. One looked John over while the other reached into his pocket for a notebook; they both looked as if they did this sort of interview regularly and the questions were perfunctory and a repeat of those John had already answered at his office.
‘No, I didn’t see the man’s face,’ he told them. ‘And there’s nothing worth stealing in my office.’
‘Your wallet?’ the man asked and John struggled to pat his pockets, then reached in to produce it.
‘I don’t think there’s anything missing,’ he said, flicking through the compartments. ‘That’s strange, surely?’
But the policeman with the notebook snapped it shut and tucked it back into his pocket.
‘He was disturbed by your young lady and both she and the cleaning woman got a good look at him.’
Relief flooded through John. ‘Tracy’s all right, then?’
The man nodded. ‘A bump on the head. She’ll be fine. She says he was bent over you when she came from the back room and he lashed out at her. She probably scared the shit out of him and he acted without thinking, but she was very lucky to get off so lightly. Even so, they’re keeping her in overnight. We got the best description from the old girl, the cleaner.’ And now the policemen exchanged amused glances. ‘She said he had a big bum, that it “caught your eye because the rest of him wasn’t fat”. Actually, that’s the sort of detail that is really helpful … now we just have to find a five-foot-ten villain with a big bum.’ And they left with a promise to let him know what developed, but John thought they didn’t sound too hopeful.
Rees came back after the constables had left. ‘The girl’s going to be all right. Look, why go to Gwen’s? Come to Elmwood for the weekend.’
‘Because I promised David I’d be there for his birthday,’ John said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ His legs felt shaky as he went with Rees to the car, and his head felt as if it would be easily disconnected from his neck, so he didn’t argue when Rees drove to the High Street, to the rear of the Kramer building where there was private parking for the staff. They took the lift to the small flat that Rees had on the top floor which they both used quite often. There was only a large bedroom with a double bed, a small sitting-room, a kitchen and a bathroom, but Rees had furnished it with nice pieces and the décor was discreet, in Rees’s style. The carpets were thick and the flat was so high above the street that the traffic sounds were hardly noticeable. It was a haven that Rees often used when he decided not to go home to Elmwood, his country house, and John kept spare clothes there so that he could change if he was going out for the evening and didn’t want to rush home.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Rees said.
‘And I’ll get changed—the blood has dried on the back of this shirt and it’s rubbing my neck.’
‘Do you always dress like that for work?’ Rees wore a slight frown which was a distinct mark of disapproval, and John shrugged and looked down at his jeans.
‘It’s comfortable and makes the clients feel comfortable.’
Rees sniffed.
John took the time to shower too, and as he dried himself he noticed how gloomy the room was. He walked to the window that was several floors above the busy street below, looked at the sky and wondered if David would be disappointed if he couldn’t get out with his birthday camera.
‘Coffee’s ready,’ Rees said from the doorway. ‘How’s your head?’
He was a tall man with an erect carriage, in his early sixties, and had the pink complexion that went well with his short silver hair. He had an air of success about him, but the expensive suits that sat well on his shoulders had nothing to do with the aura that Rees had. It was something that oozed out of the man, an elusive trait of character that spelled confidence in himself and inspired it in others. He wore his wealth like an overcoat but never made a show of it. He had great charm with clients but also had a rigid reserve that masked the inner core of the man.
John respected him as the man who had not shirked his duty when John’s parents disappeared on a sailing holiday. There was never any question that Rees should be given due respect, but love was a different matter. It had not been easy for a ten-year-old boy because Rees had never pretended to be fatherly, had never attempted to be any more than a caring guardian. There had always been an unspoken agreement that Rees had his own life, valued his privacy, but would provide material comforts, and that he’d done generously. There had never been any great feeling of closeness between them although they’d shared the same house for ten years.
‘My neck’s stiff, that’s all,’ John assured him as he reached for the strong black coffee. ‘It’ll be a bit uncomfortable driving but it’s not bad enough to cancel my weekend.’
Rees nodded. ‘Then you’d better get something to eat—we’ve missed our lunch. Tollis and I were going to meet for a pub lunch and they’ll still be serving—I’ll phone and see if he’s in his office.’
The Sentinel Agency was the other half of Rees’s business, situated in the same building, although clients used a separate door leading in from the High Street. Tollis managed it now that Rees was cutting back on work, ‘semiretired’ he said, although he seemed as busy as ever.
‘He says he’s busy but he’ll come,’ Rees grunted. ‘You can tell him exactly what happened.’
Tollis ran his side of the business with only a little interference