At that time Hall had not been contacted by the hospital administrator. ‘Not yet. I might get an indication this afternoon.’
He got it, in fact, just five minutes later. Hall listened patiently to Hector Beringer’s description of the chaos outside the hospital, guessing he’d rehearsed the protest and needed to vent the obvious anger. ‘It’s become impossible effectively to run the hospital. Emergencies can’t get through: every ambulance is surrounded by mobs who believe she’s inside. One was almost turned over an hour ago.’
‘I understood this morning from Doctor Lloyd that she is still seriously unwell.’
‘In the opinion of consultants senior to Doctor Lloyd she is not too ill to be moved. I’m responsible for the care of a great many people, not just one. And the health of a lot of them is being endangered. I have to ask you to take Mrs Lomax to a private hospital when you come here this afternoon, which I understand from Doctor Lloyd you intend to do.’
‘With a psychiatrist,’ agreed Hall. ‘And when I’m independently satisfied that Mrs Lomax is fit enough to be moved then I will make arrangements. But not before.’
‘Mr Hall, I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about this. You don’t have a choice.’
‘I don’t want any misunderstanding either, Mr Beringer. And I do have a choice. I have the choice of going before a judge to ask for Mrs Lomax to be placed under a court’s protection against being ejected from your hospital into the sort of uncontrolled mob you’ve just spent fifteen minutes describing to me.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘It would be, if you attempted to do it. I sympathize with the stress you’re under. And what’s happening at your hospital. But threats aren’t the way to resolve it. I’ll expect to see you there this afternoon.’
It was worse than Hall imagined: worse, even, than the scenes that completely dominated the lunch-time television news bulletins that he watched before he left. He decided to walk, disregarding the entourage of bobbing, questioning and envelope-thrusting media who ignored his demands to be left alone, encountering the build-up as soon as he crossed Blackfriars Bridge to the south side of the river. Stamford Street was lined either side by barriers in an attempt to keep the road open but they’d been pushed forward by the crush of people, reducing the thoroughfare to a single line that was being controlled in a stop-and-go system by police radio cars at either end. It took Hall almost fifteen minutes to find a sergeant and to identify himself, to be escorted along the road on the outside of the barriers. By that time the protesting media pack, forbidden to follow and held behind a police block, had drawn sufficient attention for Hall to be recognized. His name became an immediate, meaningless chant. He ignored the outstretched hands, not knowing what they were reaching for, but was abruptly pulled sideways by someone managing to snag his pocket, which ripped. At once he was overwhelmed by a flurry of hands, grabbing and pulling at him: his tie tightened, garrotting him. It snapped when he desperately yanked it loose and it disappeared into the crowd. One of the two policemen wrenched him free, taking him into the middle of the slow-moving line of traffic, beyond the tendril wave of snatching hands. Twice people – the first a girl, then an immediately encouraged boy inexplicably stripped to the waist – tried to leap the barrier at him. Both were simply knocked roughly back into the crowd by his escorts.
Alerted by radio, Superintendent Hopkins was waiting for him at Waterloo station. ‘Believe me now?’ the man demanded.
‘I didn’t disbelieve you before. I just couldn’t imagine it.’
‘They’re bringing soldiers in from Wellington barracks.’
York Road could not be cleared sufficiently for cars. Policemen were positioned every ten yards desperately trying to keep in place the metal fencing to maintain a passage barely wide enough for Hall and Hopkins to walk between a tight, linked-arm encirclement of more riot-uniformed officers. Despite that protection there were still snatched attempts to touch him. A snowdrift of paper thrust at him to sign built up on the ground when he refused to take it. Two mounted policemen joined the phalanx at the Addington Street junction for what became a final dash into the hospital forecourt. They didn’t stop, running faster without obstruction into the final safety of the hospital reception.
Hall became aware that he was shaking and wasn’t able to prevent it and realized, surprised, that it was his first experience of real fear. He couldn’t remember how the top pocket had been torn almost out of his jacket, to match the early rip in Stamford Street. Both cuff-links had vanished and his cuffs now hung clear of his sleeves, covering his hands.
He started back when Lloyd came very close, to examine his face. The doctor said, ‘You’ve got a couple of scratches but they’re only superficial. Here.’
Hall took the offered antiseptic wipe and after rubbing his face used it to clean what looked like spit off his right sleeve.
As Lloyd introduced him to the hospital administrator Hall said to both the police controller and Beringer, ‘I don’t need to be told again that it’s unacceptable. Of course it is. Totally…’ He concentrated upon the hospital official. ‘Like it would be to think of discharging Mrs Lomax out into it.’
‘I never suggested that and you know it,’ rejected Beringer. ‘I want it solved. Today.’
‘Is Mason here?’
Lloyd nodded. ‘He was lucky. He didn’t get to court to be photographed and recognized. It still took him an hour to get through. He’s already with her.’
‘How is she?’ Hall asked, as they went to the elevators.
Lloyd hesitated, looking towards Beringer before saying, ‘I’d like her to be a lot better. The sedation hasn’t totally worn off. But I don’t think it’s physicaclass="underline" thank God she didn’t do any more damage to her ribs when she fell.’
‘What’s she said?’
‘Virtually nothing other than keep asking for you.’
Hall frowned. Conscious of the immediate apprehension from Beringer at the question – but not embarrassed at asking it – he said, ‘What about Jane?’
‘She’s saying something, over and over again bur Jennifer won’t say what it is.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s what Mason is trying to find out now.’ The doctor paused, when they reached the level of the private ward. ‘I really don’t think she’ll be able to hold on to her sanity much longer. Neither does Mason.’
‘But this is a medical, not a psychiatric hospital,’ warned Beringer, from behind.
Jennifer was lying in bed, the covers drawn up to her chin as if she was trying to hide. She was very pale – there was no make-up and her hair was unkempt – and her eyes, dulled from medication, were black-ringed again. She didn’t smile at Hall’s entry but there was some slight animation in her face. At once she brought a hand from beneath the sheet and held it out to him. He took it, sitting as he did so on the chair Mason pushed towards him. The action was to draw Hall’s attention. The psychiatrist shook his head against having learned anything.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, inadequately.
‘You’ve got to do some things. Legal things.’ Her voice was drug slurred but urgent.
‘Like what?’
‘Keep Emily safe.’
‘What is it, Jennifer? What’s happened?’
‘ Tell him! Tell them all! ’
‘She’s going to make me kill Emily. That’s what she said in court. What she’s been saying ever since…’
There was a stir from Lloyd and the administrator. Hall didn’t bother to look, beyond any surprise. How in God’s name was he going to help her? The vague, unformed idea that came was mad but they were in a totally mad, unreal, unknown situation.
‘… You’ve got to have her legally taken away from me,’ Jennifer stumbled on, weak-voiced. ‘I can never know where she is. See her again. I know that. Just do it. Don’t tell me about it. Just do it.’
‘ Don’t be a spoil-sport! ’
‘I’ll do something.’ His hand hurt from the tightness with which she was gripping it, physically needing to hold on to force herself to abandon her baby.