On several occasions during the following days she'd spent some time with him, apologizing for the two-hourly check on his blood sugar levels (even during the night); explaining the vital role of the pancreas in the metabolic processes; acquainting him with the range, colour, purpose, and possible efficacy, of the medication and equipment now prescribed - single-use insulin syringes, Human Ultratard, Human Actrapid, Unilet Lancets,
Exactech Reagent Strips, Enalapril Tablets, Frusemide Tablets, Nifedipine Capsules ...
He'd seemed to understand most of it, she thought And from their first meeting she'd realized that the prematurely white-haired man was most unusual.
'Glad about the pills,' he'd said.
·You are?'
'Different colours, aren't they? White, pink, brown-and-orange. Good, that is. Gives a man a bit of psychological confidence. In the past, I've always thought that confidence was a bit overrated. Not so sure now, diough, Sister.'
She made no answer. But his words were to remain in her mind; and she knew that she would look forward to talking with this man again.
By Tuesday evening, Morse's blood sugar level had fallen dramatically. And at coffee-time on Wednesday morning, Sister McQueen came to his bedside, the fingers of her right hand almost automatically feeling his pulse as she flicked the watch from the starched white lapel of her uniform.
'Shall I survive till the weekend?'
"You hardly deserve to.'
'I'm OK now, you mean?'
She snorted in derision; but winsomely so.
'You know why we didn't want you to have any visitors?'
"You wanted me all to yourself?' suggested Morse.
She shook her head slowly, her sensitive, slim lips widening into a saddened smile.
'No. Dr Matdiews thought you were probably far too
worried about life - about your work - about other things, perhaps. And he didn't want to take any chances. Visitors are always a bit of a stress.'
'He needn't have worried too much about that"
'But you're wrong, aren't you?' She got to her feet You've had four people on the phone every day, regular callers - regular as well-adjusted bowels.'
Morse looked up at her.
'Four?'
'Somebody called Lewis - somebody called Strange -somebody called Blair. All from the police, I think.'
'Four, you said?"
'Ah yes. Sorry. And somebody called Jane. She works for you, she said. Sounds awfully sweet.'
As he lay back after Sister had gone, and switched on the headphones to Classic FM, Morse was again aware of how low he had sunk, since almost everything - a kindly look, a kindly word, a kindly thought, even the thought of a kindly thought - seemed to push him ever nearer to the rim of tears. Forget it, Morse! Forget yourself and forget your health! For a while anyway. He picked up The ABC Murders which he'd found in the meagre ward-library. He'd always enjoyed Agatha Christie: a big fat puzzle ready for the reader from page one. Perhaps it might help a little with the big fat puzzle waiting for him in the world outside the Radcliffe Infirmary...
ABC.
Alexander Bonaparte Gust.
Adele Beatrice Cecil.
Ann Berkeley Cox...
Within five minutes Morse was asleep.
On Thursday afternoon, a slim, rather prissy young dietitian came to sit beside Morse's bed and to talk quickly, rationally, and at inordinate length, about such things as calories and carrots and carbohydrates.
'And if you ever feel like a pint of beer once a week, well, you just go ahead and have one! It shouldn't do you much harm.'
Morse's spirit groaned within him.
The Senior Consultant himself came round again the following morning. The insulin-drip had long gone; blood-readings were gradually reverting to a manageable level; blood pressure was markedly down.
"You've been very lucky,' said Matthews.
'I don't deserve it,' admitted Morse.
'No. You don't'
'When are you going to let me go?'
'Home? Tomorrow, perhaps. Work? Up to you. I'd take a fortnight off myself - but then I've got far more sense than you have.'
Well before hmchtime on Saturday, already dressed and now instructed to await an ambulance, Morse was seated in the entrance corridor of the Geoffrey Harris Ward when Sister McQueen came to sit beside him.
'I'm almost sorry to be going,' said Morse.
·You'll miss us?'
'I'll miss you.'
'Really?'
'Could I ring you - here?' asked Morse diffidently.
'In those immortal words: "Don't ring us - we'll ring you."'
*You mean you will ring me?'
She shook her head. 'Perhaps not And it doesn't matter, does it? What matters is that you look after yourself. You're a nice man - a very nice man! - and I'm so glad we met'
'If I did come to see you, would you look after me?'
'Bed and Breakfast, you mean?' She smiled. "You'd always be welcome in the McQueen Arms.'
She stood up as an ambulance-man came through the flappy doors.
'Mr Morse?'he asked.
'I'd love to be in the McQueen arms,' Morse managed to say, very quietly.
As he was driven past the Neptune fountain in the forecourt of the Radcliffe Infirmary, he wondered if Sister had appreciated that shift in key, from the uppercase Arms to the lower-case arms.
He hoped she had.
CHAPTER FORTY
Sunday, 3 March
Important if true
(Inscription A.W. Kinglake wished to see on all churches)
Forgive us for loving familiar hymns and religious feelings more than Thee, O Lord
(From the United Presbyterian Church Litany)
'BUT I'D BETTER not call before the Archers' omnibus?' Lewis had suggested the previous evening.
'Don't worry about that. I've kept up with events in Ambridge all week. And I don't want to hear 'em again. I just wonder when these scriptwriters will understand that beautiful babies are about as boring as happy marriages.'
'About ten then, sir?'
Morse, smartly dressed in clean white shirt and semi-well-pressed grey flannels, was listening to the last few minutes of the Morning Service on Radio 4 when Lewis was quickly admitted - and cautioned.
'Sh! My favourite hymn.'
In the silence that followed, the two men sat listening with Morse's bleating, uncertain baritone occasionally accompanying the singing.
'Didn't know you were still interested in that sort of thing,' volunteered Lewis after it had finished.
'I still love the old hymns - the more sentimental the better, for my taste. Wonderful words, didn't you think?' And softly, but with deep intensity, he recited a few lines he'd just sung:
7 trace the rainbow through the rain And feel the promise is not vain That Morn shall tearless be.'
But Lewis, who had noted the moisture in Morse's eyes, and who had sensed that the promise of the last line might soon be broken, immediately injected a more joyful note into the conversation.
'It's really good to have you back, sir.'
Apparently unaware that any reciprocal words of gratitude were called for, Morse asked about the case; and learned that the police were perhaps 'treading water' for the time being, and that Chief Superintendent Blair was nominally i/c pro tern.
'David Blair. Best copper in the county' (Lewis was about to nod a partial agreement) 'apart from me, of course.'
And suddenly Lewis felt very happy that he was back in harness with this arrogant, ungracious, vulnerable, lovable man with whom he had worked so closely for so
many years; a man who looked somewhat slimmer, somewhat paler than when he had last seen him, but who sounded not a whit less brusque as he now asked whether Lewis had checked up on the time when Storrs had left home for his last visit with Rachel to Paddington, and the time when the postman had delivered the mail in Polstead Road that same morning. And Lewis had.