Salt is Leaving Page 13

  ‘Not a bit. And as soon as Daddy’s found, I shan’t be interested in him. But without him I wouldn’t know where to look, what to do. Birkden’s quite different from what I thought it was, and Dr Salt understands it – and I don’t.’ Maggie got up, rummaged in her bag, then dropped some silver on the table. ‘Pay for me too, Bertha darling. I must fly.’

  ‘Of course you must, dear. Don’t keep this fascinating Dr Salt waiting—’

  ‘He’s not fascinating – don’t be silly. I’m going.’

  ‘If he isn’t, then let me go instead,’ cried Bertha, who worried less about voices raised in public than Maggie did. On her way out, Maggie believed she could even hear Bertha laughing. And a fine time, this was, to begin shouting and laughing in public!

  2

  Dr Salt surprised Maggie at once by looking quite different from what he had done the previous day. Instead of the sloppy old clothes, now he was wearing a neat dark-grey suit, a white shirt and collar, a tie of the deepest shade of crimson. He said nothing about it, so she didn’t, at least not until she was back again in the muddle and mess of his sitting room.

  ‘Oh – dear!’ she cried in genuine dismay. ‘This looks worse than ever today. And with you now all so neat and carefully dressed up. I couldn’t live a day with this ruin of a room. It’s so depressing.’ Her tone and look challenged him to deny it.

  ‘I know, I know.’ He was mild, almost apologetic.

  ‘I might as well tell you, Dr Salt,’ she began, taking advantage of this meekness, ‘that I’m furious with you today. No, I’m serious. Alan must have spent half the night with your Jill Frinton or Murphy or whatever her name is. And now he probably thinks he’s in love with her. Which means that no matter what happens from now on, it’ll be all wrong. Either she’ll soon laugh at him and go back to her fat businessmen, or she’ll be serious about it too and they’ll want to get married, and then a fine old mess that will be.’

  ‘How do you know it will, Maggie?’

  ‘Oh – don’t be ridiculous. Can you see her living on what poor Alan earns? In a few months she’d be back in that flat and the Fabrics Club or trying to make some other tarty arrangements—’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he cut in rather sharply. ‘But let’s discuss it some other time.’

  ‘I’m only telling you why I’m furious with you for bringing them together, Dr Salt. Have you found out anything else? Or have you spent the morning trying to decide between gramophone records?’

  ‘I’ve almost finished with the records now,’ he told her, again quite mildly. ‘And in fact I haven’t listened to one this morning. I’ve been too busy, Maggie.’

  By answering her like that, he made her feel ashamed of her angry tone and scornful emphasis, though she doubted if he had done this deliberately. She realized that he was one of those rare people who always take their own tone, who don’t raise their voices if you have raised yours, who don’t automatically return anger for anger, scorn for scorn, who don’t behave as if talk were a desperate tennis match. As Hugh always did, for one. Though, of course, Dr Salt was older, had probably never been spoilt as handsome Hugh had been by his mother and sisters, and had undoubtedly seen a lot more of life, all kinds of life.

  ‘Nothing new about my father, I suppose?’ she asked, small and humble now.

  ‘Yes, it was mostly concerning him.’ He went to his desk. ‘I’ve a list of local nursing homes here. You and I are calling on them, this afternoon. I’d have done it myself, but I want you with me – as his daughter. Incidentally, that’s why I’m dressed like this – a good BMA type – to impress matrons or manageresses. You see, I’m almost sure we’ll find him in one of these nursing homes.’

  ‘I don’t see why we should – not yet – but is he – do you think – very ill?’

  ‘I’m sure he isn’t,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Though he may have to keep quiet for a day or two. But I’ve a spare room, and I’ll be responsible for him. So not to worry, Maggie.’

  She stared at him, then shook her head so that she wouldn’t let go and begin crying. ‘We’ll go as soon as you like, of course. But it seems so extraordinary – I mean, how did you find out about him? I wish you’d explain before we do go.’

  ‘Well, it was a long shot – but not entirely in the dark. I told you last night that I knew something had happened that had involved your father. And that fellow Dews at the Club was fairly transparent. He’s an impudent liar, but not a really tough one. Now if your father had been killed or even seriously injured – or if, injured in any way at all, he’d been at that moment upstairs in one of the Club bedrooms – and they have a few – then Dews wouldn’t have taken that easy cheeky line. He hasn’t the guts. But if he knew something about your father and somebody else had taken the responsibility, so that he hadn’t to worry, then that’s exactly the line he would take. I’d really got as far as that by last night, you may remember.’

  ‘Yes, I do remember now. And you’re making me feel very silly and stupid – and ungrateful—’

  ‘Then don’t, Maggie. Remember, you’re emotionally involved, and I’m not. And I’m only trying to explain – so that you’ll be ready to face the nursing homes.’

  ‘I know. Please go on.’

  ‘I felt sure your father had called at the Club and had probably asked some very awkward questions about Noreen Wilks. Now, not far from the Club and sharing the same grounds is a large empty house, the old Worsley place. And I asked myself what would have happened if your father had been knocked out or had met with some accident in or near that house, between it and the Club. He couldn’t be left there unconscious – that was too risky for various good reasons. He’d be taken to the Club, probably into Dews’s office. Dews would call one of the two doctors he mentioned to me, Bennett and Lemmert, both of them members and both having some connection with the factory. And I felt sure he’d choose the younger man, Lemmert. So I saw Lemmert, a pompous young ass, this morning and bounced him into admitting he’d attended your father at the Club on Monday night. He also told me your father was suffering from slight concussion, some heart trouble—’

  ‘Yes, his heart isn’t very strong—’

  ‘And that he was obviously under great emotional stress. What I think happened then – though I can’t prove it – is that Dr Lemmert called Aricson – or got Dews to do it for him – and that Aricson then talked to his big boss, Sir Arnold Donnington, who then gave some orders—’

  ‘But why all this fuss about my father – unless, of course, he was dangerously ill—’

  ‘He wasn’t. That’s not the point. He was important because he’d been asking questions about Noreen Wilks, and then, probably not satisfied, had gone nosing around in or near the Worsley house. That’s why they didn’t send for an ambulance to take him to hospital. And of course we knew he wasn’t in hospital or you’d have been notified. Dr Lemmert arranged for him to be taken in one of the company’s vans to a nursing home, where he’s been kept under sedation – at the company’s expense. Incidentally, I’m fairly certain that Lemmert has given him the kind of care and treatment any other doctor would have given him. Don’t imagine there’s been any dirty work at the nursing home. We’ll find that he’s been properly looked after. But after being bounced into admitting so much, our Dr Lemmert dug in and refused to tell me which nursing home it is. When we find it, I may need you – his daughter – to back my demand that I now take charge of the patient and bring him here. I won’t move him, of course, until I’ve examined him and made sure it’ll do him no harm. So now, let’s go, Maggie.’

  ‘I’m ready.’ But as she left the room with him, she said: ‘There’s just one thing. This great emotional stress Dr Lemmert mentioned to you – has it something to do with Noreen Wilks?’

  ‘Yes, it has, Maggie.’

  ‘Or do you just think it has?’

  ‘No, I know it has. Now – where’s my bag? Must have it – and I nearly forgot.’

  They were in t
he car, though not moving yet, when she spoke again. ‘Can you tell me why you know for certain my father’s in such a state about that girl?’

  ‘Not now, Maggie. Let’s find him first.’

  The car was moving now, and though she longed to ask more and sharper questions, she kept silent, remembering how he disliked talking when he was driving. Cutting through the relief she felt, because she knew what had happened to her father, who couldn’t be far away, was the disturbing thought that this man who was so distressed about Noreen Wilks, somebody she’d never heard of before yesterday, was himself a kind of stranger. She half dreaded meeting and greeting him, and then reproached herself for entertaining any such feeling and being disloyal to her father, whom she still loved as she had done when she was a child (and as she no longer loved her mother), and being disloyal at the very time when she was on her way to find him.

  There was another and much smaller thing, really quite silly, that worried her. She was beginning to feel now that she couldn’t talk easily to Dr Salt – couldn’t question him, apologize to him for being so stupid, thank him properly – just because – and oh it was all so silly – she couldn’t decide what to call him. Dr Salt was too formal; he didn’t like his Lionel and Humphrey, and certainly they didn’t suggest him; and though he told her simply to call him Salt, she didn’t take to the curt chaps-at-the-bar sound of that; so what was left? There was, of course, the old initial trick, but L.H. turned into Ellaitch suggested a junior executive talking to his managing director. No, she’d have to invent a name for him. That was, of course, if she was going to do much more talking to him, and there was no obvious reason why she should, not now that he had found her father for her. Or nearly had.

  3

  They found him at the third try, in a street like the one that Dr Salt lived in, but on the other side of the town. Mrs Coleman, who owned and managed this nursing home, admitted at once that Mr Culworth was one of her patients. She was very tall and thin, had blue hair and three enormous old-ivory teeth, and might have been a ladylike witch.

  ‘I gather,’ she said, after taking them into her little office, ‘that you have already spoken to Dr Lemmert.’

  ‘I have,’ said Dr Salt briskly. ‘And I’ve told him that I’m taking over the case – at the request of Mr Culworth’s family. That’s true, isn’t it, Miss Culworth?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Salt,’ said Maggie, looking at him and not at Mrs Coleman, who was really rather frightening.

  ‘I’ll have a look at Mr Culworth. If I think he can stand a short journey across town, I shall take him to my place.’

  Mrs Coleman made a hissing noise, as if about to call a demon cat, but then it appeared that she was merely feeling embarrassed. She was the victim of her respect for doctors. She knew that Dr Lemmert hoped she would be able to keep Mr Culworth there, but now here was another doctor, older and clearly a more powerful character, telling her he would take Mr Culworth away. ‘Surely, Dr Salt,’ she stammered, ‘all this is – well, very irregular – isn’t it? I mean to say—’

  But Dr Salt cut in ruthlessly. ‘It’s been very irregular from the first, Mrs Coleman. Full of hanky-panky and hocus-pocus. Dr Lemmert may possibly have covered himself, but you could soon be in a pickle. One wrong move now – and you may find you’ll have to turn this nursing home into a boarding house. A respectable citizen, probably after being knocked out by a United Fabrics employee, is rushed here, kept under sedation, his family not notified—’

  ‘But – but – but—’ and Mrs Coleman was so obviously alarmed now that Maggie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her – ‘Dr Lemmert told me – quite distinctly told me – he would take all responsibility – all responsibility—’

  Dr Salt said nothing. He picked up his bag and stared hard at the unhappy Mrs Coleman.

  ‘Very well, Dr Salt,’ she said meekly. ‘I’ll take you up to Mr Culworth’s room.’

  Dr Salt looked at Maggie. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, my dear. I must make sure your father can stand the excitement of being moved and seeing you. If you’d rather go—’

  ‘No, of course not. I must wait.’

  ‘Be careful, then, if and when I bring him down. Embraces – kisses – tears – all right. But no questions – no reproaches – remember.’

  ‘Do you take me for a complete fool?’ she began hotly.

  ‘No, I don’t, Maggie. But don’t forget you’ll be under some emotional stress.’ Then he smiled – it was a real smile, not a grin – and it almost startled her. ‘I really am trying to do my best for the Culworths. It’s not all Noreen Wilks. Right, Mrs Coleman – lead on.’

  Maggie sat waiting in a mental muddle that was even worse than the physical muddle in Dr Salt’s sitting room that she remembered denouncing with some embarrassment now. Even if he had taken her for a complete fool, and she realized he hadn’t, he had every excuse because she kept behaving like one, suddenly shouting at him when he was doing everything possible to help her. Without him she would have been hanging about Birkden, wondering what on earth to do next.

  She had just finished reproaching herself when Mrs Coleman came back. Free of Dr Salt, Mrs Coleman was her grander self again. Maggie was only another young woman, and Mrs Coleman had no respect for young women. Maggie saw this at once as soon as Mrs Coleman entered.

  ‘Dr Salt has examined your father, Miss Culworth,’ she announced from some remote height, perhaps an icy peak in the Andes, ‘and has decided he can be moved at once. Of course I accept no further responsibility. The case is now entirely out of my hands. You understand that, Miss Culworth?’

  ‘Of course. What’s happening now?’

  ‘I believe that Dr Salt is helping your father to dress.’ Now behind her desk, Mrs Coleman moved some papers about in a vaguely important manner. ‘And as I’m busy here and may have to make some private telephone calls, Miss Culworth, I must ask you to wait for them outside in the hall.’

  ‘Certainly. Good afternoon.’ And off Miss Culworth went, to hang about the hall, which was painted a sad brown and had a smell of ether or something and cottage pie or something. It had a lift by the stairs, and after a couple of minutes or so she heard the lift coming down and braced herself to meet her father. But it was only a fattish middle-aged nurse, who stepped out, looked at her severely, and said, ‘Quite useless you waiting. Mrs Gore doesn’t feel up to seeing anybody this afternoon.’

  ‘I’m not waiting to see Mrs Gore. I don’t know Mrs Gore.’

  ‘That’s what you said the last time. And then you tried to get into her room.’

  ‘Oh – don’t be silly.’

  ‘Manners,’ said the nurse sharply. ‘I shall speak to Mrs Coleman.’ And she made for the office, her back quivering with indignation.

  This ridiculous encounter made Maggie feel for a moment what some admired new novelists and playwrights seemed to feel all the time – that things in general were slipping out of all reasonable control, that rational cause and effect had been mysteriously suspended, that life was drifting into idiocy and chaos. And then while she was still entertaining such thoughts and still staring in the direction of the office door, she heard her name cried from the stairs. Dr Salt was slowly coming down, carrying his own bag and her father’s suitcase, and behind him, with a hand on his shoulder for support, was her father, hollow of eye and cheek, shockingly older.

  ‘Oh – Daddy!’ And then she was crying, close to him, and he seemed to be crying a little too. And Dr Salt left them together, going ahead to put the bags into the car, and then she helped her father, who was very shaky, like a very old man, out through the front door, down the steps towards the car.

  ‘Mustn’t talk much yet, Dr Salt says, Maggie—’

  ‘I know. Just don’t bother about it, Daddy.’

  ‘Different from the other chap, this Dr Salt,’ he said with an obvious effort. ‘Friend of yours – is he – Maggie?’

  ‘Yes – yes. And he’ll look after you—’

  ‘We’ll h
ave you taking it easy in the back, Mr Culworth,’ said Dr Salt. ‘I’ll drive slowly so that you aren’t bouncing about.’

  He did too, and before they arrived at his flat Maggie found that her father had fallen asleep.

  4

  After Maggie had spent about ten minutes restoring some of the books to what she hoped were their original piles, Dr Salt came back. ‘Your father’s in bed and quite comfortable, and you can go along now and have a word with him. But you mustn’t stay, Maggie, and I’ll explain why.’ He gave her a long, serious look.

  ‘Well, go on.’ She was rather short with him because she couldn’t help feeling she ought to have been fussing over her father and not sorting out Dr Salt’s books.

  ‘He won’t rest properly until he’s told his story. He’s not up to telling it to you – or your brother. He’s emotionally involved with you. Now he isn’t with me. Moreover, I’ve let him know that his story won’t come as a surprise to me because I’m acquainted with some of it already. So he wants to confide in me first, and then, when his mind is easier and a mild sedative has sent him to sleep, he wants me to explain to you and Alan. This is his idea, not mine, but medically I approve of it. So after you’ve had a word with him, Maggie, try to phone your brother, tell him what’s happened, and ask him to come here as soon as he can. There’s nothing urgent and desperate about it, but the sooner he joins you here the better. All right?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Then, ashamed of her dubious grudging tone, she continued: ‘Yes, of course it is. Poor Daddy – he must be feeling terribly guilty about something. Well, I won’t stay more than half a minute, then I’ll try to phone Alan, do some more tidying up and make some tea. Or couldn’t I make it now and take some in for you both?’

  ‘Do that, Maggie. He’s in the little spare room and it’s through my bedroom. And don’t imagine it’s full of books, records and assorted junk, because it’s neat and clean as a pin. Tea then, quick as you can, girl.’ And he went off to rejoin her father while she began threading her way through the books and records towards the kitchen.