Part 16 (1/2)

The two women hugged and brought each other up to date. Suzanne said that she'd been told it could take another week before they knew if Brock would pull through. 'They're contacting research teams in America and Switzerland that are working on new drugs which might help.'

She looked strained, her face tight with worry, and Kathy thought, with a little tug of regret, that there would have been no one to look like that for her if she'd caught it.

As if she'd read Kathy's mind, Suzanne reached for her hand and said, 'I'm just so relieved that you're in the clear, Kathy. They say you saw him most during the past week.'

Kathy described what had happened and his refusal to let her contact Suzanne.

'Stubborn as always.' Suzanne sighed.

'There's nothing that we could have done. Someone slipped up when they identified the carrier-they should have warned us then. But even so, it would have been too late for Brock.'

She regretted the choice of words, and began to add, 'I mean . . .' but Suzanne squeezed her hand and said, 'I know.'

They sat together in silence for a long while until Kathy, exhausted by the events of the day, began to nod off. Suzanne roused her gently and told her to go home.

SEVENTEEN.

The cool night air revived Kathy and as she went to her car she was suddenly possessed by a sense of energy and relief. Worrying about Brock had blocked out the thought of her own reprieve, but now its full force struck her. She was alive, out of danger, and suddenly very hungry. She hadn't touched the food that had been delivered to Queen Anne's Gate and now she felt an urgent need for a hot meal and company. There was a text message on her phone that she hadn't picked up, from John Greenslade, saying simply, need to talk. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but after a moment's reflection she keyed in his number.

'Kathy, hi, thanks for ringing back. I was worried about what you said, about a bug going around. Are you really okay?'

'Yes, John, I'm fine.'

'Great. And I've had some thoughts on the letter.'

She could hear music and laughter in the background, and imagined him at a conference function, having a good time. 'You at a party?' she asked.

''Fraid not,' he laughed. 'I'm in a pub. I'd invite you to join me, but it's a dump.'

'I suppose you've eaten?'

'I had something that claimed to be a Cornish pastie. They must have a special machine that turns pastry into bullet-proof cardboard.'

'Yes, they do. I haven't eaten all day. Can I buy you a gla.s.s of wine while you watch me eat? As a consultant, of course.'

'You're on. Where?'

'Are you in Chelsea?'

'Yes, in Brompton Road. There's a Mexican place just across the street, nothing fancy.'

She took a note of the address and rang off.

He was there when she arrived, waving to her from a corner table. There was a bottle of wine at his elbow, and he poured her a gla.s.s as she sat down. 'Cheers.'

'Cheers.' She took a deep breath and sat back. 'So how did your talk go today?'

'Fine, I think. Well, most of them stayed awake, I guess. Are you really all right? You look worn out. Hard day?'

'Oh, you know . . . Well, yes, it has been hard.'

'Want to talk about it? I have signed the Official Secrets Act.'

So she told him about Brock and the virus.

He looked horrified. 'I've heard of Marburg. It's really serious, isn't it?'

'Yes, but I've been cleared, so I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about. Brock never actually came into the hotel, did he?'

'But you're so lucky.'

'Yes, yes I am.'

'That's just terrible about Brock. I can't believe . . . he could actually die.'

He sounded so appalled, so concerned for someone he'd never even met, that Kathy thought he might just be being melodramatic, but when she looked at him she saw that he'd gone quite pale.

'All we can do is wait.'

'Yes. That's so awful for you. And his wife? Is he married?'

'He has a partner, but they don't live together. She's been away and knew nothing about him being ill until I phoned her today. She's with him at the hospital now.'

'What about kids?'

'No.' She took a deep breath. 'Well, come on, let's eat.'

She signalled to the waiter, who came and took their order.

When he'd gone, John said, 'You face this sort of thing every day, don't you? It makes my life seem absurdly sheltered. Sitting here like this, doing this job for you, I feel like a voyeur. If I can help, in any way . . .' He spread his hands helplessly.

'Well, actually it does help talking about it to someone on the outside, someone not personally affected.' She hesitated, then added, 'Maybe you should tell me something about yourself, apart from the fact that you're a university lecturer who does jobs for the Montreal police.'

'What, like a dating site, you mean?' He put on a sugary voice. 'I'm twenty-eight, single, an only child, and just adore cross-country skiing, cla.s.sical opera and French food.'

She smiled. 'Good enough.'

'What about you?'

'Me? Oh, I'm single and an only child too, but I've never skied, don't much care for cla.s.sical opera and prefer Indian.'

'Sounds like we're in trouble. But I like Indian too, and I'm sure we could work on the opera and skis.'

'Anyway, this is a business meeting, remember? You said you had something to discuss.'