A Symphony of Echoes Read Online Free PDF Page B

in a strange place. In the bad bed by the door. My forearms were heavily bandaged. My ankle throbbed. I had a clothes peg on one finger, attached to a chirping machine. Read-outs flashed blearily. Tubes dangled. I was piecing things together as best I could when a plump, smiling nurse came in.
    ‘Hello again, Dr Maxwell, It’s Tria.’
    ‘Do I know you?’
    ‘You’ve been in and out for a while, so you probably don’t remember me. How are you feeling?’
    ‘I’m fine. Why am I sitting up?’
    My voice was hoarse and croaky but I felt no real pain. Thank God for major painkillers. My face felt stiff and strange, but my fingers touched only dressings.
    ‘It helps keep the swelling down. The doctor will be with you soon. He said you had beautiful lacerations, and it was a pleasure to patch you up. He was quite enthusiastic.’ She grinned. ‘He doesn’t get out much. Do you need anything?’
    ‘My friend. How is she?’
    ‘Would that be Kalinda Black?’
    I nodded, very carefully. She rummaged through her file and pulled out sheets of torn-off paper. ‘There have been a lot of telephone messages for you. Dr Foster …?’ She looked at me enquiringly, and I nodded again. Carefully. ‘Dr Foster says the surgery went well. If she can stay out of trouble long enough, she should make a full recovery. Apparently, you are to get well as soon as possible so she can tear you a new one. That doesn’t seem right.’
    I tried to smile. It seemed likely this bunch would nurse me back to health just in time for Helen to kill me.
    ‘Dr Bairstow sends his regards and best wishes. One from Tim Peterson, asking where you put the Perkin Warbeck file and telling you to do as you’re told. And a load from a Leon Farrell. One an hour in fact, asking how you are.’ She paused. ‘He sends his love.’
    She put the notes on the bedside table and said, ‘You can look through them later.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    I tried to smile at her and fell asleep.
    Leon and Peterson turned up a few days later. I was busy.
    Tim exploded. ‘Bloody hell, Max, we drive day and night to visit you on your sick bed, and when we do get here you’re – what are you doing?’
    ‘Occupational therapy. I’m making a snake. If Dr Bairstow won’t take me back then I’m considering a career as an exotic dancer. Pandora Pudenda and Pythagoras Python. What do you think?’
    ‘You don’t want to know what I think.’ He looked from me to Farrell. ‘He wants to yell at you, so I’m off for a coffee. See you later.’
    He disappeared.
    A couch by the window overlooked a small garden. We sat. He looked tired, his bright blue-grey eyes shadowed and heavy with strain.
    The nurse, Tria, stuck her head in, glanced at him, said, ‘I’ll bring you some tea,’ and left, sliding the door closed behind her.
    He looked at me for a while.
    ‘It’s all right,’ I said, hastily. ‘You don’t have to worry. The doc says I won’t look like a gargoyle. It’ll be almost as if it never happened.’
    The storm broke. For a good ten minutes, I listened to a scathing denunciation of me, my life, my career, and my attitude. I just let him get on with it. He was due.
    He was really beginning to pick up steam when Tria came back with the tea. He stood and turned abruptly to look out of the window. She raised her eyebrows at me. I grinned. She winked and went out. Silence fell.
    ‘Come and sit down. Drink your tea and then you can start on Chapter Two – my beauty, my intelligence, and just how lucky you are to have me in your life.’
    That went down about as well as you would expect. He sighed and came to sit beside me. I handed him his tea.
    ‘You know, that would have been so much more impressive if you hadn’t telephoned twenty times a day, driven a hundred miles to see me, and,’ I craned my neck to look at my bed, ‘brought chocolates, flowers, and what looks like a box full of goodies. If you wanted to thunder at me effectively, you really should have left