media channels and television had made a meal of it all.
He beckoned her to the large table by the window. A man living on his own either lives like a slob or is excessively tidy. Mike was tidy, with a daily help to ease the problems of order and cleanliness in the flat, plus the advantage of labour-saving devices.
As he turned on the percolator he looked across at Eleanor. ‘Don’t you ever watch television?’
‘Rarely.’
‘It’s been splashed on every news bulletin since last night. The professor was shot to death in his car last night.’
‘I had no idea. I was out most of the night.’ She stared at him. Would he be shocked by her remark?
‘You were?’ he smiled with enough curiosity in his voice to make her smile back.
‘I spent most of the night with a patient,’ she said.
‘I see. I’m sorry. I hope your patient got better.’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘You must be very tired if you’ve been up all night.’
‘Not all night, but most of it. I came to you because I had lots of time to think last night.’
He stared back at her now, waiting for further explanations,but instead she changed the subject. She looked around the kitchen–dining-room and said appreciatively. ‘This is a very nice flat you’ve got. You obviously know how to live well.’
The banal remark irked him. He went to pour out the coffee. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said, ‘but I would like to know why you are here so early. Is something troubling you? Please tell me.’
‘All right,’ she said. She went across to him.
For a moment there was a strange kind of tension between them. He held out a cup of coffee to her. She ignored it, and he stood still, standing like a patient waiter.
‘It’s very difficult to explain,’ she said. ‘I hardly know you. I really shouldn’t have come at all.’
‘Why not?’ He pulled a face full of surprise. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I’ve got one hell of a lot on my plate at the moment. Professor Dorman’s death has created an enormous gap in the field of medicine in this country, indeed in the world. He wanted us to meet. He thought perhaps you could give some clue about ENDS.’
‘Clue?’ Eleanor said. ‘You must be joking! What sort of clue? I am a doctor, I don’t play “who dun it” games.’
He looked at her angrily. ‘Dr Johnson, I have neither the time nor the inclination to play games. I presume you have heard about ENDS, and the growing number of deaths by so-called natural causes?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘And that you know who Professor Dorman is?’ he continued.
‘Yes, of course. He is the reason I came to see you.’
‘Did you ever speak to him?’
‘No, he left a message with my secretary. He was going to call me back.’
They both stood facing each other, silent at last. Then he broke the silence with the words, ‘I feel ridiculous standing here with an outstretched cup of coffee! Have a swig, and let’s talk.’ He smiled.
She took the coffee and they both sat down.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You must be very upset. If I had known I wouldn’t have come so early.’ She paused, looking into Mike’s eyes. ‘I suppose, meeting you, I felt I could perhaps unburden my problems.’
She took a sip of coffee, and again Mike noticed her slender delicate fingers.
‘Perhaps I can help,’ he said gently.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult.’ She took another sip of her coffee. ‘But I do know,’ she went on, ‘that my work, and especially my work in acupuncture, can and does help so many people. But perhaps I could do so much more.’
She went on to tell him about her work in New York and the murder of Chen. There was a brief moment when she wondered if she should tell him about her time in China, but deep inside herself, she knew this was neither the place not the time. Misunderstandings might surface. Here her sense of loyalty to China, to Chen, to all she had learnt from the Chinese, took over.
Mike
Hunter S. Jones, An Anonymous English Poet