Sue for Mercy - Veronica Heley Page 0,2

hovered, uncertain whether to stay or go. It was nearly one o’clock, and I was worn out. When the nurse came out of the cubicle into which she had taken my passenger, I asked how he was, and whether I could go. She said I’d better ask the doctor, who wanted to have a word with me, anyway. So I waited, wet and uncomfortable. I found a radiator, and leaned against it, steaming.

“This man!” said a voice. I snapped to attention. I must have dozed off. The man I had picked off the pavement was being wheeled past me into the interior of the hospital, his eyes still closed, looking as classically handsome as before. “What’s his name?” asked the doctor.

I told him what I knew, which wasn’t much. It didn’t satisfy me as a story, and it didn’t satisfy the doctor, either. I wound up by saying I supposed the injured man had been at a party which had got a bit rough, and had been dumped in the street after the car crash, as a joke.

“I don’t think so,” said the doctor. “Broken collarbone, a dislocated thumb, slashed fingers, extensive bruising to thighs, possible fracture of the skull... that’s what I’ve found so far, and I’ve hardly begun. You say you smelled whisky on him? But that he definitely wasn’t driving?”

“No, he wasn’t driving, I’m sure of that.”

We looked each other in the eye. He said the matter would have to be reported to the police, and took my name and address. I could see he didn’t think such injuries had been caused by a frolic at a party, or by a car crash. It left a nasty taste in my mouth as I went home to bed.

*

I don’t suppose I’d have taken the matter any further if Bessie hadn’t interfered. She was secretary to the Managing Director at work, and also my best friend. She was a fuzzy-headed blonde whose fashionable image overlaid exceptional secretarial skills and lots of common sense. She was keeping the Assistant Production Manager on a string until he promised to give up smoking, and had already picked out the ring and the house which she wanted him to buy.

Bessie and I spent much of our free time together. She thought I under-rated myself, urged me to diet, and took me to parties with her. She knew all about my abortive romance with Rob, one of the housemen at the hospital, which had cost me my virginity and my confidence a couple of years back, and although she quite approved of my leaving home to live in a flat by myself afterwards, she did not approve of my spending more money on my new home than on my wardrobe. She would tell me that if I only stopped being self-conscious about my appearance, I would find plenty of men anxious to go out with me. She said I was prickly, and self-centred, and that if I could only remember that others might be as shy as I, all my social problems would be solved. When Bessie said these things, I listened, and told her I wished very much that I could follow her advice, as I was sure that she was right.

“Sue Stephens, you’re only twenty-five,” she would wail. “You act as if you were forty-five!”

“I feel it sometimes,” I would say, and help myself to another Chelsea Bun. I always turned to food when I was feeling miserable, as I did on the day following that disastrous party.

“Well, how did it go?” asked Bessie, who had fixed the invitation for me.

“All right,” I said cautiously, helping myself to a double ration of chips. “But they served both wine and beer, and the mixture gave me a headache.” Then before she could show her exasperation, I told her what had happened on the way home, concluding, “So I left him at the hospital, looking just as beautiful as that chap in Ben Hur — almost Grecian, or do I mean Roman? All laid out under a clean sheet.”

“He might have died of exposure if you hadn’t come along.”

“Possible fracture of the skull... what a pity. I hope they didn’t have to cut his hair away — it’s sort of blond with a bit of ginger in it, longish and brushed back, but trying to curl.” I helped myself to treacle tart and custard.

“Has he snuffed it yet?”

“How should I know?”

“Ring up, poppet. He’s your find, isn’t he? You acted the Good Samaritan, and