Body Line (21 page)

‘Oh, I was never secretary to Mr Rogers. The papers at the time got that wrong, but it didn’t seem important to correct it. Let me explain. You see, there were three doctors sharing the premises. There was dear old Dr Freeling – he’s retired now. Lovely man, lovely to work for. I was his secretary. We had the ground floor. Private general practice. Then there was Mr Rogers and Mr Webber upstairs. They were old friends. We called Mr Rogers the Beauty Doctor.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a rather insulting nickname for plastics specialists who go in for that side of things rather than the reconstructive, but in his case we didn’t mean it unkindly. It was mostly because he was so handsome – goodness, you’d get goosebumps just looking at him! But he was nice with it. Always polite and pleasant, not arrogant like some of these good-looking men can be.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Emily said, since she seemed to want encouraging at that point.

‘He could wind anyone round his little finger. Well, I suppose in his line he really needed the bedside manner. His patients adored him. And then there was Mr Webber – Sir Bernard Webber he is now. The urologist.’ She wrinkled her nose a little. ‘He was supposed to be charming, too, but I never really took to him. Not that it mattered, because I had very little to do with him. And his secretary, Stephanie, spoke highly of him, but there was something a bit – I don’t know . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose he was more of a man’s man. He was one of these clubbable types, do you know what I mean? On all sorts of committees, had the ear of important people, knew how to get things done. I always picture him leaning on a bar in some golf club buying drinks and telling after-dinner jokes.’

The waiter arrived with their food and she stopped. When everything was arranged and he had departed, Emily said, ‘Go on. About that day – the incident.’

‘Oh, yes. Well, it was one of Mr Rogers’s patients – a Mrs Lescroit. Young – in her twenties – and very pretty. I’d seen her go past my office when she came in – I always kept the door open and my desk faced the hall, because I had to sign for deliveries. And Dr Freeling liked me to know who was going in and out. Anyway, I saw Mrs Lescroit go up. She was slim, gorgeous legs. Made-up regardless and very well dressed – well, all the patients were well off. You don’t run a Harley Street consultancy on low fees.’

‘What had she come in for?’ Emily asked. ‘It said in the papers “a minor procedure”, whatever that was.’

Ros wrinkled her brow. ‘Do you know, I can’t remember. Or perhaps I never knew. Something like the removal of a mole, was it? Anyway, it was after the procedure, and she was lying on the daybed in the ante-room, recovering.’

‘She’d been anaesthetized?’ Emily queried.

‘Not a general, of course. She’d had a local anaesthetic, and an injection of Valium to keep her happy, so she was woozy but not unconscious during the procedure. Well, when the rumpus started my Dr Freeling told me to run upstairs and see what was happening. I dashed up and came into the middle of it. Mrs Lescroit said she’d been dozing lightly, and woke to find someone was touching her – you know, her down-theres.’ She nodded, closed-lipped, to emphasize the awfulness of it. ‘The vertical blinds were closed so it was dim in the room, and she was only half awake, and apparently she said, “What are you doing, doctor?” And he murmured to her, “Oh, call me David.” Then she started struggling and he got up and hurried out, and she woke up properly and started making a hullabaloo. When I got there Eunice, Mr Rogers’s nurse, was in there with her. Mr Rogers was standing in the corridor outside the room, and Mr Webber came out from his office, grabbed his arm and sort of bundled him into his room – Mr Rogers’s room – and slammed the door. Seconds later he’s out again and in the ante-room calming Mrs Lescroit down. It was amazing to watch him in action,’ she added. ‘He seemed to be everywhere at once, handling everything, talking to everyone, smoothing it all over. I got sent down to tell Dr Freeling it was all under control and to fetch some brandy.’

‘For Mrs Lescroit?’ Emily surmised.

Ros smiled. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t for Mr Webber. Anyway, Dr Freeling went up and there was all sorts of confabulation, but Mrs Lescroit insisted the police must be called and even the brandy wouldn’t change her mind. So Mr Rogers got taken away. He looked terribly shocked. Claimed it was all a mistake. Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’

‘There must have been a terrible scandal,’ Emily suggested.

‘Well, there was and there wasn’t. Of course, everyone in the business knew about it, and there was some stuff in the papers, but not nearly as bad as it might have been. In the end Mr Webber got it all hushed up, Mrs Lescroit agreed to a large lump sum and there were no charges. We were all sworn to secrecy – not that we’d have talked anyway. You don’t keep your job in Harley Street if you’re thought to be a blabber. There had to be a GMC enquiry, of course, but Mr Webber was very well in with them and he squared it so that in the end Mr Rogers wasn’t struck off, provided he didn’t work with patients any more.’

‘What can a doctor do that doesn’t involve patients?’

‘Oh, lab work, research, lecturing, that sort of thing. Pharmacology. Pathology,’ she added with a twinkle. ‘I’m pretty sure Mr Webber fixed him up with something – they were great friends after all. I have an idea he became a rep for a pharmaceutical company, but I’m not sure,’ she finished vaguely. ‘He left our building and I didn’t really keep up with him. And not long after that Mr Webber left as well. We got new people in, but I think the upset had been too much for my dear old Dr Freeling because he decided to retire – but not until he’d got me an interview for another job, round the corner in Devonshire Street. That was the sort of man he was, bless him. A real old-fashioned gentleman.’

‘So everyone came out of it all right,’ Emily mused. ‘Quite an operator, your Mr Webber.’

‘Not
my
Mr Webber,’ Ros objected. ‘But yes, he’d have made a great diplomat. He was the great fixer. Probably still is – don’t know why I’m talking about him in the past tense. Not like poor Mr Rogers. What a terrible thing – have you any idea why he was killed? One of those drug-crazed burglars, I suppose. You hear about it all the time these days, though somehow you never expect it to be someone you know.’

‘So were you surprised at what Mr Rogers had done?’ Emily asked, avoiding the question. ‘He was a bit of a ladies’ man, I gather?’

‘Well, yes,’ she said cautiously, ‘but you couldn’t help liking him. And it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d expect of him. I mean, he was so attractive he could have had anyone he wanted – he didn’t have to resort to groping patients. I know he was married, but there was plenty of talk about him having lady-friends. In fact –’ she lowered her voice and her head and looked at Emily from under her eyebrows – ‘there was a rumour going round that he was having an affair with Eunice, his nurse, at the time, though I don’t know if that was true or not.’ She straightened up. ‘Given what a tartar his wife was, it was hard to blame him.’

‘You knew her?’

‘Oh, not really – only seen her once or twice, but she didn’t look the sort to enjoy a cuddle and a giggle. Terribly high-nosed and haughty. Always looked down her nose at us mere minions. Though I suppose she had other qualities he married her for.’ She sipped her water. ‘But still, I was surprised that he messed about with Mrs Lescroit like that. He wasn’t a bottom-pincher, in the usual way of things. At least, Eunice and Anthea, his secretary, had no complaints about him. Mr Webber was the one you didn’t want to get in a lift with on your own. He was one of those people who always managed to accidentally brush against you as you passed, you know what I mean?’

‘All that sort of thing’s illegal now,’ Emily pointed out.

‘Oh, I know, but consultants are different. They’re so powerful, and they all stick together like one big club. You’d have to be very brave to stand up to one of them, if you’re just a lowly nurse or secretary.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, it was a bit ironic, really, for Mr Rogers to get caught like that on the very day his wife’s in the building.’

‘She was?’ Emily said in surprise.

‘Yes, she’d come to see Mr Webber about some charity thing she was involved with. Stephanie told me. Hoping to touch him for some money for it, apparently. I saw her go up just before it happened.’

‘So she was with Mr Webber when it started?’

‘She was waiting for him in his office – or in Stephanie’s room, rather. Mr Webber had gone to the gents or something. He was on his way back when the fuss started.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Mr Rogers. His wife divorced him not long after that, and I suppose that was what triggered it. I know it was a terrible thing for him to do, and that he was lucky not to have been struck off, but I must say, I’ve always wondered whether Mrs Lescroit made a mistake – she was only half awake, and a bit dopey from the Valium. Maybe she saw him leaning over her and just imagined the touching. And because of her Mr Rogers lost pretty much everything, his wife, his house, his career, everything.’

‘And now his life,’ Emily murmured.

‘You don’t think that could have had anything to do with the Mrs Lescroit thing, surely?’ Ros looked startled. ‘It was so long ago.’

‘No, I don’t suppose a vengeful husband would wait ten years to make the point,’ Emily said.

‘And as I remember, Mrs Lescroit was a divorcée, anyway,’ said Ros.

‘So, if you were all sworn to secrecy,’ Emily asked, ‘how did it get into the papers?’

‘
I
didn’t say anything,’ Ros said stoutly. ‘If Mrs Lescroit had accepted money, I didn’t see it was anyone else’s business to blow the whistle. I suppose she might have talked, even so – told her best friend or something.’ She thought a moment. ‘Or maybe it was Eunice. I know she wasn’t happy about it being hushed up. Mr Webber had her in his office for ages, according to Stephanie, talking to her a like a Dutch uncle. And soon afterwards she left – got a more senior position at some private hospital, according to Anthea, with much better pay. Stephanie always reckoned Mr Webber got her the job to shut her up.’

‘It was a lot of trouble to go to for Mr Rogers.’

‘Well, they were friends from way back. And, like I said, he was a man’s man.’

‘Do you know what hospital it was?’

‘That Eunice went to? No, not offhand. I didn’t really see her after that day. Well, Mr Rogers wasn’t seeing any more patients so he didn’t need a nurse. And she had holiday entitlement to use up, so she took that instead of notice.’

‘I wonder if Stephanie would know.’

‘I shouldn’t think she knew any more than me. But in any case, you can’t ask her,’ Ros said, ‘because she’s not around any more. She was in an accident. She got knocked down and killed on her way home late one night.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Emily.

‘It was an awful thing,’ Ros said, staring at her hands. Here at last was something that could disturb her professional composure. ‘It was a hit-and-run driver, so they never even found out who did it. Not that that would have brought her back, but at least it gives you a sense of—’

She paused so long that Emily felt obliged to suggest, ‘Closure?’

She looked up. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s what it is. It doesn’t make the thing right, but it allows you to move on.’

‘What about Anthea? Would she know anything more?’

‘I don’t know. She emigrated to Australia soon afterwards, and I’ve never heard anything from her since. So what’s your interest in this old story? It isn’t much of one, really. Is it just because poor Mr Rogers is dead?’

‘That’s right,’ Emily said. ‘I thought there might be something I could work up – not straight away, of course – that would be in bad taste – but eventually. Something about the playboy doctor brought low by a single fleeting impulse. But I’m not sure, now, that there’s really an angle to work from.’

‘No, it’s all rather sad and sordid,’ Ros agreed. ‘I feel a bit guilty now for wasting your time.’

‘On the contrary, I feel I’ve wasted yours,’ Emily said, not to be outdone in gallantry.

Ros smiled. ‘Oh, I’ve enjoyed it. It’s nice to get out for lunch once in a while. I usually just have a yogurt and an apple at my desk. Very dull. It’s nice to have someone to talk to for a change. I googled you, after you telephoned me, you know,’ she confessed, ‘and read a couple of your pieces. You’re quite a writer! I always wanted to write. I think I could have been good at it if I’d ever had the chance.’

So for the sake of the cover story, Emily let her wander down that byway, talked about a journalist’s life, and encouraged her to start jotting down ‘some of the funny things I’ve seen’ that would ‘make a terrific novel’; and this beguiled the time until suddenly Ros looked at her watch and jumped up and said, ‘Oh, my God, I shall have to dash! There are very old-fashioned looks given if one dares to be even a minute late. Thank you so much for lunch. It’s been lovely meeting you. And if you do decide to write the story, I’d love to see a copy.’

‘I’ll send it to you first, to check the facts,’ Emily promised her solemnly.

She told her story to a small audience over tea and buns back at the station.

‘She was there at the time?’ Swilley exclaimed. ‘Amanda Whatserface? And she never said a word about it?’

‘Maybe she’s just too ashamed,’ Emily said. ‘Can’t bear talking about it. It needn’t be anything sinister.’

‘Maybe she’s just too arrogant to talk about it,’ Connolly suggested. ‘People like her don’t like talking about their private lives.’