The Furies (25 page)

‘I'm glad I found you,' he said as he arrived on the landing, breathing hard, as if he had been running. ‘Dr Chesney is sending me over to the First Reserve Hospital.'

‘Yes, she's only just told me,' Elspeth replied tersely. She was suddenly aware that her fingers were trembling and the only way she could control them was by clenching her fists. ‘I'm sorry it's come at such short notice. I really had no idea that she was going to say this to you—'

‘No need to apologise.' Gabriel smiled, as if to say he could feel her frustration. ‘I don't blame Dr Chesney. I can see how it looks: an Austrian prisoner performing surgery on Serbian soldiers.'

His quiet, dignified acceptance of the situation helped calm her anger. ‘Well, I am very grateful to for your help over these past weeks, Captain Bayer.'

‘It was a pleasure for me.' He smiled at her again. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye to you, and thank you for trusting me. I've really enjoyed working with you, Dr Stewart.'

‘And I've enjoyed working with you too,' she said, trying to ignore the feeling of emptiness growing inside her. ‘I hope you understand that with Dr Chesney's recovery and the imminent arrival of Dr Inglis we're fully staffed again. You'll be much better off at the Reserve Hospital, where they're desperate for good surgeons like yourself.'

‘I was going to say much the same about you, Dr Stewart. You are a very talented surgeon and your patients are lucky to have you as their doctor.'

She smiled. ‘We sound like a mutual admiration society.'

He laughed. ‘I sincerely hope we may meet again someday.'

‘I do too.' She had said the words very calmly, very matter-of-factly, but there was a desperate desire to say something stronger to him, to reach out and touch his hand. She hoped he might say something more to her, and for an instant her hopes rose as she saw him lift his chin and his lips parted; she waited for him to speak, and a moment – a long moment – elapsed. Then his lips closed and he softly smiled.

‘I must go. The guards are waiting for me in the courtyard.'

She nodded. ‘I must go too. Dr Chesney does not like to be kept waiting.'

‘Of course. Goodbye. And good luck, Dr Stewart.'

‘Good luck to you too, Captain Bayer.'

He gave her one last smile and then turned away. And she watched him walk along the corridor and onto the staircase, finally disappearing from her sight as he descended the stairs.

Gabriel stood on the platform at Kragujevac railway station, the heat of the afternoon sun on his back, the soft calling of cuckoos coming from the trees adjoining the railway track. Beside him was the squat figure of Dr Anitch, and standing behind them both was a Serbian guard, rifle slung casually over his shoulder and hands in pockets as he stood watch over Gabriel.

Anitch seemed oddly restless, thought Gabriel, as he watched the diminutive surgeon look at his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes. ‘Dr Plotz's train is late,' Anitch said edgily, just as the distant shriek of a steam whistle cut through the warm air. Gabriel walked up to the edge of the platform, and gazing through the haze of heat shimmering over the rail track, saw a locomotive and carriages appear through a cutting between two hills north of the station.

‘I think this must be him, Dmitri,' Gabriel said. Although they had been working together for only a few months, he and Anitch had struck up a cautious friendship, their shared vocation as surgeons gradually overcoming their national differences. Having got to know Anitch, Gabriel could tell that he was nervous at the prospect of meeting the internationally renowned microbiologist. But Gabriel was excited, curious to know what the man who claimed to have isolated the typhus bacillus would be like. Anitch had told Gabriel that Dr Harry Plotz from Mount Sinai Hospital in New York had arrived in Belgrade only a few days ago, invited by the Serbian authorities to try and produce a vaccine against the infection. Plotz had brought with him all the incubators, culture media and other essential paraphernalia necessary to manufacture a vaccine, but had first decided to re-culture the typhus bacillus from infected patients in the region. As the epidemic was centred on Kragujevac, Anitch had been telephoned yesterday with instructions to find suitable patients for Plotz and offer him every possible assistance.

‘Why don't you come and meet him with me?' Anitch had asked Gabriel the previous evening. ‘You told me you've previously visited Mount Sinai where Dr Plotz works, and as you're now immune to typhus, you can more safely collect the blood samples for him.'

Gabriel had happily agreed to Anitch's request, and now he watched the train stop at the platform in a cloud of steam and smoke. Several carriage doors clattered open, and from behind one of them a surprisingly young man emerged. Of short height and stocky build, and with a round, soft, baby face, he was wearing a crumpled linen suit and red bowtie and had a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles jammed over his nose. He was holding a large black leather holdall as he stood and peered along the platform, looking momentarily lost as he shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun with his free hand. Gabriel knew at once that this must be the famous American.

‘Good to meet you,' Plotz replied, after Gabriel had introduced himself. ‘And you too, Dmitri. Please call me Harry,' he said after being presented to Anitch. ‘I'm sure glad you fellows can speak English, because I know only a little German and even less Serbian.'

As they left the station and walked towards the waiting car, Plotz chattered enthusiastically to Gabriel about the prospect of permanently eradicating typhus through the use of his vaccine. And as he listened to the young American's grandiose conversation, Gabriel felt uneasy: although he liked Plotz's extrovert manner, there was a brash confidence that he found unsettling in one so young. Then again, Gabriel thought, as he climbed into the back of the car and sat beside Plotz, maybe he really was a genius, a veritable Mozart of the microbiological arts? One thing that was certain about him was his sharp eye.

‘I'm interested to see you fellows are on opposite sides of the conflict,' Plotz said, the black leather holdall resting on his knees as he eyed Gabriel's uniform. ‘I don't have a problem with that, and I would like to make it clear I have no allegiance to any particular country. I'm a neutral, alright? I'm only here as a scientist, to isolate this damn typhus bacterium and produce a vaccine. I'll happily work with anybody, in any government, in any country – Serbian, Austrian, I don't care – as long as I can get on with my work.'

Anitch, sitting beside the driver in the front of the car, turned around. ‘Dr Plotz—'

‘Harry,' Plotz reminded him.

‘Sorry…Harry. Yes, I agree. As doctors, our duty is to mankind, to men, women and children everywhere, regardless of nationality.'

‘Good,' Plotz said, nodding in approval. Then he turned to Gabriel. ‘So: you're on the losing side, Gabriel; what's it like being a prisoner, huh?'

Anitch appeared shocked at the bluntness of the question, but Gabriel saw the grin on Plotz's face and laughed. ‘Well, Harry, I'm sure Dmitri could arrange for you to spend a few hours behind barbed wire so you can find out,' he said, winking at Anitch, who visibly relaxed.

‘I think I'll pass on that offer,' Plotz said, chuckling as the car pulled away from the kerb. ‘Besides, I'm on a pretty tight schedule. The train left much later than it should and I need to collect the samples and catch the next train back to Belgrade so I can set up the cultures.'

‘Yes, I'm puzzled about that,' Gabriel said. ‘Dmitri tells me you want blood samples from infected patients, but Nicolle's experiments from five years ago showed that lice spread the infection. So I would have thought that looking inside lice would be the best method for finding the bacillus?'

Plotz grinned confidently. ‘But you don't know for certain that every louse carries the bacillus, whereas a patient with fever and other features of typhus
will
have the organism inside them. That's the beauty of my method, Gabriel: it doesn't rely on the louse. Over the past two years New York has seen an influx of immigrants from the Balkans who've arrived at Ellis Island with fever and other symptoms consistent with typhus. I've cultured blood samples from some and managed to isolate a bacterium which I'm pretty certain is the cause of typhus.'

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. ‘So you're not
completely
certain?

Plotz clutched the holdall to his chest as he laughed, clearly thinking Gabriel's question inane. ‘Oh it's the typhus bacillus alright.' Then he swiftly changed the subject: ‘By the way, you guys, your English is pretty good. Where did you learn?'

‘I spent some time in London,' Anitch replied, rather too quickly, Gabriel noted, possibly because he thought Gabriel's questioning of Plotz's methods disrespectful.

‘And you, Gabriel?' Plotz asked.

‘I also spent time in London, and I was a visiting surgical fellow at Mount Sinai.'

‘That's my hospital.' Plotz looked surprised and impressed at the same time. ‘Who'd you work with?'

‘Frank Billings.'

‘Frank? Sure Frank's a colleague, and a great surgeon.' He paused. ‘Either of you doing any research?'

Anitch shook his head, but Gabriel nodded. ‘Yes. Before the war I was researching sepsis in bullet wounds.'

‘Tell me more,' Plotz said, clearly intrigued.

Gabriel briefly outlined his research, and then; ‘I had hoped to present my results at the London Surgical Infection conference last October, but…' He shrugged.

‘Sure,' Plotz nodded. ‘The war has disrupted a lot of things.' He paused. ‘You ever think about moving to America?'

‘No.' Gabriel frowned. ‘Why?'

‘Well, the Balkans…in fact the whole of Europe…is such a mess at the moment.'

Gabriel smiled but saw Anitch flinch at the unsubtle nature of the comment.

Plotz also appeared to notice Anitch's reaction. ‘I don't mean to offend you, Dmitri, but you got to admit it. The whole continent is in flames and this war could go on for some time.' He looked across at Gabriel again. ‘So America's the place to be if you're interested in research.'

‘There is much to be done here first,' Gabriel said.

‘Sure: whatever. But you should think about it. By the way,' he added, again changing the subject, ‘where are the typhus patients managed?'

‘They're all quarantined in the Scottish Women's Fever Hospital,' Gabriel replied.

‘Scottish women? What's that all about?'

‘A group of women surgeons from Scotland have set up several hospitals to care for the casualties,' Gabriel said. ‘They run Kragujevac's typhus hospital—'

‘Actually,' Anitch interjected, ‘we have to go to the school hospital first, as I need to ask Dr Inglis for permission.' He turned to Plotz. ‘She's the chief medical officer for all the Scottish Women's Hospitals in Kragujevac,' he explained.

‘Sure, Dmitri – whatever,' said Plotz. ‘As long as we don't miss the next train back to Belgrade.'

As Plotz told Anitch about the types of patient he was interested in sampling, Gabriel fell silent at the thought he might see Elspeth again: this, he hadn't expected. Several months had passed since their farewell outside the operating theatre, when he had been so close to telling her how he felt about her, but had held back, mostly out of fear of making a fool of himself. And it
was
a foolhardy notion to think that anything could happen between them: he was her country's enemy – a prisoner of her country's allies – and they came from cultures a thousand miles apart.

So he had said nothing about his feelings. But since then, barely a day had gone by when he hadn't thought of her, the recollection of their time together having a comfortingly uplifting effect on his mood. He realised that the chance he might see her today was slight, nevertheless he felt his pulse quicken at the mere possibility.

They drove through the gates of the school and parked in the centre of the courtyard, the three men leaving the vehicle to walk into the school building. As they entered the surgical ward on the ground floor, the sights and smells triggered a flood of pleasant memories for Gabriel. The nurses, VADs and orderlies on the ward were all familiar and he received numerous smiles and nods of recognition. Anitch spoke to the ward sister: Dr Inglis and the other surgeons were in theatre, she said, but she would be immediately informed of their arrival.

As the three men waited in the middle of the ward, Gabriel was disconcerted at how jittery he felt. Was it because he might see Elspeth again? How absurd: he must regain control of his emotions. He consciously made himself relax, but after several minutes the ward door swung open and his heart began to pound as several figures entered the room.

The first was a slightly built older woman he didn't recognise. The second was Monica, the theatre nurse, and when she saw him she gave him a friendly wave; he smiled back at her. And then a third woman appeared…but he felt his smile slip when he saw it was not Elspeth, but Dr Chesney, who fixed him with her beady eyes, frowned and then pouted her lips, but eventually gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment.

The three women walked up to Anitch and the older woman was introduced to Gabriel as Dr Elsie Inglis.

‘Dr Bayer, of course,' Dr Inglis said to him with a smile. ‘I've heard many good things about you from Dr Stewart and Monica. We're very grateful for the help you gave when so many of our staff were ill.'

‘It was my pleasure,' Gabriel replied.

He watched as Anitch introduced Plotz to Dr Inglis, who listened to the young American's enthusiastic explanation of his visit. And Gabriel was so focussed on their discussion that he it took him a moment to realise a fourth person had quietly slipped into the room behind Dr Chesney, and was peering over Chesney's shoulder at him, a shy smile on her lips, her sapphire eyes locked on his face. Suddenly he realised that Dr Inglis was speaking to her.

‘…Elspeth: Dr Chesney and I can finish the last case, so why don't you escort Dr Plotz to the fever hospital and help him identify some suitable patients.'

‘Of course,' Elspeth replied and then turned towards Plotz. ‘I'll just get my jacket and meet you in the courtyard in a moment,' she said to him, her smile lighting up her face before she hurried out of the ward.

As they left the hospital and walked back to the waiting car, Plotz spoke to Gabriel. ‘That Dr Stewart is one happy-looking gal.'

‘She's also a very competent surgeon,' Gabriel replied.

‘Well, she sure is one heck of a pretty thing.'

She did indeed look beautiful, Gabriel thought. Her hair had grown back since he had last seen her, and there was an aura about her that made it difficult to look away. He suddenly realised how much he had missed her and became aware he had a stupid grin on his face; obviously, he realised, at the thought of spending time with her, no matter how brief.

Plotz was already sitting in the middle of the back seat of the car with the black bag resting on his knees when Elspeth reappeared, dressed simply in her grey uniform skirt and jacket over a white blouse. Gabriel held the door open for her, a melting feeling inside his chest as she slid past him with a smile and sat next to Plotz.

On the short journey up to the fever hospital, it was apparent that Plotz was greatly taken with Elspeth, quizzing her about her experiences in Serbia. Sitting on the other side of Plotz, Gabriel periodically glanced over the young American's head and saw that Elspeth looked happy, her eyes shining, the white of her teeth visible as she smiled or laughed at a witty aside made by Plotz. After a while Plotz ran out of questions and turned back to Gabriel.

‘So, Gabriel: Dmitri tells me you caught typhus earlier this year. What does that feel like?'

Out of the corner of his eye Gabriel saw Elspeth fight to keep a straight face as she turned away, the back of her hand at her mouth as she tried to stifle her amusement.

Gabriel shook his head and gently laughed. ‘Well, it was not a lot of fun, Harry.'

‘It's a serious question, Gabriel,' Plotz said, attempting a look of sincerity. ‘I've taken my own vaccine, so I'm confident I'll never catch it.'