What Will Survive (7 page)

It worked. As Olivia stripped off her latex gloves and binned them, Ricky spoke first, so quickly she had put up a hand to fend him off.

‘Hold it,' she said. ‘I need a break.' She glanced at her watch. ‘Christ, is that the time? How about a quick curry at the Anapurna, if they're still serving?' Ricky hesitated.

‘What's up?' Olivia's eyes narrowed. ‘Actually, you did look a bit queasy back there—'

‘I'm fine, really. Too much Stella last night.'

‘Well, a curry will either kill or cure you. You up for it?'

‘Sure.'

‘OK, meet you out front in five.'

Ricky was heading for the toilet to retrieve his jacket when Lisa, the very young receptionist with blonde hair and a strong New Zealand accent, appeared from the High Road end of the building.

‘Is Spencer gonna be all right?' she asked, and Ricky had to think for a moment, not having heard the dog's name.

Olivia said cheerily: ‘Hope so. I think we've saved the leg.'

Lisa put her head on one side. ‘Poor Spencer. Oh, Ricky, your Dad called a couple of times.'

He stared at her. ‘Dad called here?'

‘Yeah. He said he's been trying your mobile but it's down.'

‘It's on charge.' He turned to Olivia. ‘Something's up. He never calls.' Another thought occurred to him. ‘How did he know this number?'

Olivia raised her eyebrows. ‘Didn't you give it to him?'

Ricky looked scornful. ‘I gave it to Mum. She's in Syria — no, Lebanon, I got a text from her.'

‘Lisa?' The receptionist, who was almost at the end of the corridor, stopped and looked back. ‘Did he say what he wanted?'

‘Sorry, Liv.' She shook her head.

‘Best call him,' Olivia said, unbuttoning her white coat, which was stained with blood. ‘Use the line in my office.'

‘Yeah. Thanks, Olivia.'

She squeezed his arm. ‘Cheer up, it's probably nothing.'

Ricky went into the office, stopped in front of Olivia's desk and twisted the phone towards him so he could key in his parents' number. When he heard the engaged tone, he swore quietly, broke the connection and tried again. A couple of minutes later, when Olivia appeared with her hair down and looking boyish in a denim jacket, his face was a study in frustration.

‘No luck?'

‘Engaged. All the time.'

‘Try again after lunch?'

Ricky looked uncertain. ‘What if it's serious?'

‘Serious as in?'

‘Maybe — maybe something's happened to my brother.'

‘Your brother?'

‘Max. He's in Chile.'

Olivia nodded. ‘Oh yes, your mother said. It's his gap year, isn't it?' She looked thoughtful. She had never met Ricky's mother but they had had a
long conversation when Aisha called to thank Olivia for giving Picky a summer job. He had previously done work experience with a vet near their home in Somerset, she explained, and he needed experience with pets rather than farm animals. Ricky had already told her this, but Olivia was slightly awed to find herself talking to someone whose photograph she had seen in newspapers, and allowed Aisha to continue talking. She didn't sound anything like Olivia's idea of a model, not that she had expected Ricky's mother to be Naomi Campbell, naturally, but all the same... Aisha was even in the latest issue of
Hello!,
which was delivered to the practice each week along with half a dozen other magazines. Olivia barely glanced at them, apart from the
New Yorker,
whose cartoons she liked, but Lisa read
Hello!
from cover to cover and had kept it open on the reception desk for a whole morning.

‘Look,' Olivia said, starting to feel a little uneasy herself — she hadn't had a gap year but one of her friends had been arrested in Thailand and accused of trying to smuggle a tiny quantity of marijuana. ‘There's no point in worrying unnecessarily. Let's go to the Anapurna and you can keep trying from my mobile. Ricky? What're you doing?'

She stared as he knelt on the floor with his back to her, straightening a moment later with his own phone in his hand.

‘I'll take this — it should be half-charged.' He switched it on and was about to slide the phone into a pocket when it beeped. He stared at the screen. ‘Shit, I've got four messages.'

Probably the girlfriend, Olivia reassured herself. She waited as Ricky accessed his message service; noticing a lab report on her desk, she drew it towards her and frowned as she skimmed it, making a mental note to call the lab back when she returned from lunch. Putting it aside, she glanced at Ricky, whose face had lit up. He mouthed ‘Lerissa' and Olivia relaxed, pleased she had been right.

Puzzlement flared in his eyes as the next message played: ‘Shit,' he said on a rising note of alarm. ‘Oh shit.'

His face was pale and Olivia moved towards him. Wordlessly, he handed her the mobile. She frowned. It was the same model as her own and she pressed a key for messages, fumbling and almost dropping the phone. She skipped over a girl's voice, Ricky's girlfriend, and heard a man say curtly:
‘Dad here. Bad news. Ring me when you get this.' There was a beep and the same voice spoke again, even more clipped this time: ‘Ricky, where the hell are you? It's urgent.' The third message sent shock waves through her: ‘For Christ's sake, Ricky. What's the point of having this bloody thing if you don't — look, your mother's had an accident. Ring me, OK?' A woman's voice started to intone: ‘To hear your messages again, press one. To save your messages—' Olivia cut the connection.

‘Your mother?' she repeated. ‘He didn't say what—'

Ricky's face was ashen and he was already punching a number into the office phone.

‘It could mean anything,' she warned. ‘Don't assume the worst.'

‘Fuck.' Ricky slammed down the receiver.

‘Still engaged? Here, put it on ring-back.' Olivia stepped behind her desk and pulled the phone towards her. A moment later, she looked up and said, ‘That's done. Ricky, sit down, we need to think about this. Is there another number we can try? His office — maybe they'll know something.'

Ricky sat on the chair that was usually occupied by drug company reps, gripping the edge with his hands. Suddenly he looked very young and vulnerable. ‘He works at home.'

‘Has he got a secretary?'

‘No — yes, but she only comes in on Mondays.'

‘What about a mobile?'

‘He hates them.'

Olivia snorted. ‘What about your — your grandparents? Would he have spoken to them?'

‘Mum's mother died last year — the year before, I mean. Dad's is in a home. She doesn't know what day it is. He doesn't talk to his father.' His voice cracked. ‘God, Olivia—'

‘Don't panic.' Olivia was thinking that anything could have happened to Aisha, from a sprained ankle to a broken neck, and she wanted to stop Ricky speculating until they found out how bad it was. ‘He knows the number here, and your mobile's working. Where did you say your mother was?'

‘Lebanon. She left the same day as Max, on different flights of course. I drove them to Heathrow — Dad was pissed off about having to stay
behind in this crappy country.' He pulled a face. ‘He talks like that. It doesn't mean anything.'

‘Does she have a mobile — of course she does, you sent her a text.'

‘She sent me one.'

‘When was that?'

‘Yesterday, um — yeah.'

‘And she didn't — she was fine then?'

‘Yes.'

‘OK, try her mobile.'

He seized his phone, pressed a couple of keys and put it to his right ear, gripping it tightly. He listened and his face fell. ‘It's on voicemail. Ma, it's me, Ricky? Are you all right? Dad says — call me, OK?'

‘Good, good, let me think.' Olivia put a hand up to her forehead. ‘Is anyone with her? Travelling with her, you know?'

‘Yes, but — God, Olivia, this is going to sound really stupid.' Ricky's face twisted. ‘She's with this photographer, but I can't think of his name. They're — they're doing a book together.'

Olivia's eyes widened, and she wondered what Ricky's father thought about that. Ricky continued, his voice steadier: ‘They're travelling round, looking at Roman temples and stuff. I'm not into archaeology. Shouldn't I—' He started to get up. Olivia put out a hand. ‘What? Look, it may be nothing serious.' She put as much reassurance into her tone as she could muster, although she had the bad feeling she sometimes got when she took samples from a sick animal. ‘I'm going to ask Lisa to get us some sandwiches; at least we can eat something while we're waiting.'

‘I'm not hungry.'

Olivia said, ‘No point in starving yourself. Lisa? Oh for God's sake — Lisa.' The receptionist stepped into the office and listened wide-eyed as Olivia gave her a shopping list. ‘I'll have a BLT and Ricky—' She glanced at him. ‘Just bring him a chicken sandwich, whatever they've got left.'

‘And get some more coffee,' she called after her, ‘we're almost out. I'll make some,' she added, standing up. A new thought occurred to her and she sat down again. ‘What about the Foreign Office? They'd know, wouldn't they, if a British citizen's had an accident abroad? Hand me that directory.'

Ricky did not move for a moment, a dazed look on his face. Then he reached up to Olivia's bookshelves and heaved it down. She began leafing through the flimsy pages, missing F and having to start again.

‘Max,' Ricky started to say. ‘He'll go nuts if something's happened to Mum.'

The office phone rang. Olivia's hand collided with Ricky's as they both made to answer it. ‘Hallo?' she said, then signalled to Ricky that his father's number was finally ringing. ‘Mr — is that Mr Lincoln? This is Olivia Ferrer — yes, he's here.'

She handed the phone to Ricky, tensing as she watched his face. ‘Dad? I have been trying you. You've been engaged all the time! Ask Oliv — what? She what? No,' she heard him say after a moment, ‘I don't believe you. She can't be, you said an accident — Dad, please—' His eyes had gone blank, his face a mask of shock, and Olivia leaned forward, taking the phone from him.

‘Mr Lincoln?' Her own voice sounded gravelly. ‘I understand there's been—' He interrupted her, speaking rapidly, sounding — sounding furious, she thought later. ‘Oh God. Oh my God. How did it happen? Where? You mean a terrorist—' She glanced at Ricky. ‘Hold on, Ricky's — I'll call you back.'

Pushing her chair back so hard it collided with the wall, she hurried round the desk and knelt in front of Ricky, putting her arms round him. A series of choking noises escaped from him but he remained still, not trying to move away. ‘I've got you,' she said, ‘I'm here.' Peering over his shoulder, she raised her voice: ‘Lisa, Alice! In here, quick.'

Alice stepped into the office, saying something about Lisa nipping out to the shops. ‘Didn't you ask her to get sandwiches?' Taking in the scene, the nurse stopped mid-sentence. ‘Olivia? What on earth's happened?'

‘It's his mother, there's been a terrible accident.'

‘What?'

‘Put the answering machine on for a minute, and can you make some tea? Strong and sweet, he's in shock.'

‘What sort of accident?'

Olivia shook her head in warning, and said in a low voice: ‘A landmine. Jesus.'

Ricky cried out and started to get up. Olivia struggled to her feet, one of her legs, numb from kneeling, giving way beneath her. She steadied
herself and put out a hand, almost frightened to touch him: ‘Ricky. Oh Ricky.'

He started for the door. Alice moved out of the way and he hurried into the corridor, turning towards the back of the building.

Alice said, ‘That poor woman—'

They looked at each other in horror, not sure what to do. There was a loud yowl from the cattery and they both jumped.

‘That bloody Siamese, it's starting again.' Olivia grimaced and made an effort to pull herself together. ‘You make the tea,' she told Alice. ‘Get Lisa to ring Tony when she comes back, to see if he can cover for me this evening. I'd better call Ricky's father again, he must know—'

There was another noise from the back of the building, a toilet flushing followed by the sound of a cup or mug breaking on the tiled floor. Olivia said grimly: ‘It can wait. I'd better go after him.'

by Ingrid Hansson in Beirut, and Chris Finegan

Tributes have been pouring in for the British model Aisha Lincoln, who has been killed in a horrific accident in the Middle East. Lincoln, 44, was pronounced dead yesterday in the American hospital in Beirut after being injured in an explosion in South Lebanon. She had been travelling with the prize-winning photographer, Fabrizio Terzano, who was killed outright in the blast on Monday. The tragedy apparently happened when the car they were travelling in ran over a landmine.

Lincoln and her driver survived the accident and were airlifted to hospital in Beirut by a UN helicopter. Initial reports suggested that her injuries were not life-threatening, but Lincoln died in the operating theatre as doctors battled to save her. The driver is in intensive care, where his condition is described as critical.

‘Aisha Lincoln was one of the best ambassadors this country could ever have had,' said the Prime Minister (pictured left, arriving last night with his wife at a dinner in Birmingham with prominent Asian entrepreneurs), leading the tributes to the dead woman. ‘Our thoughts are naturally with her family and friends at this terrible time.' His wife, who was wearing a blue silk sari in honour of the occasion, bowed her head as he spoke about the tragedy.