Ash (22 page)

He stared into Ash’s eyes, humour – or mockery – still evident in his expression. The investigator was confused: he didn’t know whether to like the man or not. Whatever, he didn’t like the soft-voiced teasing.

‘I thought we were going to order lunch first, Vernon,’ Delphine cut in, sensing the investigator’s uncertainty.

‘Of course, my dear,’ Pritchard said, as if surprised. ‘You go ahead and order while I brew myself a coffee.’

The smell of the coffee complemented the cigar’s aroma perfectly and Dr Pritchard couldn’t help but boast as he poured the steaming liquid into his cup, ‘Above all, my favourite. Jamaican Blue Mountain, considered one of the rarest and most expensive of all coffees.’

Like I would know
, thought Ash as he studied his menu.
What next – the glorious merits of the bloody Armagnac?
Ash was surprised at the wide choice offered. Food had never been a priority in his life – he ate to live, not vice versa – but when he read the selections, his mouth began to salivate.

‘Oh, just the Arran smoked salmon for me,’ Delphine told the waitress who hovered between her and Ash. Chloe scribbled the order on her pad and said, ‘And the main course?’

‘Nothing more, thank you. Just the starter.’

The waitress addressed Ash. ‘And for you, sir?’ Her Scottish accent had a pleasant lilt to it.

Despite himself, for the menu had certainly looked appetizing, Ash showed restraint. ‘Uh, just a main course for me, then. I’ll have the fillet steak, medium rare, with the hollandaise sauce rather than the peppercorn.’

‘Gratin of vegetables, the garlic barley risotto?’

‘Some new potatoes and that’ll be it.’

Chloe dipped her head and made her way back to the kitchen.

Ash spoke. ‘You were wondering why I was interested in your medical department.’

‘Yes, so I was. But it isn’t just a department, you know. It’s rather grander then that. I suppose you could say it’s the size of a small cottage hospital in square footage but with hi-tech equipment and state-of-the-art laboratory apparatus, pioneering research, and the best proven drugs to date. We treat conditions as varied as heart dysfunction and cancer. And from, say, motor neurone disease to food allergies. We’ve made inroads with manic depression, which Dr Wyatt and Dr Singh would, I’m sure, be only too happy to explain to you.’ He leaned towards Delphine, rather leerily, Ash thought. ‘By the way, my pet, you look a mite fretful. Has your migraine come back to torment you again?’

‘It’s just a headache.’

‘Perhaps it is now, but I wouldn’t like it to develop into a migraine cluster; you know how they bring you down.’ His voice was syrupy with concern. ‘Now why don’t you follow the advice I gave you last time? Botox will clear it up in no time at all.’

Ash was surprised by the information and he stared at Pritchard incredulously.
Botox? For migraine?

‘I told you before, Vernon,’ said Delphine, mock-scoldingly, ‘I’m too young for that kind of procedure and not yet vain enough.’

‘Well, it’s up to you, precious, but you should give it some serious thought.’

‘That
would
give me a headache.’

Both of them laughed and Dr Pritchard dropped the subject.

‘Well, then, Mr Ash,’ he went on, ‘other treatments here are for disorders as diverse as hypertension, Alzheimer’s, strokes and meningitis. We have extremely efficient screening equipment that will show early signs of any number of diseases.’

He tilted his chair back, drawing deeply on the exalted cigar as he reflected.

‘Let’s take cancer, for instance,’ the doctor said after a moment’s further thought. ‘You see, there are new drugs not yet on the market simply because in England NICE – the preposterous acronym for the National Institution for Health and Clinical Excellence – was reluctant to fund treatments for various cancers before it was satisfied beyond all possibility of doubt that they were safe and their efficacy proven. It is, of course, limited by financial restraints from the government.

‘The trustees of Comraich have neither NICE’s timidity, nor its monetary constraints. We are happy to use these so-called “unapproved” drugs to the benefit of our guests. We began to use Revlimid, for instance, long before its approval by NICE in 2009 because it is particularly useful in the treatment of bone marrow cancer, and its effect provides an insight into other forms of the disease. As well as Revlimid, NICE also rejected the use of various drugs for advanced kidney cancer because it found interferon is as effective – though studies suggest otherwise – and far cheaper to use. In fact, interferon is of such limited use that only one in ten sufferers are treated with it.’

Pritchard gently swirled the Armagnac in its balloon, creases between the inner corners of his eyebrows forming vertical ridges on his forehead. It seemed that poor government funding for the health of British citizens roused his ire. He further underlined this by exclaiming, but quietly, ‘God, we’re so far behind Western European countries and the United States that they’re beginning to regard us as medical primitives. British oncologists were up in arms when they weren’t able to use Sutent to treat advanced kidney and liver cancers until 2009, because the health service in Britain declared the cost is too great to bear!

‘You know,’ Pritchard continued with a faux-hopeless sigh, ‘NICE even vetoed marvellous drugs such as the anti-TNF for rheumatoid arthritis and Aricept for Alzheimer’s because it talks in terms of “evaluation according to their excellence”, but no, it’s a lie! What it means is drugs are not truly assessed by their excellence, but by their cost-effectiveness! The government does not think in terms of life extension and reductive pain, but believes in palliative care, using drugs that only make patients drowsy and so less complaining. I tell you, it’s all down to budgetary restraint and therefore, politics.’

‘Isn’t it always?’ Ash put in, mostly because he felt it was expected of him.

The sympathetic agreement seemed to raise the senior doctor’s spirits again. He sipped his Armagnac, then his coffee, and finally drew on the cigar which was rapidly decreasing in length.

‘Well let me tell you this,’ he said, happily jabbing the remaining half of the cigar at Ash. ‘We at Comraich buy in the best drugs available rather than wait for the results of some long drawn-out assessment policy. Reolysin, for instance, probably won’t be approved for another five years, but we’re curing people with it today. It works where chemotherapy doesn’t. It’s a kind of magic bullet that shrinks tumours and in some cases has made them vanish.’

Dr Pritchard leaned back in his chair and regarded Ash, deep satisfaction broadening his smile. ‘We’re very proud of our work at Comraich,’ he said smugly.

The investigator nodded sagely, not knowing what else to do. But he was beginning to wonder if Comraich was actually just a research institute working in an unholy alliance with big pharmaceutical companies and the ‘guests’ acting as guinea pigs.

‘Are you as advanced in areas of health care other than cancer?’ he asked, genuinely curious.

‘Oh, yes, we certainly are.’ The senior doctor looked up and saw the waitress approaching with Delphine’s and the investigator’s lunch. ‘But look, I’ve taken up enough of your time – your fault for getting me on to my old hobby horse. Here’s Chloe with your lunch, so I’ll leave you in peace. I expect you’re tired of the diatribe by now, in any case.’

He drained the last of his Armagnac with relish, then the rest of his coffee. He pushed back his chair, the stub of his cigar still burning between his fingers, stood and reached across the table to shake the investigator’s hand.

‘There’s plenty more to know about our various treatments and cures for our guests here at the castle, but I’ll let Delphine fill you in with more details. Much more pleasurable for you, wouldn’t you say?’

Also standing, Ash smiled at the brashly elegant (if such a description were possible) senior doctor.

‘Thank you for taking the time,’ Ash said appreciatively, but not too humbly.

‘Been a pleasure, old boy. Now, if there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know, all right? And I’d like to have a chat to you sometime, about your business and what crazy things you’ve witnessed. I think you might call me a sceptic, but I am, nevertheless, interested in the sort of thing you get up to.’

With a touch on Delphine’s shoulder, Pritchard moved around the table and eased himself past Chloe.

Ash caught the senior doctor before he could go on his way. It was the investigator who moved closer to him, realizing he’d been wrong about the physician’s height – Pritchard barely scratched five foot six. The girl laid both full plates at their settings on the table, her hands shaking a little.

‘Tell me, Dr Pritchard,’ Ash said quietly, leaning down towards the other man’s ear. ‘D’you keep your, uh, your
guests
. . .’ he emphasized the word ‘. . . under sedation
all
the time?’

The dandified doctor pulled his head away from Ash to regard him quizzically. Then, his voice also low, he replied, ‘Is it that obvious?’

Ash nodded with a bland smile, but caught the brief exchange as Pritchard looked past his shoulder at Delphine, who had remained seated.

‘Well you see, old boy,’ said Pritchard confidentially, ‘we like to keep them happy – and peaceable,’ he added. ‘Oh, they’re not under any “chemical cosh”, if that’s what you’re driving at. Absolutely not. No, we use a group of drugs called benzodiazepines – Valium and the like. And, of course, our old friend Prozac. Perhaps something a little stronger for those who require it most. But our guests are kept healthy and happy. That’s our agreement with them, or with whoever is footing their bill. It’s why we’re so anxious to clear up this present nonsense about ghosts – it isn’t good for their well-being!’ He managed a quiet chuckle as he placed a manicured hand on the investigator’s shoulder. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, old boy. They aren’t aware of the mysterious crucifixion of Douglas Hoyle’ –
He’s making it sound like a TV drama
, thought Ash – ‘but rumours do tend to abound and become exaggerated in a confined location such as this. You just solve our temporary problem as quickly as possible, then all will be as it should – a peaceful, benign inner sanctum.’

He patted Ash’s shoulder, then smoothly made his way out of the restaurant, stopping only occasionally to charm a guest or two before moving on.

The investigator came back to the table from where Delphine had been watching him, her brown eyes anxious.

He grinned at her and took the seat just vacated by the senior doctor. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that was informative.’

The investigator had moved his position so that his back was to the wall, giving him an unrestricted view of the high-ceilinged room and its occupants. He remembered that when he removed himself from the mental health wing of a London hospital a couple of years ago, they had insisted that he remain on Fluoxetine, which was just another brand of Prozac, apparently, and amitriptyline hydrochloride; just, at least, till the night terrors had stopped. Those nightmare attacks continued to plague him, but only occasionally.

‘Are you all right, David?’ Delphine had placed her hand over his, causing him to flinch involuntarily.

‘Sorry,’ he apologized when he saw the hurt in her eyes. She’d hastily withdrawn her hand. ‘I just had a couple of flashbacks. Memories I should have laid to rest by now. It isn’t you, Delphine.’

‘Bad memories?’ she asked, looking concerned.

‘Yeah,’ he admitted bitterly. ‘Maybe I should’ve stuck with the sedatives they put me on, but I ditched them long ago. I don’t like my senses dulled by medication of any kind.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

The question was asked tenderly, and he had to remind himself that this beautiful woman was a psychologist. He was afraid of misinterpreting the signs. And yet, he was sure there was a bond between them, probably engendered by the near-death experience they had shared that same morning. He felt it may have been the catalyst that had drawn them together without the usual rituals of courtship.

This time it was he who reached for her hand, which had dropped to her lap, and she didn’t resist when he brought it back to the table and continued to press softly with his own.

‘There are things I’d like to tell you, Delphine, but not now, and certainly not on a professional basis. You understand, don’t you?’ It was a deliberately loaded question and he breathed an inner sigh of relief when she nodded and cast her eyes almost demurely down at her lap.

The moment passed and Ash attacked his medium-rare steak and soft-as-butter new potatoes with relish, wondering at his own hunger, while Delphine picked at her smoked salmon. And as they ate, the psychologist continued to tell him of other medical facilities, cures and procedures for the sick and the elderly at Comraich Castle, as if she felt it important to extol its virtues. He listened attentively, while also taking the opportunity to study this lovely, raven-haired woman. Occasionally he put in a question for clarification, but mainly he absorbed her words and was touched by the intensity of her passion for Comraich’s medically advanced accomplishments, such as a postage-stamp-sized sponge infused with a pain-killing drug that gave post-operative internal relief for up to four days, or the use of stem cells as a permanent cure for congenital glaucoma, angina and other chronic cardiac problems.

Delphine eventually noticed the slightly glazed look in Ash’s eyes.

She laughed. ‘I’m so sorry. Once I get started on our medical treatments here I get carried away with enthusiasm. Forgive me?’

He blinked twice and grinned at her, hiding his own embarrassment. Certainly he could have watched her animated face and keen but beguiling eyes for ever, but he had to admit the medical jargon, fused with her unrelenting earnestness, had proved his spirit willing but his flesh weak. Or was it the other way round?

‘You did your best.’ She was still smiling. ‘And I appreciate it. But let me give you just one last example of how far advanced our medical practices are at Comraich. You probably know about warfarin, a drug commonly used today on patients at risk of strokes and heart disorders. It thins the blood, thereby reducing the risk of clotting.’