Past Lives (26 page)

'I didn’t ask. Are you a medical doctor?' murmured Macandrew.

'PhD in molecular biology, you'll have to help me.'

'It's not going to be a pretty sight.’

'Mmm, it could well be a question of which one of us passes out first,' said Simone as she removed the final layer of the old dressing – slowly because it had stuck to the wound. She stopped in the middle and said to the fat man, who was watching the proceedings with a look of revulsion on his face, 'Get me a sponge will you?' He did and then left the room, looking pale.

Simone started cleaning the wound gently. Macandrew put back his head and looked up at the ceiling. He had to grit his teeth against the pain when the antiseptic was applied but Simone kept her cool throughout. She continued until the site had been thoroughly cleaned and then applied strips of bandage torn from the pillowslip.

'All done,' she announced.

'Well done,' said Macandrew. ‘You were great.’

Simone pressed his hand and said, ‘It’s a woman thing.’

Macandrew managed a smile.

‘
Now we'll see about getting you these antibiotics.'

Simone left with Stroud for the post office, leaving Macandrew to enjoy what respite he could from the pain before the effects of the injection wore off. He didn't know when he might get another one. He closed his eyes but couldn't manage anything more than a light doze. He was aware of distant traffic noise as Marseilles went about its business. A police siren wailed every so often and there was the constant murmur of conversation from the two men in the room next door. He could smell French cigarettes and somewhere in the distance a child was crying – not in pain, but in frustration at not getting its own way. Although recovering from the infection was a priority he recognised that being unable to walk was going to be a distinct drawback in any escape bid. This was not a happy thought.

Macandrew continued to doze fitfully until the sound of Simone's voice broke through his jumbled thoughts and restored him to full alertness. She came into the room and announced, 'Got them.' She handed over a small package.

Macandrew read the label. Tetracycline Hydrochloride. He opened the plastic bottle and threw two capsules into his mouth. ‘Thanks.’

‘
I hope they work, Mac.’

‘
You and me both.’

'I think we are leaving tonight,' said Simone quietly. 'I overheard Stroud say something to the other two about the boat being ready.'

'Boat?'

'That's all I heard. Nothing about where we are going.'

Macandrew rested his head back on the pillow and thought about the implications of a boat trip. Being cut off from land was not such a wonderful prospect from the point of view of escape but on the other hand, any kind of sea voyage might afford them a bit more time – time to let his foot recover.

Stroud and the fat man were out for most of the remainder of the day, leaving Macandrew and Simone in the sole custody of Parvelli. Macandrew hoped that this might give Simone the chance to escape at some point but Parvelli was no fool. He kept them locked up in the room and acted with caution at all times. They were only allowed out of the room one at a time and only once during the course of the afternoon, to visit the lavatory. Any other requests, for food, drinks, washing facilities etc were denied with a curt, 'Later.'

The sun was going down when the fat man brought in a meal of pasta, bread and water and put it down. 'Eat quickly,' he said. ‘You don’t have much time.’

Macandrew and Simone did as they were told, if for no other reason than the fact that they were very hungry. Shortly afterwards, they were escorted out of the building and put into the back of an unlettered van waiting outside. The familiar smell of it told Macandrew that it was the van that he had been brought down from Paris in. It came as no surprise to either of them when, twenty minutes later, the van doors opened and they were ushered out on to the quayside at Marseilles harbour.

The night was still and warm and, although they were some way away from the cafes at the waters' edge, Macandrew could smell the coffee and cigarette smoke on the night air. He looked at the lights wistfully before having to turn all his attention to the business of climbing down a harbour wall ladder on to the motor yacht that lay waiting there. Parvelli ushered him slowly across the cobbles and saw him on to the first rung.

Simone - her arms held by Stroud – watched from above as Macandrew held his injured foot clear of the rungs and used arm strength to lower himself - a rung at a time - on his good foot. Thankfully, there was very little swell on the water so he was able to time his fall from the bottom rung of the ladder into the waiting arms of the fat man and one other whom he took to be a member of the crew. He was taken below and locked up in a small cabin.

He hadn't learned much on the way down, just that the vessel was named Astrud G. and that she had been registered in Marseilles. According to a plate above the cabin entrance, she was owned by, Aristo Charters. He heard the door of the cabin next to his being opened and hoped that this was where Simone was being put. When the footsteps died away, he opened the one small porthole in his cabin and softly called out her name.

'I’m here,’ she replied. ‘Maybe if we were both to cry out for help . . .'

'We won’t be heard,' said Macandrew. 'We’re too far away and they could get nasty. Let’s bide our time.’

The cabins occupied by Simone and Macandrew were on the seaward side of the boat so they couldn't see what was happening on the quayside. The first indication that they were about to get under way came when a shudder ran through the boat as the main engine was started: it drowned out the sound of the small pump which had been slurping bilge water out into the harbour.

The vibration increased and Macandrew was aware of heightened activity on deck culminating in the sound of a mooring rope being thrown on to the ceiling of his cabin. He watched the harbour lights disappear behind them as the yacht turned to clear the outer basin before heading off out into the Mediterranean.

The engine note picked up as they cleared the harbour proper and then settled down to a constant throb. Macandrew checked his watch before taking two more tetracycline capsules. It was vital not to let the antibiotic level in his bloodstream fall. It was too early to say if the infection was responding to treatment, but there had certainly been no noticeable improvement. If anything, the pain had got worse. He tried telling himself that his foot had taken quite a few knocks on the journey to the boat and that might be the reason but it would be another day or so before he could be sure.

He turned off the cabin light and lay down on his bunk until his eyes became accustomed to the dark and he could see the stars through the porthole. He concentrated on the brightest of them until his eyelids became heavy and he fell into a troubled asleep.

Macandrew and Simone were kept below deck throughout the entire first day at sea although Simone was allowed to visit Macandrew's cabin during the late afternoon. He had continued to feel ill and was now almost certain that this must be down to the spread of infection rather than anything more innocent. The antibiotic wasn’t working. He would give the drug one more day before opting for more drastic measures but, if he left it any longer, there was a strong chance that he would not be in any fit condition to do anything at all. He said as much to Simone.

'What will you have to do?' she asked.

'Cut it open and drain it,' replied Macandrew.

Simone grimaced. 'But you don't have any instruments or anaesthetic,' she said as if the words were freezing on her lips.

Macandrew stayed silent.

‘
Maybe the boat carries medical supplies. I could ask.'

'It’s worth a try,’ said Macandrew. Stroud had earlier given him some painkillers in tablet form. He took two as his level of discomfort rose.

‘
You should try to get some sleep,’ said Simone.

She saw to it that he was comfortable before asking to see Stroud. She was taken up on deck.

'The infection in Dr Macandrew’s foot is spreading,' she told Stroud who responded with a shrug.

'He needs proper medical care. A hospital.'

'Don’t be ridiculous.’

Simone had not expected anything else. 'You must help him. You're a doctor.'

'I'm a psychiatrist,' countered Stroud. 'I've given him antibiotics and painkillers. I can do no more.'

Simone stared at him angrily. 'If anything happens to him, hell will freeze over before I’ll synthesise anything for you!'

Stroud looked at her dispassionately before replying, 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Madame.'

‘
I mean it . . .’

Simone saw uncertainty appear on Stroud’s face and felt encouraged. She said, 'A boat this size must carry medical supplies, local anaesthetic, minor surgical equipment. Give me access.’

Stroud looked to the skipper who had been professionally pretending not to hear what was going on. The man nodded.

'Don't you know what these men are doing to us?' Simone demanded in French.

The man, middle aged and deeply tanned, said, 'Madame, I have been contracted to carry five people from A to B. I have been paid well. That is the end of the matter. I have no interest in who any of you are or what any of you are doing. That way, I keep up the payments on my boat.’

'You don't understand . . . ' protested Simone.

'Enough!' said Stroud. 'Take her below.'

'What about the medical kit?' said Simone, pulling against the arm that had started to guide her off the deck.

'Tomorrow.'

Simone returned to her cabin feeling mentally exhausted but relatively satisfied with the way things had gone up on deck. Apart from having got Stroud to agree to give them access to the boat's medical supplies, she had managed to sneak a look at the chart and ruler in the wheelhouse. She now knew that they were heading south east. It wasn’t much but it was something.

Any last remaining doubts about the spread of infection faded when Macandrew woke in the early hours of the following morning with sweat pouring down his face and feeling that his veins had filled with fire. He struggled to get himself upright and then wished he hadn't when consciousness threatened to leave him. He had miscalculated the spread of the infection. He had been hoping against hope that the antibiotics might win through in the end but now there was a real chance he had left it too late. He would have to fight to remain conscious at all costs. If he didn't operate on his foot he would die.

Fever was the biggest threat. He had to cool himself down. He opened the porthole to let the breeze in then he dragged himself across the floor to the wash basin where he splashed cold water up into his face before soaking a towel and crawling back to his bunk where he lay with it across his forehead, eyes closed, taking slow, deliberate breaths and trying to use logic and reason to combat the toxins that were invading his bloodstream.

In the landscape of his dreams, a village fell from a cliff and sank beneath the waves. A tombstone rose up from the ground to reveal an old man wearing a Stetson. Doors opened to reveal bodies nailed to the backs of them and a set of shears snapped towards his body guided by disembodied hands with broken fingers.

'Mac! Can you hear me? Mac! Wake up! You've got to come round!'

Simone's voice reached Macandrew through his nightmare and he opened his eyes. His head felt as if an iron band was being tightened around it. 'Simone,' he murmured.

'Mac, I've got the medical kit. You’re in no fit state to do anything. You'll have to tell me what to do.'

Macandrew groaned as Simone replaced the towel across his head. It was cool again. Slowly things came into focus. 'Help me up,' he said.

Simone propped him up on the bunk and helped him bring his foot up on his other knee so that he could see the wound site but it wasn’t ideal and his vision was blurred.

'Is there any anaesthetic?'

'Novocaine?' said Simone.

'Hypodermic?'

Simone held up a syringe in its plastic wrapper and then a needle, also encased in plastic.

'Scalpel?'

Simone put down the syringe and held up a scalpel and a pack of sterile blades.

'Swabs, dressings, antiseptic . . . ' said Macandrew sleepily as delirium threatened again.

'Mac! I've got all these things. Just tell me what to do.'

‘
First . . . the anaesthetic.'

'Where?' asked Simone. 'Here? Here?' She pointed to different spots near the wound until Macandrew nodded in favour of two sites. ‘Two injections . . . wait five minutes.’

‘
What now?’ asked Simone after she’d waited for the local anaesthetic to take effect.

'Cut . . . Cut deeply. Don't just break the surface.'

Simone nodded. Her eyes were wide and unblinking with apprehension.

‘
Get rid of as much of the crap as possible then clean up the site with disinfectant.’

Simone nodded again, her eyes like saucers. She was too anxious to say anything.

'Soak a clean swab in disinfectant and this is most important - push it inside the wound . . . right inside. Understand?'