The Meddlers (17 page)

Gurney turned, about to try again to get away, and then stopped. He could see, over the heads of the people looking at him, a cameraman on the studio steps, with a technician standing beside him
with a microphone held high. Immediately, Gurney raised his head and spoke as loudly and clearly as he could.

“I am not a member of the government, Madam, just a simple backbencher. But I can tell you this. I share your concern about this child, and about the work of Dr. Briant. I am not at all happy about the way in which scientists like him can so easily embark on experiments which involve human beings. And it is my firm intention to raise the matter in the House at the earliest opportunity. I”—he paused, and then went on more portentously—“I should not perhaps at this point say exactly how I shall raise the matter, but some of you may have heard that in the recent ballot for the presentation of private members’ bills I drew an advantageous place. I think it is reasonable to say that you may expect soon to hear reports of my efforts. And now I must ask you to let me through. I have an important evening’s work ahead of me, late as it is.”

As his taxi pulled away, he looked back at the crowd, still clustering on the payement, talking and arguing with great animation. He smiled. He’d put in an excellent ten minutes there, and as he settled back into the comfort of the seat and crossed his legs, taking care not to spoil the crease of his trousers, he told himself, Ten weeks from now, I’ll be able to assess just how useful that ten minutes was. Ten weeks to get it drafted and get the support lined up. I can do it. With luck and a great deal of judgment.

  Miriam hadn’t wanted to see the program. She had told herself so over and over again. It had been bad enough reading the newspaper comments about her “callous scientific” approach, the statements Briant had made about her personality, her cool intellectualism. It shouldn’t have bothered her, not in the least. It was all true, after all, she told herself, as she switched off the set in her sitting room and went to get the coffee that was percolating in the small kitchenette. She was a cool individual, had always prided herself on her ability to divorce her mind from her feelings. And yet, it had hurt. And, oddly, the program had hurt too, even though her own involvement in the project had hardly been mentioned.

Perhaps if she hadn’t been so tired she would have been better able to assess the program’s content with more logic. As it was, she had felt herself swept by the mood of the crowd in the studio, had been swayed from one side of the argument to the other, like any half-educated layman.

She stood and stared at the coffee spurting into the glass-bubbled lid of the percolator, and then with a sharp movement she turned off the gas and went back to the sitting room. Coffee was the last thing she ought to be drinking with a sleep problem hanging over her. A stimulant drug at this hour of the night—

And then she put her hands to her head and murmured aloud, “Oh, God.”

How mixed up can my thinking get? I don’t just have to sit around and tolerate this wretched insomnia and the effect it has on me. There’s a simple answer staring me in the face, and it takes this long to see it.

“Norma Gould,” she muttered aloud. “Norma Gould. Where’s her number? It’s been almost a year, but she must be still there.”

That’s something else, she thought as she riffled through the telephone directory. The way I keep talking to myself, aloud. It’s incredible, the effect lack of sleep can have. That’s another area of research I might consider sometime.

The dull burring in her ear stopped with a click, and a voice said sharply, “Yes?”

“Oh, er, is that Dr. Gould’s surgery? Could I speak to her, please?”

“Who wants her?” snapped the voice irritably.

“Miss Lawton, Miriam Lawton.”

“Miss—ye gods, Miriam! Well, of all things! I was thinking about you only a few days ago—well, a few weeks ago really—and I said to Joe, ‘What ever happened to Miriam? I haven’t heard from her in I don’t know how long.’ My dear girl, how
are
you? And why in the name of all that’s holy have you been hiding yourself all this time? No one’s seen hide nor hair of you in months.”

Wincing slightly, Miriam held the phone away from her ear. Norma had always been a talker, she’d forgotten that. But an essentially
kind person, for all her chatter and her rather flibberty mind.

“I know. I’m sorry, Norma. I’ve been… well, tied up with work. You know how it is.”

“I know how it is with
you
. I always said you worked too hard. Remember? I used to tell you there’s more to living than work, however interesting the work is. Like keeping up with your friends, you wretch.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Norma. But as you say, I’ve always been the same, er, how are you all? How’re Joe and the children? And the practice?”

“Oh, Joe’s fine! He’s got a senior registrarship, you know? And one of his consultants should retire next year, if he doesn’t die of a stroke first—and he deserves to, he’s a horrible old man—and Joe should get the appointment. As for the kids, thriving, the little tearaways. Jeremy’s started nursery school now, the complete three-year-old. And as for me, my dear, I’m pregnant again! Joe keeps muttering darkly that it’s a mistake to let them outnumber us, but I’m thrilled to bits about it. I think he is too, if he were to tell the truth. Founding the Gould dynasty, and all that. As for the practice, well, I’m overworked and underpaid like every GP these days. You had more sense than I did, that’s for sure. I should have stuck to science like you, instead of going to medical school.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Miriam said and then almost desperately went on. “Look, Norma, I must be honest. One of the reasons I called you is that you did go to medical school. I mean, I’d like some professional assistance.”

“I might have known it! So much for the ties of friendship! Wretch! But it’s all right. I’m used to it. Everyone I know picks my brains till they bleed. What do you want? If it’s to get me to collect data from the practice for one of your research projects, I must be honest. What with the pregnancy—and I have been rather tired—and the half-witted assistant I’m lumbered with—”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I, well, I’ve been working too hard or something. Not feeling very good. It’s mainly because I’m not sleeping too well, and if I could ask your help with that, I’d be most grateful.”

“Not sleeping? Oh? That can be grim! What sort of not sleeping?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you have trouble getting off to sleep, or what?”

“No, not that. I fall asleep all right, but I wake up after a while and then just can’t get off again. It’s, well, I’m tired of it. One can’t work well if one’s tired, so I—look, could you let me have a prescription for a barbiturate of some sort? Just to get me back into a proper sleep rhythm.”

There was a short silence, and then the thin voice said slowly, “You never did do any clinical medicine, did you?”

“Mmm? No, of course I didn’t. I’ve always been in biology.”

“Yes, well, look, Miriam, I’ll be glad to help you. But not by just dishing out a handful of barbiturates. That wouldn’t be any help, anyway. Come and see me. Tomorrow, after surgery.”

“Oh, Norma, surely that isn’t necessary? I mean, I’d love to see you sometime, socially, because it
has
been far too long I know, but not as a patient. Couldn’t you just put a script in the post for me? If—if you wouldn’t mind sending it off tonight, I’d get it first post tomorrow, and—”

“If it’s that urgent to you, then I’m even more sure I ought to examine you properly.” The clacking voice at the end of the telephone had taken on an authoritative note. “I’ve known you a long time, Miriam, and I know you take about as much care of yourself as a babe in arms. And insomnia is not a symptom I would ever agree to treat in isolation, and most certainly not on the phone.”

“Oh, well, look, forget it, Norma. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll be in touch again, sometime soon, and we’ll arrange—”

“Oh, no you don’t, Miriam Lawton! I won’t be put off as easily as that! I’m too old a friend to let you be so foolish. And if you won’t come to me, then I’ll come and see you. You’re still living in Camden Town? Albert Street? The Regents Park end?”

“What? Oh, yes, but really, Norma, there isn’t the least need to—”

“I happen to think there is. Don’t you dare to question my clinical judgment, madam!” The voice dropped its bantering tone then and went on more gently. “Really, Miriam, I mean it. The sort of
insomnia you have may be important. And it needs treatment. Please, do come and see me.” There was a pause. “And maybe I can help with the other problems too.”

“What other problems?” Miriam said sharply.

“The trouble you’re having in concentrating on work? The loss of appetite? The confused feelings you get? Am I right?”

There was a long silence, and the little tinny voice said, “Miriam? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here. All right, Norma. Tomorrow morning after surgery. About half past eleven?”

“Yes. I’ll be waiting for you. And I promise you, this is the last bad night you’ll have. Good night, Miriam. I’m very glad you called.”

And after she had put the phone back on its rest, Miriam sat and stared at it, thinking over and over again, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t.

“I don’t see why you want to send me on it,” Mike said again and stared stubbornly at Sir Daniel. “I’m a science writer, not a woman’s page feature type. One of the women would make a much better job of it.”

“You are being remarkably obtuse, Bridges,” Sir Daniel snapped. “It isn’t a woman’s page feature I want. I want a hard factual story about the way the girl feels about her part in the project, her views on last night’s program and the arguments it’s thrown up. I want a piece that shows some insight into her psychology. And you will do a better job of it than anyone else because you’ve got the whole thing at your fingers’ ends.”

“I don’t like it. According to Briant, she’s a chilly piece, couldn’t care less about the baby as a baby. She was only concerned with the success of the project. If that’s the sort she is, that’s what I’ll have to write. And isn’t there enough public alienation over the whole thing already? After last night’s performance, with Gerrard setting
himself up as the soul of the people, it’ll just add fuel to the—have you
seen
what’s going on in Trafalgar Square this morning? There are hordes of women there, babies in prams and pushchairs, hot gospelers milling around, placards about the evils of science and repent-for-the-end-is-nigh stuff, and it’s obviously spontaneous. There hasn’t been time for any formal organization to go into it. And if we go on coming out on Briant’s side,
and
run a piece about the girl, who isn’t all that sympathetic, to say the least, well, it won’t make the Echo very popular. And anyway, you’ve already made it pretty clear that you weren’t impressed with the showing I put up last night. I should have said more than I did, you were right.” He let some of his own annoyance with himself leak into his voice. “I just didn’t have the… the attack I should have had. Put it down to inexperience, maybe, if you want to be charitable. But it could be I’m just not up to the job. Maybe I don’t want to do the story because I… I’m not sure I can do it well enough.”

“That’s for me to worry about, Graham and I, that is.” Sir Daniel shot a glance at Graham, sitting heavily silent behind his desk. “I’ve been in this business a long time, Bridges-Mike. I can assure you that you can do it, as I—we—want it. A little humility isn’t a bad thing in a journalist. And I can also assure you that for all the hysterical people mobbing the Square-and of course I saw them—there’s plenty of the other sort of opinion. For heaven’s sake, man, can’t you see? The more hysterical one side gets, the more appreciation the other will have of hard-hitting factual reporting! Now, will you stop arguing and go and get me a story?”

“If you’re absolutely determined—”

“I am. And much as I respect and admire your scruples, I must override them this time. I know best what’s right for this paper, you’ll grant me that. And wouldn’t you prefer that
we
should run a piece of yours on her rather than let anyone else? You’ve got the most direct lead to her, and you can get at her before the others if you get a move on. Do you want to see the opposition crucify her? Because they would, I promise you.”

“Yes. I suppose that’s true. Oh, all right. I’ll see if I can find her. I’d better start with the woman who wrote to that auntie page. She
should be able to put me onto the girl’s name, and once I’ve got that, it shouldn’t be difficult to find where she lives. I’ll need some money.”

“Of course. But don’t spend too much on it. From what you found out about that orderly female, you should get what you want out of her for the price of a meal. I’d like to see your copy filed within a week.”

“I can’t guarantee that! The only thing I can promise is if I get to her first, I’ll keep everyone else off. But that’s all. To get the piece you want, I’ll need to get to know her. It may take a lot of time.” Mike stood up and moved over to the door.