Read an Excerpt
Into the bleakness the call came, as explosive as a rocket firing magnesium stars into a night sky, as demanding as an imminent suicide threat. A harsh bell shattering her thoughts and behind that the drama she had been seeking.
‘Claire.’
&emsp:‘It’s Charles.’
She was struggling.
‘Charles Tissot.’
It took Claire a moment to remember who he was.
Then she did. Local obstetrician. A colleague and, like her, an Alumnus of Birmingham University.
‘Claire. Thank God I’ve got hold of you.’ His tone was desperate, hasty. What on earth did he want? Without waiting for a response he plunged straight back in. ‘Claire, you’ve got to help me.’
She could not have been more astonished. Which raised her voice a pitch or two. ‘Me? Help you? Charles? What on earth’s going on?’
‘I don’t know where to start.’ He sounded almost panicky now. ‘Fucking evil, mad, insane woman. A patient.’
Evil? Mad? Insane? Strong words to describe a patient.
She thought quickly and took a running jump at a guess. ‘I take it you want my help – an assessment maybe – as a psychiatrist?’
‘I want you to certify her fucking mad.’ She smothered a smirk at the idea of filling in the Section form with those two words: Fucking mad.
And still couldn’t quash the surprise at the request from practically the most well balanced sure-of-himself cocky, over-confident, sane man she’d ever known.
Tissot’s rant continued. ‘Deluded. Insane,’
Her response was guarded. ‘Well, I will see her if you like.’
‘Please.’ He was beginning to simmer down a bit, sound a little more normal. ‘As a forensic psychiatrist,’ he emphasized.
Before, interestingly, he backed down an inch. ‘Well, of course, not so much for my sake, Claire. But . . .’ He stopped, words eluding him for now. ‘For hers. She’s not right in the head. And then,’ he added delicately, ‘there’s my career.’
That was easier and made much more sense. Charles was the leading local “Obs” and “Gobs” consultant. Obstetrics and Gynaecology to the uninitiated. In other words, a ladies’ doctor. In more ways than one. One can be a ladies’ man. But a ladies’ doctor?
She probed. ‘Give me some background. Someone pregnant? A Gynae patient?’
‘Pregnant. Eight months. Thirty two weeks. Eight weeks to go. Claire. Claire . . .’ The desperation was returning to his voice, raising its pitch almost to a squawk. ‘ – she’s accused me of having sex with her. Of having some sort of bloody intense but clandestine affair. Claims I’m in love with her but we have to keep it under wraps. She could almost see his fingers scratch out speech marks. ‘She’s saying that I’m the father of this – child. Mad.’
