Fruiting Bodies Page 5

  ‘I’m sure I can find out more,’ Rob said at once, looking slightly less pleased with himself. ‘I’ve got to get back to school in a minute but as soon as I can I’ll do some more digging. I know we can find out before the police do. I know we can.’

  He glanced at the enormous sports watch that looked so incongruous on his spindle-thin wrist and added: ‘Hell! I have got to go. There’s a match this afternoon and I’m playing. But I will find out some more. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not worrying, Rob. At least not about getting more information. You’ve been brilliant, but I don’t think you should even think about asking more questions.’

  He seemed to deflate in front of her and she silently cursed herself for spoiling his pleasure. She quickly thought of something she could safely ask him to do that would not take up too much time.

  ‘Look, on your way out do you pass those demonstrators outside?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said sulkily. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to one of them, find out a bit more about what they’ve been up to. They were making a tremendous noise on the night it happened. I’m wondering if it could have been some kind of decoy operation.’

  Rob grinned again and Willow relaxed.

  ‘I get you,’ he said. ‘I know, I’ll tell them you’re thinking of joining them as soon as you’re up and about. Don’t worry, Willow, we’ll crack this between us. I know we will.’

  He heaved up his bag of books and blew her a kiss as he strode out between the curtains. She could not help laughing.

  ‘Dear Rob,’ she said aloud, hoping that he would get to his match in time.

  She was just settling back against her pillows when his dark, untidy head appeared between the curtains again.

  ‘I quite forgot to say, Aunt Serena knows a bit about your obstetrician, but she wouldn’t tell me any of it and so I said you wanted to see her asap. You’ll get much more out of her than me. ’Bye.’

  He was gone again before Willow could say anything at all. She wondered how his guardian, a busy and distinguished barrister, would feel about being ordered to the hospital by her seventeen-year-old nephew. She and Willow knew each other and were friendly enough when they met, but they were not much more than acquaintances.

  Nurse O’Mara was passing the foot of Willow’s bed and stopped to say: ‘You’re looking a bit down in the mouth. Are you worrying about anything now?’

  Willow shook her head, dredging up a polite smile.

  ‘No. Not really. I was just thinking about poor Mr Ringstead and trying to imagine what could have happened to him.’

  ‘Well you shouldn’t be. I know it’s tempting, but it doesn’t help him at all and it’ll only upset you, which isn’t good for Lucinda,’ she said, sounding as though she were twice Willow’s age instead of half of it. ‘As Sister said to us yesterday, the police are doing everything they can and we must just wait until they have something to tell us. Now, when did you last feed Lucinda?’

  ‘An hour ago,’ said Willow, no longer bothering about whether or not she was being polite. She had never enjoyed being told what she should or should not think about. ‘And I changed her and washed her, and there’s nothing else she needs for the moment.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Nurse O’Mara with a patronising note that set Willow’s teeth on edge. ‘There’s no need to get angry with me. I’m only doing my job. But it’s all right. Don’t worry. We all understand how difficult it must be for you and how strange you must be feeling.’

  ‘Difficult?’ repeated Willow, feeling even more irritated. ‘Why? Because I’m so much older than everyone else here?’

  As Nurse O’Mara’s pretty, freckled face began to flush, Willow decided to pursue her small advantage.

  ‘I’m only in a bad mood because someone told me that Mr Ringstead had been unhappy a while ago,’ she said less sharply. ‘Even though I didn’t know him at all well, I liked him such a lot that it makes me feel as though I must have been very selfish not even to have guessed there was anything wrong with him.’

  ‘I see. I’m so sorry,’ said Nurse O’Mara, sounding normal again. ‘I thought you were just being nosy.’

  ‘I know that Sister doesn’t want you all gossiping about him, but I wish you’d tell me what he was really like and what had happened to him recently. It would make me feel so much better.’

  ‘Well now. I suppose it’s true that he had been a little bit depressed a while ago. I hadn’t really thought about it. He’d been so much more cheerful recently.’

  ‘Do you know what it could have been that had depressed him? Or why he’d started to cheer up?’

  Before either of them could say anything else, they heard the unmistakable sound of Sister Lulworth’s slightly squeaky rubber-soled shoes. Nurse O’Mara looked worried and seized the chart that was hanging at the end of the bed. Seeing her obvious nervousness, Willow decided to forgive her.

  Sister Lulworth glared at her as though she were quite unconvinced by her performance with Willow’s charts, and sent her away. When she had gone, the midwife closed the curtains and asked Willow a series of detailed questions about herself and Lucinda.

  Willow realised that she must be beginning to get over the birth when she felt a strong resistance to discussing the workings of her bowels with one of the women who had seemed the nearest thing to her saviour only a couple of days earlier. She told herself to behave and answered as civilly as she could before submitting to yet another physical examination.

  She detested every minute of it and said nothing until it was over. Then she was allowed to retrieve some of her dignity while the midwife went to wash her hands. When she came back and began to write up the results of the examination, Willow decided to try a new tack and said, as though the thought had just occurred to her: ‘Do you know why Mr Ringstead had got so cheerful recently?’

  Sister Lulworth looked up, her round grey eyes bright with intelligence and humour.

  ‘Whatever makes you ask that?’

  ‘I just can’t help thinking about him,’ said Willow, for once trying to sound pathetic. ‘Someone said he’d been very happy recently and in a way that makes the fact that he’s dead even worse, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Although if one has to die,’ said the midwife, ‘wouldn’t it be better to die happy?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’d have to think about that. But what had made him so happy?’

  ‘You’re an obstinate one, aren’t you? Were you a breach baby yourself?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Willow, surprised by the question. ‘And what’s that got to do with anything anyway?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve noticed breach babies often grow up to be very stubborn,’ said Sister Lulworth. There was plenty of amusement in her smile but no mockery.

  Willow found herself responding with more friendliness than she usually felt towards anyone who laughed at anything about her.

  ‘It’s true that I take a certain pride in not letting anyone stop me finding out something I want to know,’ she admitted, watching Sister Lulworth’s eyes narrow as she laughed, ‘but I’ve no idea whether my birth had anything to do with it. I don’t know anything about that. It was not something my mother ever talked about.’

  ‘What, never? You do surprise me. Most mothers do, especially with their daughters.’

  ‘Mine had never wanted children,’ said Willow automatically. It was a truth she had lived with for as long as she could remember and she had never even questioned it. ‘Perhaps that’s why.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the midwife gently. ‘Have you ever thought that could be why you left it so late to have your own child?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Willow in a voice that her erstwhile civil service superiors would have recognised. She liked Sister Lulworth, and trusted her, but she did not welcome that kind of comment from anyone.

  ‘I just thought you might like to talk about it,’ said Sister Lulworth casually. ‘Talking about things that worry us can som
etimes help.’

  ‘I don’t need any help,’ said Willow, feeling her eyes prickling and hating herself for it. ‘Except in finding out what happened to Mr Ringstead. I must have been almost the last person to see him, but no one will tell me anything about what was done to him.’

  ‘D’you feel he deserted you perhaps just when you needed him most? Is that what troubles you so much?’

  ‘I thought you were a midwife,’ said Willow, sounding more contemptuous than she intended, ‘not a psychiatrist.’

  ‘I’m only trying to help.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry,’ said Willow. ‘But I get so frustrated at being blocked all the time. Everyone here wants to know why he died. It’s not only me. And it’s perfectly natural. I can’t think why no one will talk to me about him.’

  Willow was surprised and rather ashamed to hear her voice rising with every word, but it had one good effect. Sister Lulworth pulled forward a chair, sat down and laid her cool, plump hand on Willow’s arm.

  ‘There’s no need to get upset,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you anything I can, although I don’t know very much. We’ve none of us got anything to tell. That’s why no one will answer your questions. What is it that you specially want to know?’

  ‘How exactly he died and when and why.’

  ‘That’s my point. I don’t know any of those things. All I’ve been told is that he was found face down in the birthing pool at three o’clock that morning. I was at home in bed when they found him and so you probably know quite as much as I do.’

  ‘Except about what he was really like. No one will tell me that either. I heard that he’d recently become very much happier than before. Do you know why?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He never confided in me, but it seemed to me as though he’d got something that he had wanted for a long time.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ asked Willow quickly. ‘Professional or personal?’

  Sister Lulworth said nothing and so Willow tried again: ‘Was he married?’

  ‘He had been.’

  ‘You mean he was divorced? When did that happen?’ asked Willow, lying back against the pillows as she began to get some real information at last. ‘And why?’

  ‘Almost five years ago now. I don’t know why, but I suspect his wife found it hard to take the fact that he had to work such long hours that he never had much energy to spare for her.’ Sister Lulworth smiled as she got up and pushed the chair neatly against the wall. ‘I must go now.’

  ‘Before you do,’ said Willow quickly. ‘Did he have any history of epilepsy or anything like that? Fainting? Blackouts?’

  Sister Lulworth stood up and ran both hands down over her pristine apron, outlining her short, strong thighs. She turned up the small silver watch she wore on the breast of her blue-spotted uniform. Willow thought she looked tired and felt a little conscience-stricken at adding to the burdens of her job. She opened the curtains, saying as she did so: ‘Not that I ever heard of. I really am going to have to go now. Will you be all right? Is your husband coming in to see you?’

  ‘Yes, he should be.’ Willow realised she was not going to get any more information and accepted the fact philosophically enough. ‘I know he had to be out of London for work today, but he should be coming this evening.’

  ‘Well, try and rest until then. I expect you’re very tired. The night staff said you didn’t get much sleep last night.’

  ‘Lucinda did wake up several times.’

  ‘She will do that for a while, but she’ll settle down eventually and so will you. She won’t frighten you so much for long. Probably in a few days you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about, and then you’ll forget all about Mr Ringstead.’

  ‘She doesn’t frighten me now,’ said Willow, wondering why she had ever thought she liked Sister Lulworth, but she was talking to an empty space.

  When Lucinda woke and started crying Willow picked her up, changed her nappy and took her back to bed for a feed that was only quite successful. Every time Lucinda turned her head away, Willow thought about Sister Lulworth’s assumption that she was a reluctant parent because she herself had been unwanted as a child.

  ‘I am not reluctant,’ she said aloud, almost overcome with the need to make sure that Lucinda never, ever, doubted that she was wanted and loved. Willow kissed her head and soothed her as well as she could before laying her gently back in her cot.

  ‘Will?’

  She whirled round at the sound of Tom’s voice and held out her arms. Tom hugged her, looking over her shoulder at the interested women in the beds nearby. He was surprised by his wife’s unusual demonstrativeness and then, feeling her trembling, troubled. Without letting go of her completely, he managed to pull the curtains nearest them with one hand; then he led her back to the bed and made her lie down while he pulled the rest.

  ‘What is it, Will?’ he asked, crouching beside the bed, so that he could hug her again.

  ‘No more than a spot of post-partum anxiety,’ she said as casually as possible. ‘And all my old hatred of criticism.’

  ‘Who’s been criticising you? Tell me their names and I’ll go and biff them at once.’

  Recognising an effort to cheer her up, Willow wrinkled her nose and smiled.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve just come over extraordinarily weedy. I’m sure it’s only that my hormones are doing peculiar things to me, but I don’t seem to have any control over myself any more. And people seem to be suggesting that I’m not having the right reactions to Lucinda and I … Oh, Tom, I can’t bear it.’

  She buried her face in his shoulder and knew that she was behaving like one of the sillier heroines of her earliest novels. That thought helped her get back some of her much-prized self-control and she soon stood up straight again and wiped her eyes.

  ‘Now,’ she said with an assumption of her old manner, ‘tell me how the AMIP bunch are doing with the official investigation into Ringstead’s death.’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid.’

  As Willow’s eyes flashed, Tom quickly added: ‘I’m not stalling. I just haven’t heard anything. I told them what little I could and answered all their questions, and then I went off to concentrate on my own work. Haven’t they interviewed you yet?’

  ‘No. As the woman who was in that bed yesterday said, I’m one of the last people to have anything useful to say, having been just a bit preoccupied at the crucial time.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said Tom, painfully getting up off his knees and finding one of the visitors’chairs. ‘Ugh! I’m getting old and stiff. You know, it was pretty hard seeing what you were going through and not being able to make it any different. Does it still hurt much?’

  ‘Not too much, but I am pretty bruised and the tears still sting horribly when I pee. But they’re healing. And once I get used to this business of feeding my breasts won’t hurt so much.’

  Tom winced.

  ‘It’s natural, as everybody keeps telling me,’ said Willow drily.

  He stayed with her for two hours and helped her raid Mrs Rusham’s picnic box, finding some quarter bottles of champagne neatly laid at the bottom under a layer of ramekins of pâté.

  ‘Oh, good!’ said Willow as he lifted them out.

  ‘Won’t it affect your milk?’ he asked, laughing.

  ‘No. I’m sure it won’t,’ said Willow, thinking how brilliant Mrs Rusham had been to have included champagne in the picnic box. It was just what she wanted to take away the taste left by Sister Lulworth’s kindly attempts at therapy. ‘Didn’t they give nursing mothers stout in the old days? I can’t see what harm it would do.’

  ‘But we neither of us know. Perhaps I ought to ask.’

  ‘Surely Mrs Rusham knows and wouldn’t send anything I oughtn’t to have,’ said Willow, touching the gold-coloured foil. Then anxiety overtook her, too, and she took her hand away from the bottle as though it were full of anthrax germs. It was still hard to accept the fact that she and Tom, both experienced in most aspects of life, were com
pletely at sea when it came to Lucinda and her needs.

  He nodded and disappeared for five minutes. When he came back he was smiling broadly.

  ‘They say it’s fine and will do all three of us good,’ he said, easing the cork out of the first of the small, dark-green bottles.

  The wine fizzed exuberantly and he tipped it into Willow’s empty water glass.

  ‘There.’

  She took a healthy swig and then accepted a smoked-salmon sandwich from him and sighed in pleasure.

  ‘Isn’t Mrs Rusham wonderful?’ she said when she had finished the lot. ‘D’you know? I’d forgotten that all these goodies were here. Are there any more of those florentines?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Golly, it is good when the angst dissipates,’ she said, letting her head flop back on to the pillows and smiling up at Tom.

  Chapter Five

  Day Four – Morning

  ‘Is it Mrs Worth?’

  Willow looked up from Lucinda’s face, relaxed in milky satisfaction against her breast, and saw a completely unknown woman standing just inside the curtains. Looking as though she were about thirty, she had an astonishingly beautiful, broad-cheeked face, long thick dark hair and warm brown eyes, but her hair was wild and her clothes looked extraordinarily unlikely for a hospital ward. Not only was she wearing torn strawberry-pink leggings on her long, slim legs, but she also had on a sagging black cotton sweater and heavy black hiking boots. She carried a dirty-green parka under one arm as though she were going camping and there was a twisted gold ring on the third finger of her right hand. Her nails, which were cut short, were very clean.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hi. I’m Ros from WOMB. I’ve just been told you wanted to see me, but it doesn’t seem like a good moment. Shall I go?’

  ‘No, no, please don’t,’ said Willow quickly. ‘She’s just finished. It is kind of you to come. Very kind. I was only letting her take her time.’

  Having mopped her overflowing breast and hooked up the huge nursing bra she wore under her nightgown, Willow settled Lucinda back into her accustomed post-feed position.