The Peacock Emporium(125)

Suzanna, leaning against the wall, could not reply. Of course Alejandro hadn’t come. Why would he, after everything she had said? She stood for a second, her face crumpling, her hands lifting to her head as if she could physically hold it together. She felt an unfamiliar female arm around her, smelled the acrid aroma of just-smoked cigarettes. “Don’t fret, love. She’s with the angels now, isn’t she?”

Suzanna muttered something and left. She didn’t need to know whether the death would be recorded as misadventure, manslaughter, or even as an open verdict. Jessie was gone. That had been the only relevant fact.

She could only pray that Alejandro hadn’t gone too.



* * *



—

There had been several delays, ascribed variously to engine trouble, security matters, and bad weather, and Heathrow airport was packed with people milling around, dragging suitcases on wheels, or stacked high in trolleys that swerved mutinously on the shining linoleum floor. Exhausted travelers stretched out proprietorially across multiple seats while babies wailed and small children did their best to get lost in brightly lit cafés, fraying their parents’ already shredded tempers.

Jorge de Marenas, a little too full of airport coffee, looked up at the flight board, stood, and picked up his suitcase. He gestured toward the departure gate, where a snaking line of fellow Argentinians were queuing patiently, boarding passes in hand. “You sure you want to do this?” he said to his son. “I don’t want you to think about me. Or your mother. This should be about you and what you want.”

Alejandro followed his father’s gaze to the departure board. “It’s okay, Pa,” he said.



* * *



—

The nurses’ accommodation block at Dere Hampton hospital was bigger than Suzanna had remembered. It had two entrances, and a wide grassy area surrounding it, punctuated by straggly looking shrubs that she didn’t remember at all. It looked so different in the light, dotted with people, frosted with autumnal leaves, that it was hardly recognizable as the place that had been the backdrop of her dreams.

She stood for several minutes, trying frantically to work out which entrance to use. Alejandro had lived on the ground floor, she knew, so she walked over the grass and stared in at several windows, trying to see through the net curtains that appeared to be standard issue in the block.

The third flat she had peered into looked like it might be his. She could just make out the sectional sofa, the white walls, the beech table. But the net curtains made it impossible for her to tell if anyone was living there now.

“Why the hell are there so many bloody net curtains?” she muttered.

“To stop people looking through the windows,” said a voice behind her.

Suzanna blushed. Two nurses, one red-headed, one West Indian, were beside her.

“You’d be surprised how excited some people get at the idea of a building full of nurses,” said one.

“I’m not a peeping—”

“Are you lost?” she asked.

“I’m looking for someone. A man.”

She caught their amused response, realizing she was a nanosecond away from a bad joke. “A specific man. He works here.”

“This is a female block.”

“But you had one man here. A midwife. Alejandro de Marenas. Argentinian?”

The nurses exchanged glances. “Oh . . . him.”

Suzanna could feel herself being assessed, as if her association with Alejandro had put her in a new light.

“That’s his flat, all right, but I don’t think he’s there. He’s not been around for a while, has he?”

“Are you sure?”

“The foreign ones don’t last long,” said the West Indian woman. “They get all the crappy shifts.”

“And they get lonely,” said the Irish girl. “Yeah.” She looked at Suzanna, her expression unreadable. “I’m not sure if he was lonely.”

Suzanna blinked furiously, daring herself to collapse in front of these women. “Is there anyone who would know whether he’s gone?”

“Try Admin,” said the Irish girl.

“Or Personnel. Fourth floor of the main block.”

“Thank you,” said Suzanna, hating the girls for their knowing looks. “Thank you very much.” She fled.



* * *



—

The woman in Personnel had been courteous but wary. “We’ve had a few cases where foreign nurses have run up considerable debts while they were here,” she said, in explanation. “Sometimes the ones that come from third-world countries get a bit carried away with the lifestyle.”

“He doesn’t owe me any money,” said Suzanna. “He doesn’t owe anyone money. I just really need to know where he is.”

“I’m afraid we’re not able to give out personal staff details.”

“I have his details. I just need to know if he’s still around.”

“And that would be a hospital employment matter.”

Suzanna tried to regulate her breathing.

“He’s a friend.”

“They always are.”

“Look,” Suzanna said, “please. If you want me to humiliate myself, I will—”