Page 52 of Fire Must Burn

The receptionist ran her finger down a ledger book.

‘Yes, he’s here,’ she said. ‘He’s in the intensive care ward.’

‘Still alive, then, thank goodness,’ said Iris, sagging against Gwen in relief. ‘May he have visitors?’

‘Are you family?’

‘Friends,’ said Iris.

‘Then I’m afraid not,’ said the receptionist.

‘Is there anyone we could speak with about how he is doing?’

‘I’ll see if either the surgeon or the matron is available,’ she said, picking up her telephone. ‘What names shall I give?’

‘Miss Iris Sparks and Mrs Gwendolyn Bainbridge.’

‘Very good. You may wait in the waiting room until they come down.’

They followed her directions to a room full of narrow,wooden benches, filled with anxious and exhausted people. They found space for themselves and sat.

‘This is a nicer waiting room than the one in London Hospital,’ Iris observed, looking around. ‘Is this where your husband waited while you were in labour?’

‘I believe there is a separate room for the maternity ward,’ said Gwen. ‘In any case, he wasn’t here for the birth. He was already in training with the Fusiliers. I had gone into labour before the due date, so there was no time to alert him. Harold pulled some strings and got him leave to visit two days later. I’d never seen Ronnie so happy as when he showed up, still in uniform, to meet his new son.’

‘I wonder how long it will take to find out anything about Tony.’

It was twenty minutes before anyone came to see them, but it wasn’t a doctor or nurse. It was a brown-haired man in his late forties, the grey in his temples matching the grey moustache, who appeared in a doorway, looking at them warily.

‘Parham’s here,’ whispered Gwen, seeing him.

‘Himself,’ said Iris softly. ‘We’d better be careful. The Act still applies unless we’re given specific permission to reveal anything.’

Parham motioned for them to follow him with a quick nod towards the corridor. They got up and trailed him as he turned off to the right. There was an empty office. He beckoned to them, then closed the door.

‘Miss Sparks, Mrs Bainbridge, I must confess I’m surprised to see you here,’ he said, pointing them to a pair of chairs, then perching on the edge of the desk.

‘As we are to see you,’ replied Sparks.

‘Surely you must know that this is a matter for the police. Why the surprise?’

‘That it’s you, Detective Superintendent, and not one of your subordinates,’ she said. ‘Why is that?’

‘The victim works for His Majesty’s government,’ said Parham. ‘There is a certain protocol for such affairs.’

‘Not to mention your having a higher security clearance,’ said Sparks.

‘That as well,’ he said. ‘As the two of you are very muchaware given our previous history together. What is your connection to Mr Danforth?’

‘He’s an old friend from Cambridge,’ said Sparks.

‘And he signed up at The Right Sort,’ added Mrs Bainbridge.

‘When?’

‘Last week,’ said Sparks.

‘Could you tell us how he’s doing before we get any further into this?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge. ‘That is our immediate concern.’