Chapter 5
Favours
On the 9th floor, Marion has finished the paperwork and a packet awaits Edith. She stands as Edith enters and briskly says: "Here you are, Dr. Montgomery. Do you wish to have a look through everything now?"
"No, I'll want to discuss this with my solicitor. Could you call Robert Southwood's office and see if he's in?"
Marion quickly consults a directory and phones his office. "Mr. Southwood is finishing rounds and will be available in about 10 minutes. Shall I tell his secretary that you wish to see him?"
"Yes. I'll pop in shortly."
After ringing off, Marion hands Edith a small map of the new surgical wing showing the location of Robert Southwood's office. Edith takes it from her with nothing more than a nod of her head.
In a nearby loo, she refreshes her makeup and fluffs her short brown hair. Under the harsh lighting, the grey is more evident, and she thinks to add colour as her New York hairdresser suggested. Maybe when she arrives in Truro, she'll do something a bit different.
Making her way to Robert Southwood's office, Edith garners more than a few stares and not only because of her pumps. She moves aggressively through the corridors with no apologies when bumping into people or pushing past them. "Rude" was the most-common adjective applied to her at Cornell, followed closely by "brilliant." The word "bitch" often found its way into conversations about Edith Montgomery. She supposes it will happen in England as well. Good.
Edith is amazed when she enters Robert Southwood's office and finds his same secretary, Gemma Leighton, still with him. My God, she must be well over retirement age. Giving Edith a tight smile, Gemma says: "Lovely to see you Dr. Montgomery. Mr. Southwood will be here shortly. May I bring you an espresso or cup of tea?"
"Neither" is her brusque response.
Remaining standing, Edith opens her case and removes her BlackBerry. She shudders seeing several emails from Patrick inquiring after Nick. This was not their agreement. It is because of Mum and Charmaine that Patrick continues this nonsense. Her New York lawyer will put an end to it. She can't be bothered. More important emails await her, and she quickly taps out responses to several messages.
Minutes later the door opens and Robert Southwood booms: "Edie! I heard you'd returned to us. Come into my office. Gemma, may I have an espresso, please. And bring one for Edie."
Blast Robert! He is the only person she allows to call her Edie. Oh my, he still looks good. His thick hair now has more silver than black and the age lines enhance rather than detract from his angular face. But it is the hands Edith remembers most. Those long, thin surgeon's hands are equally skilled in the operating theatre or the bedroom. Of course then, his body. Slim, tall and wearing his bespoke suit very well indeed. Robert Southwood, a cad if there ever was one. But then, that was his appeal for Edith.
Robert removes his jacket and tosses it on a nearby chair before leaning against the edge of his desk. As Edith takes the chair opposite him, he looks at her from head to toe.
"I see you still favour impractical footwear."
"And I see you still favour elderly secretaries."
" Oh, Edie, be nice for a change. Gemma is a good soul and has looked after me for ages. She doesn't want to retire, and I don't want her to go. Who else could suffer through me?"
"Perhaps Felicity? How is your wife, Robert?"
"Fine. The family's fine. One of the boys produced another grandson a month ago. You remember Oliver? Married a charming girl from Kent and this was their second. How's your sprog, Edie?"
"He's with me at Larchmont for the moment. Then he's off to St. Benedict's."
"Boarding school. Felicity would never do that to our sons. She wanted to hold them close by. They all turned out well. Must have been the old dad's doing."
"I'm certain there are many things Felicity would never do, including the many things I have done to you, Robert."
Chuckling, he responds: "As the youngsters say, 'let's not go there.' I understand from Walter Zeffren that you are to do fantastic things for him. Tell me about it."
As Edith begins, the secretary enters with two cups of espresso. Robert takes them from her saying: "Gemma, isn't it lovely to having Edie back in London. She'll shine here at Imperial. I predict she'll be on the Queen's Birthday List in five years."
Nodding grimly, Gemma says: "Yes, lovely" and leaves the office.
Robert sips his espresso and smiles at Edith: "You were saying."
Edith briefly describes her work for the Zeffren Clinic in Truro, making much of her role managing the clinic.
"Truro instead of London. What brought that about? You belong here at Imperial not in some Cornish backwater."
"I think differently. There are many opportunities there in both gynae and infertility research. I'll be doing original scientific work on emerging topics as well as heading up the clinic. I'm quite looking forward to it. I'm not sure I could do the same here. Imperial is huge. You can't swing a cat without hitting ten medical students. Are you now educating the whole of medicine here?"
"Afraid so. The canteen is like a social room at Oxbridge. We do nothing but send wedding presents and don't know many of the couples. The powers that be want to keep me in the harness for surgeries, and I hold only the occasional seminar at the med school. I've left the teaching to the young Turks. If I can limp through a few more years, I'll hand over the reins and fade quietly away. Then I'll write a book or two and lecture for the greater glory of surgery."
"Is Ellingham still the heir apparent?"
"Martin Ellingham? I'd say not. Haven't you heard about him?"
"No, not a word. But that was to be the natural succession. Has he gone off to America then?"
"No, Cornwall. He's a GP in a little fishing village. Can't recall the name, but somewhere in the north, near the moors."
"Ellingham a GP! Bit of a joker, aren't you? Where is he – Harvard, Hopkins, Mayo?"
"You actually don't know then. The poor sod developed haemophobia. Maybe about four or so years ago now. Passed out one day in theatre and couldn't continue. Refused treatment. You know how stubborn he is. I argued with him for days about it but to no avail. St. Thomas's offered him a year's sabbatical for psychological or even psychiatric help. He wouldn't hear of it and resigned. He could've taught here or any other place in the world. Never would have seen a drop of blood again, but he wouldn't do it.
"Next I knew, Chris Parsons had him in a GP re-training program and found a post for him in the Cornwall PCT. I don't know that anyone here has seen or heard from him since. I've tried to contact him, but never had a response. Regrettable. A first rate intellect and a top of the range surgeon."
"I'm stunned, Robert. Ellingham has a scientific mind second to none. How could he not have understood the need for treatment? What a waste, a bloody waste."
"Perhaps you could search him out when you get to Cornwall. Let me give you his last phone number. It could be that he's learned to manage the phobia or gotten treatment somewhere in Cornwall. I can't imagine he doesn't see a good bit of blood as a GP. He still could return to surgery. It has to be what he wants."
"I'm probably not the right one to chat up Ellingham. We didn't part on the best of terms as you may recall. He thought we should be married, but I was determined to have the residency in Montreal. Unfortunate, really. We got on well – shared interests and all that. Did he every marry?"
"Not in London. Maybe he found someone in Cornwall. There can't be much else to do in a small village. But then Ellingham never needed people or any sort of life outside surgery. I'd see him at conferences and discuss medicine. But he wouldn't dine with me or have more than coffee. Never came to any of the St. Mary's dinners, weddings or Christenings either. Completely miserable personally, but professionally brilliant.
"Look Edie, as a favour to me, find Ellingham when you get to Cornwall. If we don't get him back to London soon, it will be too late. He could re-train for a year right here at Imperial and then be back to it. You two did brilliant work together. He'd be keen to see you again." Treating her to an irresistible look, he murmurs: "Please, Edie, talk to Ellingham – for me."
With that Robert takes Edith's right foot, removes the pump and slowly massages her foot. Edith closes her eyes and tries not to sigh. Oh, yes, the touch is still there. As he slowly moves his hand up her calf, she slowly moves her foot up his leg. Minutes later he removes his hand and gasps as her foot finds its target: the other part of Robert's body she remembers fondly.
"Are you staying at your family's flat, Edie?"
"Yes, but only for tonight. Shall we say half six?"
"Half six it is."
"Good."
Slipping her foot back into the shoe, Edith stands, smiles brightly at Robert and leaves without a word. He shakes his head and thinks of how many times he told Ellingham not to give up on marrying Edith. They would be perfect together.
In one of the most embarrassing conversations either of them likely ever had, Martin told Robert that he was having what he described as a "physical relationship" with Edith. Blushing and stammering, he asked for Robert's advice on how to satisfy the seemingly insatiable woman.
By then Felicity had made him end his affair with Edie, but he understood Ellingham's dilemma and suggested several books. They never spoke of Edith again until she left for Canada, leaving Martin bereft. Robert had a little pang over her departure as well. No one was smarter or more exquisitely irritating and sexual than Edie. He would miss their verbal jousting over the science of medicine and – well that's all Felicity would allow him to miss.
A few nights after Edith's departure, Robert took Martin to some nefarious pubs and got him royally pissed. Even whilst he was doing it, Robert knew it was not what Ellingham needed. He needed someone to love him and thought he had found her in the woman least likely to do so. Poor sod, indeed.
Continued. . .