That night, I peer through the glass pane of room six-forty, where Sylvie Leblanc is recovering. Lights are dim inside, but a spotlight above the bed illuminates her face. She is propped up, eyes closed, looking peaceful, if a little gaunt. Wires and nasal cannulas lead from her body into machines, and apart from the pale complexion, she appears otherwise unharmed—externally, at least.
I take a step back when a nurse’s face appears in the window frame, and she opens the door inward.
“Hello, my love. I’m Nurse Anna. Don’t suppose you could give the room a quick once-over, could you?”
I nod, unsmiling, and introduce myself before parking my mobile cleaning station and scanning the room. Anna sits on the left side of the bed. She likes to talk and grumbles about the hospital’s deteriorating standards. Even though it’s not my job, I clean all surfaces, including the shelves, beneath the array of get-well cards and vases of flowers, to get a good look at everything. I notice a television fixed on the wall in one corner and a camera trained on the bed in the other. Anna’s attention is transfixed when something comes on the screen, and she stops talking. When she comments about the host’s deliciousness, I see she’s watching an episode of the docuseries calledMarshall’sLaw. Sylvie remains asleep or unconscious. I fetch my broom and sweep the dusty floor. I decide to leave after that and try another night, but I notice a commercial break and decide to ask a question.
“Why does the hospital leave a nurse here but not in the other rooms?”
Anna has been reaching over to adjust the tubing beneath Sylvie’s nose and chuckles when she hears my question.
“I don’t work for the hospital, love. I’m with a private nursing agency. We’re hired to take shifts to care for Miss Sylvie around the clock. Feed her, keep her clean and call the hospital staff for assistance if needed. Lightens their load, but also means someone’s always on hand. A friend of hers is footing the bill. Wish I had friends like that, I can tell you.”
“Yes, that would be nice,” I answer, concentrating on sweeping dust beneath the bed. When I straighten up, I notice Nurse Anna smiling at me.
“Nice job, love. The bloke you’ve taken over from didn’t know one end of a broom from the other. Said sweeping weren’t part of his job anyway. I was gonna complain to them out there, but what’s the use? Are you permanent?”
“Temporary.”
“Shame. Hospital needs good staff.”
“What happened to the lady?” I ask, nodding to Sylvie before emptying the bins and providing new liners. Anna tells her version of events, which sounds very similar to what the newspapers reported. What’s new is that although Sylvie is conscious during the day, she is constantly tired and unable to string sentences together, speaking only in single words. Even when she is released, a full recovery will be an uphill struggle. While I’m there, which is not long, Sylvie doesn’t stir. I decide to withdraw and concentrate on the rest of the floor.
I clock off at four that morning, handing over to another guy who will work until midday. Ravi has agreed to let me work sixteen-hour shifts. Now I have eight hours free to eat, sleep and recharge, which is more than enough. The only sacrifice is my evening swimming exercise at the public pool, a Tube ride away. If I wake early enough, I might head there before my midday shift begins. I walk the darkened streets wondering what Lorenzo is doing. Not far from my flat, there’s a café open twenty-four hours, where I buy coffee and food to take home. I had always felt comfortable being a loner, but I miss the company of Mrs Bellacci and especially Lorenzo.
In the early evening of the next day, I am strolling through the hospital waiting area when a familiar voice rises above the general noise, singling me out.
“Excuse me.Excuse me. Yes,you,” calls a woman in a tone I recognise. Albert’s sister, Victoria, sits stiffly on one of the plastic seats, a magazine open on her knees and a mobile phone clamped to her ear. She appears as impatient as I remember her.
“Do these binseverget emptied? They’re becoming a health hazard.”
She stares straight through me and clearly has no idea who I am. I nod my acknowledgement but say nothing as I pull on my utility gloves. Noticing my response, she turns away and continues her call.
“Hammond-Clyde only deals in family law, darling, not property. She would be eaten alive with something this complex. Which is why we need somebody big-league. Edward knows it will cost, but he wants it done.”
I slow what I’m doing. Is she talking to someone about Eagle House? Are they trying to reverse Albert’s gift to me? I go over, pull a thick nylon cable tie from my pocket and secure the trash bag in the bin. She continues talking when I lift it from the container and move past her to the cart.
“Prime commercial real estate in the heart of London? What hotel chain wouldn’t snap up something like that?”
Callico House. She’s talking about them selling Callico House. I pull out a clean sack from the cart, together with a disinfectant spray and cloth, and return to the bin area. When I spray the insides of the container, I notice Victoria irritably wave a hand in front of her nose.
“Those inheritance caveats were added over a hundred years ago. Surely there are modern loopholes that can be found? Other listed buildings seem to be granted changes of use all the time.”
Once I’ve finished, I pass her again and indicate the cleaned area. In true Victoria style, she purses her lips, nods dismissively then ignores me.
“You’ve been there. It’s a monstrosity. Edward says he doesn’t want to spend another penny on its upkeep. And on that point, I am in complete agreement.”
I push the cart out of her line of sight, around the corner from where she is sitting, and pretend to rearrange the contents in the top basket.
“Once you give me the green light, I’ll get Hammond-Clyde to send you the property file. No, I’m at St Thomas hospital. Coleman insisted on visiting a patient, an old college friend of his, before we meet his tiresome friends for dinner. As if I haven’t had enough of these places to last a lifetime. What do I mean? Who, only a month ago, was dragged to the morgue to identify her dead brother? Not Edward. He palmed that particular pleasure off onto me. Seeing Albert laid out like that was too awful for words. I’m not sure I will ever recover. Deathis so undignified. Will I see you on Sunday? Well, do your best, darling. Love you, too.”
An upside of my previous impromptu visit to the sixth floor is that Anna knows who I am, and when I turn up just after midnight, she beckons me in. I guess she must be lonely because, once again, she rambles on without waiting for me to respond. There’s not much to clean in the room, and Sylvie is still asleep, so I finish quickly and offer an olive branch.
“I’m done here, Anna. Can I get something for you? A coffee from the vending machine?”
Anna looks up hopefully, pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and flashing the cover at me, ensuring her back is to the room CCTV.
“I don’t drink coffee, my love, but I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs, if you know what I mean? The duty nurse sometimes covers for me while I get some fresh air. Would you mind keeping an eye on the patient?”