Doctor Frigo (25 page)

‘What I actually said was,’ Elizabeth began in a loud voice, but he didn’t allow her to finish.

‘Or words to that effect. Quite so.’ He raised a hand to indicate that the point was taken. ‘Is that the Grandval report you have in that envelope, Doctor?’

‘Amongst other things, yes.’

‘What other things?’

I produced photocopies of the cheque and ATP-Globe contract and handed them to him.

He examined them idly. ‘And what am I supposed to do with these, Doctor?’

‘Anything you like, Commandant. I have other copies. You will notice that I wrote on the cheque before returning it so that it can be seen not to have been cashed by me. I don’t wish to be accused at some later date of receiving bribes or other unprofessional behaviour.’

‘Oh I don’t think anyone is likely to accuse you of that. Or, indeed, of anything else as far as I know.’

‘Except perhaps stupidity,’ said Elizabeth.

It was by now apparent that she was in an ugly mood. We were in for a rough time.

Delvert gave her an irritable look. ‘My dear Elizabeth, I am, as I said I would be, delighted by your presence at this little friendly discussion, but that sort of remark is not helpful.’

‘It helps me.’

‘Possibly, but you are not the one who needs help just at present. Those who are in need are the Doctor and myself. Supposing you give him a glass of wine.’

‘You’d sooner have beer, wouldn’t you Ernesto?’

‘Yes.’

If Delvert was by then regretting his choice of a meeting place he managed to conceal the fact reasonably well. ‘As
long as it isn’t a cup of hemlock, we can perhaps get on with our business. You said, I think, that you have Grandval’s report with you, Doctor?’

‘Yes.’ I took it out.

‘You’ve made no copies of this I hope.’

‘No.’ I detached Professor Grandval’s covering letter, handing over the report.

‘What is that?’ he asked.

‘A private letter from Professor Grandval to me. It came with the report.’

‘May I see it?’

‘You may, Commandant. Bearing in mind that you might decide to confiscate that, too, I took the precaution of replying to it this afternoon. In my letter to the Professor I thanked him both for his report and for his courtesy in disregarding the highly improper instructions he received from your people about sending his report. And, by the way, my letter has already been posted.’

He gave me the smile. ‘For a man who has, in order to express his profound dissatisfaction with an unsatisfactory state of affairs, tendered his resignation, you seem singularly bellicose. I thought that these grand gestures were supposed to have a cathartic effect.’

‘It wasn’t a gesture.’

‘That is something I am hoping we can discuss.’

Elizabeth was handing me a glass of beer. ‘Be careful, Ernesto,’ she said.

This time he didn’t object to her interjection. ‘Good advice,’ he remarked. ‘We must both be very careful.’ He read Grandval’s letter and then looked up.

‘For a layman like me, of course, this is a good deal more informative than a technical report.’

I said nothing. He read it again, then tapped it with a forefinger.

‘This evil day to which he refers. I take it that means the day the patient dies.’

‘No, it doesn’t. It means the day on which you have to tell the patient that he’s going to die.’

‘Ah. Presumably there is a standard ritual for breaking the news in these cases.’

‘Far from it. Why do you think he calls it the evil day? There must be almost as many rituals for “breaking the news”, as you call it, as there are doctors in practice.’

‘Oh come now!’ he protested. ‘I realize that it can’t be a pleasant duty, but surely it’s not that complicated?’

‘You think not, Commandant. When I was a student, there was a surgeon at the hospital who used to try to make it uncomplicated. It was something of a joke. When a patient with, say, a terminal cancer had had time to recover from the surgery which confirmed it, this man would order screens put round the bed. Then he would march in, stand at the end of the bed, say, “I regret to inform you that you have a terminal cancer”, and then immediately march out again.’

‘Well at least it was frank and forthright.’

‘It wasn’t in the least frank or forthright. I told you. He left
immediately.
That was the point. He never gave the patient time to collect himself sufficiently to ask the essential question. “How long have I got, Doctor?” He didn’t have the guts to stay and wait for that, because then he would have had the embarrassment of explaining that he didn’t know and so couldn’t tell. That was how uncomplicated he was.’

‘I see.’

‘I doubt if you do, Commandant. Among the students there used to be another joke on the subject, a story about a patient who dies and goes to heaven. When he gets there, though, he’s a bit puzzled and uncertain of where he is. Then he sees a nurse standing beside him, so he asks her: “Nurse, am I dead?” And she replies: “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your doctor about that.” ’

Delvert laughed.

‘I don’t think that’s funny,’ Elizabeth said.

‘Oh I don’t think it’s meant to be, is it Doctor, except as a reductio ad absurdum? A doctor has failed to do his duty by his patient, but the nurse is sticking strictly to the rules. Am I right?’

‘About the absurdity of supposing that there can be any fixed rules, yes. In fact, a great many nurses often do the doctors’ job for them without being aware that they’re doing so. Nurses’ attitudes towards patients they know to be dying vary a good deal, but quite often they give the game away, either to the patient, who may be observant, or, more often, to the visiting relatives. The thing is that someone in the family has to be told. There may be legal or financial reasons why that’s necessary. There are always moral ones, or, if you don’t like the word “moral”, reasons of humanity.’

‘And sometimes, I am afraid, Doctor, there must be political reasons, or reasons of state, for postponing the evil day.’ Delvert was looking at Grandval’s letter again. ‘What is meant by “supportive therapy”? Is that equally complicated?’

‘That depends on the case. In this one it is merely a euphemism for deceit.’

‘That sounds like Doctor Frigo speaking.’

‘I don’t care how it sounds, but deceit is what it amounts to, medical deceit that is. It could take various forms of course. Prescribing massage and giving him useless injections would be one. Telling the patient he’s feeling better and persuading him to believe you would be another. Or if that won’t work you tell him he must be patient and give his medication a chance. You can explain what a unique clinical picture he represents and talk vaguely about a new drug that’s being developed which is going to make a lot of difference to conditions involving the central nervous system. Naturally you dose him with sedatives and antidepressants as required. And when he starts to go downhill fast, as you have always known he will, you give him a perplexed look and say, “We’re not looking as well as we
should today – we must do something about that.” So then you give him something to make him think he feels better for a few hours. That is supportive therapy for Monsieur Villegas.’

‘Monstrous!’ said Elizabeth angrily. ‘Are all doctors as bad as this?’

I bridled. ‘Well I could always march in, stand at the end of his bed and say, “Sorry, my friend, you have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis and it’s incurable, so just lie back and suffer.” ’

‘So instead,’ said Delvert, ‘you propose to march in, stand at the end of the bed and tell him you resign.’

Elizabeth rounded on him like a tigress. ‘That is grossly unfair and you know it.’

‘Children, please!’ He held up his hands in mock surrender.

But she was in no mood for games. She used an obscenity new to me.

It didn’t seem to be new to Delvert. He raised his eyebrows. ‘I have always understood,’ he said, ‘that the Hapsburg court was invariably polite to foreign envoys, even when they represented régimes of which it disapproved.’

‘The Imperial court was always entirely correct,’ she retorted; ‘but its loyal subjects were not always so forbearing.’

‘Well then, while I am awaiting to be torn to pieces by the mob, perhaps I may have a little more of this excellent wine.’

It is only rum that he sips apparently. Wine he actually drinks. As soon as Elizabeth had taken his glass he turned to me again.

‘You haven’t yet told me, Doctor, how things went at the villa last night.’

‘From our conversation on the telephone I gathered that you already knew,’ I said sourly.

‘Ah, you picked up that allusion to Rosier, I see. I hoped
you would. Naturally, we have listening devices covering most of his activities.’

‘But not at Les Muettes?’

‘There too. Unfortunately Paco Segura seems aware of their limitations. Apart from your brief word with Doña Julia all conversations took place on the terrace, I think.’

‘Yes, they did. What difference does that make?’

‘A lot, I’m afraid. These directional microphones have no discrimination. It’s the noise of the crickets out there, you see. One receives only snatches of conversation. Increase the sensitivity and you just get more crickets. I thought you handled Rosier very well, if I may say so, but what was the subject of that cordial chat of yours with El Lobo which he mentioned in the car?’

‘It may have looked cordial to Rosier. At one point I mentioned the possibility of throwing him into the swimming pool.’

‘I wish you had. How did he annoy you?’

‘He seems to think I have political ambitions.’

‘Which might conflict with his own no doubt. He’ll have to go of course. That sort of creature has its uses, but our Anglo friends aren’t going to put up with the Marxist-Leninist following. Far too dangerous.’

‘As a matter of fact El Lobo said much the same thing about Father Bartolomé – that he’d have to go.’

‘Well perhaps some sort of mutual elimination can be arranged. What else did El Lobo say?’

‘He boasted of his intelligence service.’

‘With justification. It’s very good. Did he offer you any samples of its work?’

I had no intention of answering that truthfully. ‘He described some of his methods,’ I said. ‘That was more than enough for me. No doubt I’m squeamish.’

‘No doubt he guessed you were. El Lobo would enjoy making your flesh creep. Your patient made some sort of speech. Did he have any trouble?’

‘No. He timed himself carefully.’

‘Was it a good speech?’

‘It was –’ I hesitated – ‘virtuous, I suppose.’

Elizabeth had come back and been listening. ‘Have you ever heard a politician’s speech that wasn’t virtuous?’ she enquired.

He smiled at her. ‘You ask that of a politician’s son? By virtuous he means portentously banal.’

He put his wine down. ‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ he said slowly. ‘Extremely sorry.’

‘This, Ernesto, is where you have to be careful.’ Elizabeth sat down facing us.

Delvert gave her a long look. ‘Elizabeth, my dear, I had been hoping for a private meeting with Dr Castillo, not a tripartite conference.’

She made no move to go. He turned to me again with a shrug.

‘You were being extremely sorry about this morning,’ I reminded him.

‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘You must have realized, Doctor, that my powers here are strictly limited.’

‘By the DST people?’

He looked surprised. ‘Oh dear me no. By persons of considerably greater importance. I mean my own superiors. You know my rank. I am a commandant. Do you think that in an affair of this importance involving a multinational energy consortium, a mere commandant would be allowed in any way to determine or modify policy? I can only implement my masters’ decisions.’

‘I have always understood that the powers of some staff officers far exceeded those that would be normally associated with the ranks they hold.’

‘Well, I dare say there have been such cases, but I can assure you that I am not one of them. I may have a certain latitude as to the means of carrying out my orders, but I can only advise if I believe that a modification might be useful. That does
not
mean, however, that my advice will always be accepted.’

‘And in my case, I take it, your advice wasn’t accepted. Hence your sorrow.’

‘Look at it, please, from my superiors’ point of view. This Villegas is a person of essential, if transient, importance to a carefully conceived plan, the executive responsibility for which is theirs. In the delicate set of circumstances surrounding the project, you, whether you like it or not, are not only this man’s adviser but also in your own person a political factor of actual or potential significance. An unexpected complication, in the shape of an illness, is introduced into the calculations. Your continued presence can minimize its immediate effect, your absence perhaps increase it. What, they ask in Paris, should be required of this young doctor? Simply that he take a long paid vacation, be given a free trip to the land of his birth and, because he is who he is, receive a certain amount of respectful attention from his compatriots. His medical duties to his important patient would call for only nominal efforts on his part. Is that too much to ask of a government servant? Certainly it isn’t. Let the necessary leave of absence therefore be arranged. And forthwith, please.’

‘Very nicely put,’ said Elizabeth.

Delvert ignored her. ‘As I said, Doctor, I am permitted to advise. I did so. I said that there were some aspects of your relationship with your patient that had led me to believe that it might be better to request your co-operation than to require it. I suggested that if you felt that you were being ordered to do this and were being given no choice in the matter, your reaction might well be to take umbrage and resign. Their response was not, I am afraid, sympathetic.’

‘He means that they weren’t taking any nonsense from a pipsqueak foreign doctor and told him to threaten you with dire penalties.’ Elizabeth again.

Again he tried to ignore her. ‘There’s no need for us to go into that. The point is, Doctor …’

I interrupted him. ‘But I would like to go into it, Commandant. What exactly am I to be threatened with?’