Read Online Vicious Circle by Wilbur Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wilbur Smith
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moveable stand.
Irving came to meet Hector.
‘How is she?’ Hector managed to keep his voice level. Irving hesitated. The heart monitor beeped twice before he replied.
‘I have removed the bullet. But there was more soft tissue damage than we anticipated. It did not show up on the X-ray plates.’
Hector walked slowly to the side of the bed and looked down at her. Her face was white as pastry. Her eyes were slightly open. Only the whites showed between her long curling lashes. There was a tube up her left nostril connected to the oxygen machine standing on the floor. Her breathing was so light that he had to bring his face down an inch from hers to catch it. He kissed her lips with a butterfly touch. He straightened up and looked at Irving.
‘What are her chances?’ he asked. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
Again Irving hesitated, and then he shrugged almost imperceptibly.
‘Fifty–fifty, or perhaps a little less.’
‘If she does recover, will she regain full brain function?’
Irving frowned before replying. Then he said, ‘That is unlikely.’
‘Thank you for your honesty,’ Hector said. ‘May I wait here with her?’
‘Of course. That chair is for you.’ He indicated a seat on the other side of the bed. ‘I have done all I can, now I must hand your wife over to Mr Daly, the hospital’s resident neurosurgical specialist. He has already seen her. His room is just down the corridor. He can be here in a few seconds if Sister Palmer here summons him.’ He nodded at the theatre sister who was adjusting the taps on Hazel’s IV drips.
‘Goodbye, Mr Cross. God bless you and your lovely wife.’
‘Goodbye and thank you, Mr Irving. I know that nobody could have done more for her.’
When he was gone, Hector spoke to Sister Palmer.
‘I am her husband.’
‘I know. Sit down, Mr Cross. We may have a long wait.’ Hector moved the chair closer to the bed and sat.
‘May I hold her hand?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but please be careful not to disturb any of the IV tubes.’ Hector reached out gingerly and took three of Hazel’s fingers. They were very cold, but not as cold as his heart. He studied her face. Her eyelids were almost closed. The eyes themselves were rolled back in their sockets. He could not see their pupils. Only a sliver of iris was visible. They had lost their sapphire-blue lustre. They were dull and lifeless. He moved his chair again so that when she opened her eyes he would be sitting directly in her line of sight. He would be the first thing she saw when she regained consciousness; he carefully prevented himself from even thinking the conjunction ‘If’.
He listened to the irregular peep of the heart monitor and every once in a while he glanced at the rise and fall of the bellows of the oxygen apparatus. The only other sounds were the tap of Sister Palmer’s heels on the floor tiles and the rustle of her skirts as she moved around the room. He glanced down at his wristwatch. It was his gift from Hazel on his last birthday. It was the platinum model with the Rolex signature blue dial. The time was twenty minutes to two in the morning. He had been awake since sunrise. His chin dropped onto his chest and, still holding her hand, he dozed just below the level of consciousness, but any change in the rhythm of the heart monitor brought him back again with a jerk.
He dreamed that he and Hazel were climbing the hill on the Colorado ranch. Hand in hand they were following the path through the forest that led to Henry Bannock’s mausoleum. Cayla was running ahead of them.
‘I want to see Daddy!’ She was laughing, looking back over her shoulder. The likeness of daughter to mother was astounding.
‘Wait for me!’ Hazel called after her. ‘I am going with you.’ Dread overwhelmed Hector. He hardened his grip on her hand.
‘No!’ he said. ‘Stay with me. You mustn’t leave me. You must never leave me.’ Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard another voice speaking.
‘Mr
Irving came to meet Hector.
‘How is she?’ Hector managed to keep his voice level. Irving hesitated. The heart monitor beeped twice before he replied.
‘I have removed the bullet. But there was more soft tissue damage than we anticipated. It did not show up on the X-ray plates.’
Hector walked slowly to the side of the bed and looked down at her. Her face was white as pastry. Her eyes were slightly open. Only the whites showed between her long curling lashes. There was a tube up her left nostril connected to the oxygen machine standing on the floor. Her breathing was so light that he had to bring his face down an inch from hers to catch it. He kissed her lips with a butterfly touch. He straightened up and looked at Irving.
‘What are her chances?’ he asked. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
Again Irving hesitated, and then he shrugged almost imperceptibly.
‘Fifty–fifty, or perhaps a little less.’
‘If she does recover, will she regain full brain function?’
Irving frowned before replying. Then he said, ‘That is unlikely.’
‘Thank you for your honesty,’ Hector said. ‘May I wait here with her?’
‘Of course. That chair is for you.’ He indicated a seat on the other side of the bed. ‘I have done all I can, now I must hand your wife over to Mr Daly, the hospital’s resident neurosurgical specialist. He has already seen her. His room is just down the corridor. He can be here in a few seconds if Sister Palmer here summons him.’ He nodded at the theatre sister who was adjusting the taps on Hazel’s IV drips.
‘Goodbye, Mr Cross. God bless you and your lovely wife.’
‘Goodbye and thank you, Mr Irving. I know that nobody could have done more for her.’
When he was gone, Hector spoke to Sister Palmer.
‘I am her husband.’
‘I know. Sit down, Mr Cross. We may have a long wait.’ Hector moved the chair closer to the bed and sat.
‘May I hold her hand?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but please be careful not to disturb any of the IV tubes.’ Hector reached out gingerly and took three of Hazel’s fingers. They were very cold, but not as cold as his heart. He studied her face. Her eyelids were almost closed. The eyes themselves were rolled back in their sockets. He could not see their pupils. Only a sliver of iris was visible. They had lost their sapphire-blue lustre. They were dull and lifeless. He moved his chair again so that when she opened her eyes he would be sitting directly in her line of sight. He would be the first thing she saw when she regained consciousness; he carefully prevented himself from even thinking the conjunction ‘If’.
He listened to the irregular peep of the heart monitor and every once in a while he glanced at the rise and fall of the bellows of the oxygen apparatus. The only other sounds were the tap of Sister Palmer’s heels on the floor tiles and the rustle of her skirts as she moved around the room. He glanced down at his wristwatch. It was his gift from Hazel on his last birthday. It was the platinum model with the Rolex signature blue dial. The time was twenty minutes to two in the morning. He had been awake since sunrise. His chin dropped onto his chest and, still holding her hand, he dozed just below the level of consciousness, but any change in the rhythm of the heart monitor brought him back again with a jerk.
He dreamed that he and Hazel were climbing the hill on the Colorado ranch. Hand in hand they were following the path through the forest that led to Henry Bannock’s mausoleum. Cayla was running ahead of them.
‘I want to see Daddy!’ She was laughing, looking back over her shoulder. The likeness of daughter to mother was astounding.
‘Wait for me!’ Hazel called after her. ‘I am going with you.’ Dread overwhelmed Hector. He hardened his grip on her hand.
‘No!’ he said. ‘Stay with me. You mustn’t leave me. You must never leave me.’ Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard another voice speaking.
‘Mr
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