The Anvil (17 page)

Coulson outlined the procedures he had in mind for Carrie while continuing to clear his desk. He spoke of a series of skin grafts.

MacLean listened with a heavy heart; Tansy hung on to every word. ‘What period of time are we talking about?’ she asked.

‘Several years I’m afraid,’ replied Coulson.

Tansy felt her heart sink but her expression didn’t change. She knew she had to consider what would happen if MacLean could not get hold of Cytogerm but she was asking questions like an automaton. ‘Where would you get the tissue to rebuild Carrie’s face?’ she asked.

‘Basically, from other parts of her body,’ said Coulson, ‘Thighs, buttocks etcetera. We’ll use this.’ He picked up what looked like a deflated balloon from his desk. ‘We insert one of these under the patient’s skin and inflate it gradually over a period of time. New skin is forced to grow over the device providing a surplus supply for grafting.’

Tansy nodded but she was thinking about something MacLean had once said when he was telling her about the magic of Cytogerm. The thing she remembered was that, ‘grafting backsides on to faces was never that effective’.

MacLean was remembering the same comment and wishing he’d never made it.

Coulson looked at his watch and sat upright in his chair as a signal that the meeting was at an end. ‘Are there any more questions?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Tansy. She turned to MacLean.

‘Presumably the first operation is still some way off?’ said MacLean.

Coulson nodded. ‘She has to be stabilised first. We’ll see how things go and then take it from there.’

‘Good. You won’t do anything without telling Mrs Nielsen first, will you?’

Coulson looked at MacLean strangely. ‘Of course not,’ he said.

‘Good,’ said MacLean.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Tansy as they walked away from the hospital.

‘I didn’t want him doing anything to Carrie without telling us first,’ said MacLean.

‘Doesn’t he need my permission before he can do anything anyway?’

‘Officially, yes. But sometimes relatives are seen as little more than a nuisance. It’s not unknown for surgeons to do what they want and have the paperwork filled in later.’

‘Don’t the relatives kick up a fuss?’ asked Tansy.

‘It’s the easiest thing in the world to bamboozle relatives into believing that whatever was done was for the best.’

‘I see,’ said Tansy.

‘I was just making sure he knew we were the kind to make a fuss,’ smiled MacLean.

‘I’m learning a lot,’ said Tansy. ‘To think I used to have such faith in doctors …’

MacLean had given Tansy what money he possessed when he moved in with her and Carrie. Now he needed something to live on. Tansy had anticipated this and handed him an envelope. ‘When will you need real money?’ she asked.

‘I need time to think,’ MacLean answered. ‘I have to work out a plan.’

‘Will I see you?’

‘Come round tomorrow evening?’

Tansy nodded and asked if he would like a lift back to town.

MacLean declined. ‘Better not,’ he said. ‘We have to be careful.’

Tansy put up a hand to his cheek and asked, ‘You do think there’s a real chance for Carrie don’t you?’ Her eyes held all the vulnerability of a little girl. She was willing him to say, yes.

‘Yes I do,’ said MacLean.

‘Take care,’ said Tansy.

MacLean watched the Mini disappear and stood for a moment, feeling the sun on the back of his neck. He felt that he had just taken the first step on a journey with no clear horizons. Although he was apprehensive about the dangers to come he was perfectly clear about one thing; there would be no turning back. The sooner he applied himself to the practical problems of what lay ahead the better.

He decided that the first hurdle to overcome was how to get back into Switzerland. He still had a passport in his own name but using that would be asking for trouble. There was no telling how widespread Lehman Steiner’s network was, but if they could find him within weeks of him starting work in a British hospital, Swiss passport control was hardly going to be a problem.

MacLean got round to thinking about Tansy’s husband Keith. From what she’d said he had been about the same age as he himself. If Tansy still had his birth certificate then he had the makings of a plan. He would apply for a British visitor’s passport in Keith’s name. Travelling as Keith Nielsen should present no problem in the short term. The next question was, did Tansy have the certificate or had it been destroyed in the fire? On Thursday night he asked her.

‘All our papers were kept in a safety-deposit box at the bank,’ she said. ‘They still are. Why?’

MacLean told her.

Tansy said that she would get the certificate in the morning and asked if he had made any other plans.

‘I’m going to play it by ear,’ admitted MacLean. ‘I’ll fly to Geneva as soon as I sort out the passport. I’ll book in to a small hotel and then do some phoning around. I need inside information.’

‘That could be dangerous,’ said Tansy. ‘Someone might talk.’

‘I need to know what’s been going on at Lehman Steiner over the past few years,’ said MacLean, ‘I’ll concentrate on just one contact to start with. Eva Stahl, she was my theatre sister.’

‘I remember,’ said Tansy. ‘You gave her a new face didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you trust her?’

‘I think so. We got on well.’

‘And she owes you a favour?’ said Tansy.

‘That sort of thing,’ smiled MacLean.

‘She might not be with the company any more,’ said Tansy.

‘True,’ conceded MacLean. ‘But she might be able to tell me someone useful who is.’

‘Do you have her address?’

‘It’s four years old but it’s a start.’

There was an awkwardness between MacLean and Tansy, which made both of them uncomfortable. It was due in part to the aftermath of Tansy’s outburst at the hospital. She still felt guilty about what she’d said and MacLean still felt uneasy because it had been true. He had brought disaster to Tansy and Carrie as he always feared he might and now there was tremendous pressure on him to put things right. The other factor in the equation was the prospect of great danger.

With the best will in the world, MacLean found it hard to think of anything other than what lay ahead. It was this that bestowed on him an air of remoteness which, although he regretted, he couldn’t help. Tansy, in turn, knew that it was she who had forced MacLean into this situation. Her growing love for him was now at odds with her love for Carrie and it was eating away at her.

‘I’d best be getting back,’ she said awkwardly, ‘Nigel and Marjorie will be wondering where I am.’

They looked at each other for a moment then Tansy said, ‘Oh, Sean.’ She put her head against his chest and closed her eyes She felt so relieved when he put his arms round her and kissed her hair. ‘I wish there was another way,’ she said.

‘Everything will be fine,’ whispered MacLean. ‘I promise.’

They arranged to meet in the morning after Tansy had been to the bank to get her husband’s birth certificate and MacLean had obtained suitable passport photographs of himself to go with the application form he’d obtained from a post office. He’d forged signatures on the back of the photographs to testify to his identity as Keith Neilson which matched the false details he’d entered on the form. He and Tansy set off for the main Post Office with Tansy coaching him all the way.

MacLean waited anxiously in line. He was usually impatient in queues but on this occasion he was not unhappy that the man in front of him appeared to be asking a string of questions that the counter clerk seemed unable to answer. While he waited, he looked at the photographs of himself and re-examined Keith Nielsen’s birth certificate. Nielsen had been born in Aberdeen and his mother had been called Christabel. He was reflecting on how nice the name sounded when the clerk said, ‘Next.’

MacLean pushed the documents and the photograph under the glass partition and tried to look casual. It was difficult when he felt the clerk compare him to the photograph. The truth was he didn’t look that much like himself in the photograph let alone Keith Neilsen. He concentrated on the posters on the wall until the unsmiling man looked back down and continued writing. Why did post-office clerks never smile, he wondered. He looked along to the other queue and saw another dour individual stare balefully up at the customer he was serving. Were they trained to show no emotion? Did they practise that vinegar stare? Maybe that was why they closed the office for half an hour on Friday mornings. Staff training. He pictured a row of clerks with dead eyes being trained to say, ‘Next.’

The thump of a rubber stamp broke MacLean’s train of thought and told him that he was getting his passport. The clerk slid the document under the glass and returned Keith Nielsen’s birth certificate. MacLean put the papers in his inside pocket and said, ‘Thank you.’

The clerk looked through him and said, ‘Next.’

MacLean and Tansy separated but met up for lunch together in a small cafe behind Princes Street. MacLean had been to a travel agent.

‘Any problems?’ asked Tansy.

‘None.’

‘When will you go?’

‘There’s a flight on Tuesday.’

‘Will I see you before then?’

MacLean shook his head. ‘It’s best that we don’t meet again. Your friends might get suspicious.’

Tansy opened her mouth to protest but MacLean held up his hand and said, ‘I have to be alone for a bit. I need to prepare myself. I’ll call you as soon as I get back.’

‘You will take great care won’t you,’ said Tansy with sad eyes.

MacLean nodded and smiled. ‘You bet,’ he said.

MacLean spent the weekend in hard physical exercise. He wanted to feel fit for whatever the future held in store for him but there was also a therapeutic value to be had in pushing himself to his limits. It cleared his mind for the duration and freed him from the anxiety that was otherwise constantly with him. His training ground was the Pentland Hills, a range of hills skirting the southern fringes of the city.

On Saturday morning early, MacLean climbed the steep path to the top of Turnhouse Hill and started running along the Pentland Ridge. He traversed its entire length, clambering over the tops of Carnethy, Scald Law, and East and West Kip before he allowed himself a break of fifteen minutes to eat his two chocolate bars and recover. Then it was all the way back again, fighting against the pain but courting it at the same time because it blotted out everything else. His level of physical fitness was acceptable but his mental state posed questions.

Only a few months before, he had been on the verge of suicide. How complete was his recovery? His growing love for Tansy and Carrie had done much to heal the wounds but had he recovered sufficient grit and resolve to take on Lehman Steiner and all that might imply? He reluctantly had to conclude that there was no way of knowing. Just like in life no one really knows who is going to be a hero and who is going to be a coward until the real test comes. For most men it never does but MacLean suspected that, in the next week or so, he personally would be sitting the exam.

He reached the end of his run and allowed himself to collapse exhausted on the slopes, high above Glencorse Reservoir, his chest heaving and his heart thumping against his ribs. He lay on his back in the rough grass and watched the clouds race towards the Firth of Forth. Visibility was good; he could see an oil production platform being towed out of the estuary towards the North Sea. It brought back memories.

On Sunday, MacLean repeated the same punishing schedule, this time with the added burden of stiffness in his limbs from the day before. On the return journey along the ridge he altered his route to take him through a pinewood west of Caerketton. This would be his final self-imposed test. He was again close to exhaustion, a state when physical co-ordination was at its worst but that was what he wanted. Now he would see if Nick Leavey’s assertion that mental strength could overcome physical problems were true. All it needed was concentration.

Making sure that he was alone, he chose a branch some three inches thick and standing two metres off the ground. He turned his back on it and closed his eyes for a moment, picturing where the branch was. Still with his eyes closed he took out a coin from his pocket and threw it up in the air in front of him. When he heard it land he whirled round on his left heel and struck out with his raised right foot at where he remembered the branch to be. His foot made contact and the branch broke with a loud crack and fell to the ground.

He was pleased; he moved on through the forest, picking out imaginary enemies in the form of branches to the left and right of him and making his feet deal with them. As he neared the edge of the wood he picked out four final ‘enemies’ all to be taken out within a self-imposed five-second window. He took one long deep breath and hit the first with an eye-level kick from his right foot, the second he struck with his left hand, the third with another right foot kick and the fourth and final branch succumbed to a blind strike from the heel of his right hand.