Author's Note: Thanks to Uma for her clarification of the Latin term that I couldn't locate in my classical Latin dictionary ...because it was "common" - i.e., everyday, colloquial Latin and thus not included in the dictionaries.
February 2006
REAGAN
Retrospective
I still couldn’t believe it. Looking back and in spite of my resistance, he’d asked me to marry him twice within one week, and I’d said yes on both occasions. Me …the one who had been so insistent on our living together for at least a year before seriously entertaining that possibility. When we had discussed this prior to his putting the ring on my finger last fall, I had said not less than six months for the engagement period, and he’d said not more than 12. My God, I’ve already known the man for almost a year …and where has that year gone? Thinking back on how we met, I’d never have imagined that my life could have changed so completely in so short a time.
Maximus …I knew there was no way in Heaven or on earth that I would get him to move beyond the one-year mark after becoming engaged before he put that second ring on my finger. That meant unless I was willing to take up residence on some other as-yet-to-be-discovered friendly and habitable planet, there was a wedding in my future, and that ‘future’ would be in the fall of this year. Our future. Jesus. Me. Married. I hadn’t thought I’d ever be willing to do that again, but with Maximus? Well, I love him, and I do know - beyond any doubt - that he loves me …and people who are in love and - though I hate to apply the terms to myself – are somewhat conventional and traditional, get married, don’t they? So here we are, several months past the putting-the-ring-on-my-finger bit, and I was wondering how long it would be until I heard the clarion call from Maximus regarding setting a date for the wedding. I’d flown to Montana a few weeks back for the wedding of a friend from grad school, but the preparations – and phone calls to me as her primary attendant – had taken months. Each time she’d called to go over something new, I’d made very sure Maximus knew to whom I was talking, then later told him what we’d discussed, i.e., the ongoing wedding preparations. I wanted to be sure that he had a feel for just how long it actually does take to put together a wedding. Although I didn’t intend anything on the scale of my friend’s wedding, it would still take time to pull it all together (thank God for Dee’s organizational abilities), and I wanted to ensure Maximus had a more or less realistic time frame in mind once he started pressuring me for a date. I kind of thought he’d begin making noises in that regard sometime in May or June, as that was the ‘anniversary’ of our indiscretion last year …that oops …that almost tore us apart permanently.
Marriage …children. Maximus is truly an Old Roman in that to him marriage means children. I fall rather well within those parameters myself. Pregnancy. Now, there is the rub. We’d had that visit with my gynaecologist, and I’d been to three support group meetings within ten days. I’d continued going for a couple of months before my interest in other women’s grief became something I’d rather relegate to the back burner of my life. Now I went perhaps once a month. The first meeting I’d attended had been a complete disaster meaning I had cried silently all the way through it. The second was a bit better. I’d cried for the first 15 minutes, then got myself sorted out and was relatively stable for the rest of the session. When the third session came along, I had introduced myself along with everyone else and said that I’d lost a baby in the fourth month of pregnancy and was considering trying again. That prompted several other women to say they had successfully completed pregnancies subsequent to their losses. Really? Can anyone tell me why none of them had mentioned that earlier? Isn’t part of this process the moving on bit, e.g.., I lost a baby but now have two perfectly healthy rug rats who are driving me not so slowly over the edge, so don’t worry because you, too, can join the insanity?
We’d discussed the fears that accompany the decision to try again. All but one of the women at that particular meeting had never lived outside of the States. The one who had lived abroad had been living and working in Latin America when she lost her baby at the end of her first trimester. After she had returned home and finally decided to try again, her doctor had gone over her medical records prior to the miscarriage with a fine-toothed comb and finally concluded that in addition to the substandard medical care, the stress of living and working abroad had likely been significant contributors to her miscarriage. Okay. I had tabled my interest in that discussion for a time, but now and as we were past the holiday season, it forced itself back into my frontal lobes and I found myself thinking about it again. I’d not thought to get copies of my records from my first pregnancy and decided to have Sharon do that. She already had my signature authorizing release of prior records on file, so she faxed off a records request that evening. Two evenings later, the phone rang, and Maximus answered it, speaking quietly to the caller. From the timbre of his voice and look on his face, I knew that whoever was on the other end of the connection was the last person on earth with whom he had ever imagined himself conversing. His face was grave as he handed me the phone and spoke before taking his thumb off the microphone.
“You may wish to sit down before taking this call.” Uh-oh.
“Who is it?”
“Your former husband. He wishes to speak with you about your medical records.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before taking the phone from him, and as he suggested, I sat.
“Bill. What a surprise. How are you?” His voice sounded the same as it had the last time we’d spoken, just before his return to the Middle East. Why should it not sound the same …some things never change.
“I’m fine, but was a little surprised to get the request for your medical records. You okay?” I looked at Maximus. Bill was obviously in the same job he’d had when we divorced; it must be working out well for him.
“Umm, Bill, I’d really like to put this conversation on the speaker phone, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, no problem. Who’s the man?” I switched on the speaker and put the handset back on its base and looked at Maximus.
“Max …my fiancé.”
“Congratulations to both of you. When’s the big day?”
“We haven’t set a date yet. Obviously, you’re still running the hospital.” He chuckled.
“Obviously.”
“Since when do hospital directors get requests for med recs?”
“Since Carole brought the request to me this morning.” Carole Shaw …she had been the medical records supervisor when I was there, and we’d gotten along very well. She was a nice woman, intelligent, pretty, red hair …single.
“Isn’t that a breach of medical ethics? You had no need to know.” He sighed.
“Yeah, it’s a technical breach of ethics, but under the circumstances, she thought it was warranted. She was your friend, Reagan, or have you forgotten that? She was afraid you’d had another mis.”
“No other mis, but I’m considering trying again after Max and I marry. Bill? Why is Carole still out there? That’s a very long time for a single woman to stay in Saudi.” I could hear the hesitation when he spoke.
“She isn’t single any more …we were married last year.” Though it was a surprise, I was happy for him, for both of them. She’s a wonderful woman, and if being together would make them happy, I was all for it. Knowing that Bill had remarried also served to assuage a bit of my own, ever-present guilt. I’m good at guilt trips; I was tutored by a master in the art.
“I’m happy to hear that. You two are a good match. Any little ones yet?” Now he laughed.
“She’s due the end of next month …a boy. I’m sending her home next week. We have a new OB, but I’d feel better if she gave birth back in DC. I’ll be home two weeks before she’s ready to deliver …just in case he decides to make an early entry.” I still didn’t know why he’d called …surely not simply to tell me of his lifestyle change. Was there something in my records that had given Carole pause? Bill knows me pretty well and answered without my having asked the question.
“I wanted to say that the records we have on you are pretty slim. If you want to contact him, I can give you Worthington’s forwarding address and phone number. He’s back in the UK …has been for several years now.” Did that mean Bill had reason to think the OB in charge of my case was even less competent than we had suspected initially? Neither Bill nor I had considered the man truly competent, but as he was the only show in town, I’d had little option in my choice of treating physicians.
“Yeah, sure. That might be a good idea.” Maximus handed me a pen and note pad, and I wrote as Bill relayed the information. After I’d repeated it back to Bill to be sure I had it correct, I was ready to terminate the conversation. Certain walks down memory lane are only pleasant for a brief while.
“Okay …thanks, Bill, and do know that I appreciate your and Carole’s concern. Give her my best and you two have a healthy baby, okay?”
“We’ll do our best. You and Max take care and the best to you, too. Let us know when the big day is so we can toast you in abstentia. The records will be on their way to your OB within the hour. Bye.” I hung up and looked at Maximus.
“Well …that was a surprise.” He sat beside me, his eyes guarded as he spoke.
“Are you comfortable with his call?” I shrugged.
“I don’t know. It seems innocent enough. It does raise a few warning flags, though, as he never really cared for Worthington …of course, I didn’t either, but he was the only option available. It does make me wonder if Bill has reason to be concerned …if I have further reason to be concerned.” I took a sip of the drink Maximus had poured for me as I spoke with Bill. “Perhaps I should contact Worthington – or the British Medical Association – and see what else I can find out.”
“Perhaps you should.”
*
I hung up the phone and sat back in my chair, looking at the hastily written notes in front of me. I’d not been able to locate Worthington – his telephone had been disconnected - and had just spoken with the British Medical Association, learning that his licence to practice medicine had been revoked the preceding year. They wouldn’t tell me why and only told me about the license revocation after I’d faxed them copies of my own records whilst under his care, thus proving that I had the right to know at least that much. They wanted to be very sure of protecting his privacy …that much was certain. On receipt of my own records – to include my academic credentials to insure them that I wasn’t a nut case - I’d asked why his licence had been revoked, and the response had been predictably reserved, though they did open up a bit. Apparently there had been a number of complaints regarding his care – some of them linked to miscarriages in the second trimester - half a dozen from women he’d treated during the time he was in foreign service and at least that many following his return to London. The Association was suspicious, had investigated, and following an apparently protracted battle with Worthington though they didn’t actually say that, had succeeded in the revocation.
All my warning bells were going off now. At least a dozen complaints. I’d not officially complained about his care though I certainly felt it was substandard. If I’d not complained, how many other women hadn’t? Just how many of those other unspecified complaints were related to unexplained miscarriages? To poor antenatal care? I knew it was relatively uncommon to miscarry after the first trimester, and I’d been almost at my fifth month when I had. I knew that when Sharon had asked how far along I was at miscarriage, she’d expressed surprise, particularly as I’d had none of the classic problems that are indicative of an impending miscarriage …no cramping, no spotting, no back aches or contractions. All I’d had was a sudden, agonizing pain followed by massive bleeding and an emergency D&C. Medically, it was termed a spontaneous abortion, commonly known as a miscarriage. Sharon had commented that whilst possible, my experience did not sound to her like a spontaneous abortion. I dialed her number with shaking fingers and told her office manager I needed to speak to her immediately if she was in the office. She picked up in less than half a minute.
“Reagan, what’s wrong?”
“Sharon, do you remember telling me that you didn’t think my miscarriage sounded like a spontaneous abortion?”
“Yes. It didn’t when you told me and doesn’t now. Why do you ask?” I was beginning to get a cold, hard knot in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m beginning to suspect that my miscarriage wasn’t …that I may have experienced an induced abortion without my knowledge.” She didn’t miss a beat.
“Did you take any medication – ANYTHING – unusual while you were pregnant?” I thought for a moment before answering.
“Some sort of herb that my doctor gave me for a bad cough and cold …why?”
“Not sure yet, but I want to consider all possibilities. Hold on a minute.” She put me on hold, returning in only seconds. “I have an opening at four-thirty today. I want you here, no excuses.”
“I’ll be there.”
*
I had called the British Medical Association back after speaking with Sharon and spoke again with the man I’d talked to originally. I’d told him that I was beginning to think that perhaps I’d not experienced a true miscarriage, that perhaps I had been the victim of an induced abortion. He hadn’t said a word for several seconds, and when he finally spoke, his voice was strained. He asked if I had internet access. When I said yes, he said I might wish to look up topics on herbal abortifacients and see if anything there caught my eye. On asking if he could be more specific, he’d sighed, his words heavy with regret as he spoke.
“Professor Kavanagh, I have likely told you too much as it is; however, I will tell you this much more …Mr. Worthington was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and his licence to practice medicine revoked accordingly and permanently. He is currently serving a 15-year sentence in Her Majesty’s Prison at Nottingham. Please do not ask me anything further. I wish you well. Good day.” I sat there looking at the handset for several minutes before putting it back on its base. I would have to wait until I got home to do an internet check. I was due at Sharon’s office in half-an-hour.
*
I was taken to Sharon’s private office as soon as I arrived, and she was there in only moments. She had my chart and a stack of computer printouts half-an-inch think in one hand as she sat on the edge of her desk and looked at me before placing the stack of papers beside her. She spoke first.
“Tell me – as exactly as you can recall – how your pregnancy went. Did you have morning sickness, light-headedness, unusual fatigue, sleeplessness, indigestion, cramping, bleeding or spotting, depression …anything at all? What – if anything – did your doctor prescribe for any problems you experienced? You’ve said he gave you some sort of herbal remedy …what were your symptoms, and what was the treatment regimen?” My hands were in my lap and were icy cold; I clasped them together as I began to speak.
“The first trimester was relatively uneventful. I had some morning sickness, but nothing I couldn’t manage. At the start of my fourth month, I caught a horrible cold …high temp, brutal head and chest congestion, and coughing so hard and long that I was afraid I would miscarry. I went to the doctor. He checked me over and concluded that the coughing was severe enough to warrant intervention but added that he didn’t approve of traditional – antibiotic or antiviral - medications for a pregnant woman. He asked if I would consider using a herbal remedy. I said that was fine; I saw no harm in it. He sent me home and to bed that day but asked that either Bill or I return the next day to pick up the herbs …he said they were available in the local souqs, but he would have to purchase them himself as it took ‘an expert eye’ to tell what he wanted from another, potentially dangerous herb. Bill picked up a packet from him the next day and came home with instructions for making a tea of it. I was to drink it four times a day until I’d used all that was in the packet. Bill said the doctor didn’t think I’d have any side effects from whatever it was, but if I noted anything unusual, I was to come in immediately.” She listened and looked back at me, no emotion on her face at all; that was very unusual for Sharon.
“How long did you take it?”
“Until the morning I miscarried …Worthington said to take all of it. The coughing had stopped on the fourth or fifth day. I called then and asked if I could stop taking it and he said no …he didn’t want the cough or infection returning, so I continued …I took it for seven or eight days.” My voice sort of trailed off. The idea that was growing in my mind – and the one that I suspected was in Sharon’s mind as well – was almost too nightmarish to contemplate.
“Do you remember what he called the herbs he gave you?” I nodded. My voice was now a whisper …it was all I could manage.
“Tanacetum vulgare.” She looked down at the stack of printouts, flipped down a couple of pages, and pulled one out and handed it to me. The words jumped up at me as if in boldface type. Tanacetum vulgare …a uterine stimulant and emmenagogue, …a popular but unsafe remedy to restore arrested or delayed menstruation …a warm infusion is diaphoretic and emmenagogue, and has been found beneficial in intermittent fever, suppressed menstruation, tardy labor-pains … likewise used as an anthelmintic, and as an abortive …. The last couple of lines made me physically sick to my stomach.
|
Safety Info: |
|
Not to be used during pregnancy. |
I felt the tears slip down my face and my hand shook as I handed the page back to her. I heard her voice dimly, as if she were far away.
“Reagan, it’s highly unlikely that you had a miscarriage. Everything I’ve found since talking to you this morning and your mentioning an herbal remedy has pointed to this one substance. I think you had a deliberately induced chemical abortion …I think the bastard knew precisely what he was doing. My only question is why he would do such a thing.” I couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak. “Is Max at the office?” I must have nodded because after opening my chart, she dialed the phone. I didn’t hear anything she said until she touched my hand a bit later. I jumped and looked up at her.
“Max will be here within 15 minutes.” She stood and walked to the door. “Stay where you are; I’ll be right back.” I don’t recall anything further until I heard his voice, felt the warmth of his hand on my face, and opened my eyes to see his blue-green ones only inches from my own. I didn’t know a human voice could have that much pain in it.
“Cara … il più assai una …. Non conosco che cosa dire a voi.” He looked at Sharon. I recall watching the look they exchanged but felt as if I was in a vacuum and could have no impact on what was happening around me. “Should she have something for the shock? I have never seen her like this.”
“I’ve already drawn it up …I wanted you to be here and to be sure you had no objection before medicating her as I don’t think she’s capable of giving informed consent just now.” She pulled a syringe from her pocket, and he nodded.
“Do whatever you think best, and I will take her home.” I watched dispassionately as she pulled up my sleeve and swabbed my arm with an alcohol prep before popping in the needle and depressing the plunger. Everything began to fade, and I dimly heard her voice before feeling myself picked up in Maximus’ strong arms and held close to his chest.
“I gave her ten milligrams of injectible valium …knowing her lack of tolerance, she’ll probably sleep for the next two days. Don’t leave her and call me when she wakes up.”
*
Maximus was lying beside me in bed, reading, when I woke. He didn’t say anything but put down his book and touched my face with one large, warm hand before pulling me into his arms and holding me close to his chest. The look in his eyes was so full of sorrow that one would have thought he had learnt his own child had been aborted. Obviously, it was as much beyond his comprehension as my own as to why anyone would do such a horrific thing to an unsuspecting woman, particularly a woman who had bubbled over with the joy of impending motherhood. I lay there for a while, not speaking, drawing on his strength and taking comfort in his love. When I finally spoke, I had made my decision.
“Maximus, I have to go to London. I have to get the prison system to let me see Worthington, to ask if he remembers me …to ask if he truly did what it appears he did.” His voice was firm when he answered.
“I understand. I would expect nothing less from you. We can leave as soon as you feel able to travel …I called Terry last night and told him that you and I had a personal emergency that might require our being away for a time. Can you find someone to take your classes for a week or two?”
“I not only can but will. I want to look that bastard in the eye and ask why he thinks he has the right to play God with the lives of others.” I sat up straight and looked at Maximus. “I may have difficulty in getting the prison board – or whatever they call it in England – to allow me to see him. I don’t often ask favours, but you lived there; do you know someone who can grease the skids?” He smiled. He may never have heard that particular euphemism, but he had no difficulty in knowing precisely what I meant.
“I have contacts, as does Terry …one way or another, you will confront the man, and I will be with you. This concerns both of us, and we will have answers.”
MAXIMUS
Retrospective
I had spent much of the past day-and-a-half thinking on what Sharon had told me of the reason for Cassandra’s visit that day. I was appalled and horrified. It was not uncommon in my time for a woman to seek abortion, but no physician or midwife would have attempted to induce one without the woman having requested and consented to the procedure. To have done so would have been unthinkable. In speaking with Sharon, she advised there was a procedure she wished to have Cassandra undergo before we made our trip to England.
“Cara, before we left Sharon’s office she asked that I tell you this. She wishes you to undergo what she terms a deep gynaecological examination before you consider attempting another pregnancy. This examination requires that you be sedated, as having it done whilst awake would be too uncomfortable. She has concerns that the man may possibly have done something during your dilation and curettage following the abortion that might hinder your ability to conceive or carry another child. I believe you should have that knowledge prior to confronting this man. I know to contemplate such a thing causes you pain – as it does me – but we must think first of your safety, and if he has done this, the authorities should know of his additional crime.” I had expected this information to add to her sorrow, but it did not …or, if it did, she was sufficiently angry at this point that outrage held sway over her sorrow.
“Of course I should do that, and I will. I’ll call her today and set it up. The more I – we – know, the more prepared we’ll be when we confront the bastard.” She rose from the bed and stood for a moment to regain her balance after having been prone for so long a time, then walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. After relieving herself, she showered quickly, dressed, and joined me in the lounge after getting a cup of coffee. She sat beside me for only a moment before rising and going to her office to boot her computer. I heard nothing for a time aside from the occasional tapping noise from her keyboard.
REAGAN
Tanacetum vulgare. Tanacetum vulgare …a uterine stimulant and emmenagogue, …a popular but unsafe remedy to restore arrested or delayed menstruation …a warm infusion is diaphoretic and emmenagogue, and has been found beneficial in intermittent fever, suppressed menstruation, tardy labor-pains … likewise used as an anthelmintic, and as an abortive ….
Safety Info: Not to be used during pregnancy.
Tanacetum. Tansey or tansy …spell it as you wish, the meaning is the same. It’s a plant, one of many herbs used for various medicinal purposes and known by the Ancient Romans and Greeks. It was commonly used for fevers and coughs …and for abortions.
Vulgare. vulg.are vulgare Adjective. Usual, common, commonplace, everyday; of the common people; shared by all.
I had gone to my Latin dictionary and located vulgare, not that I needed to do so. Its meaning is rather obvious, isn’t it? Vulgare is classical Latin, thus easily located. Tanacetum is a common Latin term, not to be found in a dictionary of classical Latin. I ‘Googled’ the term and found it in less than a tenth of a second. In the end, the origins of the names applied to the plant are irrelevant. What is relevant is what else I had learned in my internet search. The herb – in both powdered form and as a living plant for purposes of plopping it into your back yard garden – is widely available, with virtually no restrictions on its purchase. I Googled abortifacient, and found hundreds of sites that listed common tansy as being used for both prevention and termination of pregnancy for at least 2,000 years. It was rather popular among the ancients so long as it was used judiciously. Used carelessly, it can cause contractions strong enough to rupture the uterus and cause a fatal haemorrhage. According to the usage instructions I found, the amount I’d been taking was just about guaranteed to precipitate an abortion during the first four months of pregnancy. Its use after the beginning of the fourth month was cautioned, as at that point the foetus was sufficiently formed that the likely outcome was an incomplete abortion – requiring medical intervention to complete the process – which would probably have resulted in a fatal infection before the availability of modern medicine. I remembered the sudden, agonizing pain I’d experienced, followed by a gush of blood that saturated me from my hips to the floor and left me lying weak and unable to do anything other than call for Bill. Thank God it had happened on his day off; I would have bled to death before he would have arrived home on a usual work day. For the first time since losing the baby, I realized that I wasn’t saddened by thinking about her. This time, I was enraged.
MAXIMUS
It was not yet ten in the morning when Cassandra returned to the lounge. I had made a second pot of coffee, and we sat together, sipping at our cups as we talked. She had now taken on an analytical frame of mind, possibly a result of her research on the internet. She handed me a number of print-outs but asked that I read them later; at present, she wished to talk.
“It’s entirely possible that in doing the D&C after the induced abortion, that he deliberately scarred the lining of my uterus. Whilst that wouldn’t impact my ability to conceive again, it could certainly make carrying another child to term more difficult …and I need to know what that probability is before I give further consideration to another pregnancy.” She went to the telephone and dialed, then spoke to the office manager.
“Melody, I need to schedule an appointment with Sharon for a deep gynaecological exam. Would you check her schedule? I can make arrangements to have a colleague cover my classes for a day or two and work with Sharon’s schedule. Go on and set it up, and take care of the hospital accommodations. You can call me back later with details.” She listened for a moment. “Great, just let me know. If I’m not here, leave a message, and I’ll call back to confirm. Yeah, thanks.” She put the phone on its base and came back to sit beside me once more. “Melody will set it up and call with specifics. We’ll do it as soon as Sharon’s schedule will permit.” I nodded. Melody called back within the hour to say that the procedure was scheduled for seven on Friday morning at Baylor Medical Centre; Cassandra would need to check in through the emergency centre not later than six that morning. I would inform Terry that I would be out of the office on that day.
*
I sat across the desk from Terry. I had gone to the office late in the day and spoke to him privately; his response was much as I had anticipated.
“Jesus Christ, Max! Is this bastard some sort of one-man population control advocate and thinks he’s doing his part?”
“I cannot conceive of his motivation, Terry. All we are reasonably sure of at this point is that Reagan is not the only woman who has suffered at his hands. Whilst I have a few contacts in London, I doubt mine would be as persuasive as yours in convincing the prison board to allow us to meet with him.” He nodded before speaking. Cassandra and I had tentatively agreed to go to London as soon as her fall classes had ended, leaving the evening of 16 December, and returning on the 24th. Due to other commitments, that trip was postponed until after the new year.
“Right …Max, I’m going with you two. Dino can take care of the office for a bit …it’s usually slow round here this time of year.” He checked his calendar and turned back to me. “If something does pop, Dino can handle it or call me back if necessary.” He looked at me, considering carefully before he spoke, and I knew what his words would be. “Max, Dino needs to know what’s going on. He’s more than a bit fond of Reagan, and he’ll be hurt – rightfully so - if we keep him out of the loop on this.” I nodded. Whilst I wished to preserve Cassandra’s privacy to the greatest degree possible, I also knew that she and Dino had formed a friendship; she would not object to his knowledge of this any more than she would Diana’s, and I concurred with Terry’s assessment.
“You are right, of course. Ask him to join us and I will tell him now.” Dino entered the office three minutes later and looked at me in question when I stood and closed the door behind him.
“What’s up guys? Someone die?” Whilst his subsequent reaction was the same as Terry’s, his behaviour was considerably more volatile.
*
“That fucking son of a bitch! Give me five minutes alone with the bastard, and I’ll show him what pain is, and it won’t be psychological.” It was clear that he wished to accompany us, but Terry forestalled him.
“It doesn't make sense for you to go, Dino. I’ve got more connections in the UK, and someone has to keep the office going …we have bills to pay. Rest assured that if the wanker manages to break out of prison, you’ll be the first one called to pick up his trail.” Dino turned to me as he spoke.
“Max …Jesus, Buddy, I don’t know what to say to you, much less to Reagan. You know I’ll do anything I can to help. All you have to do is ask.”
“I appreciate your concern and support, Dino, and know I speak for Reagan in this matter as well. Terry likely has contacts that will likely enable us to see this man and to ask him of his motives. At this moment, we know nothing; hopefully, that will change during this trip.”
I checked Cassandra into Baylor Medical Centre at six o’clock the following Friday morning.
*
Though I attempted to dissuade them, Terry and Diana had come to the hospital to wait with me; I was pacing the floor in the waiting area when Sharon walked into the room at 17 minutes after eight. She was somber. I did not know whether that was her usual mien following a procedure, or if she had discovered what my Cara and I most feared. She motioned me to a chair and sat beside me. Terry stood at my side, much as had my second in command in that former life. I had the presence of mind to find it amusing to see him standing as I sat. Diana sat beside me, her hand on my shoulder. Sharon looked at me in question before speaking.
“These are our closest friends. Reagan would not object to your discussing her case in front of them, nor do I.” She nodded.
“Max, she has some uterine scarring, but that isn’t unusual following a dilation and curettage. When we do that procedure, we literally scrape the lining of the womb with a blade to remove every remnant of the placenta or foetus. To do anything less and leave any tissue behind would invite a potentially fatal infection. Reagan has a bit more scarring that I would expect to find after only one D&C, but I’ve seen considerably more from multiple procedures and taken those women on to deliver healthy children. I think she’s fully capable of carrying a child to term with no problems.”
I had listened carefully as Sharon spoke, fearing the worst. When she said that my Cara should have no difficulty in carrying a future child and delivering it safely, I let go my breath. Until that moment, I do not think I had been aware I was holding it. I did not know what to say and stood so suddenly that I believe I surprised both she and Terry, not to mention Diana. I opened my lips to thank her for the good news and discovered I could not speak. I felt Terry’s hand on my shoulder at the same moment I became aware of the moisture on my face and realised I was weeping.
TERRY
Retrospective
I’ve seen men cry on a number of occasions, but this was the first time I’d seen it without accompanying physical pain or grief or both. Today and for Max, it was pure relief. I knew he wanted kids, and I think I had a pretty good idea just how much he wanted them. I also knew that he’d told Reags that if she couldn’t have another child because of medical complications, it would make no difference in his love for her. I had no doubt as to the truth of that because he is, to use a somewhat trite term, completely besotted with her. Can’t say that I blame him. I have to admit that I love Reags like I would a sister, and if that were the case, I can’t think of a man I’d rather have as a brother-in-law. Hearing from him what that bastard did – and may have done - to Reags had cut me deeply; I think it would any man who had ever been in love with a woman and hoped to have a child with her. It doesn’t bother me that Diana can’t have children, but if I knew that she’d been butchered by some maniac, it would likely break my heart. The thought of some bastard doing to Diana what had been done to Reagan sent waves of anger rippling through me. Having children is a choice, and for someone to take that choice away from a healthy woman is about the worst thing I can imagine happening to her. Thank Christ, Reags’ doctor felt that whilst there was some damage, it was not to the extent that would preclude her giving birth to a healthy child in the future.
I’d watched Max as he listened to the doctor and when he stood suddenly, I didn’t know what he was about. He tried to speak and couldn’t for a moment. When he finally got his voice back, I had my hand on his shoulder. I watched the tears pool in his eyes and then fall. When he turned toward me, I knew it wasn’t me he was seeing, but whatever god or gods he prayed to and was thanking them for their beneficence. I put one arm round him and pulled his head onto my shoulder, then just held onto my mate as he let go of the iron control he’d had on himself the last few days and wept.
MAXIMUS
Retrospective
I had not been aware of weeping until Terry spoke. The last occasions on which I had wept were on finding the charred and crucified bodies of my wife and my son and the night of my confession to Cassandra. Until today, I had believed that nothing could ever move me to tears again; I was mistaken. On this day, in this time, my tears were those of thanks to the gods for their beneficence in having spared my Cara, for having assured her of the ability to bear a child if she wished to do so. I wished to thank Terry for his understanding but could not find the words; possibly, those words do not exist. His voice was low and rough when he spoke, and it was clear that he, too, was moved by the news Sharon had given us.
“Come on, Mate. You’ll want to be in Reags' room when she wakes, and they’ve just taken her down the hall. Diana’s gone ahead of us.” I had no notion of which direction her room was and followed Terry's lead down the corridor and into the private room we had requested. The attendants had just finished moving her into her bed, and she had moaned softly at their jostling; Diana was quietly holding the hand without needles and tubes attached to it and trying not to look at the medical apparatus. Sharon was at the bedside and looked over at us.
“Don’t worry about the moaning. She’s having what are similar to labour pains and will for several hours. The uterus and cervix don’t like being fiddled with, and they complain when they are. I’ve ordered pain medication and will administer it as soon as the nurse brings it back to me.” She had been on the far side of the bed from us and now came round to stand in front of me.
“Max, she’s going to be fine. There’s absolutely no reason that she can’t have half a dozen healthy children, assuming that’s what the two of you want.” She looked at Terry for a moment and then held out her hand. “I’m Sharon Fletcher. Have we met previously? You look familiar.” I caught my breath, and Diana seemed to hold hers whilst Terry answered smoothly.
“No, don’t think so, Love. Wouldn’t forget someone as lovely as you. I likely look familiar because Max and I are half-brothers …same mum. When I was 13, I went to live with my dad in Australia; Max stayed in Spain with our mum. We kept in touch and joined up a few years ago and now have our own firm.” She smiled at him, clearly entranced by his charm.
“Yeah, well, that’s probably it then.” She said nothing more, though I did wonder how long it might be before she sorted out the reality if she saw me on any regular basis. Diana rolled her eyes as the door closed.
DIANA
Retrospective
“Wouldn’t forget someone as lovely as her? How do you guys get away with lines like that?” At times I’m ashamed of the gullibility of my own gender. Still, I’ll be the first to admit that Terry is a charmer. He had to be; it wasn’t easy to get me wrapped around some man’s finger, and I was only beginning to admit that’s where he had me. Reags chose that moment to moan again, and I squeezed her hand.
“Shhhh, Reags. Sharon will be right back with your pain meds. Hang in and show these two fools how tough you are.” She opened her eyes and looked around. Obviously, she was more lucid than we’d realized.
“No meds.” Max turned to look at her.
“Cara, you are in pain. Permit the doctor to help you.”
“Run up the head of this frigging bed.” Well, yes, ma’am! Terry snapped to and hit the button on the side of the bed, elevating her head about 45 degrees.
“Better, Love?” She smiled at him.
“Much. Thanks, Terry.” Max was now holding the hand I wasn’t, in spite of the IV tubing; apparently needles and IV tubing don’t bother him.
“Cara, why do you insist on refusing medication? There is no need for you to suffer.” She shrugged.
“Well, I sure as Hell don’t plan on taking paid meds when I’m in labour, so I might as well start getting used to it now. Besides, this is nothing compared to the pain when I lost the baby.” She must have been playing possum on us and heard everything Sharon had said. Max’s eyebrows went up.
“You heard what the doctor said?”
“Of course, I did. I just figured we’d get rid of her faster if I pretended to be asleep. No point in letting her hang around long enough to start thinking about just how much you two really do resemble each other …not to mention a certain actor. She may not go to movies often, but she doesn’t have her head in the sand either.” Sharon bustled back in the room, hypodermic in hand. She seemed surprised that Reags was awake.
“Hey, Honey. I brought you something for the pain.”
“Take it back, Sharon. I’m fine.” She raised an eyebrow at that one.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Max fill you in on the results?” Reags smiled.
“Yeah, he did. Thanks, Sharon. Now, you have other patients to see, and I’m fine, so scoot. I have three overly protective private nurses here to see to my every need. I’ll see you later.” Sharon nodded.
“Well, if you’re sure. I’d like you to stay overnight. Barring any problems, I’ll discharge you first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s great. Thanks again. See you in the morning.” Sharon left. If she was aware she’d been dismissed, she didn’t show it.
REAGAN
Retrospective
The discovery of Worthington’s treachery and my procedure had taken place in early December. I think they – Maximus, Terry, Dee, and Dino - expected me to want to leave for England immediately; they seemed surprised when I didn’t. I had classes to deal with, and for the present, I was comfortable with Sharon’s assurances that I should be able to carry a child to term with no difficulty. Further, taking off for London at that point in time just wasn’t feasible. The firm – and Dee and I – had been swimming upstream since Labour Day, or so it seemed. We’d survived the Terry vs. Dino debacle with regard to Dee. Dee and I had succeeded in getting the guys to do a retreat that enabled them to break down their walls a bit and start letting others in; in brief, they were learning what it means to trust. Of course, that weekend was not without its own unique set of problems. They had been arrested for drinking in a State park and had been required to return to Palestine in early December for their court date. The hearing itself was worthy of being turned into a film, and if there was a category for “Best Comedy of Errors,” it would have swept everything.
Sandwiched between Labour Day and the present, we’d also had the Terry-Dee meeting the night they joined Maximus and me for the opera. We had been to Washington, DC, for the ball in honour of the new Ambassador from Australia. The day after the ball, there had been a cocktail party in our suite for those the Washington Post referred to as the gliterrati and, for some reason, an invitation to our little soirée was deemed the premiere ‘ticket’ in town that weekend. All I’m sure of is that I was more than grateful that Dee took over the planning and coordination for that. Terry having a woman in his life with some sense and who didn’t object to supporting him in his career got the proverbial monkey off my back. It isn’t that I actually mind doing things like that for Terry, but I’m truly not a political animal, and Dee is. Though I was more than capable of circulating and flattering the hell out of the various politicians (I actually knew a couple of the representatives from Texas), worrying about their fragile egos just is not my cup of tea. This time I’d been able to just be Maximus’ fiancée and devote myself primarily to flattering the various wives, most of whom were far more interested in drooling over my engagement ring than talking about what their husbands did. Fortunately, diamonds are drool-proof.
By the time we’d gotten to the airport for our flight home from Washington, we were all exhausted. You can only take so many hours of a smile on your face and making polite chit-chat before it wears thin. Perhaps I should rephrase that. I can only take so many hours of smiling and polite chit-chat before I have to resist the urge to shake some vapid individual and scream at them for their self-centred posturing. Fortunately, Maximus had seen me approaching that point and came over to insert himself into the conversation before I hit my breaking point.
We were all back in Dallas now and attempting to settle back into our lives. Christmas was coming, and I was planning Christmas at our house for the five of us, plus Sooze, Dolores and Sarah, Dolores’ nanny. Dolores was born three months after her dad was killed in action in Iraq in late March, 1991 …another child left without a father and a woman without a husband thanks to Desert Storm. It’s difficult to believe that the children born during and in the aftermath of that conflict are now in entering their teens; Dolores will be 13 next summer. I know that has to be difficult for Sooze to believe. Frankly, I don’t know how she’s done it …raising a child alone must be appallingly difficult, but she’s done a wonderful job. As one might expect, thinking about Sooze and Dolores brought me back to thinking about Maximus and myself and about the possibility of our having a child.
We had decided to go to London and confront the OB/GYN who had ‘cared’ for me during my first pregnancy, though the actual trip was deferred until the first of the year. Terry had already contacted the Bureau of Prisons and following several lengthy discussions, had obtained permission for us – Maximus, Terry, and myself – to meet with Worthington, providing we gave them 48 hours notice of our arrival at the prison. I hadn’t wanted to leave before late winter because all of us had so many other irons in the fire over the fall and through the holidays. Well, that’s one reason. The primary reasons were that I needed to allow myself time for much of my anger to dissipate before seeing Worthington again. More than that, Maximus needed time to cool off. After his initial shock and disbelief had passed, his anger began to burn. What’s the old saying? Never piss off a patient man. Yes, that would be the one.
*
February 2006
We checked into the Dorchester a bit after nine on Saturday morning, having arrived at seven at London’s Gatwick Airport. After a flight of almost nine hours, all I wanted was a hot shower and a bed for the next four to five hours, and Maximus seemed to share my sentiments. Although it was a Saturday, Terry called the warden of the prison where Worthington was incarcerated. We’d got lucky, as the man had been in the SAS with Terry and on retiring, had gone to work for the British Prison System; Terry had his home telephone number. He had told Terry that whilst our request was unusual and did not fall within the usual required 48-hour notice period, he would make the necessary arrangements for me to speak with Worthington in order to set my mind at rest. Our appointment with my own incarnation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was at two the next afternoon. Perhaps the warden thought it best to have us there during Sunday visiting hours, thinking that Maximus and I would be more reluctant to go through the wire cage or across the table and kill the bastard if there were witnesses nearby.
Terry called Dee to let her know we’d arrived safely and that we would be traveling to Nottingham the next day. I knew he didn't need to check in with her because she knew the prison was in Nottingham. I think he wanted and needed to hear her voice. From the little I heard of his side of the conversation, she was glad to hear his. The prison was about 130 miles from London, north, and close to Stoke on Trent. As our appointment was at two, we’d need to leave not later than ten, just to insure we had enough time in case there was a traffic diversion, or we wanted to stop for a cup of coffee. We set our alarms and were up at eight.
*
Terry was driving, as he was more familiar with the countryside out of London than Maximus, the latter having barely got out of central London the entire time he lived there. The morning was clear and cold; there was still frost on the fields as we left the city and moved into the countryside. No snow, as England is on the eastern side of the jet stream and stays warmer than most who’ve not traveled there would imagine. We stopped in Northampton for coffee and the odour made me nauseous; I asked for tea to replace the coffee I’d ordered and sipped it cautiously. As least it seemed inclined to stay down; I’d not been so sure of the coffee. Maximus’ hand reached over to cover mine as he and Terry continued talking, but Terry had shot me a concerned look at the coffee bit. I shrugged and looked out the window. We got back into the car and began the last leg of our journey. Just over an hour later we pulled up to the gate of Nottingham Prison.
*
We were taken to the warden’s office, and he joined us within minutes. Terry and Maximus stood as he walked in and extended his hand to Terry first.
“Terry, me old mate! How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better, Nigel. Allow me to present Dr. Reagan Kavanagh, and my colleague, COL Max Espan. COL Espan is retired from the UOE; he and Dr. Kavanagh will be marrying sometime later in the year. I believe you’re familiar with Dr. Kavanagh’s need to see Mr. Worthington.” Nigel – Mr. Groome – shook hands with Maximus and me and sat, nodding his head. Terry had told us on the drive up that he would be introducing Maximus as retired military. His comment had been along the lines that a former SAS officer who was part of the British peerage would be more ‘helpful’ to a retired officer and his fiancé than he would a ‘mere’ civilian.
“Quite. First off, Dr. Kavanagh, permit me to offer my condolences for your loss. It’s appalling what some men think they have the right to do to an unsuspecting woman. At least we caught him out, and he’ll be a very old man before he’s released …hopefully too old to consider such an action again.” Worthington had been approaching 60 when I had known him and that had been a number of years ago; he would be close to 80 by the time he was out of gaol, assuming he didn’t die in the interim. Frankly, I hoped he would. Mr. Groome was speaking again, and I forced myself to pay attention.
“Though it’s irregular, I’m going to allow the three of you in to see him at the same time.” He looked at Terry. “Terry, I’m counting on you to keep the good Colonel from killing the bastard, though he needs it. Hate to see a good man go up for doing a bit of rubbish clearing.” That broke the ice a bit, and we all chuckled, even if was somewhat forced for Maximus and me. “Of course, there will be a guard in the room – standard procedure, you know – and if Worthington acts up, he’ll be removed straight away.” Now Groome looked at me.
“Dr. Kavanagh, you will be the first woman Worthington has seen since coming here. I’ve no notion of how he would react to women in general, and not the slightest idea of how he will react to a woman he has wronged. He may be contrite, or he could become agitated. Not that I think he would attempt to harm you whilst a guard is present, but I would be remiss if I failed to warn you.” I nodded.
“I think I can handle him. Mr. Groome, may I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“Under what charges was Worthington prosecuted? In the States, we would have considered him a recidivist sexual predator – the abortions would have been considered a variant of sexual assault and battery - and it’s possible he’d have gotten the death penalty; life imprisonment without possibility of parole would have been the fallback sentence. I know you don’t have the death penalty in England, but I’d be very interested in knowing the charges.” He had Worthington’s file on the desk and opened it, scanned for a few moments, then looked back at me.
“As you know, Britain outlawed the death penalty for murder in 1998, but for in times of war or imminent threat of war. You may also know that whilst we discourage abortion, it is not outlawed here until after the 20th week - the fifth month - of pregnancy. Unfortunately, given that the foetus does not have legal standing as a person in the UK, aborting a foetus – even at 20 weeks - is not considered murder. Were that the case, Mr. Worthington’s crimes would have been considered capital in nature, and he would have received a sentence of life imprisonment. We convicted him on multiple charges of grievous medical malpractice.”
TERRY
Reags looked as if she was about to chunder, and Max was clearly too angry – not to mention potentially volatile – to speak, so I stepped in.
“Nigel, how did you catch the bloke? What brought him to the attention of the police?” He sat back in his chair, clasping his hands over a middle that was quite a bit more substantial than when I last saw him.
“Apparently, he got a bit sloppy in the dispensing of his favoured abortifacient.”
“How so?”
“He systematically made use of a substance known as common tansey …it’s been available for centuries. Dates back to the Roman Empire that we know of and likely farther than that. It’s available for purchase over the Internet, as well as at various herbalists round the country. Mr. Worthington dispensed it to his patients for various supposed maladies …in place of antibiotics for minor infections (Reags closed her eyes and Max’s hand – the one not holding hers – clenched into a fist), as a herbal tea for sleep, as a tonic for low energy …basically, for anything a patient might complain of during pregnancy. The only thing we could figure was that he increased the amount he told his patients to take in order to be very sure that taking it during the second trimester would produce an abortion. He apparently forgot – or didn’t care - that at a certain level, the stuff can cause contractions so severe as to rupture the uterus.
“When two young women in their second trimester of pregnancy presented within three weeks to St. Mary’s Hospital with a partially aborted foetus, the trauma staff thought it strange. Both women gave a history of having taken an herbal tea prescribed by their physician, Mr. Worthington. The staff began calling other hospital trauma centres asking if they could report any similar instances. Central Middlesex had one such case, King George another, and King’s College reported three. Each woman had the same complaint and the same physician. One of them – the one at King George – presented to trauma with a ruptured uterus and almost died. She required a hysterectomy in order to save her life; she was 23 years of age.” Reags bolted out of her chair and out the door with Max right behind her. Nigel was on his feet and starting round his desk when I stopped him.
“Let them go, Mate. She’s a strong woman …the bit about his dispensing the stuff for an infection is her story. They’ll be back in a tic.” He shook his head as he sat.
“Poor little thing.” Whilst I agreed in principle, I knew Reags would have spit the dummy at his choice of words. We chatted about other matters whilst Reags and Max were gone, and when they returned five or six minutes later, Max spoke.
“Reagan has told me that the national medical board advised her of six cases for which Mr. Worthington was prosecuted. You enumerated seven. What of the seventh woman?” Nigel shook his head.
“Colonel Espan, I dislike the idea of abortion under any circumstances save those necessary to save the life of the mother. The seventh woman already had five children. She was undergoing her change-of-life (Reags smiled at the polite euphemism) and thought she could no longer conceive. When she did and whilst her husband concurred in her wish to terminate the pregnancy, the waiting list at the National Health Service could not accommodate her in a timely fashion. She went to Mr. Worthington rather than her usual physician – she’d heard from an acquaintance that he would ‘help’ a woman in need – and fabricated a story of an infection. Though she had a rough time and was in hospital for several days, she succeeded in her wish to miscarry the child. She did not press charges.” Max shook his head, his jaw set in disgust.
“I fail to understand why an intelligent woman or man would not avail themselves of the means to avoid conception when such means are readily available, and then abort a child because they did not wish to be responsible for their behaviours. It is unconscionable, and in my view, unforgivable.” Nigel nodded his concurrence.
“I couldn’t agree more. My wife Amanda and I have three adolescents …and a six-month-old son because we failed to take precautions on one occasion. Alan is the light of our lives; it never occurred to us not to go through with the pregnancy.” I grinned at him.
“You and Amanda have another one? Good onya, Mate! Is this one going to call me Uncle Terry like the older ones?”
“You can count on it, Terry. And before I forget …Amanda asked that the three of you join us for dinner and stay the night. We’ve bought a larger house, and there’s more than enough room for you.” He looked at Reags. “Dr. Kavanagh, I’m quite sure my wife has a nightdress that will fit you admirably.” Sounded as if the last addition to the family hadn’t cost Amanda her shape; she’d always had a trim figure and was a damned attractive woman. I looked at Max and Reags before answering.
“Let’s see how Reagan feels after the interview. She may want nothing more than to go back to London tonight.”
“I quite understand, but you must at least stay to tea; Amanda would never forgive me if she didn’t have the opportunity to see you. We’ll go to our house straight away following the interview, and you can decide then about dinner and staying the night.” I had a feeling we’d be bunking at the Groome house tonight. Having another woman to talk to might be just the ticket for Reags. Nigel looked at us and stood.
“Well, then. No point in putting off the unpleasant. Let’s get you through this as quickly as possible.” He rang for the guard to fetch Worthington from his cell and led us down the hallway to the interview room.
MAXIMUS
Mr. Groome had seen to the placement of a table and chairs in the interview room, three chairs on one side of the table and one on the other. A guard was waiting for us and ushered us to our seats. Terry and I sat on either side of Cassandra. Moments later Worthington was brought in, attended by another guard who remained in the room with the first one. I looked at the man as he entered.
He appeared to be in his early 60s, rather slightly built and of just below average height. His hair was gray and thinning; it curled just over his collar and round his ears. He wore spectacles which were perched on the end of a long, rather beaklike nose. His shoulders were slightly stooped though whether from age or poor posture, I could not determine. His countenance was benign, his overall presence that of a kindly and aging grandfather. He had the audacity to smile when he saw Cassandra and spoke warmly to her. I kept my silence with an effort.
“Reagan Kavanagh! How lovely to see you again, my dear. Are you quite well?” He extended one manacled hand to her as if to shake hers. She did not stand or return his gesture and appraised him coldly before speaking.
“This isn’t a social visit, Worthington, so let’s not pretend it is. I’m here to ask questions, and I expect truthful responses. I’m quite good at discerning lies, so please don’t waste your time or that of myself and these gentlemen by dissembling.” He looked offended at her directness but took his seat opposite us at the table, the two guards moving to either side of him. I am sure it did not escape his attention that she called him by his last name and without the honorific of ‘Mr.’
“I see. I can only imagine what terrible things you must have been told about me, my dear. And who are these two gentlemen? Are you and Bill no longer married?” I could see Cassandra’s jaw tighten; her restraint was admirable, as befitted a virtuous and honourable woman of any time.
“My marital status is no concern of yours. These gentlemen are my colleagues, Mr. Thorne and Mr. Espan.” It was a forgivable prevarication.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gentlemen.” Neither Terry nor I spoke, and the man went back to protestations of his innocence.
“As I’m sure you know, I’ve been accused of terrible things, my dear, things I simply could not have done. What possessed those women to lie about me is beyond my comprehension.” She looked at him coldly.
“Worthington, I’ve no interest in what you may or may not have done to anyone else. They are not my concern. My concern is with what I believe you did to me, to my child.”
“And what do you think I did, my dear?”
“I believe you deliberately gave me a herbal concoction - Tanacetum vulgare – otherwise known as common tansey, to effect an abortion. I came to that conclusion before learning precisely what accusations had been made against you that resulted in your incarceration. As I’m sure you know, I can’t prosecute you at this point because you treated me in another country; further, even had the treatment occurred here or in the States, the statute of limitations has expired. What I want is the truth …did you or did you not give me a substance you knew would induce an abortion, and if so, why?” The directness of her accusation and questions seemed to give him pause and he was silent for a time. When he spoke, his words made my blood run hot with rage.
“Surely you know that not all women are capable of bearing a child. Have you considered the possibility that you are one of those women?”
“I am aware that not all women can bring pregnancy to a successful conclusion. I considered the possibility that I might fall into that category. The gynaecologists I have consulted since my return to the States do not feel that to be the case.” That was true. Cassandra had told me that on her return to Virginia, the two physicians she had consulted there assured her that there appeared to be no impediment – aside from her fears – to successful pregnancy. Sharon had confirmed their opinions. She continued. “I also know that spontaneous abortion – miscarriage - after the first trimester of pregnancy is extremely rare. My ‘miscarriage’ occurred well into the fourth month of my pregnancy …as did those of the women responsible for putting you here.” His demeanor changed from that of a parent patronizing a child to that which I suspected was his true self; his face hardened, and his eyes grew cold.
“Did it never occur to you that childrearing is not a pleasant task?”
“I am aware that it is not without its frustrations.”
“Let me assure you that it is far from what is depicted in the flowery prose offered by the pro-life contingent of the population.” Cassandra did not speak, merely tilted her head to one side, and we waited for him to continue.
“Children are messy, noisy, irritating little buggers. As infants, they mess their clean nappies immediately after one puts them on. As toddlers, they break things and have the most appalling of tantrums when they fail to get precisely what they want when they want it. Any intelligence they possess departs as they enter adolescence; they become belligerent, undisciplined, and unconscionable creatures, irrespective of the good efforts made by their parents. The majority of them should never have been born.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It took all my fortitude not to lunge across the table between us and snap his neck like a twig with my bare hands. I looked at Terry and saw my emotions mirrored in his eyes before returning my gaze to Cassandra.
“I see. And what authority gave you the right to make that decision?” He smiled, evading her question.
“I perceive my activities as being in the service of mankind. Men appear incapable of curbing their desire to prove their masculinity by getting women pregnant. Women seem to consider themselves fulfilled only when they have marched in the long line of their friends with their bellies sticking out, thus proving their fecundity. Once having produced a child, the majority of so-called parents ignore their offspring, permitting them to run wild, creating havoc and producing even more unwanted children.”
“Unwanted children …unwanted by whom, Worthington?” His face turned suddenly livid, and when he answered, it was the response of a madman; his entire visage shifted, and his spittle flew along with his words.
“BY ME! They are worthless, blood-sucking parasites! They take all you have to give and throw it back in your face, laughing all the while! The fewer of them that are allowed to survive, the better off mankind will be!” He lurched up from his chair, overturning it, and tried to move round the table, his manacled hands curved as if to strike. The guards caught him and wrestled him away from us with no small amount of difficulty. His physical strength had increased with his rage, his madness. In only moments, they had him out the door; we could hear his shrieks as they moved him down the corridor. I looked at Cassandra.
“You have your answer.” She took a deep breath, her voice steady when she spoke.
“He’s psychotic …and likely has been for years. I wonder what his own child did that sent him over the edge.”
*
We were back in Mr. Groome’s office ten minutes later, already seated when he entered and shook his head as he spoke.
“The man is completely mad. I’ve had him taken to the medical ward. He’ll likely be sedated.” He looked at Cassandra. “Can you tell me what caused this reaction? He’s been a model prisoner since the day of his admission until now.”
“Mr. Groome, ….”
“Nigel, please.”
“Nigel …my doctorate is in forensic psychology. Prior to entering academia I was an investigator – a profiler – with the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. I simply asked questions I felt would threaten him, and as a result, his true personality would surface. When that happened, I learnt what I needed to know. He deliberately aborted my child, and I feel certain he’s done the same to countless women, the existence of whom we’ll never know. Worthington is clearly psychotic and probably has been for many years. I suspect his behaviour is in reaction to something one of his own children did to him …at least he thinks whatever the child did was designed to hurt him. Of course, the veracity of that statement rests on whether or not he has children.” Groome opened Worthington’s file again, flipped through and read part of a specific page, then closed the file.
“He has three children, two sons and a daughter. His eldest son is serving a life sentence for serial murder at Parkhurst Maximum Security Prison on the Isle of Wight. At sentencing, Worthington collapsed and had to be removed from the court when he offered his son his sympathy; the boy spat in his face. Apparently, his wife left him when the boy was 15-years-old after begging him to seek help for their son. Worthington refused, saying that the boy would grow out of it – he’d killed and dismembered cats belonging to two neighbours. Clearly, that did not happen, and the wife couldn’t watch it any longer. She took the younger son and their daughter and left, leaving the eldest boy with Worthington. Unfortunately, the eldest son had developed a taste for killing and moved on to practise his skill on human beings. Tragic.” Cassandra nodded.
“It is. The reality is that it’s extremely unlikely anything Worthington could have done would have made any difference, but that doesn’t stop him blaming himself. One could conjecture that he felt he was preventing other parents from going through what he did with his son. What a waste.” She looked at me.
“I’ve found out what I needed to know. Let’s get out of here.” She turned back to Groome.
“Nigel, is the offer of tea still open? I would consider it an honour to meet your wife and children.”
“Most assuredly. Let me just ring Amanda and tell her we’re on our way.”
TERRY
Amanda was waiting at the door as we got out of the car and came running across the winter-dead lawn.
“Terry!” She almost leapt into my arms, and I grabbed her, holding her close and swinging her round. It was a treat to see her again. I’d long felt a special bond for both Nigel and Amanda; there were as good a pair of mates as I’d had until meeting up with Dino, Max, and Reags. Nigel had been my best mate whilst I was in the SAS, and he and Amanda were newly married. He had stood as my best man when Marjorie and I married, and I was godfather to their eldest child, Suzanna. I’d not seen the family since moving to the States five years ago, though we’d kept in touch through regular e-mails. When I finally set Amanda back on her feet, we both had tears in our eyes.
It had been to Nigel and Amanda that I’d turned when Marjorie gave me the boot. Good mate that he was – is – Nigel had followed me as I drank my way through the pubs and had pulled me out of that pool of vomit I mentioned that night at Reags’ and Max’s home. He’d taken me home and tossed me into the shower, literally holding me under the water as I’d fought him to get loose. I was still more than half pissed at the time. He’d put me to bed on the couch in their lounge, and when I’d awakened after ten the following morning, Amanda was sitting across from me, holding out a cup of strong tea. She’d let me cry all over her, quite literally, and whilst I knew she was less than fond of Marjorie, she never said a word against her. I’ve always respected Amanda for that. She didn’t feel it was her place to comment on the marriages – or marriage partners – of others, settling instead on providing me with a safe port from the storm.
Their first child was born whilst I stayed with them. Nigel and I had driven Amanda to hospital and paced the floor of the fathers’ lounge together until the nurse came to tell us that mother and baby were doing well. We’d gone in to see Amanda and little Suzanna, then gone out and got royally pissed, sobering up just in time to shower and pick them up at hospital when they were discharged the following afternoon. I wiped away my tears and laughed at our silliness.
“Amanda …you’ve not aged a day.” She shook her head at me.
“And you’re just as convincing a liar as ever!” I made the introductions and from the look on Amanda’s and Reags’ faces, I had the feeling they, too, would become good mates. We trooped into the house, laughing as we went.
“I was rather hoping that Diana was with you,” Amanda suggested. “Your e-mails changed tone when she entered the scene.” That they had. For all Nigel and Amanda knew, I hadn't had a woman in my life since Marjorie. I think they had given up hope for me until Diana came along.
“She's tied up with her horses. She events, you know Badminton, Burghley …Princess Anne's sport. There’s a great deal of work involved in getting both her eventing horse and herself properly conditioned. This will be her first season in years, and she’s looking forward to it. Had this planned long before I entered the scene. Of course she has our complete itinerary at her fingertips; if any of us had needed her, she could have been here in less than eight hours.”
Amanda had laid on a full high tea, complete with smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, plain and blueberry scones, lemon curd and clotted cream, a proper trifle, and cranberry tarts. I took one look at the clotted cream, and my mouth actually began watering; you simply can’t get proper clotted cream in the States. As we sat to table, I found myself wondering why Nigel hadn’t grown even more portly if Amanda did this often, as well as how she had managed to stay so slender. Max looked as if he could scarcely wait to dig in – he enjoys a good high tea as much as any man I’ve ever known – and Reags was already asking Amanda if she would be interested in swapping recipes. It looked as if we’d be staying the night.
*
Two days later, we bade farewell to Nigel and Amanda at the security check-through at Gatwick Airport. After tea that afternoon, Max, Reags, and I had a little chat, and I had called the Dorchester, asking them to clear out our suite and have our things brought up to Nottingham. A London cabby had arrived before nine that night, and we’d spent the rest of our time in England with the Groome’s.
As we waited for our flight to be called in the departure lounge, I’d turned to Reags.
“Did you get the closure you needed, Love?” She nodded.
“Yes. And whilst I’m still angry at Worthington for what he did, I pity him, as well. Amanda and I had a good long talk about it, and that helped. She’s a wonderful woman, Terry, and Nigel is a terrific man.” I smiled.
“They are …best mates I’ve ever had until meeting up with you two and Dino and now, Diana. I need to start making a point of at least calling them whenever I’m here.” She nodded.
“Yes, you should. You don’t want to lose touch with friends like that.” Fourteen hours later we were back in Dallas and ready to move on with our lives.
To be Continued
NOTES
| Antenatal | In the USA, the more common term is prenatal. |
| Emmenagogue | A drug or agent that induces or hastens menstrual flow. |
| il più assai una | most precious one |
| Non conosco che cosa dire a voi. | I do not know what to say to you. |
| Mr. Worthington | Physicians in the United Kingdom are generically referred to as “Mr.” rather then the honorific of “Dr.” as is the case in the United States. |