name. The name Sherringham held too many memories, both personal and in the medical establishment. And you?’
‘Me?’ he asked in bewilderment, forgetting everything, including his reason for visiting the unit.
‘Are you here on business, or just looking up an old friend?’
He recalled the peculiar glint in Patrick’s eye when Dr Randall’s name had been mentioned. He must have worn his heart on his sleeve when he’d investigated the disappearance of Daisy Sherringham’s husband two years ago.
‘Business.’ But even as he launched into a brief description of the facts of the case and the possible, if far-fetched, theory of face transplant, he couldn’t stop looking at her and noting the changes. The tan on her face and hands, the loss of weight that had thrown her cheekbones into greater prominence, the appearance of the first fine lines around her eyes.
There had been a time – and not that long ago –
when all his wildest and most cherished dreams had been centred on Daisy Sherringham. And now she was actually in front of him he was gabbling out the facts of the current investigation like an idiot. It would be a miracle if she understood what he was telling her. He wasn’t even sure he understood it himself.
‘This man’s face was removed two years ago.’
Daisy stopped him mid-flow.
‘Yes.’
‘There was no one carrying out transplants in this country two years ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I can’t be sure. But as far as I’m aware most of the pioneering work was carried out in America, and for legal reasons, Africa.’
‘No one likely to sue in Africa?’
‘That sounds like one of Peter Collins’s remarks.’
‘I still work with him occasionally.’
‘On this case?’
Trevor nodded.
‘The Americans – and the Europeans – have gone litigation crazy in the last few years. It’s getting to the stage where doctors are afraid to treat patients in case they are sued at a later date for something that wasn’t even taken into consideration at the time, and lepers, more than most, are generally prepared to take the risk of pioneering surgery.’
‘How many transplants have been carried out in this unit?’
‘None, but we have three possible recipients waiting for suitable donors.’
‘Men or women?’
‘Two men, one woman.’
‘And two have already been carried out in London, both on women?’
‘Patrick told you. Mark has become quite friendly with him. There are other plastic surgeons operating in this country, but as far as I know none of them have transplanted a full face as yet, apart from Mark.’
‘You’re in touch with the other teams?’
‘Contrary to what the newspapers think, we co-operate with one another. Most doctors do when they’re practising techniques still in the experimental stage. That way our failures can become someone else’s successes, and vice versa.’
‘Could you give me the names of the other teams, and which hospitals they’re operating from?’
‘I can do better than that. If there’s nothing top secret about what you’ve just told me I can run the scenario by them and see if they come up with any ideas.’
‘Would you?’
‘For you, Trevor, anything.’ She looked away from him towards the window. The tide was out.
The vast expanse of beach speckled with the miniature figures of lugworm diggers. ‘If you give me your telephone number I’ll get back to you.’
‘How long will it take you to get the information?’
‘That’s what I like about the police. You offer to do them a favour and they want it yesterday.’
‘We would like the information as soon as possible, but I thought perhaps you could give it to me over dinner.’
‘You’ve changed. Eighteen months ago it would have taken you eight weeks of acquaintanceship to make a proposal like that.’
‘Since I last knew you I’ve begun to live more like a person and less like a hermit.’
‘I don’t want to disrupt your life.’
‘You
‘Me?’ he asked in bewilderment, forgetting everything, including his reason for visiting the unit.
‘Are you here on business, or just looking up an old friend?’
He recalled the peculiar glint in Patrick’s eye when Dr Randall’s name had been mentioned. He must have worn his heart on his sleeve when he’d investigated the disappearance of Daisy Sherringham’s husband two years ago.
‘Business.’ But even as he launched into a brief description of the facts of the case and the possible, if far-fetched, theory of face transplant, he couldn’t stop looking at her and noting the changes. The tan on her face and hands, the loss of weight that had thrown her cheekbones into greater prominence, the appearance of the first fine lines around her eyes.
There had been a time – and not that long ago –
when all his wildest and most cherished dreams had been centred on Daisy Sherringham. And now she was actually in front of him he was gabbling out the facts of the current investigation like an idiot. It would be a miracle if she understood what he was telling her. He wasn’t even sure he understood it himself.
‘This man’s face was removed two years ago.’
Daisy stopped him mid-flow.
‘Yes.’
‘There was no one carrying out transplants in this country two years ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I can’t be sure. But as far as I’m aware most of the pioneering work was carried out in America, and for legal reasons, Africa.’
‘No one likely to sue in Africa?’
‘That sounds like one of Peter Collins’s remarks.’
‘I still work with him occasionally.’
‘On this case?’
Trevor nodded.
‘The Americans – and the Europeans – have gone litigation crazy in the last few years. It’s getting to the stage where doctors are afraid to treat patients in case they are sued at a later date for something that wasn’t even taken into consideration at the time, and lepers, more than most, are generally prepared to take the risk of pioneering surgery.’
‘How many transplants have been carried out in this unit?’
‘None, but we have three possible recipients waiting for suitable donors.’
‘Men or women?’
‘Two men, one woman.’
‘And two have already been carried out in London, both on women?’
‘Patrick told you. Mark has become quite friendly with him. There are other plastic surgeons operating in this country, but as far as I know none of them have transplanted a full face as yet, apart from Mark.’
‘You’re in touch with the other teams?’
‘Contrary to what the newspapers think, we co-operate with one another. Most doctors do when they’re practising techniques still in the experimental stage. That way our failures can become someone else’s successes, and vice versa.’
‘Could you give me the names of the other teams, and which hospitals they’re operating from?’
‘I can do better than that. If there’s nothing top secret about what you’ve just told me I can run the scenario by them and see if they come up with any ideas.’
‘Would you?’
‘For you, Trevor, anything.’ She looked away from him towards the window. The tide was out.
The vast expanse of beach speckled with the miniature figures of lugworm diggers. ‘If you give me your telephone number I’ll get back to you.’
‘How long will it take you to get the information?’
‘That’s what I like about the police. You offer to do them a favour and they want it yesterday.’
‘We would like the information as soon as possible, but I thought perhaps you could give it to me over dinner.’
‘You’ve changed. Eighteen months ago it would have taken you eight weeks of acquaintanceship to make a proposal like that.’
‘Since I last knew you I’ve begun to live more like a person and less like a hermit.’
‘I don’t want to disrupt your life.’
‘You
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