Heart and Soul Part 2

"She must have said something."

"No, she didn't."

"You didn't go."

"I did did go." He was stung by the injustice of it. "She can't have said nothing." go." He was stung by the injustice of it. "She can't have said nothing."

"She said, 'Get out.'"

"And you did?"

"Love, it doesn't make any difference."

"It does to me," Cinta said.

Clara had always been a great believer in putting worries out of your mind. Years back they had a wonderful professor of general medicine who had managed to inspire them all. He was Dr. Morrissey, her friend Dervla's father.

"Never underestimate the curative powers of being busy," he had advised them. He said that most of their patients would benefit from having more rather than less to do. He had achieved a near legendary reputation for curing insomnia simply by advising people to get up and sort out their tape collection or iron their table napkins. What would he say now? Kind Dr. Morrissey who had been more of a father to Clara than her own remote, withdrawn father ever had been.

Dr. Morrissey would say, "Tackle something that will absorb you. Something that will put That b.a.s.t.a.r.d Alan and his divorce and his infantile girlfriend way out of mind." Clara poured a gla.s.s of wine and went upstairs. She would fill every corner of her mind with this b.l.o.o.d.y center that she had signed on to run.

In Quentins Adi was watching her sister with disapproval. Linda was twining her long blond hair around her fingers and smiling at a man across the room.

"Stop it, Linda," Adi hissed.

"Stop what?" Linda's eyes were big, blue and innocent.

"Stop attracting his attention."

"He smiled. I smiled back. Is this now a hanging offense?"

"It could end up being complicated. Will you stop stop smiling, Linda!" smiling, Linda!"

"All right, prune face. Whatever happened to being pleasant?" Linda asked sulkily.

At that moment a waiter bristling with disapproval came to their table. "Mr. Young's compliments and would the young ladies like to choose a digestif with his compliments."

"Can you please tell Mr. Young no, thank you very much," Adi said.

"Please tell Mr. Young that I'd love an Irish coffee," Linda said.

The waiter looked helplessly from one to the other. Mr. Young, from across the room, had seen the situation and materialized at their table. A tall man in his late forties, in a well-cut suit and with the appearance of being a person who could manage most situations.

"I was just thinking about how life is so short and how sad it is to have to spend it talking business with men in suits," he said, a practiced smile on his suntanned face.

"Oh, I do agree," Linda simpered.

"So do I," Adi said. "But we are the wrong people to waste the rest of your life on. Mr. Young, my sister here is a twenty-one-year-old student and I am a twenty-three-year-old teacher. We're probably not much older than your own children. Our father has paid for us to have a nice dinner here while he tells our mother that he wants a divorce. So you see it's a fraught time. And really you would probably find it more fun with the suits."

"Such pa.s.sion and strength in one so young and beautiful." Mr. Young looked at the elder girl with admiration.

Linda didn't like that at all.

"Adi's right, we do do have to go home," she said and the waiter's shoulders relaxed. Problems didn't always sort themselves out so easily. have to go home," she said and the waiter's shoulders relaxed. Problems didn't always sort themselves out so easily.

"And you just actually got out because she said 'Get out'?" Cinta was disbelieving.

"G.o.d, Cinta, what did you expect me to do? Take her by the throat?"

"You said you'd ask her for the divorce."

"And I did ... I did. We'll get it eventually. It's the law."

"But not before the baby is born."

"Does it matter when we get it? We'll both be here for the baby. Isn't that what counts?"

"So no wedding?"

"Not yet. You can have the biggest, best wedding in the world later."

"Okay, later, then."

"What?"

"I said all right, it's hard for you. I'm I'm not going to nag you. Why don't you get that wine you were going to give her and bring it home." not going to nag you. Why don't you get that wine you were going to give her and bring it home."

"I left it there."

"You gave her the wine and left without the divorce? What kind of clown are you, Alan?"

"I really don't know," Alan Casey said truthfully.

Clara had met Alan when she was a first-year medical student and he had been working for his first year in a bank.

Clara's mother said that there were very few people in the world who did not make money while working for a bank. Alan Casey however, was one of them. He placed rather too much faith in the more speculative and wilder aspects of investment. They never had much material comfort. Alan was always being pipped at the post for some house or some really great property. Clara just saved steadily from her salary. She closed her ears to the unasked-for advice from her mother and her friends. This was her life and her decision.

Alan had always been the ambitious one: enough was never enough and there had to be more. That came to include women as well. For a time, Clara pretended it wasn't happening. But then it became too hard and she faced it.

When Clara and Alan had split up officially, Clara made sure that each of the three bedrooms should be furnished with shelves and desks. This way she and the girls could all work in their own s.p.a.ce without interfering with each other. Downstairs was meant to be a more general area. Claras room was cool and elegant. On one side of the room were her bed, dressing table and a large fitted wardrobe. The other half was a workstation with filing cabinets, but it looked like quality furniture rather than cheap office supplies. She had a comfortable leather chair and a good light. She opened a drawer and took out a large box file called CENTER. CENTER. For three weeks she had been avoiding looking at it. It brought home the realization of all she had lost and the small consolation that had been offered in return. But this was the night she would attack it. Maybe after she watched the nine o'clock news. For three weeks she had been avoiding looking at it. It brought home the realization of all she had lost and the small consolation that had been offered in return. But this was the night she would attack it. Maybe after she watched the nine o'clock news.

When there had been a special offer on television sets in the huge warehouse, Clara had bought three of them. The girls said she was behaving like some mad exhibitionist millionaire, but Clara thought it well worth the investment. It meant that Adi could watch programs about the planet being in decline, Linda could see pop shows and she, Clara, could relax with costume drama.

She reached around for the remote control, but then she remembered that Dr. Morrissey had always said that we found excuses to put off doing something that would take our minds off our worries. It was as if we didn't want want to lose the luxury of worrying. So she opened the large box and looked with some small degree of pleasure at her neat filing system. There was the doc.u.mentation about the whole nature of the heart clinic, what it was meant to do, how it would be funded, her own role as its first director. There were her own reports of educational visits to four heart clinics in Ireland and three in Britain and one in Germany. Tiring visits all of them, wearying hours touring facilities that would not be appropriate or relevant to her own center. Note taking, head nodding, murmuring approval here, asking questions there. to lose the luxury of worrying. So she opened the large box and looked with some small degree of pleasure at her neat filing system. There was the doc.u.mentation about the whole nature of the heart clinic, what it was meant to do, how it would be funded, her own role as its first director. There were her own reports of educational visits to four heart clinics in Ireland and three in Britain and one in Germany. Tiring visits all of them, wearying hours touring facilities that would not be appropriate or relevant to her own center. Note taking, head nodding, murmuring approval here, asking questions there.

She had seen money scrimped here, money wasted there. She had observed no planning, excessive planning, making do with what was already there. Nothing to inspire her. Some idiotic decisions like placing a heart clinic on a third floor in a place without proper elevator access. Like the casual attendance of staff on no regular basis. She had seen duplication of files and reports. She had seen trust and hope among patients who felt that they were learning to manage their disease. But surely you could get that in any good GP's office or an outpatient department.

Clara had taken notes on what she had liked and hated in two different colors. It would be easy to summarize her findings. Then she saw a file called PERSONNEL. PERSONNEL. The pool on which she was allowed to draw for a.s.sistance. She would need the services of a diet.i.tian and a physiotherapist. She would need at least two trained cardiology nurses, and a phlebotomist for taking blood. They would have to have a houseman or -woman working there for six-month periods, a system of referral from doctors and the general hospital. They would have to get a campaign of public awareness going, arrange interviews in the national press and on radio. The pool on which she was allowed to draw for a.s.sistance. She would need the services of a diet.i.tian and a physiotherapist. She would need at least two trained cardiology nurses, and a phlebotomist for taking blood. They would have to have a houseman or -woman working there for six-month periods, a system of referral from doctors and the general hospital. They would have to get a campaign of public awareness going, arrange interviews in the national press and on radio.

She had done it all before. When she had been at the forefront, and that was when she was going somewhere. Or thought she was. Still, it had to be done, and she would do it right. What else was she in this for if not that?

She started to look through the files.

Lavender. What a name for a diet.i.tian. But she had a good CV, and she said she wanted to specialize in healthy eating for the heart. She sounded lively, young, dedicated. Clara put a tick beside her name and reached for the phone. Might as well start now. Okay, so it was nine o'clock at night, but this was the girl's mobile phone. She would no doubt be surgically attached to it.

"Clara Casey here, Lavender. I hope it's not too late ..."

"No, of course not, Dr. Casey. I'm delighted to hear from you."

"Perhaps we could have a chat tomorrow if you could come to the center. There's a sort of conference room there. When is best for you?"

"I'm working from home tomorrow, Doctor, so anytime is fine."

They fixed a ten o'clock appointment.

Now she needed a phys...o...b..t she didn't know how many hours a week. She went through the applications to see who was available for part-time work. A big, bluff face came through the photographs. Square, reliable, not handsome, looked like an ex-boxer, but there was something about his story that she liked. He did a lot of work in inner-city clubs, he had been a late student; the word mature mature didn't really apply to him. He had a lopsided grin. didn't really apply to him. He had a lopsided grin. Great, Great, she thought, she thought, I'm choosing staff on their pictures now. I'm choosing staff on their pictures now.

He answered his mobile on the first ring. "Johnny," he said.

Clara Casey explained and, yes, he could make eleven o'clock, no sweat. It was going well. She lined up two nurses and got the name of a security man as well. Tim. She rang his mobile phone. A slightly American accent told her that he would get back to her. If she was going to start to tear this place apart tomorrow she would need someone to keep the building safe.

To her surprise she heard the key in the door and the sound of her two discontented daughters returning. They came into her room without knocking. That was something else that annoyed her these days.

"What did he want?" Linda asked.

"Who?"

"Dad."

"A divorce. He wants to get married again."

The girls looked at each other. "And?"

"And I told him to get out." Clara seemed unconcerned.

"And he went?"

"Well, obviously. And did you have a nice night? No? Well, he left you some wine downstairs. You could kill that, I suppose."

Linda and Adi looked at each other, confused. Their mother's phone rang, and she waved them away.

"Oh, Tim, thank you for getting back to me. No, of course it's not too late. Could you come in tomorrow to discuss a small security job? I am going to knock down a lot of walls and leave a place wide open for a few days, so that will be full-time. After that it will just be on regular routine patrol. Fine. Fine. See you then." She smiled vaguely at her daughters.

They were uneasy. It had not been a hugely successful dinner at Quentins, their father was going to marry a girl of their own age, and now it appeared that their mother had gone raving mad.

The next morning flew by. The interviews went remarkably well. Lavender turned out to be trim and businesslike. She was realistic about the number of hours needed to give dietary advice. She suggested a weekly cookery cla.s.s, and said it had worked well when she had been in a clinic in London. A lot of the patients had no idea how to cook vegetables properly or make a healthy soup and were astounded at the possibilities. Lavender was a no-nonsense person, a single woman in her forties. She took two months off in January and February every year and went to Australia but would arrange a subst.i.tute herself. She would help Clara to set up the kitchen and could start work in two weeks' time.

Clara found it very rea.s.suring.

Johnny the physio was indeed big and bluff but seemed to have huge reserves of patience. He said that heart patients had seen too many movies where people clutched at their chests and died in seconds on the floor. This made them terrified of taking any exercise in case they overexerted themselves and brought on the heart attack that would kill them. Instead they allowed their muscles to waste away. He inquired whether Clara would be able to wire the patients up to an EKG so that their progress could be monitored.

"Doubt if they'll give me the equipment," Clara said.

"We could make a case for it," Johnny said and joined the team.

Tim, the security man, had lived in New York for a couple of years. He had done a lot of hospital work there, so he knew just what was needed. He could give it his full time for the next couple of weeks, as he was hoping to go into business on his own and needed a couple of major satisfied clients. But he didn't want to tread on any toes.

"Why aren't you using the existing hospital security?" he asked.

"Because I want to run my own show." Clara was equally direct.

"And will they pay for it?"

"Yes, if you give us what those guys in the offices might consider a fair quote. They love to think they're saving money. It's all they care about."

"Same everywhere," Tim said pragmatically.

"You came back from America?"

"Yeah. Everyone I knew out there worked fourteen hours a day. All the people I knew here were wearing designer suits and buying property in Spain. Thought I'd come back and get a bit of that for me."

"Glad to be back?"

"Not totally sure," he said.

"Early days yet." Clara was practical. She felt at ease with this quiet man.

The first nurse she interviewed, Barbara, was exactly the kind of person she would have handpicked. Outgoing, direct and very much on top of the subject. She answered the routine questions about heart medication, blood pressure and stroke.

The second woman was older but not at all wiser. Her name was Jacqui and she spelled it twice in case there should be any misunderstanding. She said that she was applying for the job so that she would have no evening or shift work. She said that existing holiday arrangements would have to be honored. She said she would need an hour and a half for lunch to walk her dog, who would sleep peacefully in her car once he knew that an extended "walkies" was included in the day. She said that her present job was like working in the Third World. Most of the time was spent making yourself understood to foreigners. Clara knew in moments that this woman would not be part of the team.

"When shall I hear from you?" Jacqui asked confidently.

"Many many more people to interview. I'll let you know in a week." Clara was clipped.

Jacqui looked around her without much pleasure. "You'll have your work cut out for you here." She sniffed.

"Indeed. But isn't that where the challenge lies?" Clara felt the smile nailed to her face.

What Clara really needed, she discovered the next morning, was an extra pair of legs. Someone who could run and find this form, leave in the other form, get the hospital building team and the electricians to gather for discussions. But nowhere had this pair of legs materialized. She would have to find her own. By chance she found them in the car park. A thin girl with long, straggly hair, carrying a chamois cloth, offered to clean her windshield.

"No, thanks." Clara was pleasant but firm. "This isn't really a good place to get business. Mainly it's staff who don't care what their cars look like or patients who are too worried about themselves to notice."

The girl didn't seem to understand her properly. She was straining to get the meaning of the words.

"Where are you from?"

"Polski," the girl said.