LITMIR.BIZ

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matter?’ the middle-aged man who came to open the door demanded.

      ‘It’s Mrs St Aubyn; I think she must have fallen down the stairs. Could you call an ambulance? Oh, and we’ll need the police; they might have to break down the door.’

      The man came to look for himself before he would phone, but then was more than helpful. ‘You wait here for the ambulance,’ he instructed once the phone call had been made. ‘I’ll go out the back and see if there’s a window open. We don’t want to have to break the door down unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

      A police car was pulling up at the kerb just as the neighbour came hurrying back. ‘There’s a bathroom window partly open at the back,’ he said, panting slightly. ‘Only a small one, though.’

      The policemen looked dubiously at the thickness of the solid front door and went through the man’s house to have a look for themselves. Red, impatient at the delay, went with them. It was a very small window, only about eighteen inches by nine, and on the second floor.

      ‘That’s no good; we can’t get through there,’ one of the policemen said, and went to turn away.

      ‘I could.’ Red caught his arm.

      The policeman looked at her tall, slim figure but he shook his head. ‘I couldn’t let you do it. And anyway, we haven’t got a ladder.’

      ‘I’ve got one,’ the neighbour offered.

      ‘Great.’ Red grinned. ‘Let’s go get it.’

      ‘Now you wait a moment, miss. It’s too dangerous; you might fall.’

      ‘Off a ladder?’ Red laughed. ‘My dad used to take me mountain climbing back home almost as soon as I could walk. Going up a ladder is nothing. And it’ll be a lot quicker than breaking the door down.’

      Overcoming his protests, Red propped the ladder against the wall below the window and climbed it easily. Glancing down at the upturned faces of the men below, she was glad that she was wearing trousers instead of a skirt.

      Getting through the window was a little tricky; she had to go in head first and wriggle her hips through the gap, then almost fell inside. But she agilely picked herself up and ran into the house and down the stairs to open the door for the paramedics.

      Mrs St Aubyn had broken her ankle. She had also banged her head and wrenched her shoulder as she’d tried to grab for the banister rail during her fall down the stairs. It appeared that she had been lying there for at least a couple of hours, although the paramedic said that she’d probably have passed out for some of the time. She was in pain and tearful, but seemed glad that Red was there, gripping her hand as her leg was put into a kind of splint.

      ‘Please—win you call Linus for me?’ she begged. ‘Tell him what’s happened and where I am.’

      ‘Yes, of course I will,’ Red soothed. ‘Just tell me his number.’

      ‘It’s five, nine, three, six, two, eight—oh, no, I mean it’s six, eight, two... Oh, dear, I—I can’t seem to remember.’ And Mrs St Aubyn again began to weep.

      ‘It’s the bump on your head. You’re probably a bit concussed,’ the paramedic told her.

      ‘His number is in the book on my desk.’

      ‘I’ll find it.’ Red ran into the study and found the book, then realised that she didn’t know Linus’s surname. Carrying the book, she ran into the hall as the paramedics lifted Mrs St Aubyn onto a stretcher. ‘What’s his full name?’

      “L-Linus Hunt,’ she gasped, then gave a groan of pain as someone touched her injured shoulder.

      ‘Are you coming to the hospital with the lady?’ one of the paramedics asked Red.

      ‘What? Oh, yes, I suppose so. Just a minute while I write down this number.’

      Flipping through the book, Red found the name. There were two numbers beside it; hastily she wrote them down on a piece of paper and thrust it into her bag, which a policeman had handed to her.

      ‘Don’t worry about the house; I’ll look after it,’ the neighbour told her as she went to follow the stretcher, adding, ‘Look, here’s Felicia’s handbag. You’d better take that with you.’

      

      The hospital was overworked and understaffed. Although Mrs St Aubyn was whisked away at once, it was quite a while before Red had given all the details she knew to the clerk. Not that they were many. She had no idea with which doctor the voice coach was registered, or who was her next of kin. Red didn’t even know if she was still married.

      It suddenly seemed terrible that Red had spent all those hours alone with her tutor and yet knew so little about her. But maybe Linus Hunt would know. She had to queue to use the public phone, but as soon as she was able called his number.

      ‘This is Cornucopia Productions,’ a female voice answered. ‘I’m sorry there’s no one here to take your call at the moment, but if you’ll leave your name and number your call will be returned as soon as possible.’

      An answering machine. Great. It must be his work number, Red realised, and there would naturally be no one there at this time of night. There was no point in leaving a message. Red fed in some more money and called the second number.

      The number rang, but again there was the distinct click as a machine switched itself on. This time she recognised the deep voice of the man she’d met at Mrs St Aubyn’s house over a month ago, but his recorded tone was civilised, sober and laconic. ‘Linus Hunt. Sorry I’m not around. I’ll get back to you when I can.’

      Red hesitated, not sure whether or not to leave a message. It suddenly occurred to her that she knew nothing about his marital status, although she presumed that he was single. She decided to try again later in the hope that he would be in and put down the receiver.

      She made two more calls: the first to Jenny, telling her what had happened, and the second to her date for that evening, cancelling the plans they’d made to go to see a film and afterwards have supper. He wasn’t too happy about it, but when Red said that he could come and sit with her in the hospital waiting area he hastily declined.

      For the next three hours Red waited for Mrs St Aubyn to go to surgery to have her ankle set, reading magazines that were ages old, drinking cups of weak coffee and phoning Linus Hunt every hour, without any luck. Finally Mrs St Aubyn was taken to a ward and Red was allowed to see her for a few minutes.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked gently.

      ‘My head aches so much,’ was the fretful reply. ‘Did you call Linus?’

      ‘I tried several times, but he wasn’t home.’

      ‘Not home?’ The older woman frowned, obviously still muzzy. ‘Oh, of course, I’d forgotten. He’s been away again. But he should be back soon.’ She lifted strained eyes to Red. ‘Look at this terrible nightdress they’ve given me to wear. It’s dreadful. It rubs me and the tapes are broken.’

      ‘Would you like me to bring you in some of your own things?’

      ‘Oh, would you? Yes, please. I feel so uncomfortable.’

      ‘I’ll bring them in first thing in the morning.’

      ‘And my face lotions and make-up. And a hairbrush.’

      Red smiled at her. ‘You must be feeling better already. Here’s your bag. I’ll need your house keys.’

      ‘You find them.’

      ‘OK.’

      ‘Don’t say OK,’ Mrs St Aubyn automatically reproved her.

      A nurse came up. ‘I think the patient had better sleep now.’

      Straightening, Red prepared to leave, but Mrs St Aubyn grasped her sleeve. ‘Will you do something for me?’

      ‘Yes,

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