Read Chameleon for Free Online Page B
Authors: Ken McClure
face, he managed a wry smile.
'Are you all right?' asked the man, fearing that Jamieson's smile might have been an indication of some kind of mental aberration.
Jamieson looked up at him and said hoarsely, 'Frankly ... I've had better days.'.'
'The man with the red hair smiled and said, 'I'm Clive Evans.'
'Scott Jamieson. You will excuse me if I don't shake hands.'
Jamieson's bed was surrounded by visitors. The thin, stick-insect like figure of the hospital secretary had been joined by a smaller, more dapper man with silver hair and a clipped, white moustache who introduced himself as Norman Carew, the medical superintendent of Kerr Memorial. A third man, grizzled and thickset was introduced as John Richardson, consultant bacteriologist.
'My dear Doctor, what can we say, this is absolutely awful,' began Crichton, the hospital secretary. 'What a thing to have happened. I just don't know what to say.'
'It was just one of these things,' replied Jamieson, wishing that Crichton would stop being so effusive in his apologies. For some reason it was making his injuries seem worse than they were and this was irking him. Carew started making the same kind of noises and Jamieson had to insist again that it was a totally unforeseen accident that could have happened anywhere and that, apart from a few superficial, albeit painful burns, no real damage had been done.
'And I was looking forward to my sherry too,' said Richardson and immediately lightened the atmosphere. Jamieson smiled and so did the others.
Crichton glanced sideways at Carew and then said, slightly uncomfortably, Jamieson thought, 'Mr Thelwell regrets that he could not manage to get here this evening. He asked me to convey his sympathy and say that he looks forward to meeting you when you are up and about again.'
Jamieson said one thing and thought another. Thelwell was the one who had been described as being 'difficult' he remembered. He was happy to have their meeting delayed. He had had enough 'difficulty' for one day. The sooner today was ended and consigned to the past the better.
'Is there anything we can get you?' asked Crichton as the three prepared to leave.
'I'd like to call my wife,' said Jamieson.
'Of course. Nurse will bring in the phone trolley. We'll say good night.'
Jamieson watched their backs disappear out the door. A few moments later a nurse wheeled in the phone and Jamieson called Sue.
'Scott! Where are you calling from?' asked Sue's delighted voice.
'Actually I'm in bed.'
'At this time?
'I've had a bit of an accident.'
Jamieson gave Sue a suitably understated account of what had happened but she was still very alarmed. 'But you could have been killed!' she protested.
'But I wasn't and everything is all right,' soothed Jamieson.
'But your hands, you said ...'
'Superficial burns, that's all,' interrupted Jamieson.
'I'll come up to Leeds right away,' said Sue.
'No you won't,' said Jamieson. 'I am perfectly all right and I want to get on with the job as soon as possible. I don't want this silly little affair to build up into anything more than it actually was so stay there and I'll see you when I come home at the weekend or whenever. OK?'
There was a long pause before Sue agreed. 'I miss you already,' she said.
'I feel the same,' said Jamieson.
Jamieson had just put down the phone when there was a knock on the door and it was opened by Clive Evans.
'I thought I’d pop in and see how you were,' said Evans.
'That was good of you,' smiled Jamieson, now more able to take a good look at his visitor. He was of average height, somewhere in his early thirties and Jamieson thought he detected a faint Welsh accent in his voice.
'I didn't explain,' said Evans. 'I have the room next to yours in the residency. That's how I smelt the burning.'
'I see, so you're on the staff?'
'I'm the assistant bacteriologist in the microbiology department.'
'Dr Richardson's department?'
'That's right.'
'Been here long?'
'All of three
'Are you all right?' asked the man, fearing that Jamieson's smile might have been an indication of some kind of mental aberration.
Jamieson looked up at him and said hoarsely, 'Frankly ... I've had better days.'.'
'The man with the red hair smiled and said, 'I'm Clive Evans.'
'Scott Jamieson. You will excuse me if I don't shake hands.'
Jamieson's bed was surrounded by visitors. The thin, stick-insect like figure of the hospital secretary had been joined by a smaller, more dapper man with silver hair and a clipped, white moustache who introduced himself as Norman Carew, the medical superintendent of Kerr Memorial. A third man, grizzled and thickset was introduced as John Richardson, consultant bacteriologist.
'My dear Doctor, what can we say, this is absolutely awful,' began Crichton, the hospital secretary. 'What a thing to have happened. I just don't know what to say.'
'It was just one of these things,' replied Jamieson, wishing that Crichton would stop being so effusive in his apologies. For some reason it was making his injuries seem worse than they were and this was irking him. Carew started making the same kind of noises and Jamieson had to insist again that it was a totally unforeseen accident that could have happened anywhere and that, apart from a few superficial, albeit painful burns, no real damage had been done.
'And I was looking forward to my sherry too,' said Richardson and immediately lightened the atmosphere. Jamieson smiled and so did the others.
Crichton glanced sideways at Carew and then said, slightly uncomfortably, Jamieson thought, 'Mr Thelwell regrets that he could not manage to get here this evening. He asked me to convey his sympathy and say that he looks forward to meeting you when you are up and about again.'
Jamieson said one thing and thought another. Thelwell was the one who had been described as being 'difficult' he remembered. He was happy to have their meeting delayed. He had had enough 'difficulty' for one day. The sooner today was ended and consigned to the past the better.
'Is there anything we can get you?' asked Crichton as the three prepared to leave.
'I'd like to call my wife,' said Jamieson.
'Of course. Nurse will bring in the phone trolley. We'll say good night.'
Jamieson watched their backs disappear out the door. A few moments later a nurse wheeled in the phone and Jamieson called Sue.
'Scott! Where are you calling from?' asked Sue's delighted voice.
'Actually I'm in bed.'
'At this time?
'I've had a bit of an accident.'
Jamieson gave Sue a suitably understated account of what had happened but she was still very alarmed. 'But you could have been killed!' she protested.
'But I wasn't and everything is all right,' soothed Jamieson.
'But your hands, you said ...'
'Superficial burns, that's all,' interrupted Jamieson.
'I'll come up to Leeds right away,' said Sue.
'No you won't,' said Jamieson. 'I am perfectly all right and I want to get on with the job as soon as possible. I don't want this silly little affair to build up into anything more than it actually was so stay there and I'll see you when I come home at the weekend or whenever. OK?'
There was a long pause before Sue agreed. 'I miss you already,' she said.
'I feel the same,' said Jamieson.
Jamieson had just put down the phone when there was a knock on the door and it was opened by Clive Evans.
'I thought I’d pop in and see how you were,' said Evans.
'That was good of you,' smiled Jamieson, now more able to take a good look at his visitor. He was of average height, somewhere in his early thirties and Jamieson thought he detected a faint Welsh accent in his voice.
'I didn't explain,' said Evans. 'I have the room next to yours in the residency. That's how I smelt the burning.'
'I see, so you're on the staff?'
'I'm the assistant bacteriologist in the microbiology department.'
'Dr Richardson's department?'
'That's right.'
'Been here long?'
'All of three