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death.
        I
found a photo of the lovely Arabella on the web.
        She
wasn't that lovely.
    ----
        

Chapter 6
        
        Contrary
to what I might say or do, I was, somewhere in the back of my mind, trying to
be a better man for the coming trauma that constituted childbirth. It was okay
for Alison; she only had to bear some extra weight and undergo a little
straining that would mostly be covered by painkilling injections. She was
designed for it. But I certainly wasn't. I was about to go through the kind of
upheaval that rid the earth of dinosaurs. I did want to contribute something to
the whole process, and part of that was showing her that I was capable of using
my initiative without being prompted. She was always in favour of me dealing
with a problem by physically confronting it, not seeking a solution through a
third party. She knew that I believed that if I looked pathetic enough for long
enough, somebody else would do it for me. Now I was going to prove that I could
do things off my own bat. I'd gotten
        on
perfectly well before Alison, and I'd continue to get along well after her. It
was just this sticky bit in the middle I had to get through.
        I
lifted the phone. I looked down at the number I'd written on the notepad before
me. I punched it in. Although, obviously, what with my brittle bones, I didn't
really. I pressed gently. After a few moments a bright, upmarket voice, but
with a hint of Eastern Europe, said, 'Good morning, the Yeschenkov Clinic.'
        I
needed to satisfy myself that Dr Yes wasn't hiding anything. The medical
records that had been released to Augustine were still with his last solicitor,
who wouldn't release them until he paid his bill. Obviously I wasn't going to
pay it for him, and the clinic wasn't going to release them to me, a bookshop
owner, or issue fresh ones to Augustine, whom they had a restraining order
against, so I would have to find out what there was to find out by doing what I
did best - I was a criminal proctologist, shining a light into dark places
where nobody really likes to look.
        'Yes,
I'd like to enquire about the possibility of having one of your makeovers.'
        'Absolutely,
sir. Could I have your name, please?'
        'George.'
        'George?
And your surname?'
        'Pelecanos.'
        His new
novel had just come in, and I had a business and its reputation to protect.
        'Like
the writer?' she asked, unexpectedly.
        'Ahm,
yes.'
        'I
understand completely, sir. Many of our clients prefer the cloak of anonymity.
Though I should stress that this is just like going to your own doctor; it's
absolutely confidential. Perhaps I could take your phone number and ...'
        'I'd
prefer if you didn't.'
        'Perhaps
your e-mail ...'
        'No,
she checks them as well. You see, it's to be a surprise for my wife.'
        'So
it's your wife who will be having the . . . ?'
        'No,
it's for me, I'm the bog-ugly one.'
        'Well,
I'm sure you're not. But I understand completely, sir, what a wonderful idea.'
        'I
just want to come in and have a chat, see what's involved.'
        'Yes,
sir, absolutely. A consultation with Dr Yeschenkov. Now I'm afraid there is a
charge for that. Fully redeemable if you do join our programme.'
        'How
much would that be?'
        'That
would be just four hundred and ninety-nine pounds.'
        'I
mean for the consultation.'
        'Yes,
sir. Would you like me to check for an appointment?'
        I
decided to think of it as an investment. 'Yes, absolutely.'
        'All
right, then! Let me see. How about the twenty- fourth
        'That's
too ...'
        '...of
May. That's the earliest we have. I'm afraid he's a very busy man.'
        'So
you've, ahm, nothing today, then?'
        'No,
sir, I'm afraid
        'I
could just like pop in and show him my head.'
        'I'm
sorry, sir, that's impossible.'
        'Just
a quick