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Back The Actresses Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. THE ACTRESSES
  3. About The Actresses
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. About Barbara Ewing
  49. Also by Barbara Ewing
  50. An Invitation from the Publisher
  51. Copyright

In Wells-next-the-Sea, Norfolk, an old retired doctor listened to the early evening news on Radio 4 in amazement. The summary of Terence Blue’s evidence that the court reporter gave included the story of Mary Shand, now known as Nicola Abbott.

Finally, for he was a deeply moral man, Dr Michael Hardy walked slowly, his rheumatism made it hard for him to walk, into his kitchen and looked up a telephone number. Then he walked down the hall and picked up the telephone. The early editions of the next morning’s papers had been put to bed already but the editor of the Guardian was still in his office and spoke to the doctor. The conversation went on for a long time and a car was despatched to Norfolk for a signature.

Next morning all over Great Britain Guardian readers found an extraordinary story in their newspaper. The headline read: TERENCE BLUE TRIAL: DOCTOR SPEAKS. And Dr Hardy, now retired, once a doctor in Richmond, was interviewed on Today on Radio 4.

He repeated what he had told the editor of the Guardian the previous evening: that he remembered the case well, Mrs Shand had been suffering so terribly from cancer. One afternoon she had screamed out in a terrible voice to the doctor to save her from what was happening to her. ‘I thought I was alone in that basement flat,’ said the doctor, ‘I thought the girl was at school. The pain was so great, and Mrs Shand’s suffering was so terrible that I administered a lethal dose of morphine and knew she would drift into unconsciousness and death that evening. A pillow over her face could have had nothing to do with it.’

‘Do you not think Dr Hardy,’ said the interviewer on Radio 4, ‘that it is rather rash of you, even at this stage so many years later, to admit what you did, which is, after all, murder?’

Dr Hardy’s voice crackled from a studio in Norwich where he was wearing headphones that connected him to the BBC in London. ‘I did what I thought was right at the time,’ he said. ‘I am appalled beyond measure that that child thought she was responsible for her mother’s death, and has had to live with that misapprehension for so long, and with such terrible consequences. I had no alternative now but to come forward and the law must do with me what it thinks fit.’

The old man was eighty-four.

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