‘Your presumption defies belief. As if I would discuss the death of my wife with you. Someone entirely unknown to me. A woman.’

‘I am sorry. It was not my intention to upset you or cause offence,’ she said.

‘Well, it very much seems that you have. Good day to you, Mrs Banks. You can see yourself out.’

TWENTY-TWO

aven was finally ushering what he fervently hoped to be the last patient back into the hallway when the front doorbell rang. Dr Simpson was away, having agreed to make a visit to Hamilton Palace in Lanarkshire. Raven marvelled at Dr Simpson’s ability to mix as comfortably with the aristocracy as he did with the fishwives of Newhaven. He had once described the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland and their daughter Lady Blantyre as ‘good loveable plain folks’, though given his subsequent description of Stafford House, with its marble pillars, enormous mirrors and walls and ceilings inlaid with gold, Raven found that he was disinclined to believe him.

Dr Simpson’s absence had left them short-handed (and Raven short-tempered, still suffering as he was from intractable toothache) on what proved to be a particularly busy morning, and the clinic had over-run into the brief time he had for lunch before he was due to head out to the Maternity Hospital. He and Sarah shared a look at the sound of the bell, acknowledging that it appeared this interminable trial was not yet at an end. It was the only time this morning that their feelings had been in concert.

Sarah had made a point of telling him how badly her enquiries were faring, as though this was consequently his fault. She had gone to see Dr Johnstone and apparently been given short shrift.

‘This is why I did not think it a wise course,’ Raven had replied. ‘The list of people likely to be antagonised by your enquiries only begins with Dr Johnstone.’

This had not gone over well.

‘I might have made some progress had I been in the company of a doctor,’ she insisted. ‘Or at least a man.’

‘Then in that case I am obliged to wonder why you did not engage the assistance of your husband.’

All exchanges between them thereafter had been chilly but professional, a cursory civility dictated by the needs of the clinic. Was this how it was going to be now?

Raven heard Jarvis open the door and explain to whoever had petitioned that Dr Simpson was not at home. ‘Perhaps Dr Raven might be able to assist,’ Jarvis suggested, his tone intending to discourage further enquiry. He might well have added, ‘Or perhaps Glen, Dr Simpson’s dog?’

Nevertheless, Raven heard a voice mutter: ‘Very well, that will have to do.’

Raven stuck his head around the door in time to see a rather odd little man step into the hallway.