“I know it will be inconvenient for you, and I’m sorry about that. And I know what I owe you. I am grateful. I’ll always be grateful.”

“I don’t think you need to bleat on about gratitude. That’s never an agreeable word between colleagues. We’ll take it that you’ll leave in three months’ time. I hope you find in Africa whatever it is you’re looking for. Or is it a case of finding relief from whatever it is you’re running away from? And now, if that’s all, I’d like the use of my office.”

There was one other thing, and Marcus steeled himself to say it. Words had been spoken which had destroyed a relationship. Nothing could be worse. He said, “It’s about a patient, Rhoda Gradwyn. She’s here now.”

“I know that. And she’ll be back again in two weeks for her operation, unless she takes a dislike to the Manor and opts for a bed at St. Angela’s.”

“Wouldn’t that be more convenient?”

“For her or for me?”

“I was wondering whether you really want to encourage investigative journalists at the Manor. And if one comes, others may follow. And I can imagine what Gradwyn will write. Rich women spending a fortune because they’re dissatisfied with how they look. Valuable surgeons’ skills which could be better used. She’ll find something to criticise, that’s her job. Patients rely on our discretion and expect an absolute confidentiality. I mean, isn’t that what this place is about?”

“Not altogether. And I don’t intend to distinguish between patients on any grounds other than medical need. And, frankly, I wouldn’t lift a finger to muzzle the popular press. When you consider the machinations and deviousness of governments, we need some organisation strong enough to shout occasionally. I used to believe that I lived in a free country. Now I have to accept that I don’t. But at least we have a free press, and I’m willing to put up with a certain amount of vulgarity, popularisation, sentimentality and even misrepresentation to ensure it remains free. I suppose Candace has been getting at you. You’d hardly have thought this up on your own. If she has personal reasons for her antagonism to Miss Gradwyn, she need have nothing to do with her. She’s not required to; the patients are not her concern. She doesn’t need to see her either now or when she returns. I don’t select my patients to oblige your sister. And now, if you’ve nothing else to say, I’m sure both of us have work to do. I know I have.”

He got up and stood at the door. Without another word, Marcus walked past him, brushing George’s sleeve, and left. He felt like an incompetent servant, discharged in disgrace. This was the mentor he had revered, almost worshipped, for years. Now, with horror, he knew that what he felt was close to hatred. A thought, almost a hope, disloyal and shameful, took hold of his mind. Perhaps the west wing, the whole enterprise, would be forced to close if there were a disaster, a fire, infection, a scandal. If the supply of wealthy patients dried up, how could Chandler-Powell carry on? He tried to shut his mind against the most shameful imaginings, but they were unstoppable, even, to his disgust, the most shameful and terrible of all, the death of a patient.