Blood Stains; Bloodhound; Chilling Out Page 2

  'But as you already know, Miss Pengellis, the matter has been exhaustively discussed at ministerial level, and it has been agreed that the reforms are indeed in the public interest. To go over – '

  'But you've acted as judge and jury in your own case. There has to be an independent – '

  ‘To go over it again,' Goring overrode her, 'would serve no useful purpose. These reforms are going ahead and as a result we will offer the public a better service.'

  'Then there's no point in discussing – '

  'I want you to be part of this better service, Jessie,' he said, leaning forward. 'Call off your campaign, for your own sake, for all our sakes. Tell Western TV you're not coming, or better still, we could appear together and in agreement. I promise you there'll be a job for you in one of the other centres, a good job, commensurate with your present position.'

  'In charge of the stores at Sheffield, perhaps?' Jessie sneered. 'How can there be a position commensurate with what I have here? There're going to be five of us lab managers looking for jobs and I don't see any of the other managers moving aside for us.' She could hear the Cornish burr breaking into her voice now, the rounding of the vowels as it became heated.

  'As a matter of fact,' Goring said gently, 'Don Chambers at the East London centre is taking early retirement.'

  'But that's one job, between five people…' Why did his voice always sound so calm compared with hers?

  'Of course you're not all going to walk straight into managers' jobs,' Goring said. 'But there's nothing to stop you applying for this one. I'm sure Dr Medlar would give you an excellent reference, and I see no reason why you shouldn't…' He tailed off, then continued. 'Anyway, whatever happens, you'll have the same salary as you have now, and the same opportunities for advancement.'

  'What about the other thirty lab staff here, Dr Goring? And the drivers, the clerical staff, the donor attendants…?'

  'I wasn't aware that they came within your remit – ' Goring stopped himself, swallowed. 'As you know, everyone here will be offered either a job in another centre, or a generous redundancy package.'

  'But what if they don't want to move to Leeds, or London, or Manchester?'

  'Then they'll have to choose between that and the dole,' Goring snapped, losing his temper at last. He swallowed again. 'I don't think there's any point in taking this any further now,' he said. 'Think about it, Miss Pengellis. At the very least, a good job at the same salary. Generous – very generous moving expenses. I'll be here for the rest of the day. Think about it, come and talk to me again if you like, but for your own sake, call off this campaign.'

  'What if I don't, Dr Goring? Call off my campaign.'

  He took a deep breath, then slowly released it. 'Then you will be deemed to have shown yourself of no further use to the Transfusion Service. You'll be made redundant.'

  'But how – ?' she began, then stopped. They, Goring and his cronies, would doubtless prefer the centre to carry on without her for the remaining six months of its existence.

  'Will that be all, Dr Goring?' she asked, just this side of rudeness.

  'Yes, for the moment.'

  'Then I'll get back to my work.' She got up and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

  The two men didn't say anything at first. Medlar pulled out his pipe, a battered Edward Peterson, and began filling it.

  'D'you still use that thing?' Goring asked, staring at it.

  'Looks like it.'

  'I thought this was a No Smoking hospital.'

  'Rank hath its privileges,' said Medlar, applying his lighter to the bowl.

  Goring flapped at the smoke. 'Well, is she going to back down?'

  Medlar puffed away, wondering at the other's obtuseness. When the pipe was going to his satisfaction, he said, 'Listening to her, Adam, what did you think?'

  'It didn't sound much like it, I'll agree, but you know her better than me. Perhaps, after reflection…'

  'I wouldn't bet on it, Adam – she's a lady of principle, is our Jessica.'

  The accents of both men bespoke their northern origins, although Goring's had been softened by his years spent in London.

  'Were you really going to help her get the East London job?' Medlar asked.

  'That wouldn't be up to me,' Goring said pointedly. Then: 'I'd make sure she was found something.'

  ‘So she wasn't far wrong about the stores in Sheffield?'

  'What's wrong with Sheffield?' Goring demanded. 'We both cut our teeth there.'

  'You were glad enough to get away, I seem to remember,' Medlar said drily.

  'George – ' Goring leaned forward – 'choosing where you work is not an option for anyone, let alone a professional.'

  'If you say so, Adam.'

  'I do say so, and there's something else I have to say.' Irritation sharpened his tone. 'It's been suggested at HQ that perhaps you could have done a bit more to keep your staff in order.'

  'You mean Jessie and her campaign?' Medlar said, thinking: Suggested by whom, I wonder?

  'Yes, I do mean Jessie and her campaign,' Goring snapped.

  Medlar took his pipe out of his mouth. 'As you know, Adam, I've always believed in keeping my staff on a light rein. I've found, over the years, that it pays.' The words, although not hostile in themselves, were honed with meaning. 'I've warned Jessie that she hasn't made any friends in high places by what she's doing, and where she's overstepped the bounds, I've told her to stop. But don't expect me to threaten my staff for trying to save their jobs.'

  'All right, George, I think we understand each other.' Goring held his hands up in conciliation. 'We ought to, after so many years.'

  'Indeed,' Medlar said softly.

  Back in her office, Jessie sat down, took a few deep breaths, then picked up the phone.

  'Dommo, it's Jessie – got a few minutes?'

  'Sure.'

  Dominic Tudor was Jessie's deputy and ran the Microbiology Department. He was with her inside a minute.

  'Did you know Goring was here?' she asked as he sat down.

  'Annie told me about ten minutes ago. Has he been having a go at you?'

  'You could say that.'

  Dominic listened while she told him about the meeting. He was a smallish man, albeit a strong one, and at five feet six only a couple of inches taller than her. Everything about him was neat – his shirt and tie, his short dark hair, the small dark beard and moustache that framed his mouth – and Jessie found herself thinking: It's funny, he isn't bad-looking and I like him, but I could no more fancy him than I could… well, Paul…

  'What I need to know,' she said, 'Is whether everybody's still on board, whether I can rely on their support.'

  He thought for a moment before replying. 'Ashley and Verity, yes. Maria and Adrian are wavering and Paul, you can rely on absolutely – to let you down.'

  She smiled wanly. 'What about you, Dommo?'

  He said carefully, 'You know you've got my support, but would you like some advice?'

  'Depends what it is, I suppose.'

  He smiled. 'That's the trouble with advice, you're never thanked for it, no matter how well intended.'

  'Come on, Dommo, out with it.'

  He said slowly, 'I've supported you throughout this, because I've believed in what you were doing, but I'm wondering whether now might be the time for you to stop.'

  She gazed at him incredulously. 'You know how long I've been trying to fix up this interview – and to have actually got him to agree to appear on it… I can't stop now.'

  'Jessie, even if you win this fight – and that's not a foregone conclusion – the war's already been lost.'

  'How can you say that – ?'

  'The reorganisation's gone too far now to stop, even if they wanted to – it's a fait accompli.' Dominic was part French and liked to remind people of the fact. 'Even if everything you've said comes true and it's all a total disaster, no one'll thank you. All you'll succeed in doing tomorrow is to make yourself unemployable. It's time you thought a
bout yourself.'

  'But it's not about me,' she cried. 'Can't you see that? If we can get enough people to complain to their MPs, write to the Health Minister, we can still force them to…'

  He was gently shaking his head.

  'So I can't rely on your support any more?'

  'I didn't say that, I just said you can't win. I'll tell everyone who'll listen that I support you and if they try to sack you, I'll join in any union action – ' He broke off. 'You have told the union about this, haven't you?'

  'Not yet, and you're right, I must. But thanks, Dommo, that's what I needed to hear, that I've got your support.'

  'It's little enough.' He looked slightly embarrassed. 'You're happy about taking Goring on in front of all the TV cameras?'

  She nodded. 'Yes, I've got all the facts and figures – and oddly enough, this morning's little fracas was a help.'

  'In what way?'

  She leaned forward. 'Something that really came over this time – if you put him under pressure, he loses his cool, gets nasty, and it shows.'

  'He might not be the same in front of the TV cameras, they might concentrate his mind.'

  'We'll see,' she said, 'we'll see. I'm feeling good about it, Dommo.'

  He nodded gently, then said, 'I'd better get on.'

  As soon as he'd gone, she phoned her union and told them what had happened. They sounded dubious and advised her to do nothing until they got back to her.

  Heigh ho, she thought as she put the phone down.

  She brought the file back out of the cabinet and opened it. It was all there, everything she needed to beat him. There was a knock on her door and she looked up. Paul.

  'Have you seen my memo yet?'

  'Er – hang on a moment and I'll look at it now.'

  She found it underneath the file.

  From: Head of Blood Grouping To: Laboratory Manager A potentially dangerous situation is developing in this department due to the shortage of properly trained staff. If this is not remedied, I can no longer accept responsibility for the prompt and accurate grouping of blood.

  Pompous bastard! she thought. Of course he was having difficulties with staff, they all were – the decent ones were leaving and, who the hell wanted to come and work in a place that was due to close in six months?

  She said carefully, 'I'm sorry you're having problems, Paul, but it's not easy recruiting staff at the moment. Is there a specific problem?'

  His eyes hunted around behind his spectacles, refusing to meet hers. 'I'm two staff down, as you know, and I've had two more off sick since the beginning of the week. The only way I've managed to keep things going is by doing routine work myself. I can't do that and trouble-shoot and do all the admin as well.'

  You could if you stayed behind occasionally like the rest of us… 'Have you asked any of the others for help?'

  'They all say they're too busy themselves.'

  She thought for a moment. Four down was rather a lot.

  'I'll see what I can do – OK?'

  'If you find me someone, yes,' he said grudgingly.

  She had been wondering whether a personal appeal to him might get him on her side, but the implacable expression on his face made her realise it was useless.

  As he left the room, a wave of misery swept over her. Were the others feeling the same way? Who could she rely on now?

  Suddenly, she had to get out, get away… She stripped off her coat, told Nina she was going to lunch, then slipped away along the back corridor so that no one could see her. She slammed the exit plate with her palm in irritation at her cowardice – it rang out like an anvil and she blundered through the sliding doors into the aerial passageway that led to the main hospital. Below her, the city glinted in the winter sunlight and through the haze she could make out the plateau of the moors beyond. Dartmoor… normally a view that raised her spirits, but not today – today was vinegar in her mouth and every nerve end jangled with the unfairness of it. How had it come to this?

  She emerged into the main corridor of the hospital and the hordes – doctors, nurses, porters with patients on trolleys, visitors – they all pressed around her. In desperation, she plunged through a door on her right with crudely shaped pieces of coloured glass instead of a window – and found herself in the hospital chapel.

  Chapter Four

  Jessie wasn't religious and never had been, but now she sat down and sucked the silence gratefully into her lungs. Other than the vulgar stained glass in the door, it wasn't an unattractive place in its simple way, she thought. Pale walls, dim lighting, dark wooden cross on a white altar cloth. She leaned back and closed her eyes. How the hell had it all come to this?

  What am I going to do? She opened her eyes again and looked up. And answer came there none. You're on your own, Jessie, so what's new?

  She allowed her body to relax and her mind started drifting back, over the events that had brought her here…

  Her wrecked marriage, the hospital lab where she'd worked as a senior until a male colleague was promoted instead of her, and then, against all the odds, the lab manager's job here in the Transfusion Centre. Later, she'd heard on the grapevine that it was George Medlar who'd stood out for her appointment.

  And it had worked out. She'd gradually overcome the staff's suspicion and hostility – with the exception of Paul, who'd thought the job his by right – and a sense of purpose had taken hold of the labs, united them…and then came the bolt. Five of England's fifteen Transfusion Centres to be closed in a reorganisation by the new Blood Division, and one of them Tamar.

  No arguments, no debates, or so said the mandarins. But she, Jessie Pengellis, had had different ideas. She'd gathered data showing the drawbacks of the new system, the hardships the region's hospitals would suffer, and started her campaign. She was interviewed by the local papers, on radio and TV. She'd lobbied the local MP, who'd raised the question in the House.

  The mandarins had first ignored her, then tried to gag her, and now she was to meet Adam Goring, the architect of the reforms, face to face on a national TV programme. She knew she could beat him, so why had it all turned to ashes?

  Was it because Dommo was right, that no matter how many battles she won, the cause was lost? That soon she'd be out on her bum and unemployable? The union obviously thought so too…Her face screwed up as her fingers dug into her thighs and salty water squeezed through her eyelids…

  They were right.

  There was nothing left for her to do but make some sort of obeisance to Turnip Face and then try to rebuild some sort of career somewhere else…

  No!

  With a jerk, she sat up.

  No, they weren't right. They outnumbered her, they were more powerful than her, but that didn't make them right.

  She found herself remembering something her father had once said to her when she was being bullied at school: 'If you believe you're in the right, then don't give into them, no matter what. Because if you do, it'll stay with you for the rest of your life.'

  She blew her nose, got to her feet and made for the door. It opened just before she reached it and the hospital chaplain came in.

  He smiled uncertainly. 'Hello.'

  'Hello.'

  'Can I help you at all?'

  'No, thank you.'

  Well timed, she thought as she mingled with the throng outside. She went to the League of Friends, had a cheese roll and coffee, and then went back to the centre.

  Deliberately, she turned left rather than right, into the main corridor past the labs. The door of the gents' loo opened and George Medlar emerged. There was no one else about.

  'Jessie,' he said quietly. 'I'll do my best, but if it gets nasty, I may not be able to help you.'

  Before she could reply, Adam Goring came out of the director's suite and walked towards them.

  'Well, what did she have to say for herself?' Goring demanded. They were in the lift that went down to the vehicle park underneath the centre.

  'Not a lot. I was telling her that if
things got bad, there was a limit to how much I could help her.'

  'Well, that's no less than the truth. What did she say?'

  'You came on the scene before she could say anything.'

  Goring grunted. 'If I'd known, I'd have stayed put. So we still don't know what she's going to do?'

  'No.'

  The lift stopped, the doors slid open and they stepped into the half-world of the underground park. The centre's trucks and vans peered at them through the gloom as they walked to Medlar's car. He pointed his key, the locks clicked and they got in.

  'Well, let's hope she sees sense,' Goring said as they emerged into the sunshine. 'I've got a feeling she will when she realises what she stands to lose.'

  'I wouldn't bank on it, Adam.'

  'We'll see. It'll be her funeral if she doesn't.'

  Medlar gave a non-committal grunt and they drove in silence for a while. They were lunching with the General Manager of the Regional Health Authority.

  'Good of you and Sarah to have me over for dinner tonight,' Goring said suddenly. 'I hope it's not putting you out.'

  'Not at all.' Of course it's putting us out, you moron… Medlar had been astonished, then dismayed when Goring had accepted the routine and insincerely put invitation. 'Sarah will be delighted to see you again.'

  'And I her.' He studied Medlar's face. 'How is she at the moment?'

  'Pretty well, considering,' he said, not wanting to talk about it. 'Here we are.' He drew into a space and pulled on the handbrake.

  Shit! The file she normally kept locked away was grinning up at her from her desk…how long had she been gone? An hour?

  You're getting paranoid, Jessie, she told herself as she put it away and slammed the cabinet drawer.

  The thought of going round the department heads trying to rally support appealed to her not at all. No, the best approach would be to get them together in her room and all agree on something, no matter how loose.

  She rang round and, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, they agreed. All that is except Adrian Hodges, who ran the Issue Department. He was too busy. Adrian was always too busy for anything, especially meetings, but usually managed to turn up just after they'd started.