“I see.” She shook her head. “I wish I had a bed to offer, but we’re quite full.”
“Any Germans about?”
“Two of their girlfriends,” she said calmly. “The usual thing. One of the army doctors handled that yesterday. Major Speer. Do you know him?”
“IVe worked with him on occasion at the hospital,” Hamilton said. “I’ve known worse. Anyway, Sister, if you’d care to assist me, you and Sister Bernadette, we’ll get started.”
She eased him into a robe and he went to scrub up at the sink in the corner. As Sister Bernadette helped him on with rubber gloves, he said to Maria Teresa, “A short-term anesthetic only. Chloroform on the pad will do.” He moved to the operating table and looked down at Kelso. “All right?”
Kelso, gritting his teeth, nodded and Hamilton said to Gallagher. “You’d better wait outside.”
Gallagher turned to leave, and at that moment, the door opened and a German officer walked in.
“Ah, there you are, Sister,” he said in French, then smiled and changed to English. “Professor Hamilton, you here?” “Major Speer,” Hamilton said, gloved hands raised.
“IVe just looked in on my patients, Sister. Both are doing well.”
Speer was a tall, handsome man with a good-humored, rather fleshy face. His greatcoat hung open, and Gallagher noticed an Iron Cross First Class on the left breast and the ribbon for the Russian Winter War. A man who had seen action.
“Anything interesting, Doctor?”
“Fractures of the tibia. An employee of General Gallagher here. Have you met?”
“No, but IVe heard of you many times, General.” Spoor clicked his heels and saluted. “A pleasure.” He moved to the x-rays and examined them. “Not good. Not good at all. Comminuted fracture of the tibia in three places.”
“I know hospitalization and traction should be the norm,” Hamilton said. “But a bed isn’t available.”
“Oh, I should think it perfectly acceptable to set the bones and then plaster.” Speer smiled with great charm and took off his greatcoat. “But, Herr Professor, this is hardly your field. It would be a pleasure to take care of this small matter for you.”
He was already taking a gown down from a peg on the wall and moved to the sink to scrub up. “If you insist,” Hamilton said calmly. “There’s little doubt this is more your sort of thing than mine.”
A few minutes later, Speer was ready, leaning down to examine the leg. He looked up at Sister Maria Teresa. “Right, Sister, chloroform now, I think. Not too much and we’ll work very quickly.”
From the corner, Gallagher watched, fascinated.
Savary wasn’t feeling too pleased with life as he walked along the cobbled streets of the walled city in Granville.
For one thing, the trip from Jersey In the fog had been lousy, and he was distinctly unhappy at the situation Gallagher had placed him in. He turned into a quiet square. Sophie’s Bar was on the far side, a chink of light showing here and there through the shutters. He walked across, slowly and reluctantly, and went in.
Gerard Cresson sat in his wheelchair playing the piano, a small man with the white intense face of the invalid, black hair hanging almost to his shoulders. He’d broken his back in an accident on the docks two years before the war. “Would never walk again, not even with crutches.
There were a dozen or so customers scattered around the bar, some of them seamen whom Savary knew. Sophie sat on a high stool behind the marble counter, bottles ranged behind her against an ornate mirror, and read the local newspaper. She was in her late thirties, dark hair piled high on her head, black eyes, the face sallow like a gypsy’s, the mouth wide and painted bright red. She had good breasts, the best Savary had ever seen. Not that it would have done any good. With a knife or a bottle she was dynamite, and there were men in Granville with scars to prove it.
“Ah, Robert, it’s been a long time. How goes it?” “It could be worse, it could be better.” As she poured him a cognac, he slipped the letter across. “What’s this?” she demanded.