The Concubine Affair Read online

  ‘But Verity was genuinely scared,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Alright,’ said Calder. ‘Well go on young man.’

  ‘The name’s Yi.’

  ‘Quite, but do continue,’ said Calder.

  ‘Heshen was a corrupt tax collector in Imperial China, a very devious and dishonest man.’

  ‘And this relates to our patient because...,’ said Calder deliberately pausing.

  Sheila looked at Yi.

  ‘Go on, tell him,’ she said.

  ‘Verity believes she has heard him, and the Emperor too,’ said Yi.

  ‘Does she now,’ said Calder.

  ‘And what does her husband do Sheila?’ he asked.

  Dr Calder already knew this from his visits to Treetops rehabilitation clinic, if not his long acquaintance with Marcus.

  ‘He’s an art dealer,’ she replied.

  ‘Dealing in? he asked.

  ‘No idea,’ said Sheila bluntly, disappointed she hadn’t dug that deep.

  ‘Chinese antiquities: It looks like one of his books fell on her head.’

  ‘What about the Chinese?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘She’s obviously picked it up from somewhere. But just how good is her Chinese?’ asked Calder looking at Yi.

  ‘Perfect Mandarin,’ said Yi.

  ‘Well she obviously had a very good teacher at one time or another,’ said Calder.

  ‘Thanks for your help Yin,’ said Calder.

  ‘It’s Yi.’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  And he gave him a look that said never interrupt me again. No one stole the thunder of Dr Lawrence Calder.

  ‘I’m writing her up for risperidone, and doubling her PRN,’ said Calder scrawling in Verity’s drug card.

  PRN was the ‘as and when required’ medication, and normally for patients who disrupted the system. But Yi had put him in a bad mood, and he knew the husband wouldn’t complain.

  ‘Diagnosis doctor?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘Alcohol induced psychosis,’ he said, puffing out his chest.

  Calder stopped at the staff notice board on his way out.

  ‘There’s your Alain,’ he said tapping at the name.

  Alain Fontaney was on the staff board as tonight’s agency nurse.

  ‘I suppose you were going to tell me she met him in ancient China Yin,’ said Calder smirking.

  He closed the door behind him.

  ‘I never said anything about Alain,’ said Yi, scratching his head.

  ‘Don’t worry he’s like that with everyone,’ said Sheila.

  ‘And Yi, ask Sue to give Verity a bath. I’m going to ask her husband visit this evening.’

  ‘How have you been keeping?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘The last few days have been rather a blur,’ said Verity.

  ‘I did come earlier, but the nurses said you were too unwell to see anyone.’

  ‘Thanks Marcus.’

  ‘Here, I’ve brought your favourite pyjamas, and some chocolates,’ he said.

  ‘Any news on the vase?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.’

  ‘What have the doctors said?’ he asked.

  ‘Alcoholic psychosis,’ she replied.

  ‘Well perhaps this will finally stop you drinking.’

  What really would have stopped her drinking years ago was Marcus forgoing his infidelity.

  Yi knocked on the door.

  ‘Visiting time is nearly over,’ he said.

  ‘Still you’re looking a lot better than when I found you,’ said Marcus.

  Verity wanted to tell him about the voices, about the Emperor and Heshen, but she really didn’t trust him. After all he’d brought her here, and god knows how many mistresses were waiting for her to be permanently locked up.

  ‘Sorry times up,’ said Yi putting his face around the door.

  Verity did a double take. She couldn’t place him, and yet he seemed so familiar.

  ‘Are you alright dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Fine,’ said Verity lying.

  ‘Anyway I shall see you soon,’ said Marcus buttoning up his coat.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon,’ he said again, and Verity knew all too well what that meant, he was entertaining a girlfriend.

  Alain was still taking the handover, and couldn’t wait to see Verity when one of the night carers rushed into the office.

  ‘Verity’s spinning around on her bed babbling.’

  Sheila was still on the ward, and rushed in to give her a shot of tranquiliser.

  ‘There that should quiet her down for a while,’ she said.

  Alain sighed; no one would believe him either. He just had to get Verity to play the game.

  ‘How is she?’ asked the woman filing her nails in the BMW’s passenger seat.

  ‘Fine,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Is she coming out soon?’

  ‘Let’s hope not,’ said Marcus laughing.

  His companion looked like a younger version of Verity, apart from the emptiness in her eyes. She was the perfect rubber doll.

  ‘Can’t you keep her away for good baby,’ said Jennifer purring.

  ‘Unlikely, but let me have a word with my old friend Lawrence Calder.’

  He’d seen her husband twice on the ward. Marcus Forster had smiled and he back, but he felt tremendously guilty. And Verity was wearing her wedding ring, unlike the time at the funeral when he could no longer resist her. But how would she react now? And how would he?

  It was the middle of the night when she finally came around. The nightmarish wails of another had interrupted her beauty sleep. Alain was still at her bedside when she awoke.

  Verity rubbed her eyes, both pleased and a little embarrassed.

  ‘I’m not at my most glamorous tonight,’ she said.

  Alain looked over his shoulder at the door.

  ‘Don’t worry I’ll be discreet,’ said Verity. ‘Besides you’ll probably want to throw me now.’

  Alain smiled, and even before he spoke she knew he was just as besotted. He’d heard of her admission from Margaret at Treetops, and got an agency shift as soon as he could.

  ‘So what are we going to do Alain?’ she asked.

  ‘First we need to get you out of here.’

  ‘Don’t you believe the doctors? I’m mad you know.’

  ‘Psychotic actually, schizophrenic probably: If you believe the labels.’

  ‘And you?’ she asked with a tender look in her eyes.

  ‘I’ve learned never to trust the establishment,’ he said.

  She smiled, that’s all she had ever done. But both Marcus and Dr Calder were very much part of the establishment, and Marcus was well, Marcus, and Calder gave her a very uneasy feeling indeed.

  ‘So tell me about the voices?’ he asked.

  Alain learned about the vase, and Verity did mention its real value. She’d heard the voice of the Qianlong Emperor Chien-lung, his favourite official Heshen, and somehow wondered if she was Wa Yu the disgraced concubine.

  ‘You don’t seem surprised?’ she asked smiling.

  ‘I have my own theories about voice hearing,’ he said.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I think it’s bound up with reincarnation.’

  At least a patient wouldn’t laugh, and especially Verity, who looked just as gorgeous under the hospital lights as he’d ever seen her. She leant against his arm.

  ‘Alain one of these people is here, someone from the past.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Chinese carer who was on the afternoon shift,’ said Verity.

  ‘P
erhaps it’s the same spirit reborn,’ said Alain stroking the back of her hand.

  Did he mean it she thought, or was he playing a game? Was she really crazy? Is that why the Emperor and Heshen sounded just like Marcus and Dr Calder, or were they incarnate souls?

  ‘We must get you out of here Verity,’ said Alain.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she replied.

  ‘So you’ll have to convince them you’re well,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t respond to the voices?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘With concentration.’

  ‘That could be easier said than done.’

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ and after checking the door once more he kissed her tenderly on the lips; something Marcus hadn’t done in years.

  She whispered in his ear, and after checking the carers were still asleep Alain returned. Verity had removed her ring, and he was as quiet as he could be; all was fair in love and wards.

  Chapter Eight

  Alain took another swig of hazelnut coffee; he was too excited to sleep. He had one full syringe in front of him, carefully placed on the kitchen table, and had read his notes on the Qianlong court one last time. The unfortunate frog’s skin would make a nice wallet.

  He was wearing shorts, and the needle pointed at his femoral vein. He took a deep breath and punctured the skin; it was ten a.m. precisely, and perhaps a cuckoo clock would have been more appropriate on the wall. He didn’t use an alcohol swab, nor did he aspirate, but he did know the exact quantity of drug he was using, and was certain of its sterility. He pushed deeper into the tissue, and slowly injected.

  Nothing came, just an empty feeling of lost expectation. He went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. Then, as he was bent over the sink, his heart erupted, blood pumping like fiery lava; throwing him to the floor. He scrambled up, and reached for the medicine cabinet, but someone else was looking back in the mirror.

  He still had a ponytail but that was all. The rest of his hair was gone, and he stroked his bald head. He looked down and saw his robes, and finally convinced he allowed himself a smile.

  ‘You must go,’ said Wa Yu behind him.

  Her face in the mirror was Chinese, but when he turned around it was Verity looking at him lovingly.

  ‘The Emperor will be expecting you,’ said her eunuch, looking nervous.

  ‘When will I see you again?’ asked Alain.

  ‘We are moving to the Summer Palace in a fortnight’s time,’ said Wa.

  ‘You must go,’ said Yi the eunuch.

  ‘Pray for us,’ said Wa, and Alain touched the large wooden crucifix that hung from his neck, closed his eyes, and quickly murmured a few words.

  ‘I can hear footsteps,’ said Yi breaking into a sweat, for he understood the Emperor’s wrath.

  ‘Ah there you are Alain,’ said Bertrand ‘I thought you’d got lost my dear fellow.’

  ‘A soul in need of guidance,’ said Alain.

  The harem was off limits to men, except eunuchs and occasionally chaste priests who prayed for pregnancy, health in childbirth, and strong children.

  ‘Anyway Alain it looks like Chien-lung is becoming more besotted with you by the day.’

  ‘It’s the fountains at Xiyanglou,’ said Alain.

  Xiyanglou was the Summer Palace at Beijing, and Alain had designed a series of timed waterworks, complete with underground pipes.

  ‘I hope you’re right my brother. Word has it that Heshen has him under a spell,’ said Bertrand smiling.

  ‘And by the way Alain, I’d be careful with the concubines if I were you,’ added Bertrand, and he gave Alain a wink.

  The acrobats had finished, and a new delegation was about to greet the Emperor. Three men knelt, each tapping their foreheads on the floor nine times. Eventually the eldest of the group spoke.

  ‘We respectively ask your Imperial Highness to reconsider the case of Cong Chu Cheng,’ he said.

  Cong Chu Cheng had reached infamy in Court circles. She was the unfortunate concubine whom startled by a playful Emperor had hit his arm with her hairbrush.

  ‘But she struck the Emperor,’ said his right hand official.

  The Emperor, whom Bertrand referred to as Chien when only Jesuit priests were in ear shot, was seated and wearing his bright yellow Imperial robes. He looked more thoughtful.

  ‘I cannot change the law for one girl,’ he said, but he did genuinely look disappointed.

  That was all; Cong Chu Cheng’s family had been heard, but there was no discussion with the Emperor.

  Some vassal had been fanning the Emperors face, and as the bright blue peacock on the back of the rushes was removed Alain could clearly see the Emperor’s features; it was Marcus Forster, Verity’s husband.

  ‘Who’s the man on the Emperor’s right?’ Alain asked Bertrand.

  ‘Heshen of course,’ he replied before adding ‘are you feeling well Alain?’

  He wasn’t, because Heshen looked mightily similar to Dr Lawrence Calder.

  ‘Perhaps your guilt is playing tricks Alain,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘Guilt: What for?’

  Bertrand, who was also wearing Imperial garb, pulled Alain closer by the sleeve, and whispered in his ear, just in case one of the courtiers was learning French.

  ‘Whom actually, Wa Yu the concubine,’ said Bertrand.

  There was a knowing pause between the two men.

  ‘I believe abstinence and penitence are in order, are they not?’ said Bertrand.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Alain replied, although he wasn’t amiss to self-administered punishment.

  ‘Alain Fontaney,’ announced a courtier standing beside the Emperor, whilst holding a long unfurled scroll.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Bertrand.

  Alain went in front of the throne, and tapped his forehead to the ground.

  ‘Come closer,’ said the Emperor.

  Like the other priests Alain had learnt Chinese before departing France.

  ‘Alain my dear friend how are the gardens progressing?’ asked Chien-lung.

  ‘They are finished your Majesty,’ said Alain.

  Heshen looked a little jealous, and he could sense the Emperor’s excitement.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Chien-lung.

  ‘And what would you like in return Alain?’

  He could have asked to distribute more bibles in the Imperial Kingdom or perhaps, rather playfully, for a cathedral, but he asked for neither.

  ‘Only that I can visit Xiyanglou over the summer, and continue our friendship your Highness,’ said Alain.

  ‘Granted, but you won’t make a Christian out of me,’ said Chien-lung.

  ‘Your Majesty is already guaranteed his place in heaven,’ said Alain not believing a word; but expediency demanded he follow the Imperial protocol.

  For a moment everything became blurry, and Alain swayed on his feet.

  ‘It is the power of your Imperial Highness against the barbarian’s God,’ laughed Heshen.

  ‘We have much to learn from our guests Heshen,’ said Chien-lung, reprimanding his favourite official.

  ‘Indeed we do your Imperial Majesty,’ said Heshen.

  ‘Steady yourself Alain, the whole Court is watching,’ said Bertrand as Alain re-joined him.

  But for Alain the room was beginning to spin. He splashed more cold water on his face, and reached for the towel to his side; he was home. He ran into the kitchen, and grabbed his notebook, checking, praying he had written down the formula exactly, and the dose. He headed to bed exhausted, but not before picking up his flail.

  ‘What are these for?’ Verity asked Sheila, looking at the tablets in the palm of her hand.

  Sheila held a small plastic
tot of water by her side.

  ‘They’re to make you feel better,’ said Sheila.

  She held up the tot of water in readiness, and to prod her patient in the right direction, like a cow on its way to slaughter.

  ‘Do you think I really need them?’ asked Verity.

  ‘Yes, for the moment.’

  Verity put the tablets in her mouth, and swallowed, washing them down with the water.

  ‘Mind if I take a look?’ asked Sheila, and Verity duly opened her mouth.

  ‘And if you could just lift up your tongue for me,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Is there nothing else apart from these awful tablets?’ asked Verity, screwing up her pretty face.

  ‘Well the psychologist is coming next week; he thinks you could benefit from a spot of cognitive behavioural therapy.’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t a clue,’ said Verity.

  ‘CBT corrects dysfunctional responses.’

  ‘Don’t think I like the dysfunctional part,’ said Verity raising her eyes.

  ‘Well there’s a lot more to it than that, but I’m not the best person to explain. Alain’s back tomorrow night, he’s knows a lot about it.’

  Indeed he did, Alain Fontaney was an expert on CBT, but not the sort Sheila had mentioned. Verity was right though; it was the quiet ones you had to watch.

  Chapter Nine

  Alain carefully checked the pages of the old heavy book, and very nearly slapped his thigh with glee, and not in punishment. There it was in black and white; in 1788 the Qianlong Emperor Chien-lung had ordered the execution of the concubine Cong Chu Cheng for striking the Imperial person with nothing less than a hairbrush. History; and he had been there. Not just hearing the voices as before, but actually there when the Emperor sealed the poor girl’s fate. Thank god; he wasn’t mad. But then he paused in his moment of triumph; could it still be a trick of his memory? There was only one way to be certain, and he went back to his notebooks; the formula would have to be precise.

  He looked at the calendar on the wall, and suddenly realised he was running late. It was his first shift back at Treetops. He decided to phone in sick, and in all probability not return. His agency shifts at Monks Hill had become much more important.

  The psychologist had just finished with Verity in the ward’s interview room.