“Park Lane?”
“Yes, sir. We understand he left his flat on foot some time after midnight. He was crossing the road near Hyde Park Corner when he was struck by a vehicle. The driver stopped at the scene, called it in, and stayed with him until the ambulance arrived. He hasn’t done anything wrong, sir, before you ask. He just stepped out onto the road without looking. The driver isn’t being charged.”
“Right.”
“Your name came up as an emergency contact, sir. Mr Montcada provided your details when he was brought in. We’re not here to interview you — we’re just here to let you know what’s happened, and to give you the chance to put a bagtogether for him if you’d like to. Pyjamas, toothbrush, that kind of thing. He’ll be in for several days.”
“Yeah.” Connor cleared his throat. “Yeah, course. I’ll do that. Royal London, you said?”
“Royal London, Whitechapel. The ward sister’s name is Mrs Donovan. If you ring ahead she’ll tell you what visiting hours look like in the morning.”
“Thank you. Honestly, thank you both, I appreciate you coming round.”
“No trouble at all, sir.” PC Alder gave him a considered nod. “Get yourself a cup of tea before you do anything else. It’s a shock, this kind of news at this hour.”
“Yeah. I will. Thanks again.”
He saw them out, then he turned and started back up the stairs.
He knocked on Vidal’s door with the side of his fist. Three measured raps, not loud enough to wake the neighbours or give Beauchamp a heart attack, but it had enough behind it to carry through to the second bedroom.
There was a pause. Then the soft thud of footsteps crossing parquet.
Beauchamp opened the door in a grey T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, his hair on one side flattened against his skull. He’d gone from asleep to upright in under three seconds.
“Connor.”
“Mate. Coppers were at the door just now. Vidal’s gone out on his own for a wander and he’s been hit by a car on Park Lane. He’s at the Royal London. They’ve told me he’s stable. But he’s got a badly fractured arm, and they’re going to need to operate and keep him in there for a few days.”
The collapse of Beauchamp’s composure ran through his body before it ever reached his face, his weight shifting into hisbraced arm against the doorframe as his legs tried to give out under him.
“He’s all right, Beauchamp. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. He just stepped out onto the road, and the driver stopped to look after him. He called it in all proper and stayed with Vidal the whole time.” Connor put his hand on Beauchamp’s shoulder, and gave him a firm, bracing squeeze through the cotton of his T-shirt. “Mate. Listen to me. We’ve got work to do. You with me?”
Beauchamp blinked. His focus settled on Connor’s face by degrees. “Yes.”
“Right. Mercè can’t come to the hospital. We need to sort her out. I’ll take her, I’ve got her a nice spot set up in my flat, so she’ll be fine downstairs. You pack him a bag. Pyjamas, his good toothbrush, that bloody candle he loves, whatever you reckon he’ll want when he wakes up. Then you ring his mum. He’ll want his mum.”
“His mum. Yes.”
“And his dad in Geneva, but mum first.”
“Yes.”
“Get dressed, Beauchamp. Come on.”
Beauchamp stepped back from the doorframe. He gave a nod, and when he turned down the corridor, his stride had the brisk economy of a man who’d been handed a job.
? ? ?
Connorcame through the doors of the Royal’s private wing with Beauchamp half a step ahead of him, a canvas holdall over his own shoulder. The Major had been gripping it all the way down the corridor like a rifle on parade, and Connor had quietly relieved him of it at the lift.
A nurse in soft-soled shoes pointed them down the corridor without breaking stride. Mrs Donovan, the ward sister, met them outside the door with a clipboard.
“He’s sleeping. The morphine’s keeping him comfy, and he won’t be properly with us until the morning. You can sit with him as long as you keep it quiet.”
“Cheers, love.”
Beauchamp went through the door first. The Major had been holding himself together all the way over from Mayfair, and it only held right up until the moment he saw Vidal in the bed. Then his hand came out, in a movement so unguarded Connor knew the man hadn’t decided to do it.
