Free Dead in the Dog by Bernard Knight Page B

surgeon.
    â€˜That’s our Joanie . . . Joan Parnell, QA sister on Medical One. She’s like a rash!’
    â€˜What d’you mean – like a rash?’
    â€˜She’s all over you! Especially if you’re Peter Bright, she’s got the hots for him even though everyone knows he’s after Diane Robertson.’
    Joan had now wrestled the glass from Peter’s hand and putting it down on a shelf, was dragging him to the dance floor, leaving David Meredith alone and even more darkly morose.
    â€˜I’m getting confused over all this,’ muttered the pathologist. ‘It’s like one of these Whitehall farces, with people popping in and out of bedroom doors.’
    â€˜You won’t get that, at least not on hospital premises,’ said young Watson. ‘Both the Matron and our Old Man keep their beady eyes firmly on the bedroom doors in BMH.’
    Just then, Alec spotted a couple of members leaving the bar and they quickly slid on to their vacated stools. ‘That’s better, we can see the action in comfort now,’ he said smugly.
    The nubile Joan Parnell was wrapping herself enthusiastically around their surgeon on the dance floor and Peter Bright, though enjoying the feel of a lithe body in his arms, was casting wary glances around the room as they revolved slowly to the music.
    â€˜Pete’s on the lookout for the evil eye from Memsahib Robertson,’ explained Watson, his boyish face alive with interest at the goings-on around him. ‘Though I haven’t seen her here yet, maybe the shooting has given her the vapours.’
    Tom was still doggedly working out the romantic permutations. ‘Her husband’s here, anyway. You reckon he’s having a fling with this Lena woman, the one that our gasman is keen on?’
    â€˜That’s it – and rumour has it that for years he’s been playing away with Rosa, until just recently.’
    â€˜Who the hell’s Rosa?’
    â€˜The wife of his manager, Douglas Mackay. They’re here somewhere, I’ve seen them.’
    â€˜Bloody hell, this is like something out of Somerset Maugham!’
    Tom buried his face in his Tiger while he sorted out the machinations in his mind. ‘Any more shenanigans I should know about, while you’re at it?’ he asked, when he surfaced.
    â€˜Not that I know of,’ admitted Alec regretfully. Then he brightened a little, ‘Apart from our dear Commanding Officer, of course!’
    â€˜Jesus, don’t say he’s been rogering someone too? I thought he was married?’
    â€˜He is – that’s the point! His missus was out here with him until two months ago, then she suddenly ups and goes home to UK. She was a right old battleaxe and the whisper is that she got fed up with him. But no one knows why?’
    â€˜Where does he live, then?’
    â€˜He’s still in his married quarter in Garrison, thank God. By rights, he should quit and come to live in the Mess, now that he’s on his own. That would be bloody awful, having the old bastard amongst us, but I think he’s got some pull with the Brigadier, who’s letting him stay on in his house. He’s only got three months to go before RHE, so perhaps we’ll escape a fate worse than death!’
    Howden looked along the bar to where James Robertson was regaling another relay of listeners with his tale of derring-do.
    â€˜Doesn’t he know his wife’s having it away with Peter Bright?’ he murmured.
    Watson shrugged. ‘Dunno – but it’s difficult to keep any secrets in an incestuous place like TT. If the padre farts, everyone knows within ten minutes, so even though Jimmy Robertson is as thick as two short planks, he must surely have his suspicions.’
    â€˜Maybe he doesn’t want to know, especially if he’s at it himself.’
    Alec nodded over his glass. ‘Quite possible – he’s had plenty of practice, I