Free Stephanie by Winston Graham Page A

she?’
    â€˜Heavily preggers. But enjoying it, I think.’
    â€˜One thing about Teresa, she really does enjoy everything.’
    â€˜Don’t you?’
    â€˜Not everything. Not by any means everything.’
    â€˜Including, no doubt, your impending break up with Errol Colton.’
    â€˜Very much including that,’ said Stephanie.

Chapter Four
I
    Stephanie said: ‘Could I speak to Sir Peter Brune, please?’
    â€˜Who may I ask is calling?’ She recognised the voice of John Peron, Peter Brune’s secretary and general assistant.
    â€˜Stephanie Locke.’
    â€˜Mrs Locke?’
    â€˜Miss Locke. I spent a weekend …’
    â€˜Of course. My apologies. I am not sure whether Sir Peter is on another line, but will you hold?’
    She waited, examining the fingers of her right hand which showed a stain from nicotine. Why did one over-smoke when one was in a dilemma?
    â€˜Stephanie?’ The unmistakable, cultured, amused-sounding voice with its slight Welsh accent.
    â€˜Sir Peter. I –’
    â€˜My dear, how nice to hear from you!’ He sounded as if he meant it. ‘It’s time you came to see us again. Were you ringing me to remind me?’
    She laughed. ‘Hardly … I just wanted –’
    â€˜How is Errol? I believe you’ve been off somewhere with him.’
    â€˜Yes. He’s well.’
    â€˜I bear some of the responsibility for it all, since you first met him at my house.’
    â€˜I absolve you.’
    â€˜Where was it – India – you went?’
    â€˜Yes. It was very good. Sir Peter …’ She hesitated.
    â€˜As the shop-gals say, can I help you?’
    â€˜I’m not sure. Now it comes to the point, I’m not quite sure why I’m bothering you. It is true, isn’t it, that you run a clinic – or finance a clinic – for the treatment of drug addicts?’
    â€˜Not exactly. But I know what you mean. You’re probably talking about the Worsley Clinic outside Reading. I’m on the board of that.’
    â€˜And that treats … ?’
    â€˜Well, it was not started exclusively for the treatment of drug addiction but that is its main purpose nowadays. Advanced cases. Often people are sent to us when ordinary hospitals have had a go and failed. Lord Worsley started it years ago, when addiction was a minor blackspot, but it’s grown with the problem. Privately financed. We try to charge people according to their means. There’s always a minimum of twenty-five per cent getting the treatment free. Was this what you wanted to know?’
    â€˜Partly. Thank you.’
    â€˜Clearly you don’t have a problem yourself. Some friend?’
    â€˜No. Not that exactly either.’ She struggled to find the words that would explain sufficiently but not explain too much. She pictured him sitting there, fingering a cuff link. A big man but spare, sallow-skinned, deeply lined cheeks, a sardonic charming mouth, grey hair, probably in his late fifties, not quite the obvious millionaire, not quite the obvious scholar. Long years of wealth had given him a sense of importance he was quick to deny. ‘I have a sort of a problem, but it’s one of conscience or something. I want to make up my mind. God, that sounds prosy …’
    â€˜Take your time. I’m in no hurry.’
    â€˜Look,’ she said. ‘I’ve lived a fairly mayfly sort of life, enjoying things, not caring much. Drugs were for other people to worry about. Well, somehow it won’t do any longer. One should, I think, have a point of view, at least. Whether it’s something one mildly dislikes, like a drunk in the street, or – or something much more.’
    â€˜It’s no easy problem. There isn’t any pure black or pure white about it. Just endlessly different shades of grey.’
    â€˜I expect that’s right. But I’m so totally ignorant and I think it’s