The Anvil (5 page)

‘How long have you been running?’

‘Three years,’ he said. He felt himself start to lose the battle to remain detached. The warmth of the fire and exhaustion from his earlier tussle with the ice were conspiring to give the woman the upper hand.

‘Tell me about it,’ she said.

‘It’s a long story,’ said MacLean. He leaned his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

‘There’s no hurry,’ said Tansy softly, ‘Begin at the beginning.’

‘I’m a doctor,’ said MacLean.

Tansy looked at him questioningly. She said, ‘You carry a gun, you smash your way through ice with your bare hands and you’re a doctor?’

MacLean smiled sadly at her reaction. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘I used to be a doctor. So much can happen in three years.’

‘Go on,’ said Tansy.

‘I was born and brought up here in Edinburgh,’ said MacLean. ‘I played on the canal banks out there. I fished in the water for tadpoles; I skated on it when it froze over in winter and I fell into it from rope swings in the summer. I went to the local schools with the rest of the kids from round here and then, when I was nineteen, I spread my wings and went south to study medicine in London.’

‘
I was a good student, a lad o’ pairts, as they say up here and it was what I wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, I had as much fun as the next student but I never lost sight of the main goal and that was to become a doctor. Six years later I achieved my ambition.’

‘Then what?’ asked Tansy.

‘After my pre-registration year I was determined to become a surgeon so I set off on that road. In time I decided to specialise in plastic surgery.’

‘Nose jobs and face-lifts?’ said Tansy with ill-disguised disdain.

‘No,’ replied MacLean evenly. ‘In my last year at medical school my closest friend was burned when some idiot threw paraffin on a barbecue fire. He was badly disfigured and had to give up any idea of being a doctor because of the damage to his hands. I’ve never forgotten how he looked when I went to see him for the first time after the accident. I wasn’t prepared and it must have shown on my face. His eyes told me that he’d seen the revulsion; I can still feel the guilt to this day when I talk about it. Anyway, that was what decided me that I should go into plastic surgery. I thought, if I could make a difference in improving the lot of such patients then it would be a life well spent.’

‘And did it work out that way?’ asked Tansy.

‘It was frustrating,’ said MacLean. ‘Everyone knows about the dramatic results in cosmetic surgery but repairing accident damage is a completely different story. Patients can go through dozens of operations over many years and still end up looking not much better than they did in the beginning. I wanted to do better for them.’

‘How?’

‘The way forward is always through research. I heard that Lehman Steiner, the Swiss-based Drug Company, was working on tissue regeneration so I wrote to them. I sent them my c.v. and after a couple of interviews they offered me a job on their research programme.’

‘Just what you wanted,’ said Tansy.

‘Exactly what I wanted,’ agreed MacLean. ‘I moved to Geneva and everything

went like a dream. The facilities were magnificent, the research went well and I liked living in Geneva. Within three years I was made head of surgical research.’

‘You must have been young?’

‘I was thirty-one and on top of the world. I had a penthouse flat, a Mercedes car and complete job satisfaction. Then came Cytogerm.’ MacLean paused as if a dark cloud had come over him.

‘Cytogerm?’ prompted Tansy gently.

‘It was our biggest breakthrough, a brand new compound that aided tissue regeneration. Treating burns cases with Cytogerm reduced tissue damage by eighty-five percent. We could hardly believe it at first but the early indications were proved right. Suddenly we had the power to perform miracles.

‘It sounds wonderful.’

‘It was, until the nightmare began,’ said MacLean, his eyes beginning to show painful memories. He paused and Tansy remained silent, unsure if he would be able to continue.

MacLean looked at her distantly and said slowly, ‘We were all sworn to secrecy until full clinical trials were carried out.’ He paused again and Tansy could see that tiredness was overtaking him. She put a finger up to his lips and said, ‘Stop there. Continue in the morning.’

MacLean was prompted into saying, ‘No, no more, I have to go.’

Tansy restrained him gently. ‘No you don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Your room is ready.’

MacLean woke to the sound of Carrie’s laughter. She was playing in the snow in the garden. He listened to Tansy giving her advice on snowman building. After a few minutes he got up and went to the window to be struck by the brightness of the snow and the vivid colours of Carrie’s outfit. He was startled when Tansy saw him and waved a greeting. It wasn’t a film scene after all. He was really here.

Tansy came back into the house and announced breakfast. MacLean came to the kitchen and hovered uncertainly in the doorway.

‘How are you feeling?’ Tansy asked.

‘I’m fine,’ replied MacLean.

‘Well, sit down,’ directed Tansy with girl-guide bossiness and MacLean did as he was told. She put a plate, heaped with bacon and eggs, in front of him and added toast and a jug of steaming coffee to the table. ‘Eat up before it gets cold.’

MacLean knew that Tansy was mounting a rescue operation. There was nothing subtle about it. She was doing it with a disarming innocence that was much more effective than anything more sophisticated might have been. A part of him insisted on clinging to the belief that this was all just a momentary respite in a continuing nightmare but, as he ate, another part of him was beginning to waver ever so slightly.

With breakfast over, Tansy re-charged his coffee cup and her own and suggested they would be more comfortable by the fire. Carrie was outside working on her snowman.

‘You were telling me about Cytogerm,’ said Tansy.

‘I was,’ agreed MacLean, pausing for a moment while he considered whether or not to continue. He couldn’t see an easy way out of it and the expectant look on Tansy’s face pushed him into continuing his story.

‘The clinical trials were conducted in secret at an exclusive private clinic in the mountains. Burns cases at category five or worse - that’s severe disfigurement - would be referred to us with the approval of their relatives. All expenses would be paid by Lehman Steiner on the condition that the visiting rights of relatives were waived, an offer eagerly accepted by all. Burns treatment is a long, expensive business.’

‘But not to be able to visit your wife or husband … ‘ said Tansy.

‘Disfigurement cases are difficult for everyone,’ said MacLean. ‘You may not think so but pretending you’re not horrified when your husband looks like a boiled puppet can be an unbearable strain. Paper-thin smiles while guilt eats your insides out.’

‘I hadn’t considered,’ said Tansy.

‘The trials went like a dream. We would cut away damaged tissue, apply the Cytogerm compound and put on the bandages. Three weeks later the gaps would be filled with brand new healthy tissue as smooth as your cheek. The only scars would be where I’d cut away damaged skin at the junction, minor scars easily covered with cosmetics. It was a world away from the old skin graft routines over many months if not years. We were working in a surgical Camelot.’

‘So what went wrong?’ asked Tansy.

‘After the initial success it occurred to me that the treatment could have wider applications.’

‘How so?’

‘If Cytogerm could be used to repair accident damage then I thought we might be able to use it to repair deliberate surgical damage.’

‘Deliberate?’ asked Tansy, puzzled at the notion.

‘I suggested to the company that we might be able to treat people with bad birthmarks and congenital disfigurement.’

‘And?’

‘It worked,’ said MacLean. ‘I could simply cut away the offending area and let Cytogerm do the repair work. I felt like Jesus Christ making the blind see, only better. He would have taken it for granted.’

Tansy smiled. ‘Go on.’

‘Up until then we were a relatively small part of the company’s empire. Research and Development is always a gamble - the part of the business that spends money rather than makes it. Now we were suddenly flavour of the month. The potential returns from Cytogerm were plain for all to see. I was summoned to meet the company’s directors at the Stagelplatz Hotel in Geneva.’

‘Why a hotel?’ asked Tansy.

‘Lehman Steiner owned it. In fact it was quite difficult to find something that they didn’t own or control. Hotels, apartment blocks, restaurants; they made the soap in my bath, the toothpaste on my brush. Once a month the directors met at the Stagelplatz to decide what the world should pay for relief of its aches and pains.’

‘So you were summoned by the gods,’ said Tansy.

‘Gods in charcoal-grey suits who smiled but never stopped watching me. It was as if they were looking for weaknesses, searching for flaws in my character. Any word out of place would be questioned. Any ambiguity had to be cleared up immediately. Their philosophy was quite simple. You either made money for the company or you didn’t. If you didn’t you were out. If you did then the question became, how much more could you make?’

‘But surely your team were given credit for what they’d achieved?’ said Tansy.

‘Oh yes,’ replied MacLean. ‘They congratulated me on our research and flattered me till I beamed like the school clever-dick on prize-giving day.’

‘And then?’

‘Then one of them almost casually wondered out loud what Cytogerm could do for ageing skin … ‘

‘Oh,’ said Tansy as she saw the significance of the question.

MacLean smiled ruefully and said, ‘Until that moment I had not even considered that angle of Cytogerm. The commercial implications were enormous and I hadn’t even seen them. If crows’ feet could be removed from ageing eyes and wrinkles from the necks of dowagers then Cytogerm was liquid money.’

‘How did you feel about that?’ asked Tansy.

‘I was apprehensive. I insisted that our research into the repair of accident damage must remain a priority but they were prepared for that. “Of course.” they smiled. But the more money Cytogerm made the cheaper it would become and the cheaper it became the more accessible it would be. More patients would benefit in the long run. Could I not see my way into making a very preliminary study of the potential of the drug?’

‘Is that true about the cost?’ asked Tansy.

‘In general yes,’ replied MacLean. ‘When a new drug hits the market all the research and development costs have to be recouped before it starts to make money for the company. Consequently new drugs are usually very expensive.’

‘Did you agree?’ asked Tansy.

‘In the end I did. I asked for a volunteer at the clinic and Eva Stahl, our theatre sister offered herself. She was a very pleasant, intelligent lady who was approaching middle age with the trepidation that many women feel at that time. She jumped at the chance of losing the sagging skin under her eyes and having her neck rescued from a
nno domini
and too much sun.

‘What happened?’ asked Tansy.

‘Four weeks later she could have passed for twenty-five. She was beautiful. Not only did she look good but also her personality changed to match. The fact that she looked good was making her feel good. It was like being reborn.’

‘It sounds miraculous.’

‘Flushed with success, we admitted six more volunteers. I operated on three, my assistant Kurt Immelman on the others.’

‘You could delegate?’ asked Tansy.

‘That was one of the great things about the treatment,’ said MacLean. ‘A Boy Scout with a penknife could have done the surgery. It was Cytogerm that performed the miracles.’

‘What happened?’

‘Five of the six were brilliant successes just like the first but the sixth wasn’t.’ MacLean took a sip of his coffee. ‘Her name was Elsa Kaufman. She was thirty-eight and the wife of one of our production managers in Zurich. Two weeks after her operation and before the bandages were removed she began to complain of pain in her face. I didn’t think too much of it at first. Post-surgical pain is quite common but it continued and started to get worse. I didn’t want to disturb the bandages at a crucial stage in tissue repair so I treated her with broad-spectrum antibiotics in the belief that she had picked up an infection. If I’d removed the dressings there and then she might have stood a chance.’

‘What was wrong?’ asked Tansy gently.

‘A few days later when the pain became unbearable, I took her to theatre and removed the dressings. It was as if … ‘

‘As if what?’ prompted Tansy, seeing that MacLean was suffering at the recollection.