When Betga arrived at the hospital and found a sizeable contingent waiting to check on the welfare of Malcolm Torrent, he went back to his car and took himself out for an Italian dinner in North Melbourne that lasted until it was much too late for people who respected convention to still be in a hospital waiting room. At around 10 pm he returned to the ICU nurses station, introduced himself, flashed his driver’s licence faster than a speeding bullet, and enquired gravely in an almost whispered tone, ‘Okay, you can level with me, what’s the prognosis? How bad is this?’
‘Are you family, sir?’ the nurse asked Betga without looking up. ‘Or do you work with Mr Torrent?’
‘Actually, I’m both. We tend not to talk much about the family connection because, frankly, there are people in the firm who are jealous enough of our closeness as it is and it really can get in the way. And I have to remind myself that most people will have trouble understanding a relationship like ours; in and out of each other’s offices, private jokes, knowing what the other’s thinking without the use of words. We have been blessed. Until now. Where are we? And don’t sugar coat it because of our relationship.’
‘Mr Torrent presented unconscious with the typical features of a stroke. He’s in the process of being investigated and managed appropriately.’
‘What does that mean re his prognosis?’
‘I’m afraid it’s too early to speculate on the timing and extent of any recovery or even if there will be a favourable one.’
‘Oh my God! Can I see him?’
‘I’m afraid not. Visiting hours are over and he needs to rest.’
‘Are you sure I can’t just . . . for a moment?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, sir. I know this must be a terrible time for you.’
‘It is, it is, Nurse . . .’ Betga peered at the nurse’s name tag, ‘Nurse Penberthy. I’ve had a hell of a day, as you probably have every day. It’s kind of hard to imagine how we’ll proceed without him, if we have to, which I hope we won’t for a very long time. Would you mind if I just sat here for a moment?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘It’s just been such a shock. I still can’t quite . . .’
‘Of course,’ Nurse Penberthy said, allowing him to trail off while she looked at a computer screen in front of her. She was somewhere between forty and forty-five and her experience and clinical education as an intensive-care nurse suggested to Betga that this was not going to be as easy as it might have been. He was going to have to wait.