She had been a couple of times to the house before but never felt relaxed there. It had something to do with the air of formality Gerald Hanbury always gave out and with his wife’s slight imperiousness, and perhaps more to do with their elegant, beautifully proportioned home. Cat much preferred to meet Hanbury, the chairman of Imogen House, in her office there, not because she felt more in charge but because it was her own and fairly neutral territory. Today, though, he had asked her to lunch – it was just the two of them, his wife, Judge Nancy Cutler, being away on circuit. They had eaten in the pale green silk-lined dining room, where the tablecloth shone as white as in a washing powder advertisement and the napkins were card-stiff. The ceilings of this Queen Anne house were high and their two voices sounded brittle. But the asparagus, lamb cutlets, lemon mousse were good, if somehow predictable, they had had a single glass of Sancerre each, and were now back in Gerald Hanbury’s study. It was a relief to find it slightly untidy, the armchair cushions less than perfectly placed.
‘I have the impression,’ Hanbury said, pouring her coffee, ‘that things at the hospice have – how shall I put it? – not quite bedded down. Am I right?’
She had been prepared for this as the reason for lunch. Routine business would have merited an email.
‘I’m afraid you are.’
‘I thought we were going to save money by becoming a day-care hospice only.’
‘We have, a lot of money, though of course we’re never flush with it. But this isn’t about money. The transition was never going to be smooth but with hindsight we could have taken more time over it and perhaps planned it better. Staff don’t feel settled – they know we haven’t got things right yet. As you know, we had to shed a few of them when the wards closed but those who stayed aren’t finding it easy. They miss the bedded wards, they keep referring back to them, as if they find day care only very much second best.’
‘And do you?’
‘Gerald, you know that in some ways yes, I do, but I don’t regret it.’
‘I know that you have less responsibility –’
‘I have less work.’
‘Yes, and that must be frustrating when you were so heavily involved and put so much time and energy into the hospice during the old regime.’
‘I recognise perfectly well that we had to change. Financially, we simply couldn’t have continued as we were.’
‘Indeed. And we can’t go back. But I’m not happy and I realise that you’re not either.’
‘Are you suggesting I resign?’
‘Good heavens, no! I’m hoping to give you a bigger role – though when I say “I” of course the job wouldn’t be in my sole gift, even if it existed yet.’
‘I’m still the medical director.’
‘And you would continue as such. But we need to sit down and work out exactly what a day-care hospice does and does not do, how we can bring everything together and play to our strengths. We must stop looking back and we also need to be clear about the way forward. Hospice at home, for example? Listen, Cat, what I have in mind is this. The role of medical director, because it is less demanding, should be expanded, at least for the short term. You would take on a strategy role, to look at how we do things now and how we might do them in future, what we should and what we shouldn’t be doing, and plan out a whole new strategy for Imogen House. It would involve your travelling round to look at other hospices, see how they organise their units.’
‘That isn’t a medical role, it’s a managerial one.’
‘To a certain extent, yes, but you know far more about what patients actually need than someone brought in as a pure administrator and who has no medical expertise. It would not be managing budgets and doing HR, it would be researching, assessing, planning for what would be the very best for future patients.’
‘It needs a lot of thought.’
‘Of course. But you are the ideal person for this – you have known the hospice from its inception, you know Lafferton and its communities, you’re passionate about providing the best palliative care – who better to do this?’
‘But as you’ve said, you can’t just offer me the job.’
‘No, it would have to be advertised. That shouldn’t present us with any problem.’
‘Has this been discussed by the full board?’
‘Informally. I would put it to them as a firm proposal at the next meeting.’
‘Whether or not I decide to apply?’
‘Whether or not. We need to turn this round. Income is down, we have fewer legacies. People sense that things are not right and they have plenty of other worthy causes.’
Cat sat back in the deeply comfortable chair.
‘I know, I know,’ Gerald said. ‘Here we go again. Poor Cat, you’ve been through this too many times. But I truly think that if we get things right now we’ll be on a very firm base going into the future. And we absolutely do not want to lose you. Your experience and commitment are far too valuable.’
Instead of going straight home she drove out to Hallam House.
She found her stepmother lying on the sofa under a duvet, looking pale and reading Love in a Cold Climate.
‘Oh, darling, it’s lovely to see you but don’t come near me, I’m toxic.’
‘If it’s the sickness bug, we’ve had it. Let me make us a cup of tea.’
‘Not for me but could you bear to get me some cold water and ice? I can keep that down if I sip it. I’m so sorry.’
That was something else, Cat noted, going into the kitchen. If she had ever felt an apology necessary for any reason Judith would never hesitate, but lately she had become someone who apologised too much, for things that could not possibly be her fault – like being ill. Whether or not her father had ever been physically violent, he could certainly be a bully and she did not like to see the self-confident stepmother she loved and admired become cowed.
Now, though, Judith seemed only to be cowed by the virus, and when she had sipped her iced water, she sat up and rearranged her cushions.
‘Tell me what’s going on in the great world, I’m starved of gossip.’
‘This isn’t goss, sorry, but I do need your take on something.’
‘Good, that’s exactly what I feel like, reclining here and giving out advice, so tell.’
Cat told and noted that, as ever, in setting out the proposal and how it seemed to her, she clarified her thoughts, saw the pros and cons and could begin to assess them.
‘You need to mull it over for a while,’ Judith said, ‘but you have that advantage because it doesn’t seem as if this is going to be a rushed appointment anyway – can they even afford to make it?’
‘I suppose if they gave the job to me they would simply add to my salary – no idea how much – whereas if they opened it up they might have to advertise at a higher level.’
‘That hardly seems fair. Don’t sell yourself short, you’re worth a lot to them.’
She couldn’t afford to be too demanding either, but Cat could not possibly say that to Judith. Her financial worries were hers alone.
‘You’d miss dealing directly with patients.’
‘But I do so little of that now anyway. And I would still be medical director. I’d see some patients when I was in the day clinic.’
‘Have you decided yet about sending Hannah to the performing arts college?’
‘She’s got some talent and so much ambition, you can’t refuse her now.’
‘She’s also only thirteen. Long way to go.’
‘But she’d continue with her all-round education, and if she doesn’t take up the place, she’ll be so angry and frustrated she might down tools and refuse to do schoolwork at all.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Hannah was more than capable of doing exactly that. Her two elder children were nothing if not strong-willed and single-minded.
‘Is it that you can’t bear her to go away to board?’
‘No. Not that at all.’
‘So it’s the money.’
Cat was silent.
‘If I could afford to pay for her, you know that I would.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you. No, either I pay or she can’t go.’
‘Then there will be university for Sam in three years or so.’
Cat got up. ‘So if the new job is offered, I may have no choice.’