The Cake Lady, Maria

Maria was a cheery soul, always smiling and ready to help. Over her many years at St. Angela’s, she had seen much, but, as is typical of the invisible little people of any organisation, she said nothing.

Her husband, Juan, was a driver of the hospital’s shuttle bus that took people from St. Angela’s to the Hill and back again. All day and every day, to an fro, Juan listened in silence to the constant chatter in the bus, taking it all in, as unguarded comments, opinions and plots spilled out as if he wasn’t there. But he was there.

From time to time, Maria and Juan joined their friends from the porters and drivers pool, the cleaners and receptionists, and the telephone “girls” and ward clerks, for get-togethers. Over much food and merriment, they celebrated as a community of little people their many cultures. All of them were proud of the service they gave to the hospital, its staff and its patients. 

As a result, Maria knew a lot about Mr. Cordell’s fraught situation. Engaging her on this topic took some time, but, piece by piece, a picture emerged that he was not the sort of person to thump another, and that, despite the assault, he was a decent person. “He’s a nice man; he’s in big trouble but it’s not his fault,” she sighed. “He’s important, very rich, very handsome”.

He’s got all the best people in his private clinic; they love him; they bring him presents,” she said admiringly. He had always been charming to her, Juan, and the others.

It looked as if Mr. Cordell, the well-connected, good and loyal surgeon, with a successful private practice, had been fitted-up and isolated by person(s) unknown.

The reason? Probably jealousy on several fronts.

The Greedy Cake Scoffer, Mr. Regan

Mr. Regan was known to all, especially Maria. He had tea, and many cakes, in the Rowing Club most days, and she always held back some Battenberg slices for him as it was his favourite “sweet” after a heavy morning operating list.

Via Prof Leaman’s fusspot secretary, speaking in the great man’s name, Mr. Regan was instructed to meet me to discuss the forthcoming court case against Mr. Cordell.

What a shocker, a real ruffian if ever there was one. In between mouthfuls of cake, washed down with gulps of strong tea, and much swearing, Mr. Regan explained why he should succeed Prof Leaman, who, according to him, was a bit “past it”.

He explained that he and Mr. Gonerill had arrived at St. Angela’s at about the same time, and they were good friends, but he, Regan, was the better surgeon. And, critically, he said it was “my turn” as he was older, and he was a good rower.

Mr. Regan thought Mr. Cordell was “a sissy”. His level of cussing and swearing rose as he described how Mr. Cordell thought he was “better than us”. “Too county for me,” he said, referring to Mr. Cordell’s membership of a local hunt, and his stable of horses.

Mr. Regan was a store of invective about Mr. Cordell’s past rejections of him. Mr. Cordell had hosted many dinners at his country estate where the drive from the front gate to the front door took at least ten minutes. Mr. Regan had never been invited and it upset him greatly.

Leaning forward with suppressed anger, he said “Remember me, I’m the victim here — that posh **** thumped me.”  

A Casualty Speaks

Time to find out more from the other casualties. Sue, the Director, gave permission for me to approach one of them who was on long-term sick leave. He was so scared about returning to St. Angela’s that I was invited to interview him at his home.

What a sorry sight he was: shattered, broken, nervous. No wonder he was a long-term “sickie”. He explained that he had been one of the surgical unit’s managers and his job was to prepare the business case for St. Angela’s being recognised as a national centre of excellence. He had worked hard and had gathered much information to fill out the many tedious forms that became the submission. He had worked long hours, consulted widely, and researched the issues thoroughly. He had done a good job, or so he thought.

What was the problem? He had been roundly criticised by Prof Leaman for suggesting that a succession plan was needed to ensure continuity. Leaman had hit the roof at the prospect that another could wear his crown, and it was a terrible shock to see this written in black and white and examined forensically.

To add fuel to the fire, Mr. Gonerill had expressed his shock in support of Leaman: that someone, anyone, could replace the Prof was unthinkable.

Mr. Regan was a disgrace. The casualty told me he had agreed with the succession plan in private, but in public stated the reverse. Indeed, he went on to say what an incompetent waste of space the casualty was, and traduced him in no uncertain terms. Mr. Regan used the ultimate put down: “administrators – I hate them.”

My informant was illuminating about Mr. Cordell, the exile. He had been supportive but his good opinion had been devalued by the assault. He explained how unfair all this was as Mr. Cordell had been provoked — Mr. Regan had goaded the poor man to the point where Mr. Cordell had grabbed Mr. Regan’s lapels and shook him against a wall. The  supposed head injury, I was told, had been grossly exaggerated. This chimed with Maria’s views.

The casualty found himself in the midst of a maelstrom, and he was never going back, “TMT – that’s the problem, TMT.”

Too Much Testosterone — a common syndrome in university teaching hospitals.

The Letter

A flurry of concern greeted me on my return to St. Angela’s. No time for reflection or follow-up as Sue and the Chief Executive had requested an urgent meeting to discuss a letter. While I was digging around, Prof Leaman had got wind of my inquiries from his fusspot PA. He was so angry that he penned a letter straight to the Prime Minister.

The letter rambled on about how important Prof Leaman was and that St. Angela’s had employed “a very dangerous woman.” You can guess the rest. It was a very nasty letter. Prof Leaman had requested the Chief Executive and Sue to put a stop to my inquiries on the grounds that I was stirring up a hornet’s nest of trouble.

For good measure he added that I lacked the qualifications and abilities for my task.

As a courtesy, Sue had let me have a copy of the letter. Retiring to the Rowing Club lounge, Maria brought me a cup of tea, and I settled into the armchair by the window to study it.

There was a time when I would have been very worried by such accusations but not now.  I was too old to be intimidated by this kind of nonsense. Focusing on the problem,  I began to work out what was going on.

As for the Prime Minister’s response? A very polite letter giving Prof Leaman the brush off arrived by return. It had clearly been written by one of the PM’s Secretaries whose job it was to bat away such local issues. But the Chief Executive and Sue could not help being concerned that this would reduce the attractiveness of St. Angela’s bid.

It’s Getting Clearer

Bit by bit, the picture was getting clearer. I went to see my old teacher and mentor, the Prof, who, after all those years, was still so generous with his time. I set out the case and my findings, and we discussed the possible complex relationships and psychological issues around loyalty, succession and how “the crown” might pass from one individual to another.

“Do you play chess?” he asked. “You need to think two to three moves ahead; get into the other side’s head; see what they see; think about their motives; who is manipulating who?”

I needed more insight. I needed to interview Mr. Gonerill, but I needed to work out the questions I would ask very carefully. I suspected that there was more to this Mr. Nice Guy than met the eye.

The Chief Executive liked Mr. Gonerill and saw him as a natural successor to Prof Leaman. The casualty’s words came back to me: he said Mr. Cordell had been provoked to challenge Mr. Regan and that this had resulted in the assault. Mr. Regan was known to be easy to wind up, to be made very angry. What, and who, lay behind this?

By chance, Maria invited me to the hospital’s social club to join her and her friends who celebrated pay day at the end of each month with a get together. It was a pleasant affair and I took the opportunity to stroll around the groups listening to their chatter, picking up bits and pieces about our band of surgeons.

I was a bit of a celebrity on account of the Letter. Yes, they all knew about it and thought it was very amusing. Apparently, Prof Leaman had done this before and usually, after the initial frisson, everything died down, so I should just wait it out. Good advice, but the Chief Executive, and Sue, took it rather more seriously. I would need to assuage their concerns.

So, it was time to interview Mr. Gonerill. Was he behind the assault? Did he push Mr. Regan to provoke an incident with Mr. Cordell? Was he as supportive of Prof Leaman as he had appeared? I was getting closer to unmasking the puppeteer.

Come back next time to find out about Mr. Gonerill, who is he and what does he want? …

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.