had spoken to Clifford about you … I think you might like to know what Clifford said to Dorman?’ This time he did not finish the sentence with a smile.
‘Why not?’ Eleanor replied, concealing another stab of fear. But she managed to hide it with a smile.
It seemed to neutralise any suspicions Ah-Ming had about her, for he suddenly changed his manner to that of wanting to confide in her.
He leant forward slightly in his chair and said, ‘Before I tell you that, understand that you are becoming involved in a matter of deep concern to China. My country has embarked upon a course of action that will determine the future of mankind. You have to think back to the training period you underwent in Beijing. You have to think of your husband’s work. Above all, of his work for China, and Oriental medicine. You comprehend my meaning?’ He lifted his voice then, saying, ‘Because nothing and indeed no one will be allowed to stand in our way!’
His words, though frightening to her, made her understand his strength and commitment. He had confirmed that China had embarked upon a new way, changing the meaning of Carry Tiger to Mountain. She felt sick and angry. Who was this man? What made him think he had so much power over her? Was Chen really alive? She had to find out!
He was now talking about Mike Clifford, and his words drew her mind quickly back to the present. ‘Dr Clifford has no belief in Oriental medicine, and according to the report of Dorman, the young doctor considers it all a therapy of quackery.’
Eleanor stared into the level eyes of Ah-Ming – hard, unforgiving eyes – as he continued, ‘And that is the way he must go on thinking. Do I make myself clear?’
There was only one course for her to adopt at this critical moment: compliance. She nodded and said, ‘Yes, I see, I do understand you fully.’
With that he rose and quickly left her consulting room, stopping briefly to admire some large wall illustrations of the points of acupuncture, then turning towards her, bowing slightly. His final words were, ‘We will need your cooperation and expect it.’
‘When he had gone, she placed her elbows on the desk, putting her head in her hands with a feeling of deep dismay. She had finally been ordered into a life not of her own choosing. Yet now, before her, lay the prospect of taking sides. The choice had to be hers alone: them or us? But who are they or we?
Eleanor tried to compose herself. She did not know what plans to make. Her patients must come first – but could they? She felt more and more confused.
Julie was concerned by Eleanor’s pale and anxious face when she entered her office, but she made no comment about it, instead remarking casually, ‘You’ve had an unusual start to your day, Doctor, perhaps it would be a good idea to take the whole day off.’
Eleanor knew that Julie was worried about her, and agreed that the suggestion of a day off was a good one. She wanted to get back to her flat, then perhaps call Mike, but she quickly rejected the idea of seeing him. She was not ready for that … what was she ready for? Perhaps this was the moment to leave her patients in the care of Margaret Wormald, a brilliant acupuncturist. Perhaps she should take a sabbatical, concentrate totally on the death syndrome? But what could she do? She was certain of one thing, she no longer had a clear path to follow. Her life was no longer her own.
There was one place she always visited in moments of crisis, or those of needing a decision. It was the Hotung Gallery at the British Museum. The visual impact of Oriental antiquities never failed to stir her innermost being. She remembered that it was the first place she went to after leasing her Harley Street consulting rooms. For her it symbolised the immensity of Oriental civilisations, with their long history, their philosophies – the Tao and its cyclical nature. And upstairs, on the first floor of the museum, the Chinese sections that showed the
‘Why not?’ Eleanor replied, concealing another stab of fear. But she managed to hide it with a smile.
It seemed to neutralise any suspicions Ah-Ming had about her, for he suddenly changed his manner to that of wanting to confide in her.
He leant forward slightly in his chair and said, ‘Before I tell you that, understand that you are becoming involved in a matter of deep concern to China. My country has embarked upon a course of action that will determine the future of mankind. You have to think back to the training period you underwent in Beijing. You have to think of your husband’s work. Above all, of his work for China, and Oriental medicine. You comprehend my meaning?’ He lifted his voice then, saying, ‘Because nothing and indeed no one will be allowed to stand in our way!’
His words, though frightening to her, made her understand his strength and commitment. He had confirmed that China had embarked upon a new way, changing the meaning of Carry Tiger to Mountain. She felt sick and angry. Who was this man? What made him think he had so much power over her? Was Chen really alive? She had to find out!
He was now talking about Mike Clifford, and his words drew her mind quickly back to the present. ‘Dr Clifford has no belief in Oriental medicine, and according to the report of Dorman, the young doctor considers it all a therapy of quackery.’
Eleanor stared into the level eyes of Ah-Ming – hard, unforgiving eyes – as he continued, ‘And that is the way he must go on thinking. Do I make myself clear?’
There was only one course for her to adopt at this critical moment: compliance. She nodded and said, ‘Yes, I see, I do understand you fully.’
With that he rose and quickly left her consulting room, stopping briefly to admire some large wall illustrations of the points of acupuncture, then turning towards her, bowing slightly. His final words were, ‘We will need your cooperation and expect it.’
‘When he had gone, she placed her elbows on the desk, putting her head in her hands with a feeling of deep dismay. She had finally been ordered into a life not of her own choosing. Yet now, before her, lay the prospect of taking sides. The choice had to be hers alone: them or us? But who are they or we?
Eleanor tried to compose herself. She did not know what plans to make. Her patients must come first – but could they? She felt more and more confused.
Julie was concerned by Eleanor’s pale and anxious face when she entered her office, but she made no comment about it, instead remarking casually, ‘You’ve had an unusual start to your day, Doctor, perhaps it would be a good idea to take the whole day off.’
Eleanor knew that Julie was worried about her, and agreed that the suggestion of a day off was a good one. She wanted to get back to her flat, then perhaps call Mike, but she quickly rejected the idea of seeing him. She was not ready for that … what was she ready for? Perhaps this was the moment to leave her patients in the care of Margaret Wormald, a brilliant acupuncturist. Perhaps she should take a sabbatical, concentrate totally on the death syndrome? But what could she do? She was certain of one thing, she no longer had a clear path to follow. Her life was no longer her own.
There was one place she always visited in moments of crisis, or those of needing a decision. It was the Hotung Gallery at the British Museum. The visual impact of Oriental antiquities never failed to stir her innermost being. She remembered that it was the first place she went to after leasing her Harley Street consulting rooms. For her it symbolised the immensity of Oriental civilisations, with their long history, their philosophies – the Tao and its cyclical nature. And upstairs, on the first floor of the museum, the Chinese sections that showed the
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