Soiled Knickers

"She was so sweet," she replied, "she apologised for what her husband had done to me, to us. Then she said something surprising."

"What?" I asked.

"She said that it was obvious, even from the brief time she spoke to you, that you are very much in love with me still and that I should do everything in my power to show you how much I love you and whatever is necessary to make you trust me again. Oh and she asked me if he'd ever given me any tablets to take."

"Which he did," I said.

"Yes, she said we should get them checked out."

"Which is exactly what I intend to do tomorrow."

"How?" she asked.

"I'll take them in and see Pete, he'll pass them on to pharmacology and they'll let us know what they are and what they do," I replied, "I don't think we're going to like what they say."

"Then what?" she asked.

"Then we go into town and see your new lawyer, put what we already know to him and see what he advises," I replied, "but right now, we need for you to finish your story."

"All right, where did I get to?" she asked, "oh, the massages."

I nodded agreement.

She told me how the massages were really good for her aching shoulders and back and how she started actually going to him and asking for them, then she reminded me of the time a few months earlier when she had a particularly bad attack of Dysmenorrhoea one month. I did remember it, she was doubled over in pain for most of a couple of days, I remembered being amazed that she was able to work because of it.

"Well that was when he gave me the tablets," she said, "he said they were a new product from a Netherlands pharma company and he was helping with field testing. He said they were about to be licensed and there had been no discernible side-effects. They worked, like a charm. I, well I was so grateful when they did work and I was free of pain that I kissed him."

"When you say kissed," I began, "do you mean..."

"I mean I kissed him," she replied, "like I kiss you."

I wasn't sure how I felt about that revelation. I knew that they must have at some time, you don't have sex with a woman without at least kissing her and a little foreplay, unless you're paying her.

"How did he react?" I asked.

"When I broke the kiss, he cupped my chin in his hand, smiled and said something in Danish," she replied, "then I thanked him and left. But Dave, my knickers were soaked. If you remember I came home and almost killed you in bed that night."

I nodded.

"So, where did it escalate from there?" I asked.

"Nothing happened for three or four days then one day as we were leaving, his car was parked next to mine and, as we parted, he hugged me. Nothing close just a brief hug, like any two friends might. Then he told me 'until tomorrow,' and we parted.

"So what happened the next day?" I asked.

"That was the strange thing," she said, "nothing. All he did was as we were leaving, he asked me if I'd had any more problems and was my period finished now."

"Setting up for the main event," I murmured.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing, just growling," I said.

I think that was the first time ever that I'd not told the whole truth to Sally.

"How long was it between the kiss and escalating it even further?" I asked.

"About three weeks," she said, "it was just before my next period was due. He called me into his consulting room just as I was about to go and shower and change to come home and asked me about my period, then said I should take one of the tablets to avoid any repetition of last month's little problem. That's what he called it, last month's little problem."

"Then he gave me one of the tablets and told me that it was more effective if I started taking it before my period started and then just as needed," she said.

"that was the first time you rang me and told me you'd have to work late, wasn't it? Theatre was running late?" I asked.

"Yes, I think it was," she replied.

"So what happened?"

"We sat and chatted about work for about fifteen minutes, then he came round the desk to me took my hands in his, pulled me to my feet and started to undress me."

"And you didn't say no, didn't try to stop him?" I asked, "you didn't scream rape at the top of your voice."

"I tried to," she said believe me I tried," she said, "but the words wouldn't come out, the actions wouldn't happen, it was like I was paralysed."

So what happened afterwards.

"He told me to come home and give you his sloppy seconds," she said, "and pointed out the video camera in the corner of the room and told me that if I told anyone about this, the video would be on the internet the same day."

"And used that threat to keep you going back to him," I said, making a statement, not asking a question.

"Yes," she said, tears flowing freely.

"All right," I said, you need to tell all this to the lawyer tomorrow," I said, "then we need to gather as much evidence as we can. I'm going to ask the lawyer about investigators, let's find out as much as we can about this goon. But for now, I think it's time for bed."

"Dave, I know I have no right to ask this, but can I sleep with you tonight?" she asked, "Just sleep, at least until my test result comes back?"

I looked at her for a long moment. The look of distress, the tears. I felt that, at least in her own view, she was telling the truth.

I nodded slowly.

"Just sleep," I said, "and you will wear pyjamas."

"Whatever you wish of me," she said.

I stood up, reached out my hand and pulled her up onto her feet. We walked together upstairs to what was our bedroom.

I let her use the bathroom first, then followed her in, did my nightly routine and joined her in the bed.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice as I lay down on the opposite side of the bed to her.

"I do love you," she said as my head hit the pillow, "and I am sorry for all the hurt and the anguish. I hope you'll let me try and make it up to you."

"Sleep now," I whispered, "tomorrow is another day."

I awoke spooned up behind her, my arm across her waist and my hand under her pyjama top clutching a small firm breast.

I withdrew it, causing a long low moan to escape her lips.

"No," she whimpered.

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, eased the pressure on my bladder and returned to the bedroom.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Time you were up and dressed," I said, " I'm going down to start breakfast."

By the time she appeared, showered and dressed, I had eggs and bacon on the table, toast in the toaster and coffee in the mugs. I'd also made a phone call.

"What's your plan?" she asked as she started eating.

"We are going to the University first, where I'll give them a couple of the tablets to analyse," I replied, "then lunch and the lawyer. There, you'll tell your story again."

I left her with the clearing up while I went back upstairs to shower and dress.

I came down to a clean kitchen and Sally sat at the table staring blank-faced into nothing.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said, "I was just thinking."

"what about?" I asked.

"This," she began, "this situation that we're in, that I got us into. If we can get through this and come out on the other side, I am going to be the best wife and mother you could possibly hope for."

I couldn't fail to notice she said wife and mother. We'd talked about children often but she always argued in favour of putting it off until we were both more established in our careers. I knew she was ambitious, she always had been, to the point where for the last ten years all our decisions had been made around her becoming the best surgeon there is and rising to the top of her profession. Although there was also the chance that she was already pregnant with another man's child. Perhaps she'd decided that if she was, then she'd keep the child and was hoping that I'd raise it with her. I wasn't sure about that. Could I raise a child of my wife knowing that it was fathered by someone else?

I decided that that particular bridge was better crossed if and when we came to it.

"Change of heart over the children question?" I asked, without rancour.

"Not really," she said, "more a change of mind over the whole career thing," she replied, "I've been using career progression to put other things off. Well, no more. If we can get through this intact as you and me, then me and you comes before everything. Or you, me and the children."

I didn't answer, just sat there looking into her eyes.

"And Dave," she said, "if it should be that I'm already pregnant, then I promise you, a week after it's confirmed, I won't be."

"You don' have to do that for me," she said, "under that set of circumstances, I'd never even try to persuade you to abort. It's your body, your choice."

We left it at that and set off for the University.

Jack Hawkins was a nice guy, a generation above us in age, but a keen poker player. I used to attend the occasional poker night in the Senior Common Room in the Physics department and, unlike jack, managed to break even overall. Sometimes I'd win, sometimes lose, but never very much either way. He even remembered Sally from her student days, he'd taught her Pharmacology.

"So what brings you back to the hallowed halls of academia, Dave?" he asked.

"We have a little mystery," I replied and pulled out the packet of pills, "these, specifically."

He took the proffered packet and examined it closely.

After a few minutes he looked up and at me.

"Well, on first examination, I can tell you that these are not commercial drugs. The printing on the foil had clearly been done on a normal printer and there's no brand name or chemical name on here. I'd say they came from a test batch of some drug under development. To tell you anything more, I'd have to do a proper analysis."

"How long and how much?" I asked.

"For a full do, about a week and I don't know possibly up to ten grand."

"How many of them do you need?" I asked.

"Two," he said, "one, I'll do, that will be the definitive test and one I'll give to a group of final year students. That way I can include it as a class exercise and keep the cost down."

"Do it," I said and he cut two of the tablets off the end of the strip and handed me the strip back.

"Where did you get these?" he asked.

"One of my colleagues at the hospital," Sally answered, "he gave them to me for a bad bout of Dysmenorrhoea."

"Did they work?" he asked.

"Very well," she replied.

He made a note on a pad on his desk.

"I'll need the name of your colleague," he said, "if these are not legitimate approved drugs, I'll have to report the matter, to the BPS and, since you got them from a doctor, to the GMC as well."

We didn't stay chatting since we had to rush off, first to lunch and then to the solicitors.

The meeting at the solicitor's ran for over three hours at the end of which, he suggested that he get his secretary to type up his notes into a statement, then that we should return the next day where Sally would sign it in his presence and he'd use his position as a Commissioner for Oaths to notarise it and submit that to the police in the hope that, at the very least, the CPS would decide to put a hold on the prosecution while the matter was investigated.

The last thing we spoke about was Jutte Mortensen's phone call the previous evening about Sally being named a co-respondent in her divorce. We also left contact details for the two witnesses, one of which was Jutte, said our goodbyes and left making an appointment for eleven the following morning to sign the statement and he assured us that an investigator would contact us before the day was out.

When we got home, Sally went online and looked up Peter Mortensen on the GMC register and discovered that he had an MD from Aarhus University in 1998 and a PhD from the Schiller University, Jena in Pharmacology, which was interesting. He'd been registered with a licence to practice in the UK for four years.

The investigator rang a little before five, just as Sally and I had decided that, since we needed to be at the solicitor's the following morning we would spend another night at home.

We p[assed on all the details we had on Mortensen to the investigator who promised us an interim report within twenty-four hours and estimated that the full report may take up to a week, particularly if one of their people had to take a trip to Denmark.

It was starting to feel to me like things were beginning to come together.

The following morning I was in the kitchen making breakfast when the doorbell rang. I opened it to see a squat, middle -aged man looking very self-important (picture Captain Mainwaring) standing on the doorstep.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"I'm looking for Mrs Sarah Parker," he replied.

"She's upstairs taking a shower," I answered, "I'm her husband can I help?"

"I have a document for her," he said, "I require a signature for it."

"Can I sign for it?" I asked.

"No, it has to be the addressee," he said, "if you take it, she'll have to return the acknowledgement within seven days."

"She can do that," I said and held my hand out.

Sally saved him from the necessity of further blustering by walking downstairs.

"Oh, hello," she said, "I didn't know we were expecting visitors."

"We weren't," I replied and left her to it.

The document was a copy of a divorce petition issued by Jutte Mortensen against her husband Peter on grounds that the marriage had irretrievably broken down, owing to his having 'formed an association with, one Sarah Parker.

At the solicitor's, Max brought out a three page A4 document, got Sally to read through it and when she answered his question about whether it was a true and accurate version of events, she said yes, signed it, he countersigned it and stamped the bottom, then called in his secretary, who went away and made a copy, he handed it to us, we shook hands and we left.

With our business finished, we drove home, packed a few more things and spent the next hour and a half battling the Motorway traffic back to my parents' house.

There we got another surprise, my in-laws.

They'd arrived from Winchester earlier in the day.

We got hugs all round as we walked in and then, the two Mums took Sally off to the kitchen while our dads took ne into the living room and started grilling me on the situation. I brought them up to date on what had happened in the last couple of days, guessing rightly that my parents had kept Sally's up to date on what was going on.

Charles looked at me, a study in deep concentration.

"Tell me something son," he began, "do you still love my daughter?"

"We wouldn't be here together if I didn't, Dad," I told him.

"The fact that you didn't call me Charles, Or Reverend or, god forbid, your grace, tells me that that's true," he said.

"Yes," I agreed, "I still love her, but, I don't know if I can trust her."

"That's understandable," he replied, "but if the love is still there, the trust can be rebuilt. Now what's your feeling on this possible pregnancy?"

"Not happy," I said, "she tells me that if she gets confirmation that she is, she won't be within a week."

"Professionally I have to condemn that," he said, "but as her father I quite understand. But how do you feel about it?"

"Whatever happens between us," I said, "I'll support her on what she decides."

"Do you know, James," he said to my father, "you've raised a truly wonderful man here. One I'm proud to call son and one who I'll continue to be proud to call son. But how about, since the ladies will no doubt be hours in there, we all wander down to your local pub and indulge in a couple of beers?"

"Sounds like a plan," my Dad said.

"Then," Charles said, "give me five minutes to run upstairs and get out of uniform and into civvies and we'll be off."

Dad drove, he was operating the following day and didn't touch alcohol under those circumstances.

I' just got out drinks from the bar when my phone rang.

"Hi Mum," I said, "what's up?"

"Where are you?" she asked.

"The James Watts," I said, "having a drink."

"Get some for us, we're on our way. We'll eat there too."

Since they were the only ones who hadn't been drinking, Dad and Sally drove home. Mum came with me and Dad, Sally went with her parents. If you've never tried getting a drunk bishop into a car, it's hard work.

The next morning, Sally went into Dad's study after breakfast to make a call in private. She came out smiling, which I took as meaning that the HIV test had been negative.

She nodded at me as she sat down beside me on the sofa and kissed my cheek.

"What's the plan for today? I asked.

"Well, I think you know where Dad and I will be headed this morning," Mum said.

"Ah, yes," Charles said, "it's Saturday morning. Do you think your Hashem would be upset if a representative of the opposition tagged along?"

"Would your boss object if you did?" Dad replied.

"Well, given my place on the interfaith Council, probably not," Charles laughed.

Sally and I had accompanied my parents to Schul on Saturday mornings before, although neither of us pretended to have any religious beliefs, but for Charles and Amanda it was a new experience. The Rabbi introduced him to the congregation at the beginning of the service and 'out of respect for our guests' the service was conducted almost entirely in English. Which helped me too since my Hebrew was becoming rustier by the day.

Charles was even invited to read from the Torah, which surprised everybody when he did it in accent-perfect Hebrew.

We stayed on for coffee and cake afterwards and as soon as we were back home, Charles and Amanda disappeared upstairs to pack, he had a confirmation service to conduct on the Sunday.

Sally and I made lunch, which we all sat down together for, just soup and a sandwich, but the soup was home-made and tasty.

"I assume, dear," that you phone call was to get the results of the last of your infection tests and from the look on your face it was the result you wanted."

She'd just taken a bite from her sandwich, so Sally just nodded and made affirmative noises.

"So what now for you two?" Mum asked.

"A lot depends on whether I can prove to Dave that he can trust me," Sally said, "and on whether we can heal the hurt I caused."

"Well, you know that Dad and I will always be here for you, both of you. As will your parents, Sally."

"I think the first step," I said, "is we need to stop hiding from each other."

Sally looked puzzled.

"That's what we're doing by staying over here," I said, "we need to go home and you need to stop tiptoeing around me like you're afraid to say anything real to me in case I walk out, or throw you out. We need to get back to as near normal as we can under the circumstances. If we work together, we can come to a point that even if we're not happy with we can, at least, live with."

"Well, you know you're both welcome to stay, together or alone," Dad said, "anytime."

We did know that and it was good to know, but, later that afternoon, we packed our things into my car and drove home.

On the Monday morning we met Max at the court building and he took us inside where Sally formally surrendered herself to bail and we were led to the Judge's chambers. Inside there was a silver-haired man behind the desk and a younger man in a suit sat in a chair at the front. He introduced himself as the prosecuting counsel for the CPS and we were invited to sit.

"Mr Silverstein," the judge began, "I'm hearing this in chambers because of the nature, not of the crime but of your client's profession. I am informed by the CPS that the police are currently investigating further evidence in this case. As a result what I propose to do is accept a plea of not guilty from your client and immediately adjourn the case sine die. I further propose to release your client without bail. Is that acceptable."