The Lost Labyrinth

THIRTY-THREE
I

A man in a wheelchair outside the entrance to Evangelismos Hospital watched amiably as Nico Chavakis laboured up the front steps. 'Crazy, isn't it?' said the man. 'Putting steps this steep in front of a hospital, of all places?'

Nico was wheezing too hard to answer, so he smiled and nodded instead as he walked on inside, feeling obscurely aggrieved, wishing he'd followed his first instinct of giving this DVD of Knox's talk to a courier to deliver, rather than coming all this way himself. But Augustin was only in Greece-and thus in hospital-because he'd accepted Nico's invitation to address his conference, so Nico felt a certain responsibility for him, however much he disliked such places. A visit was the least he could do.

He dabbed his brow and the corners of his lips, giving himself a chance to catch his breath, before putting his handkerchief back in his pocket and going to the information desk. The woman gave him directions to intensive care, but warned that he wouldn't be allowed in. His heart was still pounding erratically as he made his way along the corridor, so that he began to fear he might make it into Intensive Care the hard way, and he allowed himself a gallows chuckle at the thought.

The woman was right: the two policemen wouldn't let him through, no matter how he pleaded; but they did at least send for Claire. She came out a minute or so later, a stern expression on her face, as though time away from Augustin was time wasted. 'Forgive me,' he said hurriedly. 'I didn't mean to cause any trouble. My name's Nico Chavakis. I organised the conference.' He gave a little shrug, to let her know how sorry he was that things had turned out this way. 'I wanted to see how Augustin was doing. But they won't let me in.'

She gave the two policemen a glare. 'They won't let anyone in,' she said.

'How is he?'

'Not good.' She shook her head as though scolding herself for her low spirits, then forced a smile. 'It could be worse, though.'

'I'm glad.'

She took him by the elbow and led him a little way along the corridor, then began telling him in great detail about the injuries Augustin had sustained, the care he was getting, the changing prognosis. She spoke quickly, and her accent was hard for him, and she used technical language more suited for medical personnel speaking amongst themselves, placing it far beyond the grasp of Nico's English; but he understood intuitively that his role here wasn't to understand so much as to listen sympathetically. He nodded and sighed and clucked his tongue as appropriate, and let her talk her heart out.

It was a good fifteen minutes before she was done. She glanced around at the ICU doors, as if wondering whether something might not have happened with Augustin while she'd been away. Recognising his cue, Nico gave her the DVD and the spare DVD player he'd borrowed from a colleague at the university, explaining that Knox had wanted her to know how well Augustin's talk had gone. Her eyes began to well; she wiped them with a paper tissue. He watched her return to her lonely vigil, and he felt again a deep yearning for someone in his own life who'd feel that strongly about him.

The man in the wheelchair was still sitting outside the front doors. He'd lit himself a cigarette that he cupped in his hand like he was throwing a dart. 'Good visit?' he asked.

'Yes,' answered Nico, rather to his own surprise. 'It was.'