There was the fact Elms was the newest member of the Society, having only recently joined the Greater London Ambulance Service on frontline duties was still very much an unknown force. But to blame Elms for what had happened would in itself have been a gross case of injustice, for there was one common factor which had blighted Wyse’s career over and over again. It was Officer Rogers, he had been at the epicentre of the catastrophe which swept away all he had hoped for.
Bitterness rose within him and a sour metallic taste filled his mouth, Dartford another incident in which Rogers had been pivotal in trying to destroy him. This is what Rogers wanted to see, a broken man, a mere shadow of his former self. It would be all too easy for Wyse to let the familiar despair take control and succumb to its enchanting comfort of persecution, how unfair everything was and that the world was set against you. But he had made that mistake once before and had no intention of returning to such a desolate place. Maybe for others it would be the only solution, but he was made of sterner stuff something Rogers would soon realise. His thoughts of last night were a moment of weakness pushed along with a regrettable amount of sherry and Wyse vowed to himself self pity and revenge were a dish he would not be serving. Justice however was something he was not only determined but obliged to deliver and promised its swift retribution to the guilty.
With a renewed sense of purpose he stood proudly in front of the mirror, he admired his aquiline nose and regal chin. A person of Royal descent he had once overheard his colleagues describing him in muffled tones. A secret admiration which was full of praise and had instantly stopped the moment he had entered the ambulance mess room and was quickly replaced by embarrassed talk about the weather. It was an apt description he could not but help to agree with, assuring them he hadn’t heard their full conversation which led to a spirited defence about ridicule and ambulance banter being a means of relieving stress. Despite their protestations, that one phrase had been enough to convince him of the high regard he must be held in.
Even dismissing his somewhat unruly appearance, his greying hair was still almost perfectly side parted and perfectly complemented his impeccable moustache which ended within the corners of an engaging smile. The wire framed half moon glasses which should have been perched upon his nose however would need some attention before they returned to their home. The twisted frame reflected a night of turmoil but fortunately the leather cord had kept them relatively safe around his neck. His clothes although not immaculate would have to suffice to address the Society and Elms agitation at being kept waiting was manifesting itself with his foot testing the strength of the door frame, which had started to creak alarmingly.
Preparing himself as best he could, he opened the door and buttoning his diamond patterned cardigan shooed Elms towards his car. Following Elms closely and slamming the front door with more force than was required, Wyse hoped this same strength would not desert him when he faced his Society.
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