Doctor On The Boil (8 page)

‘Oh. Did you?’

‘Don’t ask me how. But you may ask me why. I did it,’ he supplied the answer, ‘only to protect you. It resulted, I might add, in my having to leave the hospital myself. But what does that matter? You stand on the threshold of your career, while I at least have a foot in the door. Well?’ he ended, inviting admiration. ‘What have you got to say to that?’

‘Thanks.’

‘How about coming out tonight?’

‘No, lover. Not tonight. It’s my evening for social service.’

‘Then tomorrow?’ he continued eagerly. ‘I’ll collect you when you finish work.’

‘I won’t be here tomorrow, lover man. I’m leaving, anyway.’

Grimsdyke came to a halt.

‘I’ve got a fabulous job,’ she told him. ‘Assistant to Godfri – you know, that dreamy photographer. Oh, it’s
exciting
– he’s got all sorts of fantastic plans for my future. Funny, isn’t it, it’s all because Terry introduced me to him that night at the Crécy.’

‘Funny? It’s not a bit funny,’ said Grimsdyke furiously. ‘First you ditch Terry–’

‘He’ll fix himself a bird,’ she said lightly. ‘Tell him to borrow another Rolls.’

‘And what about me?’

‘You can get stuffed,’ she said sweetly. ‘Lover boy.’

Grimsdyke glared at her. ‘Lover bitch.’

She hurried away, leaving him standing in the middle of the corridor. ‘I do a whole heap of good for everyone in sight, and what do I get out of it for myself?’ he reflected bitterly. ‘Damn little.’ He started walking slowly towards the main hall. ‘Ah well,’ he decided, ‘that’s what medicine’s all about, I suppose.’

‘Good morning, good morning!’ said Sir Lancelot jovially. ‘Morning, Dean. Good morning, Josephine. My, you
are
looking well! Positively radiant.’

‘Why, thank you, Lancelot.’

It was the next day, the Tuesday, and Sir Lancelot came down to breakfast after his first night under the Dean’s roof rubbing his hands and beaming at everybody.

‘Morning, Muriel. You’re looking pretty perky, too. Good party the other night?’

‘Super,’ she said glowingly. ‘Lots of fantastically interesting people. You know, not all those hospital types, who are inclined to be rather drippy.’

‘Quite right, you must broaden your horizons,’ Sir Lancelot told her approvingly, sitting down and spreading a large starched table-napkin across his knees in a businesslike manner. ‘You take my advice, and go to as many parties as possible while you’re a student. After you qualify, you won’t have the time. Remember, all work and no play makes Jill a very dull girl, and dull girls are as great offences against Nature as wet days in summer.’

‘Lancelot–’ began the dean.

‘And you, George?’ Sir Lancelot turned his benign eye on the dean’s son. ‘You treat yourself to some amusement, I hope? Why, you don’t even have to worry about examinations in this house. You know your father hides drafts of all the exam papers behind
The Medical Encyclopaedia
in his study bookshelf?’

‘Lancelot–’

‘Good morning, Sir Lancelot.’ Miss MacNish appeared with a tray. ‘I’ve brought you your bacon and eggs, with some tomatoes and kidneys.’

‘Kidneys!’ muttered the dean.

‘You must eat a good breakfast and wrap up well, you know,’ the housekeeper added. ‘It’s treacherously chilly for this time of the year, and we mustn’t catch a cold, must we?’

‘My dear Miss MacNish,’ Sir Lancelot told her amiably. ‘That remark contains three mis-statements of scientific fact – a large breakfast will load me with undesirable calories, the common cold is a virus infection and no amount of outer clothing can act as a prophylactic. But I appreciate the kind thought,’ he added, picking up his knife and fork and starting energetically on the kidneys.

‘Lancelot–’ the dean tried again.

‘How did you sleep, Lancelot?’ asked Josephine.

‘As a top. Though I’m afraid the mice seem to have been nibbling that electric blanket. It emits some rather alarming sparks.’

‘Then you must have the one from Lionel’s bed. Our bedroom is so much warmer than yours. Change them over, will you, Miss MacNish? Now I must get going, while there’s still room to park. It’s my morning for the shops.’

‘Come on, George – time for the hospital,’ said Muriel.

The dean found himself alone with Sir Lancelot, silently and steadily eating his breakfast.

‘Lancelot–’

‘Splendid plain cook, Miss MacNish.’

‘Lancelot, what are your plans?’

‘I am taking Tottie to lunch at the Crécy, and afterwards Bingham is meeting me there on his way to lecture at the RSM. I have a little business to discuss with him. I shall be back for dinner.’

‘I meant your plans in a wider sense,’ the dean repeated a little testily. ‘In connection with St Swithin’s, for instance. That suggestion you put forward about invoking the charter, to stay in the wards and still see patients.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘You weren’t serious, of course.’

‘Oh, I don’t see any reason whatever to change
that
decision.’ Sir Lancelot started buttering a slice of toast.

‘Really!’ The dean bounced on his chair. Since joyfully breaking the news to Sir Lancelot that he was going to live, he had been steadily growing to doubt if it was such a good idea after all. ‘But of course, that will only be until you are married?’ he added hopefully.

‘Why should it be? Marriage is hardly a full-time occupation.’

‘I’ve just had a brilliant idea. For your wedding present – a world tour. By boat, of course. So much more leisurely. I’m sure I’d have no difficulty at all raising the fare, with a whip-round among the consultant staff.’

‘Now, that
is
very civil of you, Dean. Yes, I fancy we’d appreciate that. Much more acceptable than a pair of silver candlesticks.’

‘And when,’ the dean asked, ‘is the ceremony to be?’

‘Oh, not for a year or so yet.’

‘A year!’

‘It isn’t a shotgun affair, you know,’ Sir Lancelot told him reprovingly. ‘Perhaps the summer after this will see us hitched. As it hardly seems worth the trouble of establishing myself in bachelor quarters until then, I shall be staying on here.’

‘Lancelot…this cruise. Perhaps you’d care to go with your intended
before
the ceremony?’

‘What a disgustingly immoral suggestion.’

‘Well, how about going by yourself? After all, it seems a pity to spend an uncomfortable year living here when you could be seeing all sorts of romantic spots.’

‘Yes, indeed, Dean. You have a point there. I certainly shouldn’t object to finding myself in Australia for next winter’s Test matches.’

The dean rose. ‘Good. I’ll discuss it with the others at St Swithin’s. Now I must go about my duties in the wards.’

‘Leave
The Times
behind, will you? I rather enjoy doing the crossword.’

Sir Lancelot spent the morning in the sitting-room with his feet up on the sofa, at midday driving his Rolls to the Crécy. But it was not an over-joyous lunch. The sight of his fiancée seemed to dim the spirits which had burnt so brightly at breakfast, fanned as usual by the dean’s discomfiture. For most of the meal he ate without speaking, seeming more occupied with himself than with Tottie.

‘What are you thinking about, darling?’ she asked over her ice-cream with chocolate sauce. ‘At least, you’ve no longer those awful worries about your health.’

‘I was thinking about toenails in the bath on Sunday mornings.’ She looked alarmed. ‘My late wife had the habit of cutting hers there. As I rose later, I would find myself sitting on them. It was most unpleasant.’

‘What a peculiar thing to have on your mind.’

‘I was also thinking of long hairs all over the dressing-table, lipstick on the china, underwear drying above the washbasin, and foundation cream on the towels. There are many aspects of marriage one never sees until one is quit of it. Though of course, it will be quite different with us,’ he added hastily.

‘I should hope so!’

‘Tottie, you’re…you’re sure, you’re quite sure, you’re quite
quite
sure, you’re quite, quite
absolutely
sure, that you want to go through with it?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ she asked sharply.

‘I only meant that you accepted my offer in possibly distracting romantic circumstances. I shouldn’t like you to regret anything said in an unguarded moment.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you trying to get out of it?’

‘Really, Tottie! What a suggestion. How can you imagine such conduct after I had – well, taken advantage of you. And
that’s
not a thing I’ve done in my life before.’

‘I hope you’re not implying that I’ve made a habit of it?’

‘No, no, no, my dear…it’s just…well, when are we to have the wedding? I thought some time in the summer of next year. Or possibly the Christmas after that.’

‘I had in mind next Friday week.’

‘What!’

‘Perhaps that may be a little soon,’ she conceded. ‘We need time to make all the arrangements properly. There really is a terrible amount of detail, even for someone so experienced in administration as myself. Let’s say a month. Yes, we shall be married in a month,’ she told him, with a determination he had forgotten since the incident of the obstetric forceps on Coronation night.

‘As you wish,’ he said gallantly. ‘I take it that at our mature time of life a registry office will be acceptable?’

‘Not a bit. I’ve always wanted a white wedding.’

‘What, with orange-blossom and choirboys and cars with white ribbons?’ he asked in horror.

‘Yes, the lot. Anyway, the ward sisters at St Swithin’s expect it.’

‘What’s it got to do with them?’

‘They’re to be my bridesmaids. I’ve already asked a dozen of them. After all, it’s perfectly in order – they’re unmarried. I think they’ll look charming in their long satin dresses.’

Sir Lancelot held a hand over his eyes. ‘The whole thing’s going to look like fancy dress night in the old folk’s home.’

‘That wasn’t a very kind thing to say.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll get married in whatever
mise en scène
and whatever sort of costume you care to suggest. After all, a wedding is primarily for the benefit of the spectators, like any other circus. Yes, Luigi?’ he asked as the manager approached.

‘A Professor Bingham was asking for you at the desk, sir. As you mentioned you had confidential medical matters to discuss, I had him shown into the private sitting-room attached to my office.’

‘That was most thoughtful of you. I’m afraid you must run along now, Tottie dear. Go and tell your bridesmaids I can hardly wait to see the lot of them in their gear.’

The manager accompanied them to the front door. As Tottie disappeared, Sir Lancelot turned to him. ‘Just a minute, Luigi. Is your hotel doctor about?’

‘Yes, sir. Since resigning from his hospital, he has been spending all of his time – and eating all of his meals – in the hotel. Do you wish to see him?’

‘If you please.’ Luigi dispatched a page-boy. ‘I hope you think Dr Grimsdyke satisfactory? He used to be one of my students.’

‘He has perhaps a rather high opinion of himself.’

‘He always had. Still, he’s resourceful, which I suppose is important in a job like this.’ Sir Lancelot chuckled. ‘He dealt pretty well with that actor feller – what’s his name?’

‘Eric Cavendish, sir. He left over a week ago for the country.’

‘That’s it. When he strained his back trying to roger that little girl up in his room.’

‘Girl?’ Luigi looked mystified. ‘I heard of no girl. Dr Grimsdyke said the gentleman suffered the injury stooping to tie up his shoelace.’

‘Then he’s got discretion, too, which I suppose is even more important here. Ah, there you are, Grimsdyke. Would you mind leaving us a moment, Luigi? Professional matters, you know. Grimsdyke, I am prepared to overlook that you were the originator of a great deal of mental suffering on my part,’ Sir Lancelot continued as the manager withdrew. ‘The whole story of the X-rays has now, of course, come to my ears. Well, you caused me even greater mental suffering when you were operating under my directions as a student, I suppose.’

‘That’s very handsome of you, sir.’

‘In return for such magnanimity, I should like you to do me a favour.’

‘Anything you care to mention, sir.’

‘Grimsdyke – you know that I am to be married to the matron?’

‘Everyone knows it in St Swithin’s, sir.’

‘Doubtless. Well, marriage has a certain sexual element in it.’

‘So I understand to be the case, sir.’

‘Of course, a bridegroom of twenty doesn’t give such things a second thought.’

‘You really think so, sir?’

‘I mean, they present no problem. But to a gentleman of my age…’

‘I see what you mean, sir,’ Grimsdyke told him sympathetically. ‘The old fires aren’t burning so brightly to put enough smoke up the flue?’

‘I should prefer to put it another way. If I found myself in the position – perhaps the equally unexpected one – of having to run from London to Brighton, what should I do?’

‘Buy a pair of roller-skates, sir.’

‘Go into training for the event, of course.’

‘I see what you mean! You want some of the old rejuvenation treatment?’

‘I dislike the term ‘rejuvenation’, which is unscientific. But I believe that with advances in endocrinology and suchlike, a great deal can be done to increase the performance, if not the pleasure. I gather – and this is pure hearsay – that certain discreet private clinics exist to provide such treatment?’

‘Exactly, sir. You couldn’t have asked a better person than myself.’

‘Knowing your proclivities, Grimsdyke, I imagined that you would be a mine of information on the subject.’

Grimsdyke looked round and lowered his voice. ‘Dr de Hoot’s Analeptic Clinic. It’s quite convenient for London. I’ll write down the address.’

‘Thank you, Grimsdyke. It’s perfectly sound, I take it?’

‘Results guaranteed, sir.’

‘This de Hoot is respectably qualified?’

‘Of course, sir. Overseas university, though that’s hardly a bar to successful practice in England these days, is it?’

Sir Lancelot took the scrap of paper from Grimsdyke’s notebook. ‘I am very grateful. I shall see you are sent an invitation to the wedding.’

‘Thank you, sir. You always did tell us to follow-up our patients, didn’t you, sir?’

‘Quite. Now I must go and tackle Bingham.’

‘And I must go to finish a rather agreeable lunch.’

As Sir Lancelot disappeared in the direction of the manager’s office, Luigi himself stepped from behind the reception desk. ‘Not quite so quickly, Doctor.’

A pained look came on Grimsdyke’s face. ‘Really, Luigi, if it’s your sinuses again they’ll have to wait until I’ve had my
crêpes Suzette.
’

‘You will not be enjoying your
crêpes
today, Doctor.’ The manager advanced. ‘I have just learned that Mr Eric Cavendish was alone with a young woman in his bedroom.’

‘That’s right. Not a bad-looking dolly, either.’

‘You did not inform me of this.’

‘Of course I didn’t.’ Grimsdyke sounded offended. ‘Surely you’ve heard of professional secrecy?’

‘You will have no professional secrets from me.’

‘I have certainly no intention of breaking my sacred Hippocratic oath for you or any other well tailored pub-keeper.’

‘You are fired.’

‘What!’ He was aghast. ‘You can’t fire me. I’m a doctor.’

‘It would make no difference were you an archbishop. If I dislike a man’s work, I fire him.’

‘What, because I wouldn’t grass on a bloke having a bit of fun with a bird?’

‘I am running a hotel, not a bordello. No guest whatever, not even Mr Cavendish, may have a woman in his bedroom. The waiter should have seen she left the suite after dinner. He will be fired, too. Besides, Dr Grimsdyke, I see that you have caviar for dinner, oysters for lunch, and champagne even for breakfast. If I did not fire you, the hotel would shortly have to close from the expense of supporting you. Please see the cashier and go.’