Doctor On Toast (15 page)

Sir Lancelot and I sat alone in his drawing-room. He’d only bothered to switch on one light, which gave an even gloomier air to the evening. We were sipping a whisky and soda in silence. Lady Spratt was up in Hampstead trying to engage another domestic. The new French maid had already left.

‘Today,’ observed Sir Lancelot at last. ‘Is my birthday.’

There was another silence.

‘Many…many happy returns, sir.’

‘Thank you, Grimsdyke.’

We said nothing for a further five minutes.

‘I suppose I was rather impetuous in court this morning,’ Sir Lancelot admitted.

‘Very understandable, sir,’ I murmured.

‘On the contrary, it was very stupid of me. Unfortunately, that is the nature of the beast.’

‘A very useful quality, sometimes, sir,’ I tried to console him.

‘I suppose I can say that I have saved a life or two in my time by rushing in where angels and my fellow-surgeons have feared to tread,’ he agreed quietly.

He sat for a few moments stroking his beard.

‘There is a penalty to pay for being temporarily the most important person in the lives of our several patients,’ he went on. ‘If one is treated like a god day in and day out, it requires greater strength of character than I fear I possess not to feel oneself somewhat godlike. Indeed, one deliberately plays the part – call it a bedside manner, or what you will. It reassures the patients and gives oneself a confidence that is so often painfully lacking.’ He paused. ‘Unhappily, it is not appropriate for a court of law.’

‘I expect it will come out all right, sir, in the end,’ I added, still trying hard to cheer him up.

Sir Lancelot made no reply, but reached for an envelope beside him.

‘I found this hanging about for you in the porter’s lodge at St Swithin’s.’

I opened it in silence. It was an invitation to the wedding of Mr Bridgenorth and Miss Miggs.

‘And here is your cheque, Grimsdyke. Though after I have faced Mr Justice Fishwick tomorrow, I fear there will be little point in finishing your task. I can only offer my sincere thanks for the work you have performed.’

‘It was the least I could have done. After all, sir, mine was one of those lives you saved.’

‘What was that?’

‘My appendix, sir.’

Sir Lancelot seemed puzzled. ‘You mean, you agreed to undertake my memoirs solely because you felt indebted to me for operating on you?’

‘The job did rather muck up my work plans, sir,’ I confessed. ‘But – well, heart-felt gratitude and all that.’

The old boy seemed to be staring at me oddly. ‘Grimsdyke, I really must – There’s the doorbell,’ he broke off. ‘Be a good chap and answer it.’

Mr Alphonso Spratt came hurrying into the drawing-room.

‘Lancelot, my dear fellow, my dear fellow…’

The two brothers shook hands warmly.

‘I fear I failed you most miserably this morning,’ confessed the barrister. ‘I lost my temper. It was quite inexcusable.’

‘No, Alfie. I should have had sufficient self-control to contain myself while the Judge was being so blatantly unfair.’

‘I certainly agree he was outrageously unfair. I really can’t understand why. But Fishy has been behaving most oddly these days. Everyone at the Bar has been noticing it.’ Sir Lancelot handed him a whisky. ‘What was the matter when he collapsed? I know nothing of such things, of course.’

‘Purely an attack of colic. He was wise to adjourn the court and go home to bed. Tomorrow morning he will no doubt be in excellent form when he sends the pair of us to prison.’

Alfie shook his head. ‘I think if I apologise slavishly enough – and after a night’s sleep all round – I shall save our skins in that respect. But your case, I’m afraid, has a pretty bleak outlook.’

‘And my career,’ agreed Sir Lancelot sombrely. ‘I suppose Tiptree will be next President of the Royal College. I must only be grateful that it could never be McFiggie.’

‘I’m deeply sorry, Lancelot. Particularly as I don’t mind telling you here and now I was confident from the start that we’d win hands down. It was simply that Fishwick jumped in the wrong direction.’

‘Perhaps you might win an appeal?’ I interjected hopefully.

‘I doubt it, young man. They wouldn’t reverse Fishwick with no point of law involved.’

‘So there’s no hope?’ ended Sir Lancelot gloomily.

‘To be heartlessly frank, none. Only a retrial–’

The doorbell rang again. On the step this time I found Captain Spratt.

‘What the devil are you doing here?’ he demanded at once.

‘Paying a call, sir,’ I replied, saluting automatically.

‘Where’s my brother?’

‘In the drawing-room. They both are, in fact.’

The Captain burst in like one of those dinner-table hurricanes of his.

‘Lancelot! Alfie! M’dear chap, I was absolutely enraged by the reports in the evening papers. Hell’s teeth! The whole business is perfectly scandalous. I came as soon as possible to offer you whatever help it is in my power to give.’

‘That is extremely kind of you, George.’

‘If we stick together,’ agreed Alfie. ‘At least we shall be supported through the public clamour by each other’s companionship.’

‘A pity we have not enjoyed much of it while the years have been eating into our lives,’ added Sir Lancelot.

I must say, it was quite a sight, the three Spratts together on the hearth-rug. It had the impressiveness of those old Victorian naval reviews.

Captain Spratt took some snuff.

‘It is perhaps not quite the moment to announce another item of news,’ he said, glancing round quickly, ‘but I must confess I find it somewhat difficult to contain myself.’

The brothers looked at him questioningly.

‘In short – Alfie, Lancelot – I have just got married.’

‘Married?’ we all exclaimed at once.

‘Yesterday morning.’ Captain Spratt gave a laugh. ‘Indeed, I am at this moment on my honeymoon. We are leaving for a voyage on the
Capricorn Queen
tomorrow afternoon. As passengers, naturally.’

‘But my dear George!’ Sir Lancelot looked confused. ‘My congratulations, of course. I can only assure you that Alfie and I are most anxious to meet our new sister-in-law–’

‘My wife is in the car outside. The young doctor might have the kindness to show her in.’

Ophelia made a very pleasant impression all round.

‘You may also be surprised to hear that I am leaving the Capricorn Shipping Company,’ the Captain declared a few minutes later. ‘You know how I hate the sea? I shall be going into partnership with my wife in a modelling agency.’

Sir Lancelot spilt his drink.

‘Modelling, did you say, George?’

‘Yes, I thought they were mad when the Company started taking my photograph months ago. But for some reason my face comes out like a school treat. Now the advertising wallahs have decided these homely features are just the ticket to persuade people to buy things – soap and corned beef and dog biscuits and so on. “Captain Spratt Recommends –” they’re going to put all over the place, God help ’em. Not that I care. The work’s easy and the money’s good. There’s another seafaring feller doing it already in New York, advertising ginger-pop. Now we must be going, my dear–’

‘Just one moment,’ I interrupted.

‘Yes, dar…doctor?’ said Ophelia.

‘I – I happened to hear about your marriage. Secret sources of information, you know. I thought I’d like to give you a little wedding present.’

I unloaded Basil’s bracelet.

There was naturally a good deal of cooing over the diamonds, and as we reached the front step the Captain drew me aside for a second.

‘By the way, doctor,’ he said quickly. ‘I know, of course, that both you and that other feller – what’s his name? the steward – were at one time both quite attached to my lady. I hope you will forgive me?’

‘Nothing to forgive. Jolly good luck to you, and lots of–’

‘That is not quite the point.’ Captain Spratt lowered his eyes. ‘I am conscious of it now – indeed, I may perhaps remain conscious of it for many years of my married life – that I have behaved towards you both as…as a bit of a cad. Good night!’

Alfie left soon afterwards. I pocketed my cheque and prepared to leave, calculating how long it would keep me in my basement if I went easy on the first-class proteins.

‘There is just one thing, Grimsdyke.’

‘Sir?’

Sir Lancelot stuck his hands under his coat tails then paced up and down for a moment in silence.

‘I have something rather painful to confess to you, my boy.’

‘To confess to
me
, sir?’

He nodded.

‘Your appendix–’

‘Which jolly near did for me–’

‘On the contrary, Grimsdyke. I removed a perfectly normal organ.’

I gasped. ‘Normal, sir?’

‘I made a mistake in diagnosis. It has occurred before and will most certainly occur again. That is all there was to it.’

‘But what about all that frightful pain and symptoms–’

‘Entirely psychological. Like – er, Possett. Pseudo-appendicitis, very common among doctors and nurses, when undergoing periods of stress. I should have known better. However, it seemed best not to complicate your condition by informing you of the truth, so I concealed it. Indeed, I had a word with a psychiatrist before you recovered from the anaesthetic, and he urged me to withhold the news. He remembered from St Swithin’s that you – you will understand I am now speaking purely as your doctor? – that you had a rather weak personality. One too easily bent to the wills of others. I seem to recall he described you as “A psychological balloon.” I felt at the time it was better that you should not know.’

‘Yes, of course, sir,’ I said slowly.

I felt wretchedly disillusioned. And I’d helped him take those ruddy children to the Zoo, too.

‘Now I fear I have detained you long enough–’

The telephone rang.

‘Spratt here. Hello? Who? Oh, Potter-Phipps. How are you? Yes, of course I know Mr Justice Fishwick. That’s the one. I didn’t know he was one of yours… H’m… Indeed?… Sounds like a barn-door case to me. Generalised abdominal rigidity? Right. I’ll be straight over.’

Sir Lancelot put down the telephone. He seemed to have suddenly cheered up no end.

‘Grimsdyke–’

‘Sir?’

‘I should be obliged if you would kindly telephone the St Swithin’s private block and tell them to prepare for a case of perforated peptic ulcer. You may inform the theatre staff that I shall be operating in one hour from now.’

‘I say, jolly good! That means a new trial – I mean, I’m frightfully sorry for the poor old judge–’

Sir Lancelot smiled. ‘Then kindly ring my usual anaesthetist. You might ask him to remind me to explain to the patient exactly what I think is wrong with the feller before I get my knife in him. Which is more than the blasted man ever did to me.’

Sir Lancelot won his case the following week before another judge, and looks extremely well in the robes of the President of the Royal College of Surgeons. Captain Spratt now chortles at everyone from their cornflake packets over breakfast. The Bishop, I hear, has been enquiring about the healthfulness of the air in Canterbury.

I went back to the basement. I hadn’t got much further with the great novel when Basil opened as Hamlet, and was a whacking success. I didn’t even get any free seats.

(in order of first publication)

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

(in order of first publication)

(in order of first publication)

Published by House of Stratus

The Captain’s Table When William Ebbs is taken from a creaking cargo boat and made Captain of a luxury liner, he quickly discovers that the sea holds many perils…probably the most perilous being the first night dinner, closely followed by the dangers of finding a woman in his room. Then there is the embarrassing presence of the shipping company’s largest shareholder, a passenger over board and blackmail. The Captain’s Table is a tale of nautical misadventure and mayhem packed with rib-tickling humour. ‘An original humorist with a sly wit and a quick eye for the ridiculous’ – Queen

Doctor and Son Recovering from the realisation that his honeymoon was not quite as he had anticipated, Simon Sparrow can at least look forward to a life of tranquillity and order as a respectable homeowner with a new wife. But that was before his old friend Dr Grimsdyke took to using their home as a place of refuge from his various misdemeanours…and especially from the incident with the actress which demanded immediate asylum. Surely one such houseguest was enough without the appearance of Simon’s godfather, the eminent Sir Lancelot Spratt. Chaos and mayhem in the Sparrow household can mean only one thing – more comic tales from Richard Gordon’s hilarious doctor series. ‘Further unflaggingly funny addition to Simon Sparrow’s medical saga’ – Daily Telegraph

Doctor at Large Dr Richard Gordon’s first job after qualifying takes him to St Swithan’s where he is enrolled as Junior Casualty House Surgeon. However, some rather unfortunate incidents with Mr Justice Hopwood, as well as one of his patients inexplicably coughing up nuts and bolts, mean that promotion passes him by – and goes instead to Bingham, his odious rival. After a series of disastrous interviews, Gordon cuts his losses and visits a medical employment agency. To his disappointment, all the best jobs have already been snapped up, but he could always turn to general practice…

Doctor at Sea Richard Gordon’s life was moving rapidly towards middle-aged lethargy – or so he felt. Employed as an assistant in general practice – the medical equivalent of a poor curate – and having been ‘persuaded’ that marriage is as much an obligation for a young doctor as celibacy for a priest, Richard sees the rest of his life stretching before him. Losing his nerve, and desperately in need of an antidote, he instead signs on with the Fathom Steamboat Company. What follows is a hilarious tale of nautical diseases and assorted misadventures at sea. Yet he also becomes embroiled in a mystery – what is in the Captain’s stomach remedy? And more to the point, what on earth happened to the previous doctor? ‘Sheer unadulterated fun’ – Star

Doctor in Clover Now Dr Grimsdyke is qualified he finds practising medicine rather less congenial than he anticipated. But the ever-selfless Grimsdyke resolves to put the desires of others (and in particular his rather career-minded cousin) before his own, and settle down and make the best of it. Finding the right job, however, is not always that easy. Porterhampton is suddenly rife with difficulties – as is being a waiter, as is being a writer. And writing obituaries is just plain depressing. Doctor in Clover finds the hapless Grimsdyke in a hilarious romp through misadventures, mishaps and total disasters.

Doctor in Love In this hilarious romantic comedy, Richard Gordon awakes one morning with a headache. It takes him a while to realise he is ill – after all he is a doctor! Dr Pennyworth diagnoses jaundice and prescribes a spell in hospital. But amongst the bedpans and injections on Honesty ward, Richard falls in love – with his very own Florence Nightingale. However he soon learns that he has a rival for her affections, and unwilling to lose his love to the pachyderm Dr Hinyman, Richard sets out to impress… More medical mayhem from the hilarious Richard Gordon.

Doctor in the House Richard Gordon’s acceptance into St Swithan’s medical school came as no surprise to anyone, least of all him – after all, he had been to public school, played first XV rugby, and his father was, let’s face it, ‘a St Swithan’s man’. Surely he was set for life. It was rather a shock then to discover that, once there, he would actually have to work, and quite hard. Fortunately for Richard Gordon, life proved not to be all dissection and textbooks after all… This hilarious hospital comedy is perfect reading for anyone who’s ever wondered exactly what medical students get up to in their training. Just don’t read it on your way to the doctor’s! ‘Uproarious, extremely iconoclastic’ – Evening News ‘A delightful book’ – Sunday Times

Doctor in the Nest Sir Lancelot Sprat, surgeon and patriot, is finding that his faith in the British National Health Service is taking a bit of a battering – especially when the ceiling of his operating theatre collapses. It had already been a bad day…a call from Nairobi, a disagreement with Miss MacNish over the breakfast haddock, and a visit from Sir Lionel… Sir Lancelot’s single-handed battle to save St Sepulchre’s Hospital from closure creates a hilarious tale, complicated by two ex-students and three ladies only too willing to satisfy a widower’s sexual desires.

Doctor in the Nude Mrs Samantha Dougal is against it. Nudity that is. In a Soho strip-club, the Dean of St Swithan’s Hospital feigns indifference. Mrs Dougal’s husband, however, is totally in favour – and has just moved in with the Dean, who just happens to be his brother-in-law. The jokes positively spill from this elegantly written and languorously witty tale that includes Sir Lancelot, the Queen, a totally impractical new building, and the voluptuous young daughter of the trendy hospital chaplain. ‘The jokes spill forth fresh and funny… Not a book to read on a train: it’s impossible to keep a straight face’ – Sunday Telegraph