Hired: GP and Wife / The Playboy Doctor's Surprise Proposal (4 page)

‘Well, Doctor, it’s my knee. I’m in agony. Years ago I had it, but it’s suddenly ballooned up without warning again.’

Mrs Lovatt was equably voluble about her knee, but at least they were on the right subject—the patient’s health!

Terry examined the knee and noted how stiff and swollen it was and how painful when moved. She asked Mrs Lovatt if she’d been prescribed any medication for it in the past.

‘Oh, no, I don’t really like taking tablets, Dr Younger. I’d rather just get by if I can. But it’s so bad at the moment I can’t look after baby Amy or the other two little ones. That’s my job, you see. I’m a childminder and Maisie brings Amy over everyday from the mainland while she works at the newsagent’s.’

Terry pondered for a minute, looking at her overweight patient. ‘Have you been doing anything out of the ordinary that might have injured the joint?’

Doreen Lovatt blushed. ‘Well…you may think it’s a bit ridiculous—a woman of my size—but, having not done any exercise for years, my friend persuaded me to join a dance troupe. We call it “Strictly Formation Dancing”. We’ve been rehearsing a lot lately and perhaps I overdid it a bit.’

The vision this presented of Doreen dancing in a revealing dress was a vivid one, but Terry suppressed a smile and said enthusiastically, ‘That’s marvellous. What a great idea, and such fun. But that sort of high-impact exercise is probably what’s aggravated your knee.’

Doreen’s plump face fell. ‘I thought you’d say it was that. Will I have to give up the dancing?’ she asked dolefully.

‘I hope not—but you will have to rest it and let the ligaments settle down. I’m not sure if the trauma to your knee has given you a flare-up of arthritis. It could even be a displaced cartilage…’

Doreen looked alarmed. ‘How can you tell, then, Doctor?’

‘If it’s arthritis it should settle down after a few days of rest and some anti-inflammatory tablets. I believe a physiotherapist has a session at the hospital so if we could get you an appointment you could be shown a few gentle exercises to keep the muscles in that area toned. If it’s still not right after a week or so, we ought to have an MRI scan done so that we can see exactly what’s going on.’

Terry looked kindly at the worried-looking woman. ‘One thing I’d like you to do that could help…and I don’t think you’ll find it too difficult when you’re taking all this exercise…’

‘What’s that, Doctor?’

‘If you lost some weight it would help your knee a lot—you might find it settles down completely.’ Terry put it as gently as she could. She didn’t want to hurt this nice woman’s feelings.

To her alarm Doreen’s face crumpled and she pulled out a hankie from a large handbag and blew her nose noisily. ‘Oh, I have tried, really I have, but it’s difficult. I’ve three sons and a husband who all like huge meals, and I can’t stop myself eating with them. I know I look a sight.’

Terry leaned over the desk and patted Doreen’s plump hand. Doreen might have a cheery face but it obviously hid the very real worry she had about her weight, and the lack of self-esteem she felt probably affected her whole life. And there were many people who felt like she did, too embarrassed to ask for help.

‘You don’t look a sight, Doreen, far from it,’ she said gently. ‘My only concern is for your health. Extra pounds put strain on your body—blood pressure, joints and the risk of diabetes. I don’t want you to stop eating with your family, Doreen, just not quite so much.’

‘I’ve got no willpower,’ said Doreen mournfully.

‘Look, I’m going to suggest I hold a weekly weigh-in at the surgery to try and encourage people who need to lose weight. That and a diet sheet should help your resolve.’ She smiled at Doreen. ‘You’re the first patient I’ve seen in my new job, so I really want my first patient to do well! Will you come?’

Doreen looked brighter. ‘Yes—yes, I’d like that, something to keep me on the straight and narrow. Actually, there’s one or two of us in the troupe that are a bit weighty, so they might come along as well!’

She limped out quite happily and when she got to the door she turned and said cryptically, ‘It’s good to have a sympathetic lady doctor at last—someone who’s main interest is in her patients and hasn’t got other things on her mind. Well, you know what I mean, Dr Younger.’

What exactly
did
she mean? wondered Terry as she tapped in her notes for Doreen Lovatt. Perhaps when she knew Isobel better she’d make discreet enquiries about this woman that had been the locum before her.

The morning sped by with the usual variety of ills that presented themselves at a GP’s surgery, from chronic backache to glue ear in a small child. And all the patients were keen to talk about Maisie and her accident, which Terry surmised probably added at least half an hour to the morning’s work.

Just as she was about to shut down the computer, Isobel put her head round the door.

‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ she said grimly.

‘Oh, dear…what?’ asked Terry, wondering if Isobel ever came in looking happy.

Isobel’s voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Cyril Rathbone—that’s the bad news! He haunts this place. I told him surgery was finished but he won’t take no for an answer. Always thinks he’s at death’s door and has to be seen immediately. Mind you,’ she acknowledged, ‘he and his wife make a wonderful job of running the Caledonian Hotel up the hill and I think that’s quite stressful. Shall I send him in?’

‘No problem,’ said Terry with a grin. ‘There’s at least one in every practice!’ Whatever Isobel said about this patient, this could be the one time he was really ill after all.

Mr Rathbone, short, bald, but nattily dressed, marched into the room. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Doctor,’ he said briskly. ‘I normally see Dr Euan Brodie—we’re old friends, sit on the same committees, that sort of thing. He keeps a very good eye on me but, of course, he’s not available, which is a nuisance.’

Terry smiled, noting with amusement the way he’d made it clear that he was a special patient of the practice! ‘How can I help you, Mr Rathbone?’

‘I didn’t want to bother you really, but I’m in such pain that my wife insisted I should come and see
someone,
whoever it was…’

‘I see. I hope I can give as much satisfaction as Dr Brodie.’

Her sarcasm was lost on a man like Mr Rathbone, and she wondered, with his brusque manner, how he managed to make such a success of his hotel. Perhaps he was completely different with his guests!

‘Well, of course you don’t know me like old Dr Brodie,’ he said tersely. ‘He’s a wonderful diagnostician.’

Meaning you don’t have any faith in me at all, thought Terry wryly. But she sympathised. The patient-doctor relationship was a very personal thing built over a long time, and seeing someone new could be daunting.

‘The thing is, I’ve got an excruciating blister on my toe,’ continued Mr Rathbone. ‘I know they can become infected very easily and turn to septicaemia, so I’d like an antibiotic to fight the infection.’

‘Let me have a look at it,’ said Terry. ‘Take off your shoe and sock.’

‘There!’ exclaimed Mr Rathbone dramatically, revealing his foot with a small red patch on his little toe. ‘Can you wonder I can hardly walk?’ He took out a folded-up newspaper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Terry, pointing out an underlined headline with a stubby finger. ‘Read that! It’s all about diabetes and how an injury can be deadly if left untreated if you have that condition.’

Of all the things that could irritate a doctor, reflected Terry, it’s when a patient quoted something they’ve read about a condition and assume they’ve got it!

She looked through his notes on the computer carefully—there was no history of diabetes or any other existing condition that might make the area on his toe a cause for concern.

‘I see you had a blood and urinary test for diabetes a short time ago,’ she said. ‘They all proved negative, so I don’t think we need worry about that.’

‘I thought I’d just check that you were aware of the complications should I have had it,’ replied Mr Rathbone. ‘One can’t be too careful.’

Terry bit back the urge to say,
But one can be incredibly irritating!
and said instead, ‘It must be rather sore. It’s obviously been rubbing on shoes that are too tight. The best thing would be to put surgical spirit on it to harden the skin and a small padded plaster over the affected part. And, of course, wear soft shoes like slippers, if your normal ones hurt, until it’s healed.’

‘Slippers?’ echoed Mr Rathbone incredulously. ‘I run a hotel—I can hardly stroll around in front of my guests looking sloppy! What about antibiotics? Surely I ought to have a course of them?’

‘I think we’ll keep them as a last resort, Mr Rathbone. Hopefully it won’t become infected if you do as I suggest. But do come back if it gets worse.’

Terry’s voice was pleasant but very firm—she wasn’t going to be bullied into giving him medicine he didn’t need. Mr Rathbone stared at her in disbelief, then shook his head sadly. ‘I only hope you know what you’re doing—you young doctors are so inexperienced. You’re not from around here, are you?’

He got up and walked with a pronounced limp to the door before turning round and saying dourly, ‘I don’t know what’s happened to this practice—I see a different person every time I come. Where’s the other woman that was here? Not that I had much faith in her, her mind didn’t seem to be on the job at all!’ He looked scornfully at Terry. ‘I suppose you’ll be gone soon too—there’s just no continuity!’

He went out and Terry blew out her cheeks in amazement, feeling a mixture of irritation and amusement.

‘Perhaps he’ll see Atholl next time,’ she murmured, although she’d be surprised if a man like Atholl would let Mr Rathbone dictate to him. She stretched and yawned, putting the man out of her head. She was ready for that picnic lunch that Atholl had promised after they’d met his friend and the boys.

Atholl had changed out of his smart suit and had on jeans and an old plaid lumber jacket. He looked critically at Terry’s outfit.

‘It could be cold when we get to the loch, it’s right up in the hills.’ he said. ‘I always keep a spare set of warm and casual clothes here to change into in case I’m called out to a mountain rescue or somewhere that doesn’t require that suit I wear for meetings.’ He rummaged in the boot of the Land Rover and threw a fleece over to her. ‘Wear that when we get there and you should be OK.’

Shona was in the back of the car, leaping about in excitement. ‘I just picked her up when I was called out this morning,’ Atholl explained. ‘I often do that. Some of my elderly patients love seeing her and she enjoys being made a fuss of.’

Terry could imagine what pleasure the lovely dog would give to lonely old people—and a great source of interest to them. ‘I’ve always wanted a dog,’ she said, ‘but inner-city London wasn’t the place to keep one.’

‘So did you have a flat or a house in London?’ he enquired as they set off towards the hills.

‘A flat,’ she replied briefly.

‘And was it near your work?’

‘Fairly—I could walk there.’ Her brisk tone didn’t encourage further questions.

Terry wasn’t very informative about her life in London, Atholl reflected. The way she’d reacted to the young reporter, the guarded way she’d answered his questions…it all added up to someone who wanted to forget her life there. He’d hazard a guess that she’d had an unhappy affair…she wouldn’t be the first person to move because of a broken heart. Oddly the thought of Terry in love with an unknown man made him uneasy—though someone as stunning as her must have had hordes of men longing to take her out. He accelerated rather fast up the road that led into the hills, large capable hands on the steering-wheel, intrigued and slightly irritated by this little mystery. He’d find out soon enough, he thought.

‘And how did you find your surgery today?’ he asked. ‘Although I guess ailments are pretty universal.’

‘I enjoyed it. Maisie’s aunt, Doreen Lovatt, came in to see me with a bad knee but we ended up talking about her worries over her weight.’

‘Ah, Doreen—she’s a good woman. In fact, all of her family are a bit overweight—you should see her husband and three sons.’

‘Poor woman. I tried to persuade her to lose some weight, but I can see it might be difficult for her. I wondered if you’d mind if I had a trial weight clinic for a few weeks? Say, after surgery one evening?’

Atholl flicked an amused glance at her. ‘Trying to improve the lifestyle on Scuola already? But feel free to do that if you wish—in fact, I think it’s a good idea. There’s quite a few would benefit around here.’

They continued talking in a general way about the practice and Terry mentioned Mr Rathbone.

‘There always seems to be someone who’s very demanding in every practice,’ she commented.

‘Absolutely.’ He grinned. ‘But the day you ignore them, that’s the day their severe stomach cramps really do turn out to be appendicitis. Mind you, he and his wife have transformed the hotel they run. It was in a terrible state a few years ago when they bought it, and by sheer hard work they’ve given it a complete makeover and it’s a real asset to the area. However, I don’t know how Janet Rathbone stands him.’

‘Apparently she insisted he come and see us.’

‘To get him out of her hair I should think.’ Atholl laughed. ‘No doubt we’ll see him again next week. By the way, I ought to fill you in a bit about the four lads you’re going to meet. They come from the same area that I grew up in, all from broken families. I don’t think any of them have had much notice taken of them individually or had the chance to do anything but get into trouble—they’ve all had run-ins with the police. These few weeks are meant to give them a breath of air, an opportunity to put their energies to good use.’

‘That’s a great idea. Who started it?’

‘Pete and I,’Atholl said drily. ‘You see, we were exactly the same at their age—out of control and getting sucked into gangs and dodgy company. We were lucky. We managed to get away from it all just in time, and now we want to give others that chance as well.’

‘That’s a great thing to do,’ she said quietly.

There was more to Atholl Brodie than good looks, then—he was someone who’d made the grade despite a tough start and was prepared to help other youngsters. A flicker of bitterness reminded Terry how different Atholl was from Max, who’d used his good looks and intelligence to such ill effect, hurting so many in his wake.