The Elusive Doctor Read online

  ‘Yes, I do know that there’s yet another virus keeping us busy,’ she said snappily. ‘I suppose I could take some of your calls if it means we can snatch a few moments together.’

  Nina eyed her in surprise. So much for making snap judgements.

  ‘Whatever,’ he conceded easily. ‘I’ll meet you in the Royal Venison for a quick snack about twoish.’ With hia voice tightening somewhat, he added, ‘Does that suit you?’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ she cooed.

  Nina was beginning to feel decidedly surplus to requirements, and Robert Carslake switched his attention back to her. ‘So we’ll see you tomorrow then, Nina.’

  ‘So soon?’ Bettine exclaimed. ‘You must be keen!’

  ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten just how hard-up medical students can be, Dr Baker,’ Nina said levelly. ‘Or maybe there were more generous grants in your day.’

  And if that isn’t going to make me an enemy before I’ve even started, I don’t know what will, she thought defiantly. What was wrong with the woman, for goodness’ sake? Surely she wasn’t displeased because they’d taken a woman younger than herself into the practice.

  The sophisticated Dr Baker would have no competition coming from her direction—a wet-behind-the-ears trainee who was going to need all the help she could get, both in the practice and outside it.

  There were just two receptionists on duty when Nina presented herself the next morning. It seemed that the others were either on holiday or it was their day off.

  ‘There are five of us altogether,’ a friendly, middle-aged blonde said when the young doctor hesitated in front of a counter that had a backdrop of countless shelves filled with patient records.

  She held out a ringless hand. ‘I’m Barbara Walker—and you’re the new doctor, aren’t you? I saw you yesterday when you came to see Dr Carslake.’

  Nina smiled and hoped that it came over as a confident beam because she was feeling anything but relaxed. Right up to the moment she’d parked her Mini at the back of the practice she’d had no qualms about the day ahead, but the moment she’d stepped inside panic had set in.

  Suppose she did something stupid. Made herself look a complete fool in front of a patient or, worse still, in the presence of Robert Carslake…Or, even more dreadful than that, when the unfriendly Bettine was around.

  ‘The other doctors haven’t arrived yet,’ Barbara was saying. ‘Shall we go into the kitchen for a coffee? Kitty, the cleaner, always brews up for us before we start.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Nina told her. ‘I’d love a coffee.’

  She’d eaten the porridge her father made for breakfast all the year round and had drunk a cup of strong black tea. ‘Get it down you, girl,’ he’d ordered. ‘It might be the only rations you’ll get all day.’ But she preferred to start off with a coffee and hoped that she might feel more sprightly after the caffeine intake.

  The elderly woman that she’d chatted with on the day of her interview eyed Nina in surprise when she followed the receptionist into the kitchen.

  ‘Well, I never!’ she exclaimed. ‘So you’re the new doctor! There was me thinking you were just visiting your folks.’

  If Nina had wanted to explain that had indeed had been the case, she didn’t get the chance. The door had just opened to admit Robert Carslake and the woman he was engaged to.

  When he saw her leaning against one of the kitchen units with a cup of the steaming brew in her hand, he said easily, ‘Hi, there. I see that you’re being looked after.’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ she replied in a tone that was polite but not servile.

  The woman at his side said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her expression said it all—that this young trainee needed taking down a peg or two, that the girl was too confident for her own good.

  But Nina thought, I’m not a girl. I’m twenty-seven years old, and just because Bettine Baker is about ten years ahead of me it doesn’t mean that I’m still in ankle socks. Maybe she isn’t so sure of brown-eyed Rob, and wants to keep him all to herself. Well, she was welcome. He might be a very presentable member of the opposite sex, but a country GP wasn’t what she, Nina Lombard, was looking for.

  The moment her first patient walked into the small room that Rob had given her adjoining his, Nina’s natural resilience asserted itself.

  She’d done six-month stints on hospital wards during her training, dealing with the public all the time. This wasn’t a great deal different, except for the surroundings and the fact that she was on her own, facing the patient in a one-to-one situation.

  If she got stuck, the charismatic Rob was at the other side of the communicating door, ready to listen and advise, while one of the practice nurses, Judith Clark, a thirty-year-old divorcee, was in the room at the other side in case any of Nina’s patients needed her services.

  ‘I’ve been having tests done for a bladder problem,’ the sixty-year-old woman who’d settled herself in the chair opposite was saying dourly. ‘Have you got experience of that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes. I think I can say that.’

  ‘You think!’

  ‘I have,’ Nina told her with a reassuring smile as she rephrased her answer. ‘I’ve worked in the urology department at an infirmary during my training, and if by any chance you ask me something I don’t know the answer to, Dr Carslake will come and sit in with me.’

  The woman bridled at the suggestion. ‘I’m not discussing my waterworks with a man. It was either you or Dr Baker, and she wasn’t free.’

  I’ll bet she wasn’t, Nina thought grimly. This was her first patient and she’d been hand-picked.

  ‘Fine,’ she said calmly. ‘If you don’t want Dr Carslake to see you, he won’t. So, are you going to tell me what the problem is?’

  ‘Huh!’ the woman snorted. ‘It’s supposed to be the other way about. You’re here to tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ Nina explained patiently. ‘I’m asking you why you’re here. You say that you’ve been having tests, but there’s no paperwork amongst your records other than a copy of Dr Baker’s letter asking for an appointment with a urologist.’

  ‘And who’s to blame for that, then?’ the patient snapped.

  ‘What sort of tests have you had?’ Nina asked.

  ‘Cystoscopy, kidney X-ray and an ultrasound.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘First you should be asking me why.’

  ‘I don’t need to ask you why,’ she told her with continuing patience. ‘It’s here in the letter Dr Baker sent to the hospital. She found blood in your urine. So, tell me, when did you have the tests?’

  ‘Last week. I’ve come for the results.’

  ‘It can take up to two weeks for test results to come through,’ Nina told her now that the reason for the woman’s presence had been revealed, ‘and once we receive them one of the doctors will ask to see you.’

  She couldn’t resist adding, ‘Probably Dr Baker, as it was she who sent you for the tests in the first place.’

  The ungracious one was getting to her feet. ‘I might prefer to see you. Maybe you do know what you’re talking about.’

  When she’d gone Nina rolled her eyes heavenwards. What a start to her illustrious career at the Stepping Dearsley Group Practice. And what a dirty trick on Bettine Baker’s part to pass that woman on to her.

  The communicating door opened at that moment and Rob came in.

  ‘I heard some of that,’ he said apologetically. ‘I don’t know how you came to get Ethel Platt on your first day. She’s head of our list of “handle with care” patients. But well done, anyway, Nina. Let’s hope that the rest are easier to handle.’

  They were. Mothers with grizzly teething babies, who seemed to have no gripe because they were being seen by the new doctor. A husky farm labourer who’d cut his hand quite badly on a machinery blade and made no demur when she had to send him further afield to the nearest casualty department. And an assortment of people who were sickening for the summer virus that was ke
eping the doctors busier than usual.

  When the waiting room had been cleared Rob called her to one side. ‘I’m taking you with me on my rounds,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to go on your own just yet. For one thing you need to know the area a bit better before you do that, and for another I want to see you in action on the home front.’

  She pulled a wry face. ‘Please, don’t use army phraseology. My dad does it all the time.’

  Rob laughed. ‘The old guy still thinks he’s in the barracks, does he? What was he? Sergeant?’

  Nina threw up her hands in mock horror. ‘Nothing so humble! He was a major in the Cheshires…and never lets us forget it.’

  ‘Are you an only child?’ he questioned.

  ‘Yes. My mother died when I was eleven and shortly afterwards Dad married Eloise. We lived in army quarters for a long while. I escaped by going to study medicine in London.’

  ‘But have now been ordered back into service?’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Unlike the rest of us, you’re not living in our beautiful village from choice. What were your original plans when you qualified and before your stepmother became ill?’

  ‘Something more exciting than this, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Such as what?’ he asked. ‘Remember that excitement, fulfilment and a lot of other gratifying emotions often come from who one is with, rather than where one is.’

  He picked up his bag with an abrupt movement. ‘Come on, the day will be gone before we know it, and those who are suffering as they await us won’t thank us for dawdling. You can tell me about your exciting plans another time.’

  ‘So you’re not lunching with Dr Baker today?’ Nina asked mock-innocently, wanting to hit back for having her dreams dealt with so summarily.

  Rob was still edgy. ‘I won’t even be having lunch, and neither will you, if we don’t get a move on. We have to be back for afternoon surgery, you know.’

  ‘I can’t function without food,’ she protested. ‘I can cope with thirst, lack of sleep, but hunger…no!’

  ‘You’ll have to before you’ve done in this job, my girl. So be prepared.’

  ‘Maybe I should start bringing iron rations.’

  Rob threw back his head and laughed. ‘Who’s doing it now?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Military jargon.’

  Nina joined in the laughter. ‘You see, it’s catching.’

  He had his hand on the doorhandle, waiting for her to precede him outside, and suddenly he was serious. ‘Some things are, and once caught aren’t so easily thrown off.’

  His gaze was curiously intent and Nina felt her face start to burn. What did he mean? Was he referring to Bettine, who was waving to him from inside a low-slung Jaguar as she pulled away from the practice, en route to her share of the day’s visits, or had it something to do with herself?

  Tom Blackmore had advanced Parkinson’s disease. It was at a stage that Nina had never before witnessed, and as she observed the old man’s set expression and uncontrollable tremors it was hard to believe what Rob had told her about the patient before they’d gone into the remote farmhouse.

  Tom had been one of the most successful farmers in the area, he’d said. A big, healthy man, who’d never known a day’s sickness until he’d contracted the debilitating illness.

  ‘Luckily, his sons have been there to see to the running of the farm,’ he’d explained as they’d crossed the farmyard, ‘and Mary, his wife, has nursed him with complete devotion, but now he’s got to the stage where nothing seems to help—not the drugs he’s on, or anything else. Levodopa was helpful for a long time but its benefits have ceased to exist as the illness has progressed.’

  ‘There is some degree of dementia now, although he does have periods of lucidity, but his speech is affected and it’s hard to understand what he’s saying.’

  ‘And how long do you think he’s got?’

  ‘Parkinson’s is a slow killer,’ he’d said in a low voice as a plump, smiling woman in a floral apron had opened the door to them.

  She’d been baking. There was a wire rack covered in hot scones in the middle of the kitchen table and Rob smiled as he saw Nina’s eyes fasten on them.

  He’d omitted to tell her earlier that Tom’s wife always brewed up and offered a bite to go with it when they called, and, sure enough, after he’d introduced the new member of the practice Mary reached for a slab of farm butter and said, ‘I’ll be making you a bite to eat, Doctor, whilst you’re examining my Tom.’

  As they climbed the stairs he said softly, ‘So you see, Dr Lombard, you don’t have to endure hunger pains after all.’

  The farmer eyed them questioningly when they entered the bedroom and Nina thought that here was a brain, functioning haphazardly, that was locked up in a suffering body.

  She stood respectfully to one side as Rob examined him, noting the facial immobility and all the other distressing symptoms, and when they went back downstairs she wasn’t surprised to hear him say to the farmer’s wife, ‘Would you like Tom to go away for a while to give you a rest, Mary? In a hospice maybe?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No. I’ve managed this far, Doctor. I’m not going to leave him now.’

  Rob nodded. ‘Fair enough but, remember, you have only to give me a call if you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t be doing that,’ she said quietly as she put a plate of scones in front of them.

  When they got outside Nina took a deep breath. It had been hot inside the farmhouse, and she guessed that it was for the sick man’s sake as there would be little body heat coming from his trembling frame.

  But she wasn’t just drinking in the cool outside air for that reason. She’d joked with the man beside her about missing the carbon monoxide of the city, without admitting that here in the countryside the air was clear and sparkling, as were the waters of the small stream that was splashing past their feet.

  ‘Watch it!’ the man at her side warned with an amused smile as she breathed in yet again. ‘Your lungs aren’t used to being filled with pure air. You’ll be confusing them.’

  ‘Huh!’ she mocked. ‘It will take more than a few breaths of fresh air to convert me.’ But as they got back into his car, which was a much less prestigious model than that of his fiancée, Nina felt a strange sense of completeness about the moment.

  A week ago the man beside her had been merely a signature on a letter, asking her to attend an interview. She’d met him in person just three days ago and…what?

  She was suddenly so aware of him she could hardly breathe. That was bad enough, but what was even worse was that he was engaged to be married and, tough townie though she might be, stealing other women’s men was not on her agenda.

  Rob had seen her expression and asked, ‘What’s wrong? First-day fatigue?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she replied breezily. ‘This is a refreshing change from working on the wards.’

  ‘Really?’ he remarked drily. ‘You’ll have to hope that it stays that way, then, although I wouldn’t bank on it.’

  Nina was scarcely listening. She didn’t want to be making casual chit-chat. There was a desire in her to know all about him. Hadn’t Eloise said he lived over the surgery? Why was that? she wondered. Maybe it was costing a lot to modernise the practice. Or perhaps he had a secret vice…drink or gambling.

  He must be getting married some time in the future. Perhaps he and the unfriendly Bettine were saving up to buy a house and, from what she’d seen of his prospective bride, it wouldn’t be a ‘two up, two down’.

  ‘I believe you live over the surgery?’ she said casually. ‘Doesn’t it make you feel a bit too accessible, living on top of the job?’

  He took his gaze off the road for a second and turned to face her. She saw mild surprise in his eyes. ‘Yes, it does, but it has advantages, too. I don’t have to travel to work for one thing, and for another it’s economical.’

  ‘Are you saving up to ge
t married, then?’ she probed.

  ‘That and other things,’ he said, and his tone told her that was the end of the discussion.

  ‘Our next call is more central,’ he said as they headed back for the village. ‘Sara Forrester has asked me to call and see her. We have a problem with our local art dealer. She’s agoraphobic and, even for a minor ailment, will ask for a visit rather than venture out.’

  Remembering the small gallery beside the hotel, Nina asked curiously, ‘If that’s the case, how does she communicate with the artists?’

  ‘They have to come to her. She doesn’t go out looking for talent.’

  ‘I wonder what’s wrong with her today?’ she wondered aloud, ‘and what are we doing about the agoraphobia?’

  ‘There isn’t a lot we can do. The solution is in her own hands. It all started when she was mugged in the town one night, and since then Sara has been afraid to venture out.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ Nina said. ‘She lives in this close-knit community which, I imagine, is as safe as anywhere and then that happens.’

  Rob smiled. ‘We have our crimes here just as anywhere else. They may be fewer in number because there are fewer of us to be robbed, but don’t kid yourself that this is a crime-free place.’

  The owner of the art gallery, an elderly woman with a nervous manner, hadn’t called them out for a minor ailment. They found her lying on sweat-soaked sheets with a serious chest infection.

  ‘You’ve got pneumonia, Sara,’ Robert told her, ‘and as there’s no one to look after you I’m going to have you admitted to hospital.’

  When the ambulance had been and gone with the sick woman inside it he said, ‘It was a measure of how ill she was feeling that Sara didn’t protest about being moved out of the house. Maybe after this enforced stay in the outside world her problem will be solved. In the meantime, this place will have to be closed until she’s well again.’

  By the time they’d finished the rest of the calls the afternoon was well upon them, and with the replenishment of her hunger seemingly in the distant past Nina was driven to mention food again.