It was a hard day and when she looked in her mirror at nine-thirty that evening, her heart sank. She was not at all sure she had the energy to do the great paint job that was called for.
Then the telephone rang.
‘Are you sagging?’ It was Peter’s voice.
‘Well ‒ yes.’
‘Come on in ‒ the water’s fine!’
Linda could hear music in the background. That did it. She loved to dance.
‘I’ll be right there!’ she cried.
She started for the bathroom. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she stopped in surprise. She grinned at herself. Confucius he say, excitement is the best face pack!
She was gratified by the impression made by her entrance. Peter introduced her widely and had cornered her some supper, but thereafter she had to share him with several good-looking girls who seemed to know him quite intimately. But she herself was much in demand, and when the party broke up Peter was there beside her announcing that he intended to drive home behind her and see she arrived home safely.
‘But do go slowly,’ he pleaded, ‘I’m tired.’
He was tired!
It was a sharply clear night, with a bright moon illuminating the quiet countryside. By the time they turned into the yard, both had fallen under the spell of the moment. They closed their car doors quietly and moved to each other. They kissed, then stood wrapped in each other’s arms, the frost forming on their intermingled breath.
Linda felt suspended in time. How nice if this single moment could go on and on. But nothing in life remains the same ‒ not for a solitary second. And what a comfort that thought can be at times! Nevertheless ...
‘I’ll be sorry to finish here at the end of the week,’ she said.
‘End of the week?’ said Peter.
‘I hope you’ll find General Practice ‒ fulfilling,’ she hurried on. ‘I hope you’ll be as happy here as I’ve been.’
‘You don’t need to move out of the flat, of course,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll be living in the house.’
‘Thanks ‒’
‘You could stay till you land something you really fancy.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Linda. And left it at that.
If she tried to explain how she would hate to be living nearby yet not working as a doctor in that little community, Peter might not understand. Might see it as emotional involvement again. And she could never put into words what she felt about Peter himself. He had said that after she left they would keep in touch and maybe they would, but she knew nothing was going to be the same. Somehow the Practice, John Cooper and Peter were all intertwined for her.
She suddenly felt dreadfully tired.
‘I’m exhausted,’ she said.
Peter nuzzled her cheek, and slipping his arm round her waist he supported her gently to her door, where he drew off her glove and kissed the palm of her hand.
‘Nothing’s going to change,’ he said.
‘No, of course not,’ answered Linda.
He doesn’t understand, she thought. When all my books and belongings have been removed and his have taken their place and I drive away it will be as if I was never here. He will take his rightful place beside his father and everyone will forget I ever came to Stoke Dabenham.
Peter opened the door for her but didn’t make to follow. They wished each other goodnight quietly and easily and went their separate ways in silence.
Linda would have dearly loved to have slept late next morning, but she was summoned to one of her patients at seven o’clock. When she returned, John Cooper called her in for a coffee. He and Peter were at breakfast. It seemed the older doctor had been called out three times during the night.
‘This Practice is getting out of hand since the new estate was begun. And there are a lot more people to move in yet.’ John Cooper turned to his son. ‘I think we’ve got to the stage where it could support a third partner.’
Linda set down her cup and listened closely.
The two men were only talking casually, but they weighed the situation up and in the end both seemed to be in agreement that the rapidly increasing numbers on their register justified three doctors.
How wonderful, thought Linda, if I could just stay on when Peter joins the partnership! How, she wondered, would her bank manager react. There would be equipment to buy and ‒ her speculations were stopped short by Peter’s next words.
‘I think Tom Doyle would be interested in coming in with us,’ he remarked.
Before John Cooper could offer an opinion the telephone rang and he became engaged in conversation with the anxious parents of a sick child.
Linda and Peter rose. He was off to the County Health Office. She made her way back to the stable flat, where she slumped down in an armchair. Disappointment engulfed her.
Why had she imagined they would offer her a partnership? Yet why not? Perhaps John Cooper suspected she had no capital available. She’d never made a secret of her background. But then it had been Peter who had jumped in so quickly with the suggestion of Tom Doyle ‒ whoever he might be. One of Peter’s colleagues at the hospital, Linda suspected.
Neither of the men had thought immediately of her. Maybe she’d not fitted in as well as she’d thought. She began trying to remember where she could have fallen short in her duty or crossed John Cooper with an opposing attitude.
Stop it, she said to herself sharply, that way madness lies. You’ve done six month’s solid work here to the best of your ability. That’s all you were engaged for and now it’s coming to an end. And that’s all there is to it.
Nevertheless, as she tidied her cosy little lounge she smoothed the chintz covers with affection. As she neatened the curtains she looked from the window and across the rolling fields. A pale sun glittered on the last of the melting frost.
She telephoned to thank her hostess for the party and was warmed by the friendly response.
It’s no use, thought Linda, I shall miss this place. It’s strange that you can live your whole life in the city and yet so quickly feel part of the countryside.
Linda found herself using words to this effect as a form of comfort for Mrs Fenwick, when, to Linda’s dismay, she turned up at surgery again.
But this time at least she made no pretence that it was on behalf of the baby, which was jiggling happily on her lap.
‘My husband thinks I’m run down and need a tonic,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Linda, ‘how’s your appetite?’
‘All right.’
‘Are you sleeping well?’
‘Yes.’
Then suddenly the girl’s composure forsook her. Her eyes filled with tears and she drew in a great shuddering breath.
‘Oh, Doctor, I’m not run down!’ she burst out. ‘I just hate it here!’
‘You’re still lonely?’ said Linda gently.
‘I don’t know anybody and I never seem to see anybody and there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do ‒’ She was crying miserably.
The baby put up its starfish hands and dabbled them on her cheeks.
Linda was glad she had cried at last. It would relieve tension.
‘And Blackie got caught in a snare and had to be put to sleep. I hate the countryside!’
‘That was unfortunate,’ said Linda, with genuine sympathy.
‘You’re from the town, Doctor, you understand.’
Linda understood very well how alien her new surroundings seemed to Sandra Fenwick. She remembered how many surprises she’d had herself. She’d expected it to be quiet. Instead there was always something to be heard ‒ dogs, sheep, birds, aeroplanes, tractors, howling wind! She’d expected common land to take walks on, and was surprised to discover that every inch of soil seemed to belong to somebody and you passed over it as a favour.
Yes, she understood.
‘But you’re not seeing it at its best, you know,’ she said. ‘The spring’s coming and then you’ll get out more and probably meet more of your neighbours.�
�
‘They’ve kept themselves to themselves so far,’ said Mrs Fenwick bitterly. ‘And the villagers here in Stoke Dabenham look at you as if you’ve come from outer space!’
‘Stick it out, my dear,’ said Linda. ‘I think you’ll find you’ll change your mind in time.’
‘You’re leaving,’ said Sandra Fenwick. ‘Mrs Perry said so!’
Not from choice, thought Linda. Oh dear no.
The baby chuckled.
‘It suits him anyway,’ said Linda, patting the child’s rosy face. Mrs Fenwick looked thoughtful.
‘That’s the only thing,’ said the girl seriously, giving him a fond hug. Then she shrugged and rose to depart.
When Linda went back to her flat at lunchtime, she found a letter from her father. She read it then sat back in silence. She was moved. Parenthood, she reflected, seemed sometimes to be the limitless capacity for sacrifice.
‘... the sum we are being offered for the dairy has finally been agreed,’ ran the letter. ‘It is far more than we ever expected. As you know, your mum and I have our hearts set on that little bungalow at Pitsea and we’ve both of us agreed that we want you to have the rest to help you set yourself up into General Practice, which seems to suit you so well. Treat it as a long loan if you like, dear, but do accept. It is the way we’d be most happy to see the money used.’
She would write straight back and accept. She knew the offer was seriously meant and this would give them genuine pleasure. And she would tell them that there happened to be a partnership in a Practice going in which she was particularly interested, and she saw no reason why she shouldn’t suggest herself.
I must do it while the mood is on me, thought Linda later, as she put her letter home into the village postbox. I must make the approach while I’m feeling confident. And while John Cooper is on his own, said her subconscious.
She walked straight back to the big house and went in to find Doctor Cooper. He was reading a newspaper in the lounge and at once invited her to sit down by the fire. Linda plunged immediately into the vital subject. He listened to her without interruption and when she had finished there was a moment of silence. Then John Cooper spoke.
‘Would you really like to,’ he said. ‘I imagined a bright young girl like you might aim towards lusher pastures. Yes, well, let’s discuss it.’
‘Thank you!’ said Linda, warmly. But she couldn’t leave it at that. There was something she had to get a bit clearer. ‘There’s one point,’ she began tentatively. ‘I got the impression that Peter had a friend who ‒’
‘Tom Doyle? Yes, a good fellow. But you’ve established yourself here very well in these six months. I feel we could all go on working together quite satisfactorily.’
Nothing could have made Linda happier than these words, from a man whom she respected so much. Nevertheless ‒
‘And do you think Peter will feel the same?’ she pressed.
John Cooper looked thoughtful.
‘You hesitate,’ said Linda. ‘Does that mean you think he won’t?’
‘Possibly,’ said John Cooper, frankly. ‘Not because he has any objection to you personally, believe me, nor because he’s particularly set on bringing Tom Doyle in with us.’
‘Then it’s on professional grounds?’
‘Well ‒’
‘I know we don’t always see eye to eye ‒’
‘No, no, the point is he’s had one or two awkward situations involving women doctors at the hospital. One in particular. Anyway he’s developed something of a prejudice ‒ a wariness you might say. Got it into his head that women are liable to be neurotic, irrational and to lose their head in emergencies.’
‘What rubbish!’ cried Linda.
‘Oh, I agree,’ said John Cooper, mildly.
‘What unutterable nonsense!’
‘Unfortunately, he’s had this rather confirmed by one particular young lady. We’ve known her since she was a child, actually. They sail and ski together. She’s an expert skier ‒ that calls for a cool head, you’d think. Terribly fond of Peter. But there it is ‒ she’s caused him a lot of headaches. He’s had to bale her out several times. At the hospital, I mean, not while sailing! Her name’s Susan.’
Of course, thought Linda. What else! She was glad she knew the truth. Now she’d have no hesitation in going ahead. With no further concern for Peter’s male chauvinist piggery. ‘Susan’ had a lot to answer for!
But if John Cooper ‒ whose word after all was the authority in the matter ‒ if he was prepared to accept her, then she’d make it clear she wanted to join the Practice. The two men could argue it out together. And she was putting her money on the older doctor.
Linda never knew what discussions went on between the Coopers, father and son, but when Peter officially joined the Practice, another consulting room was fitted out and Linda moved into it as the third partner.
Peter seemed to accept the arrangement without question and they remained as friendly on a personal level as they had ever been. But Linda knew he had reservations about her on the professional side. Perhaps he always would have.
Linda and Peter continued to enjoy some pleasant off-duty periods together, but they were infrequent, since Peter’s time and attention were very occupied with settling in. Their professional paths did not cross for a while. But there came the inevitable day . . .
Linda had happened to stroll into the kitchen for a word with Elsie Peach. To her astonishment she found her gingerly rubbing butter over her wrist.
‘What on earth are you up to, Elsie?’
‘I’ve just scalded myself, Doctor. I put baking soda on it but it was still hurting so ‒’
‘So now you’re all ready for the oven.’
‘Well, my old mother always used to say ‒’
‘And I’m sure it was very good advice at the time. But I think I’ve got something in my bag that might ease it quicker.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. I didn’t like to bother you when you’re so busy.’
‘You mustn’t think like that, Elsie. I’m sure every one of the doctors here would expect you to come like any other patient. Goodness, it’s really quite a bad burn. Next time anything like this happens you come running into surgery. And that’s an order!’
Peter entered on her last words. ‘What’s an order?’ he asked. ‘Apricot crumble?’
‘Just look at this wrist of Elsie’s.’
‘Heavens, that’s nasty. You’d better not use that for a day or two. Rest it.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. That’s much more comfortable, Doctor Ford.’
Peter had seized a couple of biscuits from a tin and was making for the door again.
‘Just take my advice, Elsie, and pop it in a sling.’ He called back over his shoulder. ‘Oh, do you think we could have lunch a twinge earlier today? I have to get off smartly. Doctor Cooper agrees.’
He disappeared.
Elsie stole a glance at Linda and the two women laughed.
‘We’ll all give a hand,’ said Linda, and marched off in pursuit of Peter.
She found him in the lounge, where he and Doctor Cooper were talking to the vicar of the local church. Linda was about to retreat when the vicar turned to her.
‘I’d be glad if Doctor Ford could stay,’ he said. ‘I believe she may feel concerned.’
‘The vicar is a bit worried about Miss Matlock, Linda.’
‘Matlock? Flora Matlock?’
‘No. Her sister Harriet.’
‘Harriet. I believe she’s on my books, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her.’
‘I can quite believe that,’ said the vicar.
‘Surely Harriet Matlock has been away from here for some time now, hasn’t she?’ said John Cooper.
‘That’s what you understood too, is it Doctor,’ said the vicar. ‘Well, it’s not true. She’s in the house. I just caught sight of her.’
Linda was puzzled. ‘So she’s come back ‒’ she began.
‘The point is, her sister Flora
said she wasn’t there.’
‘Flora Matlock’s always been an odd woman,’ put in Peter.
‘Yes, but it was obvious I wasn’t meant to have seen Harriet.’
‘But why would she pretend her sister wasn’t in the house when she was?’ asked Linda.
‘I don’t know, but I have terrible misgivings. If you could have seen the look of her. Just that one glimpse I had of her at the top of the stairs. Wild and gaunt – and the expression in her eyes! Doctor, she needs medical attention, I’m sure of it.’
The vicar was looking at Linda, and she was aware that the eyes of the two other doctors were on her ‒ waiting for her reaction.
‘It’s not as simple as that, Vicar,’ she said cautiously. ‘I can’t just go barging in when nobody’s asked for me.’
‘I’m asking you,’ said the vicar, simply.
‘But why hasn’t her sister Flora called me?’
‘I just don’t know. What I do know is that she is ill. I tell you if she’s not been away ‒ if she’s here in the village ‒ she’d have been to Service. Unless there is something very much amiss with her. It was a real shock to me, seeing her staring down from the landing ‒ like a troubled spirit.’
‘Could you call on her again yourself, Vicar,’ said John Cooper.
‘I intend to. But if she maintains this fiction that her sister isn’t in the house ‒’
‘If you could get a word from Harriet Matlock that she would like me to call ‒’ said Linda.
‘Naturally, I shall do everything I can,’ said the vicar. ‘Excuse me, I’m delaying your lunch.’
Doctor Cooper showed him out.
‘Do you know anything about Flora Matlock?’ asked Linda.
‘Not much,’ said Peter. ‘She was a nurse once I believe. Prim and proper. Keeps herself to herself, and all that.’ He was looking at Linda quizzically and she knew he was wondering how she’d deal with the situation. So was she!
That Flora Matlock was unusual, was confirmed by Elsie Peach later.
‘They say she keeps the whole house sterile as an operating theatre,’ said Elsie.
‘You know ‒ she’s the sort who dusts the coals.’
‘What about Harriet?’ asked Linda, carefully.
The Country Doctor: Captivating tales from a young GP's case notes Page 12