‘It makes sense. I’d hate it to look as though we doubt his capabilities.’
‘Exactly. This way, any decisions that are made about the future of the practice will be his. He won’t feel as though he’s being pushed into doing something he doesn’t want to do.’
‘You’re right,’ Emma agreed, surprised by Daniel’s astute assessment of the situation. She knew that her uncle would hate to feel as though he wasn’t in charge any more, but it surprised her that Daniel had realised that too.
She turned to leave then stopped when Daniel said suddenly, ‘Oh, by the way, those test results for Alistair Grant have come back. I was in the office when they arrived so I had a look at them. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. What did they show? Anything?’
‘According to the lab at Liverpool there are traces of pesticide in Alistair’s blood.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘It would certainly explain the wide variety of symptoms he’s presented with recently, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would. Do you think he’s been in contact with pesticides while he’s been here or did it happen while he was working overseas?’ she queried.
‘Liverpool seems to think the problem is recent. I’ve asked Ruth to phone Alistair and get him to make an appointment to see if we can find out how he may have come into contact with the chemicals. If we can’t find an answer, I imagine environmental services will need to be alerted to see if they can sort it out.’
‘Of course. If it is a local problem then we don’t want anyone else being taken ill,’ she said worriedly.
‘Exactly.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’ll mention it to your uncle when he phones. I’m sure he’d enjoy getting to the bottom of the mystery.’
‘I’m sure he would,’ she agreed quietly.
Emma sighed as she left the room. She couldn’t help wondering how one person could be such a contradiction. On the one hand Daniel genuinely seemed to care about other people’s feelings, but on the other hand he didn’t seem to care a jot about hers. Even though she knew it was stupid, she couldn’t help wishing that he would spare some of that concern for her.
The house calls had taken far longer than he’d expected so that it was after three p.m. by the time Daniel drew up in front of Niths Farm. He switched off the engine and reached for the printout that Ruth had prepared for him. According to the patient’s notes, it had been over ten years since Harold Dawson had last visited the surgery. He’d suffered an injury to his left arm following an incident with some kind of farm machinery but had refused to go to the hospital. Jim had stitched his arm, given him a tetanus shot, and that had been it. Harold Dawson hadn’t returned to have the stitches removed and had ignored several telephone messages asking him to contact the surgery. Daniel grimaced as he got out of the car. It didn’t bode well for what was going to greet him today.
He rapped on the farmhouse door, glancing around while he waited. Although the farm was large, it was very untidy. Bits of rusty old machinery littered the yard and there was a pile of stones heaped up in the corner where one of the barn walls had given way. The whole place had a pervading air of neglect that saddened him. It seemed a shame that what had been once an obviously thriving concern should have been reduced to such a pitiful state as this.
‘Aye? And what do you want?’
Daniel swung round when a gruff voice spoke behind him. He summoned a smile as he greeted the elderly man standing in the doorway. ‘I’m Dr Kennedy. You phoned the surgery and requested a home visit.’
‘I asked to see the real doctor, not some stand-in,’ the man replied rudely. He glared at Daniel. ‘Tell them I want to see Dr Haynes, no one else.’
‘I’m afraid Dr Haynes is away at the present time,’ Daniel explained quietly.
‘Then I’ll wait till he’s back.’
He went to shut the door but Daniel put out his hand and stopped him. ‘Dr Haynes won’t be back for another month. Are you sure you want to wait that long, Mr Dawson? ‘
The man hesitated while he considered the idea. He scowled as he wrenched open the door. ‘Suppose you’d better come in, then, seeing as you’re here.’
Daniel sighed ruefully as he followed the old man into a dingy hallway. Not exactly the warmest welcome he’d ever received. Harold Dawson led him down the hall to the kitchen, which turned out to be equally neglected. Daniel’s heart sank as he took stock of the piles of dirty dishes on the draining board and the inch-thick layer of grease that coated the top of the old-fashioned range. It didn’t appear as though any cleaning had been done in the place for months, if not years. Pushing aside a stack of old newspapers, he placed his case on the table.
‘So what exactly is the problem, Mr Dawson? You told Ruth it was something to do with your foot, I believe.’
‘That’s right, although I wouldn’t have bothered phoning if I weren’t in so much pain.’ The man glared at him. ‘I don’t hold with all these pills you doctors hand out. Don’t do folk no good, in my opinion.’
Daniel forbore to say anything, deeming it wiser not to get embroiled in an argument he was unlikely to win. ‘I’d better take a look at your foot.’
Harold Dawson sat down heavily on a chair and started to peel off a filthy sock from his right foot. Daniel shook his head in dismay when he saw the how red and swollen it looked.
‘When did this start?’ he asked, kneeling down in front of the old man.
‘A few weeks ago, mebbe a bit longer,’ Harold replied curtly. He winced when Daniel touched the inflamed skin. ‘It’s real tender so don’t you go poking and prodding at it.’
‘I’ll be as careful as I can,’ Daniel assured him. He carefully felt the swollen foot, pausing when he discovered a strong pulse beating beneath the flesh because it confirmed his initial diagnosis. Standing up, he took a bottle of hand gel out of his case, deeming it more hygienic than using the sink to wash his hands.
‘It looks to me as though you have immersion foot, Mr Dawson. It’s a type of injury caused when feet are allowed to remain wet and cold for a prolonged period. You may have heard of trench foot which so many soldiers in the First World War suffered from? It’s the same thing.’
‘I’ve not been standing in any trenches,’ Harold retorted scathingly.
‘I’m sure you haven’t. But if you’ve been outdoors and got your feet wet and not bothered to change your shoes and socks, that could have caused it.’ Daniel tactfully didn’t add that from the state of the man’s socks there was no could about it. It was doubtful if Harold Dawson had put on clean socks or anything else for a very long time!
He took a prescription pad out of his case and wrote out a script for painkillers. ‘I imagine your foot’s very painful so these will help. You’ll also need to bathe your foot in tepid water to cool it and reduce the swelling. Make sure you put on clean, dry socks and that your shoes or boots are dry too.’ Daniel handed the man the prescription. ‘If you notice any sores appearing, contact the surgery. Skin ulcers can develop and that’s something we want to avoid.’
‘So that’s it, is it?’ Harold Dawson slammed the prescription down on the table. ‘Take some pills and put on dry socks. I could’ve worked that out for myself! ‘
Daniel smiled calmly, resisting the urge to tell the man that if he’d done that in the beginning there wouldn’t have been a problem. ‘That’s right. It’s just a question of taking care of yourself.’
‘I don’t need any advice from you,’ the old man responded belligerently. He shuffled towards the door, making it clear that he expected Daniel to leave.
Daniel picked up his case, knowing how pointless it was to suggest that he arranged for the community nurse to call and check how Harold’s foot was healing. If the poor woman received the kind of reception he’d received, she would probably refuse to call a second time, and he wouldn’t blame her either. He made a note to speak to Ruth about the old man when he got back to the surgery and headed out to the hall, pausing when there was a loud banging on the front door.
‘What the dickens.!’ Harold Dawson pushed past him and strode along the hall. Wrenching open the door, he glowered at the young man standing outside. ‘You can take yourself off my property right now.’
‘Believe me, I’d like nothing better than not to see hide nor hair of you or this place for the rest of my life,’ the other man retorted.
Daniel frowned when he realised that the caller was Alistair Grant. It seemed a coincidence that he should turn up here when he needed to speak to him. However, he was less concerned about resolving Alistair’s health issues at that moment than he was about defusing the situation.
He hurried to the door, hoping to avert a full-scale row.
‘Hello, Alistair,’ he said quietly, drawing both men’s attention to him. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’
‘I’m not here out of choice, believe me, Dr Kennedy,’ Alistair replied angrily. He glared at the old man. ‘If you don’t stop dumping stuff on the road to the construction site then I warn you, Dawson, that the company I work for will take legal action. Carry on with your little games and you’ll find yourself in prison. Is that clear?’
‘Aye, it’s clear enough. But if you think a young pup like you can come to my home and threaten me, think again.’
Daniel’s heart sank when he saw Harold Dawson reach behind the front door and pick up a shotgun that had been standing there. He aimed it at Alistair Grant’s chest. ‘You need to learn some manners, lad, and I’m just the one to teach them to you.’
‘Come on, now, let’s all calm down,’ Daniel said soothingly. He stepped forward then stopped when Dawson swung round and pointed the gun at him.
‘I’ve told you once that I don’t need any advice from you.’ The old man scowled at him. ‘You’re no better than he is. Coming in here, thinking you can tell folk what to do. Well, I’ve had enough, do you hear me? It’s ‘bout time someone stood up to the likes of you. Inside, both of you.’
Dawson waved the shotgun towards the kitchen. Daniel hesitated but one glance at the old man’s face warned him that it would be foolish to refuse to do what he asked. He headed back along the hall, wondering what was going to happen next. Maybe Dawson only wanted to scare them but he didn’t think so—it looked far more serious than that.
He put his case on the table as Alistair followed him into the room, seeing the sheen of perspiration on the younger man’s face. It was obvious that he was scared stiff and Daniel didn’t blame him. Harold Dawson was on the brink of losing control and there was no knowing what would happen then.
A picture of Emma suddenly appeared in his mind’s eye and he felt a shaft of regret so sharp run through him that he winced. He couldn’t bear to think that he might die without telling Emma that he loved her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I DON’T suppose you’ve seen Daniel, have you, Emma?’
Emma paused when Ruth called to her on her way into the surgery that afternoon. It was five minutes to four and she was keen to get to her room before her first patient arrived. ‘Not since lunchtime, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, right.’ Ruth sighed.
Emma frowned. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’
‘No, not really. It’s just that he usually pops in with his notes after he’s finished the house calls, but he’s not been in yet this afternoon.’
‘Maybe he’s running late,’ Emma suggested.
‘Probably, although there weren’t that many calls to do today.’ Ruth shrugged when the phone rang. ‘Maybe he got held up. You know how some people love to talk—he probably couldn’t get away.’
‘I expect that’s it,’ Emma agreed as she carried on along the corridor, although she was surprised that Daniel would have allowed himself to be late. He was a stickler for punctuality and was usually at his desk well before his first appointment was due.
She booted up her computer then glanced through the list that Ruth had left on her desk. It wasn’t too long for a change so, hopefully, she could finish on time for once. She buzzed through for her first patient, smiling when Judith Fisher walked into the room.
‘Hello, Judith. How are you?’
‘I’m all right, Dr Roberts.’ The young woman sat down in front of the desk. ‘I had an appointment at the hospital on Wednesday. The consultant did a laparoscopy and confirmed that I have endometriosis, like you suspected.’
‘At least we know what we’re dealing with now,’ Emma said quietly.
‘I suppose so,’ Judith agreed wistfully.
Emma guessed that it had been a blow for Judith to have her suspicions confirmed and tried to focus on the positive aspects of the diagnosis. ‘What did the consultant suggest by way of treatment?’
‘He’s put me back on the Pill to prevent me menstruating. It will help to control the pain and, hopefully, stop the cysts from getting any bigger. He also said that he might surgically remove some of the larger cysts at a later date.’
‘And you’re worried about how that will affect your chances of having a baby?’
‘Yes.’ Tears rose in Judith’s eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever have a baby now, will I?’
‘I haven’t received a copy of your consultant’s report yet, Judith, so there is no way that I can tell you that everything is going to be all right. However, what I can say is that between sixty and seventy per cent of women who suffer from endometriosis are able to have children.’
‘That sounds much better than how the consultant put it.’ Judith managed a watery smile. ‘He said that thirty to forty per cent of women with endometriosis are infertile.’
‘I suppose it’s the glass half full or half empty scenario,’ Emma said with a chuckle. ‘It depends which way you choose to look at the figures.’
‘Well, I prefer your way.’ Judith sounded more optimistic all of a sudden. ‘I have almost a seventy per cent chance of becoming a mum and that’s pretty good odds, I’d say.’
‘So would I.’ Emma smiled at her. ‘I know it must be hard but try to remain positive. Once you’ve completed the treatment, who knows what might happen? And the plus factor is that pregnancy is known to suppress the symptoms of endometriosis.’
‘A case of fingers crossed.’ Judith laughed as she stood up.
‘Exactly.’
Emma was still smiling as she buzzed through her next patient. It was always good to know that you had helped someone be more positive about their life. That was one of the reasons why she loved surgery, of course, although she hadn’t realised that she would derive the same pleasure from general practice work. No wonder Daniel enjoyed his job so much.
The thought startled her. Ever since Daniel had announced that he planned to go into private practice, she’d had a jaundiced view of his motives for becoming a GP. Now she could see that she may have misjudged him.
It didn’t necessarily mean that it was purely financial gain that drove him.
It was uncomfortable to find her view of Daniel knocked off kilter. Emma found it difficult to push the idea aside as she dealt with her next patient, an elderly man who suffered from chronic bronchitis. She renewed his prescription for an inhaler and gently suggested that he might benefit from oxygen therapy. Once she had explained that oxygen cylinders could be delivered to his home, he happily agreed. She made a note to ask Ruth to contact the nearest supplier and saw him out. She was just about to sit down again when Ruth, herself, hurried into the room.
‘I’m sorry to barge in, Emma, but Daniel still hasn’t appeared. I’m getting really worried now, because it just isn’t like him not to turn up,’ the receptionist told her anxiously.
‘No, it certainly isn’t,’ Emma agreed. ‘Have you tried his phone?’
‘Yes, but it goes straight to voice mail.’ Ruth bit her lip. ‘You don’t think he’s had an accident, do you? Some of the roads round here are a bit tricky if you don’t know them that well.’
‘I’m sure we’d have heard if he had,’ Emma assured her, although her heart had started to race at the thought of Daniel lying i
njured somewhere. She took a deep breath before panic could set in. ‘Do you have a list of the calls he was supposed to do this afternoon?’ When Ruth nodded, she hurried on. ‘Then I suggest you telephone everyone on the list and check what time he visited them. That way we’ll have a better idea of where he might be.’
‘Good idea!’ Ruth exclaimed. She hurried to the door then paused. ‘What about his patients, though? There’s a real backlog forming.’
‘I’ll have to see them,’ Emma told her. ‘I’ll see one of mine then one of Daniel’s—that will be fairer than making his patients wait till I finish my list.’
Emma picked up the phone as soon as Ruth left and dialled Daniel’s phone but the call went straight to voice mail again. She hung up, feeling her stomach churning with nerves. What could have happened to stop him even answering his phone? She had no idea but it was extremely worrying. Maybe they didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things but she couldn’t bear to think that he may have been hurt or worse even.
Her heart suddenly seemed to shrivel up inside her. The thought of never seeing Daniel again was more than she could bear.
Daniel heard his phone ring and guessed that it must be Ruth calling to see where he was. He glanced at his watch, realising with a start that it was almost four-thirty. How much longer was Dawson going to keep them here? he wondered, glancing at the old man, who was standing guard by the kitchen door. He had no idea but something needed to be done to resolve this situation soon.
‘Look, Mr Dawson, I know you’re upset but this is crazy. Keeping us here won’t achieve anything,’ he said in his most reasonable tone. ‘All you’ll do is find yourself in a whole load of trouble and I’m sure that isn’t what any of us wants.’
‘I don’t care how much trouble I’m in. It’ll be worth it to put a stop to what’s going on.’ Harold Dawson raised the shotgun and pointed it at Alistair Grant. ‘If him and his cronies think they can come here and tear up the countryside then they can think again!’
Daniel saw the colour drain from Alistair’s face and quickly interceded. ‘If that’s the way you feel, you need to talk to someone, see if you can get the decision to build this wind farm reversed.’
Summer of Love Page 27