Molly was quickly being forced to accept that perhaps there might actually be more to Dr McFetridge than handsome packaging.
CHAPTER THREE
RYAN HAD WANTED uninterrupted father-daughter time to discuss the medical issues at hand and then link via a telephone conference to discuss the prognosis and potential treatment plan with Lizzy’s GP and the specialist.
A choice would need to be made but Ryan had no intention of rushing into a decision that didn’t sit well with his daughter. He had removed his own GP hat and had worn his father hat during the conversation. There were a number of considerations moving forward. How his daughter felt about each and every one of them was paramount to Ryan. With the options clearly explained, Ryan wanted to sit and talk more with Lizzy before making their joint decision and visiting her doctor.
Finally, a driver arrived to collect her. Ryan waved goodbye and walked his next patient into his consulting room and closed the door. He sat down opposite the older woman and leaned in towards her slightly.
‘Tell me, Dorothy, how are you and how is the adjusted medication level coming along?’
‘Not too bad, Doctor.’
The elderly lady’s reply didn’t convince Ryan as he watched as her softly wrinkled hands fidgeted with her handkerchief. She was twisting the delicate lace-edged linen nervously.
‘Not too bad?’ he replied. ‘That’s not what I was hoping to hear and it’s not the same as good. I would like to hear that you’re feeling very well, Dorothy. You’re the most energetic and engaging octogenarian I know. What’s bothering you?’
He didn’t take his eyes away from hers. Ryan was not going to let her leave without an explanation.
‘Well.’ She paused for a moment then took a considered breath and continued. ‘My sugar readings are all around six or seven, which you told me is fine, but the headaches are still there. Every day I have one. Some days I even wake up with one and, on those days, they are particularly bad. I don’t like taking painkillers but George says I must take them or I’m like a grumpy bear. He makes sure I do every four hours and gets quite cross if I don’t want to take them. I don’t want to upset him and I would hate to be a grumpy bear but I’m taking twelve of those tablets a day and that can’t be good.’
Ryan’s displeasure with George’s behaviour towards his wife, insisting that she take the tablets rather than solving the problem, showed in his frown. ‘George is not qualified, Dorothy. And you should not need that level of medication, so let’s get to the reason for the headaches.’
He did not further push his annoyance that George was encouraging the painkillers without consultation with a professional. Dorothy Dunstan, in Ryan’s opinion, was as far from a grumpy bear as one could get. Even in pain. The eighty-one-year-old was a slightly built woman, with a mass of white curls, stunning blue eyes and the sweetest smile. He had no doubt she would have been very beautiful as a younger woman and her prettiness would more than likely still turn heads in the upmarket retirement village where the couple lived.
Her husband, George, on the other hand, also a patient of Ryan’s practice, was a solidly built man with a gruff demeanour and very much closer to a bear’s disposition on the best of days, particularly when his diverticulosis flared up and he blamed everyone around him. Ryan was upset that the man would force his wife to take medication just to keep her happy around him.
‘Let’s trial a break of your current medication. That may help with the headaches. No guarantee but it’s worth trying that route.’
‘Really, Doctor? But what about my diabetes?’
‘The surgery to remove your gall bladder last November also removed the chronic infection. That would have been stressing your body and as a result a number of organs were not functioning properly and your blood sugar level became elevated. I have been lowering your dose each month, as you know, but now I would like you to stop taking your medication completely for one week.’ Ryan paused and looked Dorothy in the eyes with a serious expression dressing his face. ‘But, Dorothy, you must maintain a diet without any added sugar as the dietician advised. None. No chocolates or other sugary treats. That means no cakes or biscuits with your cup of tea...and no scones, jam and cream either.’
‘I promise, Dr McFetridge, but I do love Devonshire teas and it has been very hard to say no to my friends when they make scones. And George buys us both cake with our coffee after lawn bowls and I don’t like to say no to him.’
George’s selfish and ignorant attitude was testing Ryan’s patience but he controlled his desire to tell Dorothy what he thought of her husband. ‘I know, but you also want to stay healthy and drug free so it’s worth the sacrifice and I’m sure that your friends and George love you enough to understand. But you must tell them and you must be firm.’
Dorothy nodded in response.
‘And I want you to call through your blood sugar reading every day to my nurse. Any raised levels and I need to see you straight away. Don’t try to persevere if the levels change. I can’t reiterate this enough. Diabetes is a serious condition, but as it only occurred after your illness we may be able to control it with a sensible diet from here on in. But it will mean ongoing monitoring and food restrictions.’
‘Really? You mean I may not need to take the medication again, ever?’
‘Let’s hope so. In some cases, an adjusted diet is all the treatment a patient needs and I hope you are one of the fortunate ones. Would you like me to tell George that he should refrain from buying the cake and the painkillers?’
‘Oh, Lord, no. He would have a fit if he thought I’d told you that.’ Dorothy’s disposition was suddenly flustered.
‘You can rest assured that I won’t say anything, then, Dorothy, but you need to be firm with him. And I do mean firm. You can’t eat the cakes just because your husband has bought one for each of you.’
‘I’ll just tell him I’m not hungry.’
‘You can tell George whatever you like, that is not my business, although I would have thought telling him the truth about your condition would be better, but again that’s not my place to advise you how best to manage George. However...’ He paused and his voice became increasingly deep and more serious in tone. ‘Whatever you tell him, you must not waver under pressure. It’s your long-term health that we are talking about here. And George would most definitely want a healthy wife.’
She nodded her agreement to Ryan’s terms then continued. ‘If I stop the medication and avoid the temptation of the sweets, do you think my headache will finally go away?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Ryan told her as he stood.
‘Then that’s wonderful news and worth the sacrifice of a few cakes...’
‘All cakes, not a few cakes.’
‘That’s what I meant.’
Ryan smiled as he reached for Dorothy’s arm and lifted her to her feet and walked her out to the reception area, asking Molly to make an appointment for the following week.
He left Dorothy with Molly, then turned and smiled in her husband’s direction. ‘How are you today, George? Keeping dry and out of the cold as much as you can, I hope.’
George grunted and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Damned appointments all day. After this I have to go home, pick up Dorothy’s darned cat and get her to the vet. Fur-balls again. If it’s not one thing it’s another. So much for retirement. I never get a day at home in peace. And the cat doesn’t like me anyway. It either hisses at me or ignores me. Typical woman.’
Ryan wasn’t sure quite what to say. The elderly man was healthy for his age, with relatively few ailments, but his demeanour was another story. He behaved as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and nothing appeared to make him happy. Ryan had initially suspected a level of depression but that was quickly ruled out by a referral to a clinical psychologist. George had retired from his successful fishing charter
business in the lower Eyre Peninsula town of Port Lincoln a very wealthy man. He had a very sweet wife, the two of them had taken numerous extended overseas holidays and were active for their age, and their four daughters had provided them with half a dozen healthy, happy grandchildren. If only, Ryan thought, there were a medication to remedy a glass-half-empty outlook on life. George’s cup was chipped, stained and the handle missing most days and he truly had no idea how fortunate he was to have the love and devotion of a woman as wonderful as Dorothy for over sixty years.
Ryan knew that he would never have that same unconditional love and, in his heart, he knew why. He would never trust anyone to get that close to him again.
* * *
Ryan walked back into his office leaving Dorothy Dunstan speaking with Molly. He hoped that she had listened to his instructions and would adhere to the strict diet, and the headaches would in time subside. There was of course a very good chance that the cause of her daily headache was George, and if that was the case there really was no medicinal cure. The only cure would be to leave him. And a woman like Dorothy would never consider that an option.
As he closed his door, Ryan’s thoughts unexpectedly turned from Dorothy to Molly. Molly, with her uncontrolled mop of brown curls and contagious smile. And feisty attitude. The agency had told him Molly Murphy would be temping at the office to replace Maxine, his office manager of six years who had slipped and broken her arm in her Zumba class. Immediately he had formed a picture in his mind of a pleasant and efficient Irish woman in her late fifties or early sixties to replace his very efficient but now injured gym junkie and almost sixty-year-old office manager. With an image of the Irish replacement having a love of home knits, wonderful cooking skills and a slight brogue accent, Ryan felt confident the woman would meet the needs of the family-focussed practice for four weeks. She would be the wholesome motherly figure like Maxine whom his patients would like and adapt to quickly.
Then Molly had arrived and she didn’t come close to his vision. In her mid to late twenties, she had no Irish accent, and she didn’t seem the type to sit home knitting. She had shot his clichéd assumptions out of the water. She certainly was a conundrum. And more than a little difficult to read. He had observed her open and comforting rapport with patients during the morning and decided that her chosen path in a medical support role matched her natural affinity with people and his patients would quickly warm to her, but there was something that didn’t add up. Her administration skills appeared more than competent but her medical expertise appeared more aligned to that of a doctor or nurse. He had overheard her speaking to more than one patient and the level of detail she provided exposed the true depth of her knowledge. The agency had not provided a résumé as his request had come at short notice but Molly came highly recommended and very quickly Ryan could see why.
He couldn’t deny he was curious about her. There was definitely more to Molly Murphy than met the eye.
At odds with her empathetic nature was a woman who had come out fighting like a cornered alley cat when he’d mentioned her dubious footwear. He was grateful that he hadn’t raised the matter of her arriving drenched to the bone with only minutes to spare.
He shook his head a little as he crossed to his desk and opened up the emails on his computer. Not many people surprised Ryan McFetridge any more. He treated most people with a level of distrust until they could prove otherwise and he believed that he could fairly easily and accurately sum them up. But he didn’t feel his usual level of confidence about his summation of Molly. He wasn’t sure what he felt but it did unsettle him that he felt something.
He closed his emails. There was nothing of interest, just a reminder about a medical association event he had agreed to attend the next evening and some pharmaceutical promotions. Running one hand through his short black hair, he opened the afternoon patient roster as he routinely did after every morning’s appointments were completed. He did a double take and, far from being annoyed, his interest was piqued when he saw changes to the layout of the next day’s patient listing. He hovered the cursor over the first name and the medical history and purpose of the appointment appeared. He tried it again on the next patient and again the function allowed him access to the notes of the previous three visits without going into each patient’s records. It was an abbreviated medical history with a link to archived notes. He smirked. Molly Murphy had been doing some upgrades. The reference to these details was an impressive feature and a function of the software package that he had never accessed because he hadn’t been aware it existed. Molly certainly knew the program well. And Ryan was more than impressed. He had not asked for improvements, nor had the busy schedule provided her with additional time on her hands to do this out of boredom. Molly had used initiative to make improvements. Again, she had surprised him and that never happened. Not any more.
Molly Murphy, he thought, you might just be the perfect for-ever woman...for my practice, he quickly qualified.
Ryan McFetridge had no need for a for-ever woman in any other area of his life. And particularly not a woman like Molly. She appeared very different from the women with whom Ryan kept company. Her manner with patients was genuine. The empathy showed a warm heart beneath her shapeless clothes. The women Ryan preferred wore clothes that hugged their shapes but underneath there was no sign of a heart. And that suited him. A night of mutual satisfaction with a woman who was not wanting or expecting more was all he wanted.
Because Ryan McFetridge had nothing to give. Nor did he want anything back.
He rested back in his large black leather chair, a touch of melancholy colouring his mood as he swivelled to look out through the rain-spotted window to the overcast streetscape. It was cold and miserable, with few people in sight, but for some inexplicable reason Ryan felt different. His mood was lighter. And Ryan had not felt anything close to that in a very long time. He brushed aside the coincidence of his mood lifting on the same day that Molly had started work. It was just that. A coincidence. It couldn’t be anything more.
His sole focus outside his work was his daughter. She was his motivation to keep going. To build a legacy to ensure she never needed or wanted for anything. That responsibility weighed heavily. And he would never let her down.
Or ever let anyone hurt her.
Ever again.
* * *
Swivelling back on his chair and returning his focus to his computer screen, he realised Molly Murphy knew her stuff and he couldn’t help but wonder about her background and her qualifications. And why she was working in a role that Ryan suspected was far less than her capability. He knew so little about her. He had to admit to himself he had noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring. He didn’t know why he’d even looked. But with Molly he was curious to know more. Although the absence didn’t mean there was no significant other in her life. And he reminded himself that she could potentially have children, although they would be relatively young.
But none of it mattered, he continued to remind himself. She was his office manager. Nothing more. Nothing less. But it still didn’t stop thoughts of her occupying his head. She was pretty in an almost fragile way but she had spunk and clearly knew how to take care of herself. And now his practice. There was something about Molly that reminded Ryan of the weather outside...unpredictable and challenging.
And Ryan McFetridge had always loved winter.
He drummed his fingers on the edge of his mahogany desk. It was inlaid with a deep burgundy leather and not in keeping with the rest of the more modern decor but it had been a graduation gift from his parents. As they had both since died not long after he’d opened his practice in Adelaide, he loved having something to remind him of them every day. His childhood had been happy and filled with love and encouragement and one of Ryan’s many regrets was that Lizzy had never met her paternal grandparents.
He rested his chin on one hand as he began to scan through his emails. He needed to g
et back on track and stop being distracted by random thoughts, especially those of his new staff member. Pondering the unknown was pointless and wasting time. He reminded himself firmly that Molly Murphy’s past, present or future after the immediate four-week placement was not his business. With common sense born from the realities he had faced over the years since Lizzy had come into his life, Ryan knew, no matter what effect Molly was or wasn’t having on him, he had to keep it purely business.
* * *
Despite her best intentions, Molly’s own curiosity continued to niggle at her new-found peace of mind. Lingering doubts were replaced by an unsettling and growing interest in knowing a little more about her temporary boss. As much as she also tried to push thoughts about Ryan away as she sipped on lunch, they kept returning. While she felt secure in the knowledge that she had ongoing employment for a month, she felt concerned about why she wanted to know more about her employer. And his daughter. She wondered if Lizzy was using her mother’s surname or maiden name. Not that any of it mattered. She was not naturally curious but now, for some inexplicable reason, she wanted to know more than was necessary to carry out her job.
Why did he have to be so damned attractive and, from all appearances, a loving father? she thought as she pursed her lips. She gently blew on her spoonful of soup in an attempt to cool it slightly. She had not been interested in men since her engagement ended. And she had to keep it that way. He was a man giving her employment for a month. And in her financial situation it was not unlike a rope to a drowning man. A godsend. She couldn’t confuse gratitude for anything more than that. She couldn’t afford to romanticise the situation.
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