by Betty Neels
She opened the door, and Miss Fortesque swept past her and advanced with a little cry to where the doctor had risen to meet her. Louisa waited long enough to see him greet his patient with bland courtesy, but over that lady’s head he shot Louisa a look which made her blink. ‘If you would be good enough to send in Sister Grant?’
Miss Fortesque had been coming regularly for some months and she could never be hurried. Today the consultation lasted twice as long as usual, and when she finally came out of the consulting room she left in high spirits.
She tripped over to Louisa’s desk and bent over it to whisper, ‘He’s gorgeous; I hope Sir James is away for a long time. Is he married?’
‘I believe that he’s engaged, Miss Fortesque. Sir James will be away only for a short time. Shall I book you in for your next appointment?’
‘Yes, I’d better come sooner, I think. I don’t feel as well. Next week, perhaps?’
‘I’m afraid we’re fully booked for the whole week. Shall I fit you in on the following week and let you know?’
‘Yes, do that. Before Sir James gets back.’ Miss Fortesque gave her a little smile. ‘Lucky you, here all day with him. Though I don’t suppose he really notices you.’ Her gaze swept over Louisa’s person, suitably dressed for her job with not a bracelet or earring in sight, and she smiled again.
Louisa got up. ‘I’ll show you out, Miss Fortesque,’ she said, and ushered the lady through the door and closed it with a sigh of relief. She locked it, too. There were no more patients for the moment and they could have a cup of tea.
They had their tea sitting at her desk. Jilly had just carried Dr Gifford’s tea tray in, and reported that he had thanked her nicely and smiled. ‘He’s on the phone,’ she said. ‘I like him.’
Mrs Grant chuckled. ‘So did Miss Fortesque, but that cut no ice with him. Very professional, he was, lovely manners, beautiful bedside manner, too, but remote, if you know what I mean. I must say he’s a remarkably handsome man.’ She glanced at Louisa. ‘He’s good too; I’m not surprised Sir James got hold of him. Are they old friends, I wonder?’
‘Perhaps you could find out when you go back with him tomorrow,’ said Jilly.
‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Grant. ‘It’s none of our business, Jilly. Let’s get tidied up; old Lady Follett will be here very shortly.’
They were piling cups and saucers on the tray when the door opened and Dr Gifford put his head round. ‘Miss Howarth, if you will come?’
He motioned her to a chair. ‘Lady Follett. I see that Sir James intended to suggest hospital treatment. Does she know this?’
‘No. He wrote to Mr Wolfitt, the surgeon he had in mind, and asked about beds and so on. We’ve had no reply as yet.’
He nodded. ‘And Mr Tait—I see there’s a query on his notes.’
‘Mr Tait can’t make up his mind whether to start a course of treatment or not.’
‘Thank you.’ He glanced up. ‘You are most helpful, Miss Howarth.’
It was after six o’clock when Mr Tait left, still undecided, allowing them to clear up quickly and go home, leaving Dr Gifford sitting at his desk.
‘Poor man,’ said Mrs Grant as they wished each other goodnight on the pavement. ‘I hope there’s someone to look after him.’
‘I should think he’s quite capable of looking after himself,’ said Louisa.
* * *
There were only two patients Friday morning, but both were new so they took a good deal longer than usual. Louisa, as neat as a new pin, her overnight bag safely in the cloakroom, got on with her work and wondered if there was any news of Sir James. She had seen Mrs Watts and explained that she would be away from her flat from time to time, and that lady had agreed to keep an eye on the place if she wasn’t there.
‘Mind you, I wouldn’t do it for everyone, but, knowing it’s the doctor that needs you to work for him, I’ll do it willingly.’
Dr Gifford had said they would be leaving at noon and it was precisely that when he came into the waiting room. ‘Ready?’ he wanted to know, and added to Mrs Grant, ‘You’ll lock up and see to everything, Mrs Grant?’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘I’ve left my address and the phone number on the desk; don’t hesitate to let me know if anything crops up which you can’t deal with. You know what to say if anyone wants an appointment?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He took Louisa’s bag from her and ushered her out of the door and down to the pavement, wasted no time in urging her to get into his car, and drove away without speaking.
Louisa allowed five minutes to pass as he crossed the city. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked mildly.
‘Gussage-up-Chettle, just this side of Cranborne.’ He added, ‘The practice is at Blandford; there are surgeries at Cranborne, Broad Chalke and Sixpenny Handley.’
‘Very spread out,’ said Louisa.
‘There is a lot of rural country to cover. Normally we manage very well.’
‘Well, let’s hope that Sir James is back soon. Have you had any news of him?’
He was on the Blandford road, driving fast now. ‘Yes.’
When he had nothing more to say, she said, ‘All right, so you’re not going to tell me anything. It’s a good thing that this is a situation which will soon be over—I hope—for we don’t get on, do we? Of course, it isn’t your fault—you can’t like everyone you meet, can you?’
He had turned off the main road and was driving quite slowly now along country lanes running between farm land. He said coldly, ‘Far be it from me to dispute your opinion, Miss Howarth. Perhaps we might ignore our personal feelings and concentrate on what we have to do. I should appreciate your co-operation.’
‘Oh, I’ll co-operate,’ said Louisa cheerfully. ‘It wouldn’t do for Sir James to come back to chaos, would it?’
His grunt told her nothing.
He turned a corner and there was Gussage-up-Chettle. A handful of cottages, a church set astride a crossroads, fields of ripening wheat stretching away towards gentle tree-covered hills.
‘Oh, very nice,’ said Louisa. ‘I’ve never been here before.’
She didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t get one. He took the left-hand fork, turned in through an open gateway and stopped before a house half-hidden by trees and shrubs. Louisa got out and took a good look at it. It was what an estate agent would have described as a ‘gentleman’s residence’, mostly Regency which had been added to from time to time, for it had a variety of windows at odd levels, wide eaves and a cluster of tall chimneys. The roof was tiled and its walls whitewashed, and the flowerbeds around it were stuffed with flowers—roses of every colour, scabias, wallflowers, morning glory, myrtle, late tulips, forget-me-nots; she lost count.
Dr Gifford had taken her bag from the boot. ‘Come in; lunch will be ready.’
The door stood open, leading to a wide hall, its polished floor strewn with rugs. There was a console table under a giltwood Queen Anne mirror flanked by two side chairs, their high backs upholstered in green velvet. The walls were white with one or two fine paintings which she had no time to study, for the baize door at the back of the hall was opened and a woman as tall and big as Louisa came to meet them. She was middle-aged, her hair still dark, her features severe, but they broke into a smile as she reached them.
‘Ah, there you are, Rosie,’ said the doctor, and to Louisa, ‘This is my housekeeper, Rosie, Miss Howarth. Rosie, will you take Miss Howarth up to her room?’
He turned to Louisa. ‘Lunch in ten minutes. We shall have time to go through the post before my surgery.’
Louisa paused. ‘What post?’
‘I brought it with me from Salisbury. You can get it answered while you are here.’
He was walking away to a door at the side of the hall, and had it opened and went into the room beyond before she could
utter a word.
‘This way, miss,’ said Rosie, and she led the way up a nice old oak staircase to the floor above. ‘This will be your room, and if there’s anything that you need you have only to say.’
Louisa stood in the doorway and looked around her. The room was charming and overlooked what appeared to be a very large garden at the back of the house. It was furnished simply but, she could see at a glance, there was every comfort there.
She said warmly, ‘What a delightful room. Thank you, Rosie.’
The housekeeper nodded. ‘Best not waste time; the doctor’s a punctual man.’
She went away, leaving Louisa very tempted to waste ten minutes doing nothing. That wouldn’t do, of course; she was here to work, and obviously the doctor had already arranged that to his satisfaction. She poked at her hair, did her face, took a quick, refreshing look out of the window and went downstairs.
Lunch was served in a large, airy room, its windows wide open. Its walls were panelled in a pale wood. There was a mahogany bow front sideboard, matching the Georgian dining table with its ring of matching dining chairs, and a carpet worn with age on the floor. A priceless carpet, Louisa thought, taking the chair the doctor had pulled back for her.
‘Will you have some of this cold ham? One of the local farmers cures his own,’ the doctor told her.
She accepted the ham and made a good lunch, for she saw no reason not to. Nothing was quite what she had expected but that couldn’t be helped. The meal was delicious and she was hungry. Nevertheless she endeavoured to make conversation since that was the polite thing to do. But without much success. She was answered civilly, but it was obvious that the doctor was a man who never used two words if one would do.
They had their coffee at the table before he said abruptly, ‘If you will come with me to my study, Miss Howarth?’
It was a comfortable room with an untidy desk, an old-fashioned mahogany office chair behind it and a couple of deep leather chairs drawn up on either side of the fireplace. Louisa sat down on one of the small chairs facing the desk and waited.
‘I have been through most of the letters for Sir James,’ said Dr Gifford, ‘and made notes. If you would answer them suitably? Most of them are straightforward; most of them require two appointments. You have brought the appointment book with you? Arrange them as you think fit, using the timetable we have set up. Phone Mrs Grant if you need to, and any of the patients should you feel it necessary. Please make it clear that for the moment Sir James is away, and, if they prefer, give them a provisional date in ten days’ time. We will deal with the reports from the path labs and hospitals this evening.’
‘Where am I to work?’
‘Here. I think you will find everything you will need. I hope to be back around five o’clock. Rosie will bring you tea. We will dine at eight and do the rest of the work this evening.’
He got up, saying to her surprise, ‘Why not take a few minutes’ stroll in the garden before you start? I’m going now; you won’t be disturbed during the afternoon.’ He turned at the door. ‘Do you like dogs?’
‘Yes.’
‘I shall bring my dog back with me.’
He was holding the door open for her. As she went past him, she asked, ‘What’s his name?’
‘Bellow.’
‘Oh, that sounds like a Latin word—something to do with wars...’
He answered gravely, ‘No, no, nothing so alarming. He has a permanent wheeze.’
‘Oh, bellow, of course!’ She smiled up at him and encountered his bland stare.
He opened a door at the back of the hall leading to the garden and left her then, and she went outside and strolled around, admiring everything. There was nothing formal about the garden, but it was beautifully tended and had been planned and planted by someone with a masterly eye. Just looking at it soothed her, although she wasn’t sure why she needed to be soothed.
There was plenty of work for her to get on with during the afternoon. She dealt with the post in a competent manner, set aside anything she felt the doctor should see himself, and when a tray of tea came sat back and enjoyed it, feeling that she had earned it. And I only hope dinner will be a bit more sociable than lunch, thought Louisa, biting into the last of the scones.
It was tiresome to know so little about the doctor. The practice was obviously a large and far-flung one; he had a partner and he must bear his share of the workload. But he was, after all, a GP, and unlike Sir James didn’t have consulting rooms and a big private practice. She paused to think. She was only guessing; for all she knew he might be a brilliant medical man, preferring to hide his light under a bushel, coming out of obscurity in order to help Sir James.
‘I really must find out,’ said Louisa, talking to herself since there was no one else to talk to.
‘What must you find out, Miss Howarth?’ The doctor’s voice, so quiet just behind her, took her by surprise so that she choked on her scone, coughing and spluttering while he thumped her back.
When she at last caught her breath, she said indignantly, ‘What a beastly thing to do, creeping up on me like that...’
She turned round to look at him, standing there with a very large, silent dog at his side, and he said gravely, ‘I do apologise. I had no idea that you were of a nervous disposition.’
Not an answer to soothe her already ruffled feelings.
CHAPTER THREE
LOUISA SAID, ‘I am not in the least nervous, Dr Gifford.’ And she held out a fist for Bellow to explore. ‘This is Bellow? He looks magnificent. What breed is he?’
She spoke in the coldly polite voice of someone who had been brought up to be courteous at all costs, and the doctor hid a smile.
‘His father was a St Bernard, his mother a Great Dane. A formidable parentage. Contrary to his appearance, he is a very mild dog, likes cats and children, but I have no doubt he would protect his own if they needed it.’
Louisa reflected that the doctor looked quite capable of protecting himself, but if Rosie was alone in the house Bellow would be splendid company.
Bellow sniffed at her fist and butted it gently with his great head.
Dr Gifford went to his desk and glanced through the orderly papers she had laid ready there. ‘Finished? We have an hour or so before dinner...’
He sat down with Bellow beside him, and Louisa sat down opposite to him, and together they went through the work she had done and then worked their way through the list of Sir James’s patients. It took quite a while.
He closed the diary finally. ‘Shall we have drinks outside? It is a pleasant evening and we could both do with half an hour’s peace.’
They sat in comfortable chairs under a mulberry tree at the end of the garden, drinking chilled white wine and making no attempt at conversation. When Rosie came to tell them that dinner would be in fifteen minutes, Louisa got up, murmured about tidying herself and went to her room. She was already quite tidy; she almost always was. She did her hair and face and deplored the fact that the only dress she had brought with her was the one she was wearing, a beautifully cut and expensive coat dress in stone-coloured shantung silk, entirely suitable for her job. And the epitome of good taste. All the same she would have liked to look more glamorous. Dr Gifford’s complete uninterest in her person irked her.
He might have no interest in her but he was a good host. She was there under sufferance, as it were— certainly he would never have invited her—she was there to help out in a sudden and awkward situation.
And somehow, throughout dinner, he managed to remind her of that. Not that it mattered much. Louisa was hungry and Rosie was a splendid cook, providing watercress soup, rack of lamb and a magnificent toffee pudding. They maintained just sufficient conversation to be polite, had their coffee at the table and went back to the study to do more work. It was barely ten o’clock by the time
the doctor was satisfied that everything was as near perfect as it could be.
‘You must be tired,’ he observed. ‘I hope you have everything you need—Rosie will get anything you might want. Breakfast is at eight o’clock. I have a morning surgery before we leave.’
She bade him goodnight and went to her room. Someone had put a bowl of fruit and a bottle of water on the bedside table as well as the day’s newspaper. A well-run household, thought Louisa, lying in the bath, eating an apple. He might work hard, but there was no lack of comfort, luxury, even.
She slept soundly and went down to breakfast to find the doctor already at the table. He wished her good morning, hoped that she had slept well and invited her to sit down and help herself.
He was sorting through his post as he spoke, and presently said, ‘I shall be about two hours, if you will be ready to leave then? While I am gone perhaps you would sort out this lot for me—bills and so forth. My secretary at the surgery will deal with the rest.’ He gave her a level look. ‘It would be of great help to me.’
‘Yes, of course, and phone calls?’
‘If there are any. Put them through to the surgery if they are to do with patients—the number is on my desk. Anything social perhaps you can refuse—say I’m busy or going away.’
There were several phone calls, mostly of a social nature; it seemed that the doctor was both well known and well liked. Louisa, well versed in the art of graceful excuses, parried them all, made a note of them and drank the coffee Rosie brought her before going to get her overnight bag.
No time was wasted; the doctor came in on a surge of energy, picked up her bag, bade Rosie goodbye, bent to pull Bellow’s ears with gentle affection and ushered Louisa into the car.
There was nothing to say for a time, until she told him of the morning’s phone calls and reminded him that his first patient at Sir James’s rooms was elderly and very deaf...
He nodded without speaking, and picked up the car phone. ‘Mrs Grant? We’re on our way. Could you have coffee and sandwiches for us? Everything is all right?’