The nurse was needed only to show patients from the waiting-room to the consulting-room, and was dressed in a white uniform so crisp and sparkling that she always appeared to have been just unwrapped from cellophane. She was also one of the prettiest girls I had ever met, which had spurred me to start a cosy conversation of hospital reminiscences during my first morning's work.
'I haven't actually been a nurse in hospital, darling,' she told me. 'Of course, I looked after my poor sister when she was poorly, but I'm not what you'd calf an invalid's nurse. Razzy's such a sweet, he gave me the job because he said I looked the part. I played a nurse once, in _Men in White._ Did you see it?'
I said no.
'After all, darling, it's not as if anyone we saw here was ill. We just don't have those sort of patients, do we, darling?'
She was right: most of our practice consisted of old gentlemen wondering if they could take out more life insurance, young gentlemen wondering if they'd caught unfortunate diseases, and young women wondering if they were pregnant. Anyone seriously ill was immediately sent north of Oxford Street to the consultants who kept in most successfully with Razzy. It was St Swithin's casualty-room again, first class; but even Dr Hockett's practice would have been bearable with three Rolls-Royces.
Everyone seemed to like Razzy, and I soon became as fond of him as the rest of his employees. He was a shrewd clinician who had the supreme medical gift of always knowing whether a patient was really ill or not; he was an equally shrewd business man, whose polite patter about money always made people give him more and accept less. The only faintly shady part of the practice was our electrocardiograph, an instrument for taking electrical records of the heart, which represented the conflict between Razzy the doctor and Razzy the financier: he knew that as a diagnostic aid it was almost useless, but he hated not seeing a return on his capital. It was an old model, as untidy as an experimental television set, but every time he set out on a professional visit the electrocardiograph followed in its Rolls. The only occasion I saw Razzy looking worried after the case of the Duke's corn plasters was the morning he returned from an urgent call to a newspaper owner, who had suffered a stroke in the bathroom.
'A near thing, dear boy,' he told me, as he came through the door shaking his head. 'A damn near thing,'
'What, did you pull him through?'
'Oh, no, the old boy's dead. But I only got the electrocardiograph there in the nick of time.'
Our most constant, and most profitable, patients in the practice were several dozen neurotic women, all of whom were in love with Razzy. He had long, soothing telephone conversations with them frequently during the day, and they often appeared dramatically at the front door in the evening, dressed up like an advertisement for Cartier's.
'Yes, of course, they're in love with me, dear boy,' he stated one day. 'Speaking quite objectively, it's the only thing that keeps most of them from suicide. What else would you expect me to do?'
'But surely, Razzy,' I protested, 'don't you sometimes find it rather awkward?'
'Not in the least, dear boy. I don't have to be in love with them.'_
My spell in Razzy's practice was delightful; I soon forgot Dr Hockett, Jasmine, and the Wilkins family, and even managed to shift Wilson, Willowick, and Wellbeloved from the front of my mind. Although I was never allowed to treat the aristocracy again, he let me try my hand at a few actors and an M.P. or two, until I had worked my way so deeply into the practice that a reminder of my impermanence came as a shock.
'I'm seeing my partner tomorrow,' Razzy said one Saturday morning, when I had been with him over two months. 'He's coming along famously. Absolutely famously. We'll have him back in another few weeks.'
'I'm glad,' I lied.
'And I expect you're simply itching to get back to the Himalayas again, aren't you, dear boy?'
'Well, not itching exactly-'
'I'm so pleased you came to help us out. You've done terribly well, you know. All my old dears think the world of you. The wife of that Coal Board fellow told me yesterday you were a pet.'
'I'll certainly be sorry to leave. I've even thought of having a go at a practice somewhere round here myself.'
For a second Razzy's eyes narrowed. 'I wouldn't advise it, dear boy. I really wouldn't. It's quite a dog's life really. The struggle to get started-terrible! And the competition. Most frightful. You'd be far better off in the Himalayas.'
There were no patients waiting, so we stood for a while looking silently out of the window. It was a brilliant spring day, the buds on the trees in Hyde Park were straining like hatching chicks, the passers-by were stepping along jauntily without their overcoats, and even the Park Lane traffic smelt warmly exciting.
'Spring, dear boy' said Razzy with a contented sigh, as if hearing that a millionaire had fallen a couple of floors down our lift-shaft. He stayed watching the people hurrying away for their week-ends. 'Do you know, dear boy, I haven't had an afternoon off since I met that fellow Grimsdyke at the races? That's the sort of practice we're in. Always on tap. It's what they pay for I suppose.' After a pause he added, 'I know it's your free afternoon, but I wondered if you'd care to do a little fort-holding?'
'More than delighted, Razzy. Honestly.'
'Bless you, dear boy. Then I'm off to Sunningdale. I'll dine out and turn up about midnight in case there are any messages. Everyone will be out of town on a week-end like this, anyway.'
After lunch he changed into flannels, rang up a well-known film actress and persuaded her to keep him company, picked up his clubs, and set off for the links in the number one Rolls. Alone in the flat, I slipped off my shoes and sprawled on the soft curtained couch used for examining patients in the consulting-room. Beside me I arranged a pile of the _New Yorker_ and _Life, Recent Advances in Surgery,_ a reprint of _The Citadel,_ a box of chocolates I'd found in the secretary's desk, and the bottle of _Cordon Bleu_ brandy kept in the medicine cupboard. I hoped that Razzy had an enjoyable day off, but I saw no reason for working on a Saturday afternoon myself in discomfort.
Before he had been away half an hour the door-bell rang. I jumped up, pulled on my shoes, swiftly pushed my comforts under the couch, and opened the door. On the mat was a tall, amiable looking man with a droopy white moustache, who wore a tweed suit and carried a heavy dispatch-case embossed with the Royal cypher in gold.
'Good afternoon,' he said pleasantly. 'I have an appointment with Dr Potter-Phipps.'
I looked puzzled.
'My private secretary arranged it earlier in the week. I'm afraid Saturday afternoon is my only free time at present. I hope it is not unduly inconvenient for the doctor?'
'I'm terribly sorry, but there's been a mistake,' I said, letting him in. 'Dr Potter-Phipps is away at the moment. I'm his assistant. Just a minute, and I'll look at the book.'
'Thank you. My name is Beecham. It seemed simpler to call here than to ask him to visit me.' He smiled. 'And no doubt more economical.'
'But I'm afraid the appointment was made for next Saturday.'
'Oh, dear! How infuriating. This is not the first time such a mistake has occurred. And next Saturday I shall be in Edinburgh.' He assessed me. 'Perhaps I could have a consultation with you instead, Doctor? I did rather want to be off to the country this lovely afternoon.'
'I should be very pleased,' I told him, with a brief bow. 'Kindly come into the consulting-room.'
'You will be wanting my medical history first, no doubt,' he went on, as he sat down. 'I have it specially tabulated in my mind. Age, sixty-one. Married. Occupation, cabinet minister. Usual childhood complaints. I'm not going too fast?'
'Did you say "cabinet minister?" That was flying high, even for us.
'I am the Minister of Inland Development,' he added modestly, as though referring to a favourable golf handicap. I suddenly remembered seeing his photograph in the papers a week ago, snipping a tape and giving the country another bridge. He seemed a pleasant old boy, but as I had never even seen a cabinet minister before I wondere
d how to address him. I decided to play for safety, and treat him roughly like a duke.
'Of course, sir,' I said. 'I'm-I'm terribly sorry not to have recognized you at once. Please forgive me. Now perhaps you'd be so kind as to allow me to ask you a few questions?'
He folded his arms. 'Of course, Doctor. Do exactly what you wish. I place myself entirely in your hands. As I was saying to the Minister of Health yesterday, what on earth's the use of seeing a doctor if, you don't follow his advice, disregarding entirely your own opinion of the complaint? He said your own opinion of the doctor was possibly more important.' My patient smiled. 'Of course, he was only joking. He has quite a wit.'
'Oh, quite. Now what's the trouble, sir?'
As the Minister seemed to be suffering from pains connected with the spinal column, I pointed to the examination couch and told him to take his clothes off.
'All my clothes, Doctor?'
'Yes, please. I want a good look at you.'
'Anything you say, of course.'
I had just drawn the curtains round him as he started unbuttoning his waistcoat, when the bell rang 'again.
'Just a minute,' I said.
On the doormat I found an attractive, tall, dark woman with a mink cape slipping off her shoulders, who clutched at her throat and cried, 'Oh, God! Oh, God! I'm going to die!'
All I could think of saying was, 'Here I say, steady on!' She pushed past me, threw herself on the waiting-room couch, and burst into tears.
I quickly shut off the Minister of Inland Development in the consulting-room.
'If I can possibly help you, dear lady,' I said anxiously, 'I certainly will. But if you could perhaps control yourself a little-'
'Razzy!' she cried. 'Razzy, darling! Where is he?'
'Dr Erasmus Potter-Phipps happens to have taken the afternoon off. He's playing golf.'
'He's with another woman,' she sobbed. 'Janet said he'd asked that bitch Helen.'
'Well, dash it, only golf,' I murmured. I began to feel I was not showing the mastery of the situation expected from the medical attendant. During my two months in Park Lane I had learned more about handling difficult people than in five years at St Swithin's, where most of the patients treated the doctors with the same frightened respect they gave the police; but the dynamic women in Dr Potter-Phipps' unilateral love-life were beyond me.
The girl moaned, covered her face with her hands, and cried, 'What shall I do? What shall I do? I want to die, that's all. To die-to die-'
As I was deciding what to try next, she suddenly looked up as if she had never seen me before.
'Who are you?' she asked.
'I'm Dr Potter-Phipps' assistant,' I said politely. 'Can I help you?'
_'No one _can help me!' Her face was pale, her eye-shadow was streaked down her cheeks, her hat was awry with emotion. Suddenly she threw aside her arms and began to scream.
My visitor had at least no disease of the respiratory system. There was nothing of the wronged woman's sobs about her: when she screamed, she took a deep breath, braced her larynx, and let fly like the knocking-off whistle in a shipyard.
'Please, please!' I shouted. 'Can't you compose yourself?'
She immediately drew another breath and started again, now pummelling her forehead with her fists, and hammering her heels on the floor.
By now I was less worried about her clinical condition-she was obviously well filled with the life force-than about my reputation. The most solemn piece of clinical advice we had received in St Swithin's was never to treat a female patient unless a nurse was present; and any minute now the door would probably be broken down by the porters, the police, or the fire brigade, all thirsting to play St George.
'Damnation!' I cried. 'Stop it!'
She settled herself in a higher key, and continued. Here was a major clinical problem: the gynaecological instruction at St Swithin's was excellent, but had included no advice on the way to treat hysterical women single-handed. Fortunately, I remembered from reading novels that the traditional remedy was a sharp slap across the face, and overcoming the inhibitions of an English public school education I crouched down and caught her a smart smack on the left cheekbone. Instead of this quelling her, she immediately countered with a powerful left uppercut which knocked me off my balance, and started picking up all the movable pieces of furniture in the waiting-room and throwing them at me.
I managed to struggle to my feet from a pile of broken china and glass, torn magazines, and telephone directories, just in time to prevent her concussing me with the standard-lamp.
'What the devil do you think you're up to?' I demanded angrily. I gripped her arms. 'Are you trying to kill me or something?'
'You struck a woman!' Through her redistribution of energy she had thankfully stopped screaming. 'You cad!'
'Of course I did! For your own good, you idiotic female. Why, you're as hysterical as a cat stuck in a chimney-pot!'
She looked at me closely, narrowing her eyes. 'I hate you!' she hissed. Then she fell into my arms and collapsed into humble tears.
After some minutes of patting her on the back and murmuring consolation I said, 'Don't you think you ought to go home and lie down? If you like I'll give you a prescription for a sedative. Have a good sleep-you'll feel ever so much better.'
She blew her nose miserably. 'I'll stay here until Razzy comes back.'
'But Dr Potter-Phipps may be away all night. I mean, he might have to go to a case somewhere after his golf,' I said quickly. 'I'd go home now if I were you.'
Still clutching me, she asked pathetically, 'Take me home. Please take me. I couldn't face it. Not alone.'
'Really, that's asking rather a lot, you know.'
'Please! It's not far.'
I hesitated. 'Oh, all right, then.' I had to get rid of her somehow. 'If you promise to behave yourself on the way.'
She nodded her head. 'I promise,' she said, like a penitent schoolgirl.
I left the flat, and helped her down the stairs to the street. I called a taxi and we got in together.
'Who is there to look after you?' I asked.
She shook her head.
'Haven't you any relatives or friends you could get hold of?'
'I hate them all.'
I turned and stared at the beautiful blue and gold afternoon outside and wished I had been Dr Potter-Phipps' caddie.
The girl lived at the far end of Curzon Street, and we drove along in silence. Suddenly she announced more cheerfully. 'You know, I've been a bloody fool.'
I swung round, and found her carefully doing her make-up.
'I must say you've been acting a little oddly, even for this part of the world.'
She smiled for the first time. 'I am a silly thing, aren't I? Fancy getting all worked up like that. I suppose I did have rather a lot to drink at lunch time. That always sends me off the rails a bit. Didn't you think I was crazy?'
'It did cross my mind to send for the strong-arm squad, I admit.'
'I'm so glad you didn't. And such a heavenly day, too!' She closed her compact with a snap. 'Here we are. Won't you come in for a minute and have a drink? I should think you need one.?
'I really don't think I should-'
'Come on! I'll ring the exchange and have your calls put through to my number. Razzy often does.'
I wavered. Being alone with female patients was bad enough; going to their flats afterwards for drinks would certainly raise every eyebrow on the General Medical Council. Still, it was spring…
Just a quick one, then,' I said.
'My name's Kitty,' she told me, opening the door. 'I've only got a very tiny flat, but make yourself at home. Razzy does.'
The flat would have taken my Bayswater room a dozen times, and was furnished with an amiable extravagance that must have taken Razzy's fancy. Kitty immediately threw open the window, took a deep breath, and trilled, 'Spring, spring, spring! Isn't it lovely? Don't you adore the spring? With the primroses and the cowslips and the bluebells and things? I swore I'
d have a window-box this year. What'll you have to drink, darling?'
'I've started on brandy this afternoon already, I'm afraid. So I suppose I'd better go on, if you've got any.
'Sure, my pet. Brandy it is. The place is stiff with it.'
She brought from the cupboard two tumblers, and a bottle with a plain label bearing only a crown and the date 1904.
'Here, steady on,' I called, as she half-filled both glasses. 'I'm sure that stuff's supposed to be drunk by the thimbleful.'
'Here's to life,' she said, taking a large drink. 'That's better!' Then she sat on the sofa beside me. 'Tell me about yourself.'
'There's not much to tell.' I licked my lips, savouring the brandy. 'I'm Dr Potter-Phipps's temporary assistant, that's all.'
'You're very young to be a doctor.'
'As a matter of fact-and it must prove something, because I wouldn't tell it to everybody-I haven't been a doctor very long.'
'I could tell you hadn't much practical experience the moment I fell into your arms in your flat.'
'Oh, dear! And I thought I was being such a commanding figure.'
She laughed.
'By the way,' I said modestly. 'I'm sorry I clocked you one.'
'And I'm sorry I clocked you one, too, Doctor darling.'
We both laughed and had some more brandy. After a while, everything seemed to become very cosy.
'It must be wonderful being a doctor,' she said dreamily. 'Curing people who are stricken.'
'There isn't all that much curing in it. And fortunately most of the people arriving on our doormat aren't very stricken.'
'But it's lovely to have someone to sympathize with you and hold your hand and tell you you're wonderful even if you're not really ill. That's where Razzy's so marvellous. Have you noticed his eyes?' She threw back her head. 'Hypnotic! Cruelly hypnotic.'
'I'm afraid I can't reach those heights, but I can certainly sympathize with you and-' I held her hand-'tell you you're wonderful.'
'You're sweet,' she said, getting up. 'I'm going to change.'
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