Doctor In The Swim

by Richard Gordon

  Squiffy gazed at me. ‘Have you ever known anyone anywhere to get their money back out of a bookie?’

  ‘You have a point,’ I agreed.

  ‘Can’t you give her something, Grim?’ he pleaded. ‘Surely you medical coves these days have all sorts of wonder drugs up your sleeves?’

  ‘German measles isn’t in the wonder drug class.’

  ‘But damn it! How on earth did she catch it in the first place?’

  ‘From the kid who was sick in the swimming bath, I suppose. Four days is just about the incubation period.’

  ‘I’m going to chuck myself off the pier,’ announced Squiffy.

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s about the best thing you could do,’ I told him, not only thoroughly fed up with the chump but having worries of my own.

  I strode back to the chalet to prepare a nice little speech for next Saturday’s wedding. As I’d already lined up the Ascot outfit from Mr Moss and his invaluable brothers, and as Dame Hilda had bought the ring and sent me the bill from Asprey’s, this was all that remained for me to contribute to the proceedings. I sat down at the bedside table with a sheet of paper. As I remembered from acting as second on these occasions, the happy bridegroom first brought merry chuckles all round by referring to ‘My wife’, then he thanked all the uncles and aunts for the cut glass and silverware, and ended up with a funny story to leave them in tucks over the champers. I went on staring at the paper. For the life of me I couldn’t think of a funny story. Even the one about the bishop and the parrot, which cleaned up a bit might do, seemed to have gone from my mind like last week’s cricket scores. I sat smoking cigarettes and gazing at the happy campers cavorting in the sunshine. But of course, I was happier than any of them. Lucky me was shortly going to marry the nicest, etc.

  I was interrupted by the reappearance of Squiffy.

  ‘Grim,’ he announced. ‘I’m a changed man.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Totally.’ He sat on the bed and twisted his legs. ‘A few minutes ago I was about to end it all, by chucking myself off the top board into the swimming pool.’

  ‘I thought it was going to be the pier?’

  ‘Yes, but the pool’s heated,’ Squiffy explained. ‘No point in being uncomfortable about it, is there? As I gazed in the swirling waters beneath I suddenly saw the error of my ways.’

  I picked up my pencil. I fancied I’d once heard a funny story about an old lady and a bus-conductor, and wondered if that might do.

  ‘Here am I,’ Squiffy continued. ‘Born with every advantage a child could want, including a wise father who saw the folly of placing in my youthful hands the agent of dissipation and self-destruction. I refer, of course, to the rhino.’

  I lit another cigarette.

  ‘Instead, my thoughtful pa placed in those hands the very key to the universe – the key of science. I’m quoting from that magazine I confiscated. And what did I do, Grim? I burnt the ruddy lab down, that’s what I did. I’m a fool.’

  I agreed.

  ‘Now I’m going straight back to Mireborough to beg forgiveness, and I’m going to work like stink and get a degree and benefit humanity. I might take up medicine after all, Grim. Are there any beastly medical jobs still going? Leper colonies, and so on?’

  I doodled a bit on the paper.

  ‘I should like now, Grim, to give a little talk to the girls on the subject. I feel they would find it very improving.’

  ‘I’m sure they would.’

  ‘I think they, too, might see the errors of their ways, and all go home and sing in the choir.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘And so, Grim, if you will kindly let me have your key to the isolation hospital–’

  ‘There you are,’ I told the chap shortly. ‘Now for heaven’s sake clear off. I’m busy.’

  ‘Thank you, Grim. Beside their little beds at night, for years to come, they will bless your heart. Just you wait and see.’

  Squiffy left. I sat over the paper, smoking more cigarettes and wondering what on earth it was the bishop said to that parrot, and vice versa.

  26

  By lunchtime everyone in the camp was becoming pretty excited at the prospect of seeing Basil Beauchamp. I was even feeling pretty excited myself. Which was odd, as I’d never been excited at the prospect of seeing Basil, even when we shared digs and he’d just got a part, which held out hope of his repaying my small advances.

  I hadn’t noticed Squiffy at lunch, which was odd as well, because I’d never known him miss his fish and chips. Feeling that he had decided to start his new life with a fast, or even with luck that he’d decided to chuck himself off the pier after all, I dismissed the chap from mind and went to join the mob waiting for Basil’s car to appear through the camp gate.

  Actually, it was Lucy’s little Aston Martin which appeared. With an escort of back-slappers, she drove slowly through the girls who were trying to kiss the windscreen towards the Dubarry Ballroom, Basil stepped out and gave his famous smile, everyone started screaming, photo bulbs flashed, a couple of girls fainted at the front, and he was whisked towards the stage door at the back.

  Lucy was left sitting behind the steering wheel. Nobody seemed to take any notice of her at all.

  ‘Lucy, old girl,’ I cried, making my way through the mob, which was chanting for Basil to come out and kiss it.

  ‘Why, Gaston!’ Her face brightened as she wound down the window. ‘Enjoying your holiday?’

  ‘Holiday? Good lord, it’s no holiday. Hard working stuff, you know, child welfare. Infectious diseases to treat, and so on.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to leave Town so suddenly.’

  ‘So was I. But I had to help out a professional chum. We doctors, you know. Got to stick together. How was Lord’s?’

  ‘Oh, fine. Basil cancelled an engagement and took me.’

  ‘And Glyndebourne?’

  ‘Oh, fine. Basil took me there, too.’

  She switched off her engine.

  ‘Of course,’ I added through the window, ‘it’s not only the opera, it’s the lovely surroundings.’

  ‘The surroundings? Oh, I didn’t really see much of the surroundings. Since Basil’s new film has been released, you never see much of anything at all when you’re with him. Except a sea of admiring faces, all looking exactly alike except for the expense of their make-up.’

  The mob started chanting, ‘Basil!’ over and over again, as though the chap were doing something really useful, like converting tries at Twickenham.

  ‘It’s tough luck on these posh actors,’ I observed. ‘No private life. Fans everywhere. Recognized at once, whether it’s L’Ecu de France or the local. Jolly hard on Basil having to put up with it.’

  ‘I think Basil puts up with it perfectly splendidly,’ said Lucy briefly. ‘Where’s my brother?’

  ‘I don’t know. He announced his intention of taking a swim from the pier.’

  ‘Who? George? But he won’t even take a bath unless the water’s boiling.’

  ‘The sea air seems to have made a bit of a change in him. Shall we go in and grab some seats for the show? It looks like being a full house.’

  We found Squiffy already sitting in the front row beside the little stage, which was all flags and flowers and with a special curtain at the back on a silken rope for Basil to pull.

  ‘What ho, Lucy,’ he greeted his sister cheerfully. ‘I was just bagging three nice gangway seats. Don’t you think I’ve caught the sun?’

  ‘Your nose is peeling rather disgustingly, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Let’s make ourselves comfy. You don’t see the finals of a national beauty contest every day of the week, do you?’

  ‘You seem to have perked up a good bit,’ I remarked, as he settled down between Lucy and myself.

  ‘You can’t stay long in the dumps at a jolly place like this, Grim.’

  ‘You mean you got your cash back from Whitherspoon?’

  ‘Of course not,’ grinned Squiffy. ‘A
bet’s a bet, isn’t it ?’

  There was a fanfare over the tannoy, and to the accompaniment of general mania Basil took the stage.

  ‘Mums and dads, boys and girls,’ started our film star. ‘I hope you’re as pleased to see me as I am to see you.’

  Cries of ‘Yes!’ ‘You betcher!’ and ‘Ain’t he lovely close to?’

  ‘We actors,’ continued Basil, who somehow managed to orate while keeping a fixed grin on his face, ‘have many duties to our public. I don’t shirk them, boys and girls. I love them. Because I love my public.’

  This brought such a din from the audience I hardly noticed the Camp Commandant tapping my shoulder.

  ‘Mr Beauchamp is better, then?’ he asked, looking worried.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘I got your message, Doctor. To say he’d suddenly been taken ill and to hold up the contest for half an hour.’

  ‘My message–’

  ‘I love you all,’ Basil went on. ‘That’s why I’m so delighted to be with you this beautiful afternoon in this simply delicious camp at this charming resort of Whortleton. Now I’m not going to waste any more of my time – any more of your time – before judging the finals of this exciting beauty contest. I only hope, mums and dads and boys and girls, that when I pull this cord to reveal the lovely ladies, you won’t completely forget me while blinded by the breath-taking beauty.’

  Basil tugged the silken rope. He certainly revealed a dozen girls in their swimsuits striking provocative postures. But instead of the official beauties they were our maladjusted teenagers.

  ‘What the devil–’ choked Basil.

  The audience was sandbagged into a mystified silence.

  ‘Fixture cancelled,’ hissed Squiffy, digging me in the ribs. ‘See? I get my money back.’

  But I couldn’t cotton on to this before Lucy started to laugh.

  ‘Lucy!’ snapped Basil over the hyacinths. ‘I demand to know who is making a fool of me.’

  I gave a bit of a guffaw myself. Squiffy giggled. And laughter being more infectious than cholera, in a shake the whole hall was roaring its head off.

  ‘Who is responsible for these monstrosities?’ demanded Basil angrily.

  The girls just stood grinning, thinking it all no end of a prank. Basil tugged the silken rope and found it operated only in one direction. I sat wiping my eyes. Though I saw the poor chap’s point. Any actor would rather be smeared with treacle and eaten alive by giant ants than made to look ridiculous in public.

  ‘Get these girls away from here!’ Basil stamped his foot. ‘Is there no one in the entire beastly place responsible for them?’

  ‘Yes, young man,’ said Dame Hilda, advancing down the gangway with Anemone. ‘I am.’

  I jumped up. ‘Good lord, Dame Hilda! What on earth are you doing down here?’

  ‘Doing here? But you sent a telegram last night saying all my girls were seriously ill in hospital.’

  ‘Oh, did I?’

  ‘’E’s bin cruel to us,’ shouted the girl with acne, pointing in my direction. ‘Proper cruel. ’E ought to be inside, ’e ought.’

  ‘What exactly is going on, if you please?’ demanded Dame Hilda, mounting the stage.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ asked Basil furiously.

  ‘I do not, young man, nor do I care. I only wish to discover who is responsible for submitting my girls to this ghastly exhibition.’

  ‘’E locked us up,’ screamed another girl with strabismus.

  ‘On bleedin’ bread and water,’ added Lady Chatterley.

  ‘For God’s sake let down the curtain, somebody,’ appealed Basil.

  ‘Dr Grimsdyke,’ commanded Dame Hilda, unabashed after all that telly at being watched by a couple of hundred startled campers. ‘Come here instantly.’

  I looked round wildly for support. There was only Squiffy, and from the look on his face he seemed to have switched off his brain at the mains.

  ‘Gaston, darling,’ said Lucy loudly. ‘Who on earth is this peculiar woman? Do you actually know her?’

  ‘How dare you!’ snapped Dame Hilda, going pink. ‘That happens to be the man who is going to marry my daughter.’

  Lucy gasped. ‘Gaston! You never told me.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Lucy.’ I felt a bit conspicuous, in front of all those people, with the edge of my soul showing. ‘It sort of slipped my memory, I suppose.’

  ‘Play the National Anthem,’ called Basil despairingly. ‘Sound the fire alarm.’

  ‘Who might you be, young woman?’ snapped Dame Hilda again.

  ‘Don’t you “young woman” me,’ Lucy snapped back, jumping to her feet. ‘I happen to have been a particularly close friend of Gaston’s practically all my life.’

  ‘Gaston!’ Dame Hilda gave the glare which set delinquents back on their stiletto heels. ‘Have you the temerity to conduct another affair behind my back?’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced Basil, mopping himself with a silk handkerchief. ‘That, I’m afraid, concludes our little performance for this afternoon–’

  ‘You have besmirched the honour of my daughter!’

  ‘Oh, have I, Dame Hilda?’ Then something happened. I suddenly felt Lucy slip her hand into mine. ‘I have not besmirched your daughter’s ruddy honour,’ I went on, throwing out the chest a bit. ‘Come to think of it, I’ve only kissed her when you’ve been looking on to see fair play.’

  ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, man? You will come back to Yorkshire with me at once.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘Yes, you will. Don’t you argue with me.’

  ‘I’ll jolly well argue with anyone I feel like.’

  ‘I am absolutely sick and tired of this,’ said someone in the background.

  With a bit of a shock I saw it was Anemone.

  ‘Anemone! Have you taken leave of your wits, too?’

  ‘On the contrary, Mummy, I have just returned to them. I have been goaded absolutely beyond measure by you and Gaston and everyone else who’s been running my life these past two years.’

  I stared at my fiancée. I’d never seen her looking like it before. She was all flowing blonde hair, flashing blue eyes, and jutting little chin. The fact was the poor girl had come to the end of her psychological count-down.

  ‘Anemone my girl! Stop it at once, I say.’

  ‘It must have been horrifyingly obvious to absolutely everyone between here and Yorkshire,’ Anemone went on, ‘except you, of course, Mummy, that Gaston and I haven’t the slightest desire to marry each other. He thinks I’m simply dreary, and personally I think he’s no end of a drip.’

  I didn’t care much for the drip bit, but I suddenly felt myself warming to the conversation.

  ‘Anemone, you will do as I say at once.’

  ‘I am not, Mummy, one of your delinquents. I have done as you said all my life, Mummy. If I did as you said now, Mummy, and married a man who interests me about as much as the racing tips in the daily papers, whose conversation entertains me about as much as a Saturday night comedian on the Light Programme, whose moral stature I respect about as much as a second-hand car salesman’s, and whose earning capacity strikes me as rather inferior to a well-trained village idiot – if I did, I should be damned now and for ever.’

  ‘I intend, my girl, to give you a thorough talking to–’

  ‘If you wish, Mummy, you may tear me limb from limb. You may submit me to any sort of mental or moral torture you happen to feel inclined. But as for marrying that man gorping at us over the potted plants, I would let you burn me alive first.’

  The audience broke into a round of applause.

  ‘Young lady!’ Basil clutched her. ‘Can you sing?’

  Anemone looked rather taken aback, but said, ‘Yes, I’ve been told I have quite a nice voice.’

  ‘Such fire! Such presence! Such looks! Such dignity, such diction! Ladies and gentlemen–’ Basil drew Anemone towards the footlights. ‘This afternoon is the proudest in my life. After months
of searching among amateur dramatic societies and provincial repertories up and down the country, I have at last found her. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the young unknown who will – subject, of course, to audition, contract, and my commission as her personal agent – have the honour of playing opposite myself in the forthcoming production of Shaw’s immortal play Saint Joan, shortly opening in London as a musical under the title of My Fair Lady of Orleans.’

  This brought terrific cheers from the audience, who were beginning to feel the whole afternoon much better than the pierrots. I hardly noticed the Camp Commandant come up again to announce in an even more worried voice, ‘Doctor, the police have come for your friend.’

  ‘That’s him,’ shouted a youth with a moustache and large glasses, hurrying down the aisle with a couple of Whortleton coppers. ‘That’s the blighter. Not content with trying to sneak my girl, he’s betraying the secrets of his country, that’s what. Traitor! Turncoat! Renegade! Rat!’

  ‘Here, I say,’ protested Squiffy. ‘You’ve got it wrong. I’m not the traitor. You are, dash it.’

  ‘Tried to seduce my Noreen, you did.’

  Squiffy stared. ‘Look, comrade, I can explain everything–’

  ‘Comrade! Called me comrade, did you? That proves it, doesn’t it, officer? Me, a pillar of the Young Conservatives.’

  ‘I think you’d better come along to the station, sir,’ invited the leading rozzer.

  Squiffy started arguing with the policemen. Dame Hilda started arguing with Basil. And everyone in the hall suddenly seemed to start arguing with each other.

  ‘Retarded,’ said Lucy in my ear.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Retarded. I have all my life been trying to hit on the right word to describe my brother. At last I have it.’ She looked round calmly. ‘Gaston, dear, my car is outside. Shall we go?’

  ‘Go? But how about Basil?’

  ‘Basil?’ said Lucy simply. ‘Why, Basil can walk.’

  27

  The sun was stretching out the Welsh hills, and the shadows had started putting up the shutters for the day across the tumbling waters of the River Usk. It was approaching that magic moment on a summer’s evening when the flies hatch from the water like smoke and big fish plop with befitting dignity in sun-forsaken pools, when fishermen throw out their chests and raise their rods and thank heaven for allowing its creatures such a beautiful world to dwell in, before trying to remove as many fish as possible from it before supper.