Doctor On The Brain

by Richard Gordon

  ‘I’m not jealous. Not at all. Me? Of Bonaccord? Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Tell Frankie she can put her job where Cromwell told them to put the Mace.’

  The dean began to recover himself. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I shall continue with my luncheon. My fish will be getting cold.’

  ‘I never want to speak to you again, Lychfield.’

  ‘I can assure you the opportunity will never arise, Spratt.’

  The dean shut the door.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Josephine in alarm.

  ‘Oh, it was Lancelot. Frankie Humble’s made a fool of us both. I’m sorry, dear,’ he added quickly, sitting down. ‘I know it distresses you when I mention her name.’

  ‘But why should it, Lionel? We’ve known Frankie for years, and I’m very fond of her. I think the more you see of her the better. It livens you up.’

  The dean stared at her for a moment, but decided to make no comment. Instead, he said, ‘Do you mind if I get on with my fish in silence, dear? I have a little work to get through before my clinic this afternoon.’

  He drew from his pocket four sheets of foolscap paper. He scored with heavy strokes through alterations made that very morning. After a moment’s thought, he substituted, His testiness, his egotism and his jealousy of his colleagues during his final years assumed such proportions that they were obliged to watch helplessly the ultimate demolition of the splendid ruin he had already become.

  Next door, Sir Lancelot was sitting down at his study desk, uncapping his fountain-pen, and squaring his shoulders.

  21

  ‘Officer,’ said Sir Lancelot. ‘I wish to see Dr Frances Humble. She works here.’

  ‘Queue for the public gallery over there, sir,’ said the policeman.

  ‘I do not wish to sit in the public gallery. I wish to go inside and speak to Dr Humble.’

  ‘Just take your place in the queue, sir. You’ll get a seat all right before the House rises.’

  Big Ben overhead boomed ten o’clock. It was the same evening, warm, starlit and airless.

  ‘I happen to know that Dr Humble is inside the House of Commons. I saw as much in the evening paper. She is engaged in debating the new Education Bill. It is a matter of the utmost public importance that I should see her.’

  ‘I’m afraid everyone has to queue for the public gallery, sir.’

  Sir Lancelot held a hand before his eyes. ‘I wish to lobby my MP.’

  ‘Have you a ticket, sir?’

  ‘I am demanding to exercise the sacred right of a free-born Englishman.’

  ‘Still got to have a ticket, sir.’

  ‘Good God, officer! Is this democracy?’

  ‘Come along, sir, No offensive language, please.’

  ‘Can’t I even send in a message?’

  ‘Queue for the public gallery over there, sir.’

  The policeman turned to assist a party of tourists looking for the Post Office Tower. Sir Lancelot stood wondering what to do next. He had telephoned Frankie half a dozen times since lunch without success. To be conscripted by her as second-best to Bonaccord was bad enough. But second-best to the dean was unthinkable. He was determined to fling her perfidy in her face before he went to bed. Besides, there was no time to waste, if she were to find yet another vice-chancellor. He looked round wildly. It was unfortunate that the House of Commons, of all edifices in the country, should be purpose-built to keep out the unwelcome. He had half-resigned himself to defeat, when Frankie herself came down the steps from the arched, carved doors, talking earnestly to a man of schoolmasterish appearance.

  ‘Frankie! I must see you this instant.’

  She looked up and smiled. She bade her visitor farewell, and crossed to Sir Lancelot. ‘Why on earth are you standing there mixed with the populace? I could have given you a ticket, had you wanted to hear the debate.’

  ‘I do not wish to hear any debate. Nor shall there be any on what I am about to say. That vice-chancellor’s job at Hampton Wick. I withdraw my application.’

  ‘A little sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘No more sudden than the blow of my discovering you offered it first to Lychfield, and even before him to Bonaccord.’

  ‘I can’t see why you should make a fuss. Even Ministers of the Crown aren’t above accepting an office turned down by others.’

  ‘But you led me to believe, Frankie, that I was your first choice. I accepted on those terms. I am very, very hurt.’

  ‘Poor Lancelot,’ she said with deep sympathy.

  ‘And you were very, very naughty.’

  ‘Perhaps I was. But politics is a very, very naughty business.’

  ‘So you’ll have to find someone else.’

  ‘Oh, no I won’t. I’ve had enough trouble filling this job already.’

  ‘I shall refuse to accept it.’

  ‘Aren’t you being a little silly?’ Sir Lancelot saw her nose twitch. But at that moment he was twitchproof. ‘The official announcement’s already typed, and probably issued to the press. They’ll have a lot of questions to ask if you simply disown it. Why you’ve got cold feet, for a start.’

  ‘I shall say you tricked me into it.’

  ‘Very well. That I tricked you while alone with you, in your house one night. While my husband was away. If you want to present me in that sort of light to my constituents and the rest of the public, you are quite entitled to. But I’m afraid that my political friends would see that it was the end of your career, too.’

  Sir Lancelot looked shocked. ‘Frankie, surely you don’t really think I would be capable of such conduct? Especially with you. After all, there are limits.’

  She gave him a sweet smile. ‘Of course, you’d never even think of it. You’re far too gallant, in such a lovely old-fashioned way.’

  ‘Then you’ll voluntarily withdraw your offer?’

  ‘No. So there’s not much you can do about it, really, is there? Now I must get back to the Chamber. There’s such a boring little man on his feet, but I know he always treats himself to exactly forty minutes of everybody’s time.’

  Frankie hurried back up the steps, the policeman saluting. Sir Lancelot made to follow.

  ‘Queue for the public gallery over there, sir.’

  ‘It is essential that I speak to that lady.’

  ‘Come along, sir. Even the Queen herself isn’t allowed in where she’s going.’

  Sir Lancelot glowered. But five hundred years of privilege wrung in words and blood stood impenetrably between him and his quarry. ‘In which case, officer, perhaps you would kindly direct me to a telephone box instead?’

  ‘Corner of Parliament Square, sir.’

  The box was empty. Sir Lancelot felt for a coin, and dialled. There was some delay before anyone answered.

  ‘Bonaccord? Spratt here. I understand that a few days ago you were honoured with an offer of the vice-chancellorship of Hampton Wick University.’

  ‘That is perfectly true.’

  ‘I am asking with the full authority of Dr Frances Humble that you reconsider your decision, and that you take it.’

  ‘That’s out of the question.’

  ‘Why? A nut-wallah like you is just what they want.’

  ‘I should prefer to continue with clinical work, thank you very much.’

  ‘You haven’t the guts, that’s what.’

  ‘Fortunately I am not given to crude emotions, Lancelot. But were I a man of uncontrolled instinct I should find that remark most offensive.’

  Sir Lancelot swallowed. ‘I apologize. I apologize slavishly.’ His voice took on an oily sheen. ‘Paradoxically enough, my language was dictated solely by regard for your splendid qualities. I was merely trying to goad you into taking the job, for the benefit of the university and all concerned.’

  ‘But I’m not at all the right type. They want some thick-skinned red-necked old academic hack who’ll simply put up with them. The entire Institute of Psychiatry couldn�
�t tame those students.’

  Dr Bonaccord realized he was talking to himself. He raised his eyebrows, and put back the hall telephone with a sigh. He was in stockinged feet, trousers and mauve-striped shirt open to the waist. He went back to the bedroom.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘That stupid old bleeder Spratt.’

  ‘What did he want? Something about Miss MacNish?’

  ‘No, he seems to have got wind of my being offered the Hampton Wick job.’

  Gisela bit the end of one finger guiltily. ‘That was me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. For some reason he was pressing me to take it. I suppose it’s been offered to someone else whose insides he hates even more than my own. You do look attractive like that.’

  ‘Flatterer.’

  ‘Turn in your toes and put your knees together. That’s right. Do your naughty little schoolgirl.’

  ‘Like that? Aren’t you glad I kept my old school clothes?’

  He lay full length on the bed. ‘Mmmmm…’

  ‘Though it’s a bore having to hide them locked away in the desk. I don’t know what Miss MacNish would say if she found a gym-slip and striped tie.’

  ‘And a badge saying “House Prefect”.’ Gisela smiled, inspecting herself in the long mirror. ‘They still fit. A bit tight in the bust, that’s all.’

  ‘The straw boater is a lovely touch.’

  ‘Do you like it?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘Especially on the back of your head.’

  She rearranged it. ‘Remember when you used to wait to carry my books home from school?’

  He laughed softly. ‘And nobody here even suspects we knew each other then.’

  ‘It was so far away in the country.’

  ‘And before you’d met your husband.’

  They laughed together. Gisela sprang lightly on to the white-covered bed where he lay relaxed, arms behind his head, She started delicately tickling his left ear with the toe of her black school stocking.

  ‘Nice?’

  He nodded. ‘What do you most admire about me?’

  ‘That’s a very difficult one.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘Well, you’re very clever.’

  ‘Yes. I am. And I’m different from others. I understand the human mind. I understand my own mind. I am clean of the prejudices, hates, idiocies, obsessions and phobias of ordinary mortals. I am normal. That is a tremendous achievement.’

  ‘Of course it is, Cedric.’ She spoke gently and admiringly.

  He reached out and picked up a grubby white tennis shoe. ‘It’s got your name inside it.’

  ‘It’s the pair I used to wear for games.’

  He put it under his nose, savouring it like a highly-bred rose. The doorbell rang.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Dr Bonaccord got off the bed. He slipped on a short dressing-gown, went down to the hall and opened the front door. Outside was a tall, thin middle-aged lady in a wide-brimmed hat, carrying a small suitcase.

  ‘Sir Lancelot Sprite?’ she asked.

  ‘This is the wrong number. Sir Lancelot is at No. 3.’

  ‘Oh? I was ringing there for a quite considerable time.’ She had the sort of voice heard announcing the prizes at suburban fetes. ‘So I imagined I was mistaken.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ he said shortly. ‘Is it urgent? Are you a patient?’

  ‘I am in no need of medical attention, thank you. I shall have to hang about until he returns. Though I am not in the least used to hanging about, I can assure you.’

  The psychiatrist shut the door. His visitor walked up and down Lazar Row, looking petulant. But it was not long before a taxi drew up before No 3 and a stout man with a beard got out. She assumed a smile, approaching from the shadows. ‘Sir Lancelot Sprite?’

  ‘Spratt’s the name. Who are you?’

  ‘I am Mrs Grimley. I am here through the agency of Hotblack’s.’

  ‘Thank God you’ve turned up. Come inside.’

  He switched on the light in the hall. ‘Charming place,’ she said, following him.

  ‘Glad you like it. Through here is my sitting-room.’ Sir Lancelot paused. He rubbed his hands briskly. ‘You must forgive me, madam, but I have just endured one of the most trying days of my life. Would you object if I had a whisky and soda?’

  ‘But not at all. I always believe a man is entitled to his tipple.’

  ‘Er…perhaps you’d join me, Mrs Grimley?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Thank you. Ever so. I would be quite partial to a small one.’

  Sir Lancelot produced two crystal tumblers and a bottle of Glenlivet. ‘Say when.’ He poured the spirit. ‘Say when.’ He poured some more. ‘Say when.’

  ‘It does so restore the morale, don’t you think?’

  ‘Say when.’

  ‘Oh! I wasn’t noticing.’

  ‘Soda or water?’

  ‘I’ll take it straight, thank you ever so. Mud in your eye.’

  Sir Lancelot poured his own drink. ‘I suppose you’re pretty experienced?’

  ‘Well… I am a widow.’

  ‘H’m. As you may have gathered from Hotblack’s, I am a widower.’

  ‘And a knight. I’m very thrilled, I must say.’

  ‘It is hardly the most magnificent of distinctions. Or perhaps one just gets used to it, like one’s cricket colours at school.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d ever get used to calling myself “Lady Spratt”.’

  ‘No? Perhaps my late wife didn’t. Where are you from, Mrs Grimley?’

  ‘Wiveliscombe. That’s in Somerset, you know.’

  ‘You’ve had a long journey.’

  ‘Too, too exhausting! Do you think I could restore myself with another little drinkey?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Sir Lancelot looked at her doubtfully. ‘Do you…er, shift much of this stuff?’

  ‘In strictest moderation, I assure you. Except when I’m tired. My poor late husband passed away with it. Chin-chin.’

  He sat in the armchair, sticking out his legs. ‘Do sit down, Mrs Grimley. I don’t insist on formality here, you know. I hope you’ll decide to stay.’

  She took the straight-backed chair opposite, crossing her legs and modestly tugging the hem of her skirt, holding her glass with both hands on her knees. ‘How very kind.’

  ‘I’ve been without anyone now for two days.’

  She gave a shriek. ‘Your wife! She’s only just died? Not even buried?’

  ‘No, no, no. I had someone living here to look after me. A housekeeper.’

  ‘A housekeeper!’ She giggled and winked.

  ‘Hotblack’s must have explained to you that I suggested we took a look at each other. If we both approved, we’d go ahead without any more fuss and bother.’ She nodded. ‘For my part, Mrs Grimley, I should be delighted to take you on.’

  ‘Oh! Sir Lancelot.’ She dropped her eyes.

  ‘And for your part?’

  ‘You have made me the happiest woman in London.’

  ‘H’m. Well. That’s settled then.’

  ‘Might I have another wee one? It’s all so trying on the nerves.’ She picked up the bottle and helped herself.

  ‘When can you start? Tonight?’

  ‘Oh! You are impatient.’ She closed her eyes appreciatively. ‘Quite a bull pawing the ground, a stallion champing at the bit.’

  ‘I told you, I’ve had no one for two days. It’ll be a great relief, I make no secret of it.’

  ‘I am yours to command,’ she said grandly.

  ‘Good. Well, first you’ll have to go up to the bedroom and make the bed.’ She stood up and aimed for the door, swaying hardly perceptibly. ‘By the way, I don’t know if Hotblack’s charge you anything. But I’ll send them a cheque to cover both of our fees in the morning.’

  She turned round and gently patted his face. ‘How sweet you are. But I’m afraid my fees are rather on the large side, because I have been on their books for quite a wee time, you know. Stil
l, what’s it matter if they deliver the goods in the end? To think! I was actually on the point of losing faith in any matrimonial agency at all.’

  22

  ‘I wonder who the woman was I saw going into Lancelot’s house?’ asked Josephine in the sitting-room of No 2.

  The dean looked up quickly from his Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine. ‘It wasn’t Frankie?’

  ‘Oh no, dear, I’d always recognize Frankie. It was someone very strange. She looked as though they’d forgotten to tidy her away after the Chelsea Flower Show.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised at any company Lancelot keeps. He’s really a disgrace to the neighbourhood. He goes round shouting his head off, he crashes about in there half the night, and he reeks of onions. I wish to God he’d move out.’

  ‘That isn’t very charitable of you, Lionel.’

  ‘Charitable? Lancelot’s about as deserving of charity as a successful bank robber.’

  ‘Daddy, do shut up,’ said Muriel, not lifting her eyes from her Lancet.

  ‘Kindly do not speak to me like that,’ said the dean icily.

  ‘You’re always carrying on about Uncle Lancelot. It bores me.’

  ‘Just because you’re going to be a married woman doesn’t mean you can irritate your parents with a display of condescension.’

  ‘Lionel! Remember her condition.’

  The dean snorted.

  ‘If you ask me–’ began Edgar Sharpewhistle, a finger keeping his place in the Journal of Hospital Medicine.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t you start,’ said the dean. They were enjoying a family evening. Muriel had to the dean’s annoyance insisted strongly on her fiancé being asked for dinner, and then made a point of their all sitting together over the coffee.

  ‘After all,’ she had claimed. ‘We’ve got to get used to each other’s company some time, haven’t we?’

  Sharpewhistle started looking anxiously round for the brandy, but the dean had hidden it. Suddenly Muriel stood up.

  ‘Ah! You’re both off,’ said the dean.

  ‘Father. The time is just on ten-thirty. A crisis is about to arise in my life,’

  Sharpewhistle blinked.

  ‘Now, now, dear,’ said Josephine. ‘You’re being a little emotional. It’s only to be expected in your delicate state.’