Doctor On The Brain

by Richard Gordon

  ‘It was the correct thing to do, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it was, Edgar dear. Very honourable. But if you knew then what you know now – that there was a slip-up in the lab, rather than in the bedroom – would you have been quite so enthusiastic?’

  Sharpewhistle scratched his right ear. ‘Nice girl, Muriel.’

  ‘And the dean’s daughter. But had she not been his daughter…and dear Muriel is just the teeniest, weeniest bit bossy, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s got a forceful personality, certainly. Might push a feller about.’

  ‘My dear Edgar, I could tell you some things about Muriel and her forceful character.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘I know her intimately, don’t forget.’ Tulip started to walk him down the main corridor. ‘I don’t think a man of your brilliance would have liked scraping away on the second fiddle to her.’

  ‘Well…perhaps not.’

  ‘You’re well out of it, if you ask me. Now you thank your lucky stars for the escape, and apply yourself to winning the IQ Quiz.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘I just couldn’t do it. In my present state, I’d be the laughing stock of the studio.’

  ‘Think of the honour of St Swithin’s.’

  ‘Balls to the honour of St Swithin’s.’

  ‘Think of your fellow students.’

  ‘Why should I? They’ve never been particularly nice to me, not all the time I’ve been here.’

  ‘I think they have, Edgar – compared with how they’ll behave if you scratch from IQ Quiz. You must at least make an effort. Just think of all that money they’ve put on you.’ Sharpewhistle looked thoughtful. ‘And just think of what we told you yesterday lunchtime in the common-room. Or would you really relish a Guinness enema? Some men are so peculiar these days.’

  ‘Perhaps…perhaps I will have a try.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  ‘I tell you what. I’ll withdraw from the exam for the hospital gold medal. That’ll ease the strain. Muriel can win it. I hope she likes it,’ he said sourly. ‘But I shan’t win the quiz show. Not in my present state of mind. I’m inconsolable.’

  ‘I bet you’re not.’

  ‘I am. Inconsolable.’

  ‘Do you think, Edgar, that I might console you?’

  He stopped, looking at her blankly.

  ‘I fancy you, Edgar, you know. It’s nice to think of all that brain-power behind it. Besides, I’d just love to help you spend that thousand quid.’

  ‘You mean, Tulip, you’d–’

  ‘You can take me out tonight. The other two girls in my flat are away.’

  He nodded violently.

  ‘But you’ve got to promise, Edgar – you’re going to win that quiz.’

  ‘Tulip, I can feel my IQ rising already.’

  ‘By the way, Edgar love, have you thought of using a deodorant – ?’

  They jumped aside, as Sir Lancelot bore down on them at a trot.

  He hurried through the main hall, past the plate-glass doors, down the front steps and across the courtyard. He looked neither right nor left, ignoring greetings from staff and students. He had to find himself on the calm banks of the river as soon as possible, or he felt he would blow up. Life was becoming outrageously complicated at St Swithin’s. Besides, there now seemed no prospect of anyone coming to look after him and cook his dinners, ever.

  He opened the front door of No 3. He stopped. Something was different in the hall. The table had been out of place, the carpet rucked, there had been sheets of yesterday’s papers over the floor. Now all was tidy, dusted and gleaming with furniture polish. A subdued tinkle came from the dining-room. He pushed open the door.

  ‘I took the liberty of assuming you’d be lunching at home today, Sir Lancelot,’ said Miss MacNish, wearing her usual cornflower blue overall. ‘I thought you’d care for one of my cheese souffles to start with, followed by some grilled kidneys and tomato. And I’ve made an apple pie.’

  ‘You’ve come back,’ he exclaimed.

  She looked surprised. ‘Back? Oh, yes, Sir Lancelot, I was away for a couple of nights, I suppose. I’ll repay you from my days off.’

  He stood stroking his beard. ‘I am of course delighted to see you…Fiona.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Lancelot. It’s always agreeable to be appreciated.’ She went on laying the table.

  ‘Where are the cats?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘The cats’ home, Sir Lancelot. I felt they could be better looked after by professional keepers. They are very complicated cats.’

  ‘I’m sure that was very wise of you. I expect that home could do with some cash? I’ll send them a substantial donation, in fact, I might mention them in my will.’

  ‘You are very kind and generous, as always, Sir Lancelot.’

  ‘May I take it that you found your previous employment…or should I say, the company in which you spent your two days’ holiday, not entirely congenial?’

  ‘Dr Bonaccord and myself, sir, are not speaking. Neither is Mrs Tennant.’

  ‘Yes, these psychiatrists are most unreliable and inconsiderate people. Wanted meals at irregular hours and screamed if the soup was cold, I shouldn’t wonder?’

  ‘That I should not object to, Sir Lancelot. It would be part of my employment. But what I will not stand is immorality.’

  ‘But my dear Miss MacNish! Surely you went to No 1 with your eyes open? Everyone in St Swithin’s knows Bonaccord’s living with his secretary in the fullest and most enjoyable sense of the word.’

  ‘I knew that, sir, of course. I can be broad-minded, sir, as broad as anyone. Though I must say, some of the things you see and hear these days make you wonder. But there are some things, sir, which I think are going too far. Too far altogether. Look, sir–’ She felt in her overall pocket. ‘I was dusting round her desk earlier this morning… I wasn’t prying, or anything, sir, but she said it was always locked to keep inquisitive people out, so I tried it, just idly, sir, and it wasn’t locked properly, it just opened in my hands like that. And what do you think I found inside? Just look at this photograph.’

  Sir Lancelot took it. His hand trembled. ‘Good God! This is the most outrageously indecent thing I’ve seen in my entire life.’

  ‘I thought you’d say as much, sir.’

  He tapped the photograph against his beard, filled with a sudden thought. ‘Miss MacNish, you must admit that this sort of reprehensible antic must be stopped. It most certainly can’t be allowed to continue in a respectable area like Lazar Row. Property owned by the hospital, too. I really feel it my duty, not only as a colleague of Bonaccord’s at St Swithin’s, but as an ordinary citizen, to take this up with him. He must be made to see the error of his ways.’

  She looked doubtful. ‘I shouldn’t like him to know how you came to possess the photograph, sir.’

  ‘Miss MacNish, I would only be doing my duty – an unpleasant duty, indeed a quite nauseating one – by confronting Bonaccord with this. I only ask you to accept it was your duty to collect this evidence and pass it to me.’

  ‘Well… Aberdonians are not ones to flinch from doing their duty, sir.’

  ‘Capital. I’m sure that’s very noble of you. Bonaccord will, of course, by now have found it missing and realized anyway you’d walked off with it as a little keepsake. I think I’ll call on him straight away. He usually works at home on Thursday mornings.’

  ‘Would you care for tripe and onions for your dinner tonight, sir?’

  ‘I was going fishing, but I shall stay specifically to eat them.’

  ‘You are very kind, sir.’ Miss MacNish set a fork carefully in place. ‘It almost kills me, sir – the thought of your being looked after by another woman.’

  Sir Lancelot strode briskly the few yards to No 1. Gisela Tennant opened the front door. ‘Oh! I suppose you’ve come for Miss MacNish’s things?’

  ‘As far as I am aware, she has moved back lock, stock and barrel. I hope you found her satisfactory,
in her somewhat brief tenure of office?’

  ‘No. I didn’t find her satisfactory at all. She was arrogant and insolent. And her taste in food was appalling. Jam roly-poly and tripe. Ugh!’

  ‘I’m sorry she didn’t suit. Is Dr Bonaccord in? I have another matter I am anxious to discuss with him.’

  ‘He’s busy writing a paper for Psychological Medicine.’

  ‘Then I must interrupt him.’

  She looked annoyed. ‘Surely you could put it off till later?’

  ‘I think not. By the way, Mrs Tennant, were you ever married?’

  She stared at him, She bit her lip. ‘Go on up.’

  Sir Lancelot knocked on the door of the study and walked straight in. The psychiatrist looked up in irritation. ‘If you are suffering another acute phobia about cats, Lancelot, I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with it until this evening. I’m extremely busy. It’s bad enough, suffering emotional scenes from your housekeeper – who, I might add, is a hysteric of quite severe degree…’ Sir Lancelot flourished the photograph, keeping a tight hold on it. ‘You got that from Miss MacNish,’ Dr Bonaccord said furiously.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘She stole it.’

  ‘Well, you stole Miss MacNish in the first place.’

  ‘I’ll have her prosecuted.’

  ‘You won’t, you know.’

  Dr Bonaccord fell silent. He stared again at the photograph in Sir Lancelot’s fingers. ‘Well?’ asked Sir Lancelot.

  Dr Bonaccord shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is surely only our little aberrations in behaviour which make the human race at all interesting?’

  ‘You think so, do you? I wonder what a criminal court would think?’

  The psychiatrist looked alarmed. ‘It wouldn’t come to that, I hope? I mean, you wouldn’t…or would you? Come, Lancelot! Don’t be hard on us. After all, it’s a harmless vice, if vice it is at all.’

  ‘I think it’s a vice, and so do all decent people, Bonaccord. I should say that even a good many people, whom I myself would not think of as decent, would shy away from your particular behaviour. Hippies, drug addicts and the like. They’d ostracize you. You are the lowest of the low.’

  Dr Bonaccord looked at him imploringly. ‘But if anything came out…it would be the end of my career…’

  ‘I should imagine that would be among your minor troubles.’

  ‘Lancelot…apart from this…this little failing surely you’ve always thought of me, and of Gisela, as perfectly upright, honest, well-integrated persons? Can’t I appeal to your better nature? Don’t you see how terrible it would be for her, not just for me, if this was blazoned in the public press?’

  ‘The fact that you are a psychiatrist might make the public think it all perfectly excusable.’

  ‘You’re always making cheap jokes about psychiatrists.’

  ‘I’m sorry if they upset you. Well, I’ll bid you good morning, Bonaccord.’ He pocketed the photograph. ‘I can get a taxi to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Lancelot–’

  He turned at the door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m deeply sorry. And ashamed. Honestly, I am.’

  ‘This is a rather sudden rush of contrition to the heart, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s you, Lancelot, You’re such an upright, honest, completely straight man, it shames me.’

  He grunted. ‘I don’t believe you, Bonaccord, but I’m prepared to be merciful. I’ll keep my mouth shut.’

  ‘I knew a man of your own inner kindness–’

  ‘On one condition.’

  ‘My position is such that I can only ask you to name it.’

  Sir Lancelot perched on the edge of the desk. ‘A few days ago, Dr Frances Humble, MP, offered you the post of vice-chancellor of Hampton Wick University.’

  Dr Bonaccord nodded nervously. ‘That is correct.’

  ‘You turned it down.’

  ‘That, too, is correct.’

  ‘Have you a pen, or a ballpoint? Good. Take one of those sheets of writing paper. I wish you to write to Dr Humble at the House of Commons.’

  ‘But what have I got to say?’

  ‘I can save you the trouble of composition “Dear Dr Humble–” Go on.’ The psychiatrist started to write. ‘“I must have been mad to refuse the Hampton Wick job. I accept it with enthusiasm–”’

  ‘Lancelot! I can’t.’

  ‘You can.’

  He hesitated. He wrote the letter. He signed it in silence.

  ‘Thank you, Bonaccord. I shall address the envelope and deliver it by hand myself. I’m sure you’ll be very happy at Hampton Wick. It will be very stimulating, to have so many young, active minds round you all the time. And doubtless your…your secretary will prove a charming hostess during those dreary old sit-ins the students keep conducting in the vice-chancellor’s private quarters. Good morning.’

  ‘Here – the photograph.’

  ‘I shall keep this, if I may, until Monday morning, when the official announcement will be made about Hampton Wick. I should not like to expose you to the temptation of back-sliding. Then you shall have it back, on my word of honour. In a sealed envelope.’

  Sir Lancelot opened the door. Gisela was standing immediately outside. He gave her a courtly bow. As the front door shut behind him, she went into the study.

  ‘You heard, I suppose?’ said the psychiatrist dully.

  ‘Every word. Which photo was it?’

  ‘Nothing special. Just one of you and I as kids with our mother and father. We needn’t have kept it, really, except for sentimental reasons.’

  ‘He knows we’re brother and sister?’

  ‘It wouldn’t take a man like him long to latch on to that.’

  ‘I suppose it’ll be all round St Swithin’s by tomorrow?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. He’ll keep his part of the bargain. He’s a bastard, but a fair bastard.’

  She sat on the edge of the easy chair. ‘So we’re to move?’

  ‘I’d no alternative, had I? You don’t blame me, Gissie, do you?’

  ‘Of course not, Cedric. In a way it’ll be a challenge for you.’

  ‘It’s a challenge, all right. I can only hope I’ll be rather more successful than my predecessors.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be, Cedric. You’re much cleverer,’

  ‘At least we’ll be together, won’t we?’

  ‘That’s the important thing.’

  ‘Perhaps we should kill off Mr Tennant? Make you a lovely young widow?’

  ‘Perhaps we should. But I could hardly revert to my maiden name, could I?’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I’d better cut that old name-tape from my tennis shoe, before anyone else noses about.’

  ‘At least some good’s come out of all this. I managed to slip my scheme for these three houses through the hospital committee last night, entirely because the dean and Sir Lancelot were otherwise somewhat heavily engaged. It’s an absolute disgrace, hospital property being used for the medical staff’s living accommodation, when there’s such a shortage of psychiatric beds. As the leases fall vacant, the houses will be put to good use housing psychopathic youths from the East End. If we get on with our packing, they should start moving in here within a couple of weeks. Now will you get me my violin, Gissie? I really feel that I need a little Mozart.’

  26

  ‘Lancelot!’

  Sir Lancelot had just stepped out of No 1 into the bright midday sunshine. He turned to see the dean skipping hatless round the corner. ‘I say, dean, are you all right now?’

  ‘Splendid. Wonderful. Never been better. I’m having a baby.’

  ‘So I gathered. Congratulations.’

  ‘Come inside. I’ve got some champagne in the fridge.’

  They went into No 2. The dean at last pulled the champagne cork and he poured the wine into a pair of glasses in his sitting-room.

  ‘How’s Josephine?’ asked Sir Lancelot.

  ‘Having a little lie-down at St Swithin’s. Got to take life very carefully, you
know. Though I’m sure everything’s going to be all right. After all, she’s still quite young, compared with me.’ The dean gave a laugh. ‘Looking back now, I must have been blind and deaf these last four days. Josephine took her specimen bottle to that rather awful fellow Winterflood early on Monday morning, with the excuse that she had to visit the physiotherapy department at St Swithin’s about her back. She almost dropped dead when she ran into Muriel in the corridor immediately afterwards – I suppose poor Muriel didn’t suspect anything, because she had enough on her own mind at the time. Then in the evening Josephine went to collect the result, telling me she’d gone to post a letter in the box outside St Swithin’s. The duplicity of women!’ he said gaily.

  ‘No wonder Mata Hari got away with it for so long.’

  ‘But why didn’t Josephine just tell you she suspected she was in pod?’

  ‘She thought I might say she was being stupid, unless she could produce firm evidence. I can’t understand what put that idea in her head. Though of course, I should have made the diagnosis myself. She suddenly developed longings – for asparagus and plovers’ eggs, of all things. The next day she had morning sickness, but I put it down to gastritis. And she had a peculiar emotional outburst about Frankie Humble. Still, I never was very brilliant at midwifery. To tell the truth, I thought it rather too messy, and the hours were terrible.’

  ‘I hope it’ll be another boy.’

  ‘So do I.’ The dean raised his glass. ‘It all happened on your champagne, Lancelot. Well, well. Fancy that doing the trick. What brand was it? It might do to get in a case or two.’

  ‘So you’re pleased?’

  ‘Delighted. In fact, it’s saved my life. Absolutely saved it. I don’t know if you noticed, but recently a certain melancholy has been coming over me…a certain sense of futility, of uselessness…of all my dreams and ambitions being fulfilled, and of it all perhaps hardly having been worth the trouble.’

  ‘That the world was your oyster, but it had turned out a bad one?’

  ‘Precisely. I had unpleasant physical symptoms, too. Fear of approaching dissolution. Not uncommon in men of our age, I’m sure? But now they’ve all gone. Flown! I have something to look forward to in life, someone to replace my other two children, who have gone off into the world. It’s really most thrilling.’