‘You don’t perhaps think, sir… I mean, I know it’s strong stuff, but there might perhaps be a touch…a teeny-weeny bit…of some element of psychological suggestion?’
Sir Lancelot eyed him sternly. ‘Do you imagine that I, with all my clinical experience, would succumb to the suggestive element in any treatment whatever?’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘Though about the specific effect…the reason which brought me here you understand… I am of course in no position to apply a test.’
‘I see what you mean, sir. It’s not like breaking a leg, when any nurse will be glad to see if you can walk without crutches.’
‘I feel so much younger – exactly as de Hoot prognosticated. And so active. I want to keep running – to chase butterflies.’
‘How much have you had, sir?’ Grimsdyke asked anxiously.
‘I’m on a crash course. Double dose two-hourly, all through the night. Perhaps you should try some ZX646Q yourself, Grimsdyke? Now I am going for some fresh air in the garden.’
Sir Lancelot made jauntily down the corridor. Grimsdyke stood thoughtfully scratching his chin. ‘Perhaps there is something peculiar about that water, after all.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Might be worth giving myself an injection of it one evening.’
He knocked on the door.
‘Morning, Eric. How are you two stallions getting on in the same stable?’
‘Fine. He’s a great gas, Sir Lancelot. Kept me awake all night laughing, with stories of his operations. You know, Doc, I always thought up there in surgery it was tension and silence, except for the patient’s heavy breathing and the clipped commands – “Scalpel, nurse, quickly, or he’ll never play the violin again”. And maybe the splash of blood and sweat dripping from the doctor’s brow.’
‘Many a jolly laugh have I enjoyed over Sir Lancelot’s generous incisions,’ Grimsdyke agreed. ‘He’s a nineteenth-century surgical character, really. Can’t you see him in a frock-coat with threaded needles in the lapels? Advancing over the sawdust with an amputation-knife, as though he was going to fight a duel with the patient, not to save his life? Like a lot of people who find themselves saddled with an image he tries to live up to it, which must be quite a strain for the old boy.’ He added reflectively, ‘Though I suppose we all do, to some extent. The world would be terribly dull if we just went about being our natural selves.’
‘I guess so. I don’t care to think what you’d find if you stripped the layers from Dr de Hoot. He can be pretty impressive – and pretty severe. I wanted to leave a day early, and he wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘It’s a strict rule. I fancy he likes the patients to save it all up till the treatment’s quite finished.’
‘I hadn’t got that in mind – honestly, Doctor. Though it is to do with the little dolly in my room the night I overstrained myself. Hell, my name may be Eric but I’m not a four-letter man. I promised that girl I’d help her on the way to being a model. I asked Ted the best photographer in London, and he said this guy Godfri had everyone crazy about him. So Godfri it was, and she’s going to his studio this afternoon. I wanted to be around, because I’ve seen more photographers in my life than the Eiffel Tower, and I don’t want him to start her off the wrong way with the arty stuff. If she’s going to model for anything, it’ll be canned beans and dog-food. I take an interest in the careers of my little dollies,’ he said with fatherly pride.
‘Nothing could be easier.’ Grimsdyke gave a satisfied smile. ‘I’ve got to collect some books and things I left at St Swithin’s. Why don’t I go with you to Godfri’s place, as a sort of male nurse to keep an eye on you? I’m sure de Hoot couldn’t object to that.’
‘It’s worth a try, maybe. You could easily call Ted to fix a car.’
‘Leave it to me,’ Grimsdyke told him confidently. ‘I’ll beard him right away.’
Outside the room, he gave a determined tug to the lapels of his white coat. ‘Godfri’s studio, eh?’ he murmured. ‘Well, well! What a nice little surprise for dear Stella.’
Through the open window he could see Sir Lancelot ambling amid the immaculately-clipped yew hedges of the formal garden. The surgeon was feeling frustratingly at a loose end. He was brimming with vitality and good spirits, but there was no means whatever for expressing either, not even a dog to throw sticks to. Hands clasped behind him, softly whistling a snatch of Pinafore, he turned the corner of the six-foot high hedge, almost to trip over an oak bench on which sat one of the prettiest young women he could remember seeing in his life.
‘Good morning,’ Sir Lancelot said genially. ‘Mind if I join you?’
Looking up from long dark lashes, the girl raised a hand delicately to stroke her shoulder-length hair. ‘Please do,’ she invited in a throaty voice.
Sir Lancelot took his seat, hands on knees. ‘Lovely morning.’
‘Delicious.’
Looking from the corner of his eye, he decided he had never seen a female with such attractive legs. ‘I’m glad you favour the mini-skirt.’
‘You don’t disapprove?’
‘On the contrary. They allow plenty of air to circulate round the pelvis. Very healthy.’
‘I’m glad. So many elderly people can be stuffy.’
‘I’m not elderly,’ said Sir Lancelot, looking hurt. ‘Possibly in your eyes, my dear, I appear to have landed from the Ark. But I assure you I am very much in possession of my faculties. All of them.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl purred. ‘I’m sure you’re really frighteningly virile.’
‘Well, I’m healthy,’ Sir Lancelot temporized. ‘I could run a mile before breakfast without ill-effect, I fancy.’
‘Would you like to chase me?’
He looked puzzled. ‘You enjoy being chased?’
‘Adore it. Come on!’ She leapt up. ‘Give me five seconds’ start. I promise I won’t run too fast.’
They ran up and down the yew alleys. Sir Lancelot thought it tremendous fun – and quite harmless, it reminded him of his boyhood, pursuing the little girls at school out of devilment. She was most athletic, he noticed, avoiding his clutches with an excited squeak whenever she let him catch up with her, until he puffed and started to grow short of breath.
‘Got you!’ he exclaimed, folding her in a bearlike hug. ‘Well, you naughty little girl – what’s the reward? A kiss?’
‘If you like.’
Then her wig dropped off.
‘Good God,’ he cried in horror. ‘You’re not female at all.’
‘No dear, I’m a TV producer, but drag’s my little weakness. They’re giving me injections for it.’
Grimsdyke, searching for de Hoot, turned the corner of the hedge. ‘Well, Sir Lancelot! Butterflies?’
‘Grimsdyke!’ Sir Lancelot released his grip. ‘My dear madam…my dear sir…please forgive me understandable mistake…’ He grabbed Grimsdyke’s arm, leading him away with anxious strides. ‘I must leave this place. I must leave at once. I don’t know exactly what you are doing to me down here, but you are plunging me into very deep and murky waters where I am not accustomed to swim.’
‘He’s quite harmless, Sir Lancelot.’
‘That’s not the point. It is obvious that I must direct my new-found energies into the proper channel. I must marry the matron as soon as possible. I recall that she mentioned next Friday week. I shall agree to that, or this Friday if possible. Perhaps in return she will accept a registry office, instead of turning the ceremony into the biggest musical comedy since My Fair Lady. I am leaving. At once. I shall return to London and stay with the dean.’
‘I’m afraid de Hoot won’t take kindly to your discharging yourself, sir.’
‘I don’t give a hoot for de Hoot. Between you and me, I suspect he’s a bit of a charlatan. He’d have to be, running a place like this. Perhaps I should have known better than asking the advice of a clapped-out sex-maniac like yourself.’
‘Really, sir! I was only trying to help.’
‘I long ago d
iscovered that asking your advice on any matter whatever was simply inviting disaster.’ He wiped his forehead with the red-and-white handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry, Grimsdyke. I withdraw that. I am not myself. It wouldn’t surprise me if those injections had some nasty side-effect.’
‘It would surprise me, sir,’ said Grimsdyke feelingly. ‘Quite a lot.’
17
Grimsdyke found Godfri’s studio disappointing. He had expected something resembling Dr de Hoot’s clinic, but found instead a tumbledown converted garage off the King’s Road. He went with Eric Cavendish into a small office which still smelt of motor-oil, where a middle-aged woman of clinical appearance in a white overall was sitting over a typewriter.
‘Miss Fowler is already in the studio,’ she told them. ‘As Mr Godfri is expecting you, it will be possible to enter. But please knock and wait,’ she directed severely. ‘On no account must anyone interrupt Mr Godfri while he is thinking – which may continue for hours on end.’
‘Great,’ said Eric doubtfully.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay out here,’ Grimsdyke said. ‘I – er, suffer from photophobia rather badly.’ When they were alone, he turned to the receptionist. ‘By the way – it’s a strange coincidence, but I believe someone I happen to know has come to work in your studios. A Miss Gray.’
‘Oh, her.’
‘We ran into each other in hospital – I am a doctor, you understand. Perhaps I could have a word with the young lady?’
She jerked her head. ‘You’ll find her out the back. In the dark-room. And mind you don’t open the door if the red light’s on.’
Grimsdyke made his way down a narrow ill-painted corridor towards the rear of the garage. He found a door with a red light, which he noticed with satisfaction was unlit. He knocked, and recognized Stella’s voice.
He smoothed the lapels of his suit and stepped into a small dank room smelling of mixed chemicals. Stella looked round and gave a gasp. He held up his hand. ‘My dear girl, say nothing. Not a word. Please. I implore you. Let me make my speech first. I have been rehearsing it for hours, as a matter of fact, and any interruptions might spoil my performance.’
‘All right,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Do not turn me out. Gaston Grimsdyke comes today with no designs but the utterly pure one of asking your forgiveness. The last time we met, I was rude. Horribly so. I called you names. A thing one should never do to any female, particularly such a charming and sweet-natured one as–’
‘Oh, Gaston.’ She started to cry. ‘I’m so miserable.’
‘There, there!’ Grimsdyke briskly gathered her to his chest and started stroking her blonde hair. ‘There, there, there, there! And what’s the matter, now? You just tell me your troubles, every single little one of them. Take your time.’
‘I hate it.’
‘What, this place?’
She nodded, blowing her nose.
‘It is a bit of a crummy joint, I must say.’
‘I’ve only been here two days, and everyone’s so horrible to me.’
‘Even the glamorous Godfri?’
‘He’s unbelievable.’
‘There, there, there.’ Grimsdyke stroked her a little more vigorously.
‘I thought I was going to have a wonderful life in the studio, meeting all sorts of groovy people. All I do is slave out here, make the tea and sweep the floors.’
‘I suppose there’s no more glamour in photography than there is in medicine, whatever the idiotic public think.’
‘I so wish I were back at St Swithin’s.’
‘Why don’t you just tell Godfri where to stuff his zoom lens and walk out? With the shortage of medical staff these days, St Swithin’s would be delighted to see one of their old hands coming back. They were even delighted to see me, and I can’t put it stronger than that.’
‘They wouldn’t want to see me,’ she said miserably. ‘Not the radiographer who mixed up those X-ray envelopes and caused so much trouble.’
‘But I took the blame for that. Actually, I was going to come to the subject in my little speech, but you seem to have forestalled me.’
‘I know you did. You were wonderful. I didn’t appreciate it at the time. God, how stupid I was!’
‘Perhaps if you allowed the memory to fade a little, the St. Swithin’s powers-that-be in the X-ray line would grow more forgiving.’
‘But I can’t stand this place another minute.’
‘Then take a holiday,’ he suggested brightly. ‘St Tropez, Nassau, Kabul, you know.’
‘But I’ve got to have a job. I pay Mum four pounds a week for my keep.’
‘But your old man? He’s a ruddy millionaire.’
‘Who said so?’
He hesitated. ‘You did, I suppose. Anyway, it got round the hospital.’
She blew her nose again. ‘I suppose I did say something like that. It was an act. I didn’t feel important enough. Some people pretend they’re lords and generals and film producers and things, don’t they? You see it in the papers.’
‘I’ve just realized something. You haven’t called me “lover man” once.’
‘That was all part of it.’
‘Stella, I love you.’
‘Oh, Gaston!’ She started to cry again.
‘We can’t have you weeping like this,’ he said gently. ‘Your tears will get into the hypo, or whatever they use. Look, Stella, my love – you want to resume your career as a radiographer. Right?’
She nodded.
‘Then I shall see you damn well do. I shall take it up at St. Swithin’s. With the dean. With Sir Lancelot. Yes, certainly with Sir Lancelot. I’ve that old bear by the sensitive bits good and proper at the moment. Unfortunately, I’m now working out in the country – a clinic, psychological cases, very interesting. But I can get up to town again tomorrow, so how about our meeting then?’
‘Gaston darling, I’d love to–’
‘Sweat it out here meanwhile, and I’ll pick you up when you finish work. Six o’clock?’
She nodded vigorously.
‘We’ll have a quiet dinner – not at the Crécy, the food’s uneatable and everyone rude from the manager downwards – to discuss our future plans.’
There was a crash outside, and a scream of agony.
‘Good God,’ muttered Grimsdyke. ‘Sounds like I’ve got a case.’
In the corridor they found Godfri in his working clothes, which resembled the everyday dress of a Red Indian squaw. He was pulling his hair with both hands while jumping up and down and shouting.
‘I’d rather kill myself. I’d rather be eaten alive by wild beasts. I’d rather go and work on a building-site.’
‘Where you probably started, anyway,’ snapped Iris Fowler, appearing from the studio in only the bottom half of a bikini.
‘I cannot photograph you. I will not. You don’t even listen to what I say. My God, some of the models may be dim, but you’re too stupid even to sit still for a snap on the end of Margate pier.’
‘Listen to him!’ Iris said angrily. ‘I’m Miss Business Furnishing, I’ll have you know.’
‘I don’t care if you’re Miss Sewage Works. You’re impossible. Besides, your tits are of different sizes.’
‘They’re not!’
‘Look at them, if you don’t believe me. It’s like trying to get the dome of St Paul’s and a goldfish bowl into the same picture.’
‘Oo, you rotten old sod–’
She aimed a jab at him, as Eric Cavendish appeared from the studio saying nervously, ‘Now, now, Iris – remember, it’s just Mr Godfri’s artistic temperament.’
‘Artistic! Don’t make me laugh. He’s about as artistic as a foreman down the saltmines.’
‘Get out, before I call the fuzz,’ commanded Godfri.
‘I’m going, don’t you worry,’ she said haughtily. ‘Where’s my things?’ Eric Cavendish pushed a bundle of clothes at her. ‘Ta, ever so,’ she added sarcastically, pulling on a leather coat. ‘I hope next time yo
u won’t hurt your back. Old men like you ought to be tucked up at night with a nice cup of chocolate.’
‘I must go and think,’ gasped Godfri, as the front door slammed. ‘Every nerve is shattered. Completely shattered. Where are my worry beads? Leave me alone, everyone, please. I must think, think, think, for hours and hours…’
As he disappeared into the studio, Stella asked, ‘And who might that be?’
Grimsdyke smiled. ‘One of my patients. Mental case. I’ll explain tomorrow. Perhaps you’d like me to introduce Eric Cavendish,’ he added with a touch of pride.
‘The Eric Cavendish?’ Stella’s eyes grew larger. ‘But how dreamy.’ They shook hands. ‘I’ve seen all your movies. I’m absolutely thrilled out of my skin to meet you.’
‘Well, that’s nice.’ Eric Cavendish squared his shoulders. ‘Very nice.’
‘In the last one, did you really do that chase along the mountain ledge?’
He laughed. ‘They got a stunt man for that. I’m too valuable a property to risk losing over a cliff. All those underwater swimming sequences were the real me, though,’ he added modestly.
‘I thought they were the best part of the picture. Honestly I did.’
‘Now isn’t that strange. Because it’s exactly what I thought, too.’
Stella gave a shy laugh. ‘Great minds think alike.’
‘That’s it. You’ve summed it up pretty neatly,’ he complimented her. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m twenty, Mr Cavendish?’
Grimsdyke coughed. ‘Er, Stella, I think we must be going–’
‘That’s a nice age. A very nice age. I think about the best age for a girl to be.’
‘Oh…thank you, Mr Cavendish.’
‘The name’s Eric. And you’re –?’
‘Stella Gray.’
‘Have you ever thought of going into the movies, Stella? You’ve got the looks.’
‘Well, we must really be on our way,’ Grimsdyke cut in heartily. ‘Mr Cavendish is a very busy man, aren’t you, Mr Cavendish?’
‘I’ve all the time in the world. Particularly when I’m talking to a pretty girl. Say, how about dinner at my suite in the Crécy Hotel when I’m back in London tomorrow? I could pick you up right here when you finish work. I guess that’s about six o’clock–’
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