The Summer of Sir Lancelot

by Gordon, Richard

  ‘Very good. Nothing personal meant o‘course, Sir Lancelot.‘ His head poked round the door again a moment later. ‘I‘ll be seeing you tomorrow, sir — I‘ve just heard I‘m on a day‘s theatre duty.‘

  ‘Get out!‘ roared Sir Lancelot. ‘You ruddy stuffed vulture! Come in!‘ he added loudly. ‘No, I was not the patient calling for the bedpan!‘ he informed the redheaded nurse. ‘I might just as well try and get a bit of kip slap in the middle of Selfridge‘s Bargain Basement.‘

  He opened the telegram. It was from Lady Spratt in Majorca, saying she was sorry to hear of the news and was hurrying home. He gave a sigh. He looked at his watch. He tugged his beard. Drawing the sheet to his chin he closed his eyes again. He had in fact tottered over the hard edge of consciousness into the soft billows of sleep when the next tap came at his door.

  ‘Go away, blast your guts!‘ He sat bolt upright. ‘Oh, come in, my dear,‘ he added more quietly, as Nikki Sparrow appeared.

  ‘I hope it‘s quite convenient, visiting you now?‘ she asked with a smile. ‘Perfectly,‘ he told her coldly. ‘It is the afternoon I hold open house.‘

  ‘I‘ve brought you some grapes.‘ She put them down beside the tooth mug. ‘I had to come now because it is my last chance of seeing you alone. Simon‘s safely scrubbed up in the theatre. I don‘t want him ever to know I‘ve been here, of course.‘

  ‘Indeed?‘ Sir Lancelot plucked a grape. ‘At my age I can hardly indulge in clandestine meetings with young married women.‘

  Nikki sat on the edge of his bed and crossed her slim legs. Sir Lancelot ate another grape and mellowed slightly.

  ‘My husband has a great ambition,‘ Nikki announced.

  ‘I am already perfectly aware that he wishes to become a St Swithin‘s consultant.‘

  ‘Yes, but he also wants to be the very first one ever elected without so much as twitching a string.‘

  Sir Lancelot grunted. He reached for a third grape.

  ‘And every time there‘s a chance of your pulling a few for him, Lancelot, the pair of you seem to end up in a flaming row.‘

  ‘I didn‘t want to be over-severe on Simon, my dear. But I should have thought him better advised to save his impertinence towards me until he was actually on the staff.‘

  ‘It‘s only a defence mechanism on both sides, of course,‘ Nikki continued calmly. ‘You get rumbustious because you don‘t want to be accused, ever so faintly, of nepotism. He gets snappy because you‘ll make his life a misery afterwards, continually pushing into his theatre and belittling him in front of his students.‘

  ‘I do thatV Sir Lancelot looked shocked. ‘Never!‘

  ‘What about when poor Mr Cambridge was first elected? He had to keep altering the times of his operating lists.‘

  Sir Lancelot shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘So you see, Lancelot, Simon wants you to help him get on the staff quite as much as you do yourself,‘ she explained evenly. ‘And he‘s just as pig-stubborn as you are. So Paul Ivors-Smith will get the job when Simon is a far better surgeon, far more intelligent, and of a far sounder character,‘ she stated simply.

  ‘H‘m,‘ said Sir Lancelot.

  ‘And the Professor will utterly dominate the hospital.‘ Nikki threw another faggot on Sir Lancelot‘s smouldering doubts. ‘Paul is, poor man, quite spineless. You ought to see the way he lets his wife treat him.‘

  ‘I am not particularly enamoured of Mrs Ivors-Smith,‘ agreed Sir Lancelot, taking another grape. ‘Her transition from the sluice-room to the drawing-room has not been a happy one.‘

  ‘Then perhaps you will write a letter to Mr Nightrider?‘ continued Nikki briskly, opening her handbag. ‘Just stating how strongly you feel Simon is exactly the one for the job. I‘ve brought Biro and paper with me.‘

  ‘My dear — Come in!‘ bawled Sir Lancelot. ‘For heaven‘s sake, man, can‘t you keep away? The blasted wake hasn‘t started yet.‘

  ‘Visitor for you,‘ grinned Crimes, drawing himself up.

  ‘I am not at home.‘

  ‘His Honour the Chairman of the Hospital Governors,‘ announced Crimes impressively.

  ‘Great Scott, what does Geoff want?‘ muttered Sir Lancelot.

  ‘I‘d better go,‘ announced Nikki hastily. ‘I‘ll come and see you again when you‘re better.‘

  ‘Ah, Lancelot, there you are. I wish - I beg your pardon, madam,‘ started Mr Nightrider, stumbling over Nikki in the doorway. ‘Lancelot, I must have a word with you. At once. It is a matter of great importance.‘

  ‘I am, of course, a sick man awaiting operation. Did you suppose I should find this sudden craving for my company flattering?‘

  Mr Nightrider stood fingering his lapel, looking like a saint limbering up for a needle fixture with the sinners.

  ‘Have a grape,‘ Sir Lancelot invited.

  ‘I must speak to you in the strictest confidence.‘

  ‘How's that daughter of yours?‘ Sir Lancelot cut in amiably.

  ‘Felicity? She seems very happy in that post of yours. Extremely so. Though she insists on working outrageously long hours down there. Sometimes I worry about her health. Lancelot, something has occurred to the great detriment - ‘

  ‘And Randolph? Does he know anything good for the Ebor Handicap?‘

  ‘Our hospital has been shamed,‘ Mr Nightrider announced impatiently.

  ‘Indeed?‘

  ‘You‘ve seen the papers? This remarkable business in the City. United Drug falling like that. I lost a quite considerable sum myself, I might add.‘

  ‘Oh, hard luck,‘ Sir Lancelot remarked genially.

  ‘You know why the shares fell, of course?‘

  ‘I wouldn‘t have the slightest — come in! No, young lady, I shall not be needing any occupational therapy. I am quite occupied enough as it is. Good afternoon — how the devil should I know?‘ he ended shortly to his brother-in-law. ‘I‘m not a financier.‘

  ‘There has been a leak,‘ declared Mr Nightrider darkly. ‘This new steroid drug the Professional Unit is working on. Apparently it‘s no good.‘

  ‘The sooner the fact were common knowledge the better, I would think.‘

  ‘But don‘t you understand?‘ Mr Nightrider jumped about testily. ‘Everyone knew United Drug had indirectly put up the money for the research, and would be allowed to produce it. The shares went up enormously. You know what profits can be made from even one successful drug. Look at penicillin.‘

  ‘My dear Geoff, if a number of widows and orphans have been ruined I am extremely sorry, but I fail to see what concern it is of mine. Now I really should like a little sleep. A not unreasonable request, I feel, as this time tomorrow I shall have a ruddy great slit all the way down my back.‘

  ‘But Lancelot! Don‘t you recall the findings were to be kept secret until published by the Research Council next week? Surely you remember the procedure? Somebody at St Swithin‘s has broken professional secrecy. A most distasteful business.‘

  ‘H‘m.‘ Sir Lancelot tugged his beard. ‘One of the lab. technicians, perhaps? Bribed, possibly.‘

  ‘I don‘t know, but I cannot conceive it would be one of the medical staff. That is why I want you to have a word with the Professor. Obviously, in my position I can‘t start some sort of inquisition.‘

  ‘Oh, very well, very well,‘ he agreed wearily. ‘I‘ll raise it when he makes his round this evening. Now if you would have the kindness to leave me in peace - ‘

  ‘Yes, of course. I will say goodbye, Lancelot, in case I don‘t see you again. Before your operation, that is,‘ he added hastily. ‘By the way,‘ he remembered at the door, ‘the cistern is leaking badly again. I really feel you ought to get it repaired for us.‘

  Sir Lancelot lay down. He closed his eyes. But inside his head thoughts revolved and collided like atoms in a cyclotron. After half an hour‘s hot restlessness under his sheet he sat up again.

  ‘I wonder... ‘ he murmured. ‘I wonder.‘

  He picked up the telephone.


  ‘Bank 8080. Thank you. Hello? Lord Itchen there? Sir Lancelot Spratt, a personal friend. Yes, it is fairly urgent. Hello, Kenneth? I wonder it - one moment. Come in! Great Scott, girl, what‘s that?‘

  ‘Your tea, Sir Lancelot,‘ announced the redheaded nurse, setting down a tray.

  ‘But dammit! I‘ve only just had lunch.‘

  ‘Sorry, Sir Lancelot, but the teas are rather early today. Sister thinks the patients sleep so heavily all afternoon they never have a chance to drop off at night.‘

  14

  The patients‘ supper at St Swithin‘s was planned with the same care as the lunch, to provide a sustaining meal which would yet lie lightly on the stomach during the night. Sir Lancelot disposed of his fairly quickly, before starting on certain supplements of his own — a pot of caviar, bottled partridge in aspic, a Camembert, and half a bottle of burgundy. Replacing his brandy behind the barley water afterwards, he settled down with his tooth mug to think deeply about his coming interview with the Professor and Paul Ivors-Smith.

  ‘Enter!‘

  Euphemia came in.

  ‘My dear!‘ exclaimed her uncle.

  He hardly recognized the child. She wore a gold silk dress which to his first startled gaze seemed in danger of putting on public view the young lady‘s entire thorax. Her big blue eyes shone from heavy frames of bronze make-up. Her golden hair was shaped as elaborately as a Viennese pastry.

  ‘Good grief, you look like a left-over from the Denning Report,‘ he declared.

  ‘Uncle, will you do me a terrific favour?‘ she asked breathlessly.

  He looked bleak. ‘Precisely what sort of favour had you in mind?‘

  ‘Let me climb through your window.‘

  ‘H‘m,‘ said Sir Lancelot.

  ‘I‘m absolutely desperate.‘ Her voice quivered. ‘It‘s my first pass for weeks, and Matron‘s cancelled it. I dropped a patient‘s jelly,‘ she explained.

  As Sir Lancelot sipped his brandy a glow of indulgence spread slowly across his frost-bound features. He saw several points in the girl‘s simple request. She would be able to meet this excellent young man Tolly, who had suffered not only the expense but the rigours of British Railways to see her again so soon. She would enjoy a few hours‘ relaxation from the drab life of the hospital. And it would be one in the eye for the Matron, who on reflection he felt had been a toffee-nosed old fusspot over the nightclub affair.

  ‘I can just slip down and run past the Throat Department out into the street,‘ Euphemia continued eagerly. ‘I‘ve worked it all out.‘

  Sir Lancelot gave a smile. ‘I am only sorry that my condition precludes my giving you a leg-up.‘

  ‘Oh, Uncle! You‘re fabulous!‘

  She gave him a hearty kiss.

  ‘I‘m glad for your sake it‘s a hot evening,‘ he added benevolently. ‘Otherwise I fear you would be in serious danger of catching a chill.‘

  With a flash of legs over the sill, Euphemia was gone.

  Sir Lancelot swilled his brandy round the mug. When a man knows he is to be operated upon in the morning, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. Twenty-four hours in Tim Tolly‘s company at Leafy Grove had convinced him the young man wasn‘t a bad sort of fellow at all. Mind, he had no interest in cricket or fishing, but apparently he was keen on the violin instead. He was admittedly a psychiatrist, so automatically insane, but he wasn‘t half as mad as the other ones. Sir Lancelot took another sip of brandy, then with furrowed brow transferred his thoughts to the Professor. The meeting would be difficult. It hardly does getting your knife into a man who is already booked shortly to get his into you.

  ‘Come in!‘

  Tim Tolly burst through the door.

  ‘I‘m afraid the bird has flown.‘ Sir Lancelot eyed him with mild surprise. ‘If you want to catch her up, that is the way from the nest, he added, indicating the window.

  ‘I never wish to set eyes on Euphemia again as long as I live.‘

  ‘What?‘

  ‘So she got away through there, did she?‘ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘You‘re in the conspiracy against me too, are you? I have no hesitation in describing your conduct as perfectly filthy.‘

  ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head when you‘re addressing me!‘ snapped the surgeon.

  ‘Why should I?‘ Tim continued furiously. ‘I‘ve lost every shred of respect for you. I was in love with Effie. I wanted to get engaged, perfectly honourably. And there you go, egging her on to play fast and loose with every Tom, Dick, and Harry in London.‘

  ‘How dare you! I merely let her effect her escape because the Matron had unfairly cancelled her pass.‘

  ‘You‘re telling the story too? Of course the Matron hasn‘t cancelled her pass.‘

  ‘And to whom, may I ask,‘ thundered Sir Lancelot, ‘are you indebted for that information?‘

  ‘The Matron. I‘ve just been to see her.‘

  Suddenly running out of fuel, Tim sat heavily on the bed.

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Have a grape,‘ offered Sir Lancelot.

  ‘I‘m sorry, sir,‘ apologized Tim. ‘I was a little overwrought.

  ‘So it would seem. And if you continue to grind your teeth like that, young man, I fear you will be in danger of damaging the enamel. Perhaps you would have the goodness to tell me,‘ he invited, ‘as a perfectly innocent bystander, exactly what is going on?‘

  Tim shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I‘d come to take Effie out to dinner with...well, with Charlie Chadwick. The old fellow sent for me yesterday. Rather urgent. You know I‘ve been treating this anaemia and dyspepsia of his? It‘s been worse with all his business worries. I travelled down overnight.‘

  ‘To visit the Psychological Society Library, no doubt,‘ suggested Sir Lancelot shortly.

  ‘This morning he seemed a changed man.‘ Tim got up and started pacing about with his hands in his pockets. ‘Apparently, the drug firm which wanted to take him over has gone half bust, or something. Anyway the danger‘s past. Instead of a consultation he asked us to a celebration dinner at his flat.‘ Tim kicked the dirty-dressing bin. ‘This afternoon I sent Effie a letter through her pal, Nurse James. It was Nurse James who showed up in the courtyard just now with this cancelled-pass story. I smelt a rat.‘ He took another kick. The whole tale came out,‘ he continued miserably. ‘There‘s someone else. There‘ve been little notes, telephone messages, bunches of flowers, and all that. She‘s been out with him several times already. He‘s got a white Jag,‘ he ended in despair.

  Sir Lancelot tugged his beard.

  ‘She slipped out through your window to avoid running into me,‘ Tim added weakly.

  ‘As much as I sympathize with your predicament,‘ the surgeon remarked after a pause, ‘you can hardly expect me to give such matters attention when I am to suffer a major operation in about twelve hours‘ time.‘

  ‘Don‘t bother to think about it.‘ Tim opened the door. The girl means absolutely nothing to me any longer. This white Jag bloke will make her a much more useful husband. He must be filthily rich. As for me, the only way I could manage that evening in the nightclub was by pawning the gold medal.‘

  ‘Gold medal? What gold medal?‘

  The one I won at St Agnes‘ for midwifery. I think I shall just go and walk the streets for a bit. With any luck I shall be run over by a bus.‘

  He shut the door, leaving Sir Lancelot wondering disturbedly precisely what his niece was up to at that moment.

  She was in fact roaring towards South Kensington in the white Jag with Mr Perry Quest.

  ‘Well, well, Nursie,‘ said Mr Quest, narrowly missing a couple of trustful citizens on a zebra. ‘You certainly do me good every time I set eyes on you.‘

  ‘Sorry I was so crashingly late,‘ returned Euphemia calmly. The surgeon kept me in the operating theatre. I was in charge of the blood. It was a matter of life and death.‘

  ‘Ugh!‘ Mr Quest‘s good-looking face creased. ‘You, Nursie darling, are the only piece of
hospital I want to see again in my life.‘

  ‘But just think, Perry, if it hadn‘t been for your appendix we‘d never have met.‘

  ‘ “Query appendix”, my love, I insist. At least they released me to the land of the living after a couple of days. It was just too much champagne at Sue Gresham‘s party, I suppose.‘

  ‘You mean Susan Gresham the film-star?‘ Euphemia‘s bronze-ringed eyes widened. ‘You actually know her?‘

  ‘But of course,‘ murmured Mr Quest, stroking his little moustache and crossing a yellow traffic light.

  Euphemia had known Mr Quest only a fortnight.

  ‘Nurse Spratt,‘ Sister Virtue had greeted her coming on duty one morning, ‘go to that new man in Number Six and tidy the disgusting mess on his locker.‘

  ‘Yes, Sister.‘

  ‘And Nurse Spratt, tell him I will not countenance squalor in my ward.‘

  ‘Yes, Sister.‘

  Euphemia straightened the soap and toothbrush without taking much notice of the patient. Neither did he take much notice of her. That morning Mr Quest wasn‘t taking much notice of anybody. He was too scared.

  Euphemia idly picked up his case-notes. The board suddenly shook so violently she nearly broke the thermometer she was waiting to slip under Mr Quest‘s tongue. The bib of her apron heaved. She had read the simple words, ‘Occupation: Managing Director, Quest Model Agency.‘

  Simon appeared in the ward later that morning and decided there was no need to operate. Mr Quest sat up in bed in orange silk pyjamas, feeling much better. Before long he was being observed keenly by the nursing staff, and vice versa. Euphemia inspected him behind screens, round transfusion stands, and across bed-cradles with particular interest. By the time she‘d held his pulse for four and a half minutes that evening, she felt she was drawing away from the field.

  The next morning was Sister Virtue‘s day off. She spent it quietly with her cousin who ran a riding stable in Epping.

  ‘Anne,‘ whispered Euphemia urgently over the breakfast bread-and-butter in the ward kitchen, ‘will you let me do Number Six‘s back this morning? He‘s being discharged this afternoon.‘