Soon afterwards I came to bed and promised, after a barrage of nagging, to see Dr. Jekyll the following morning. I had time to complete my diary before sleep.
Monday, July 12, 1999
The Infection
I was woken at 5:00 am when Oscar decided that I owed him some quality stroking time. I saw from his eyes that he was not to be denied and so I stroked, and stroked and stroked. He finally decided that he'd got his due and turning round, he strolled off my chest and along my leg, which brought a gasp from me, and went to settle by my feet. It was now 6:15 am and there was no chance now of falling asleep again, so I got out of bed slowly and carefully before making my way to the bathroom.
I realised that walking was more than uncomfortable, it was really painful and I decided there and then that maybe a visit to the doctor wasn't a bad idea. Accordingly I presented myself at the surgery at 8.30 am when it opened. I blinked and the waiting room was suddenly full. Lady J, who had driven me, went to speak to the receptionist to get me an emergency appointment, while I eased myself into a waiting room chair. I knew that she wouldn't take no for an answer, but was surprised to hear my name called almost straightaway. I limped through to Dr Jekyll's room and saw him smiling. “Right, off with the trousers”, he said.
Off they came and I manoeuvred myself onto the examination table.
“So”, he said, “quite neatly stitched, but you have an infection there. I'll give you some antibiotics to clear it. I noticed you were very tentative putting your foot down as you came in. It may be that some tendon damage occurred when the knife entered the muscle. Oh yes, I know all about it, this is a village, remember, where stories travel at the speed of light. I'll get you some proper crutches but it's just possible that you might need them long term”.
“Thank you, Doctor”, I said, taking the proffered prescription. “I'm afraid I wanted to get home more than I wanted to spend time in a Beritana hospital”.
“Understood”, he replied, “but that may have been a costly move in terms of healing. Anyway, if the infection doesn't clear, I'll book you in as Long John Silver in this year’s village pantomime. Now go to Lady Julia and tell her I said she's to make sure you rest this leg for a few days”.
I left the surgery and found Lady J chatting in the waiting room. She excused herself and opened the door for me saying, “It seems as though the whole village knows about your injury and your exploits, dear. I heard one person refer to you as a James Bond character”.
Laughing, we made our way to the car and thence to the village chemist to fill my prescription. The staff in there and in the post office, which is inside the chemists, (or is it the chemist which is inside the post office?) are always pleasant and helpful. Liam, who is always efficient, passed over the drugs and said he hoped my leg would soon be better. I swear that there are jungle drums beating, which I can't hear, that keep the whole village aware of any new event.
“Home now, dear”, said Lady J. “No more gallivanting for you, I'm afraid. You can help me with village affairs now, like organising the fête”.
That last brought a grimace as I'd seen quieter wars than our village fête.
As we arrived home, I saw Bertie's Rolls Royce drawn up by the door.
I found him inside talking to Grizelda over a cup of coffee. She rose to make one for Lady J and me, and Bertie and I withdrew to my office.
“Well, old man. You've really done it this time, haven't you?” he said.
“Pardon, Bertie?” I responded. “I don't quite understand. Done what exactly?”
“Well, you saved Ibrahim's life while you were over there. We thought you'd just boost his security once you'd told him of the threat. And then, after doing it once, you go and do it again publicly. We've had to assure people that you were there as a friend only, and not in an official capacity, in case of reprisals here from the radical element. Now Ibrahim wants to award you a medal in 'The Most Noble Order of the Eagle of Beritana'. No westerner has ever been awarded one”.
“I only did what I could, Bertie, and my actions were more of an accident than anything”, I said.
“Nonsense”, retorted Bertie. “I heard from both Ibrahim and Mustapha on the subject and they were both perfectly clear about your actions. I'm only sorry that as our unofficial envoy we can't give you any recognition”.
“I'm frankly quite relieved”, I told him. “I'm just happy that Ibrahim is safe. It was quite a worrying time for his family”.
“Well, David, needless to say we're all grateful for what you've done and wish you a speedy recovery with the leg. I'll let you know when Ibrahim wants to present the medal”.
“I'd much rather you thanked him for the honour he does me, but would suggest that he wait until I return again to Beritana and do it there, very quietly”.
“I'll suggest that, old chap. Now I must depart and get back to the office. You will take care won't you?” he asked.
I saw Bertie to the door and waved as he left. I took the remains of my coffee to the lounge to find Lady J. She rushed to get a footstool for my leg as I sat down.
“Enough excitement for one day, dear. You relax with a book or the crossword while I see about lunch with Grizelda. She wants to do something special for our wounded hero”.
All I could do was chuckle and say, “I suppose I don't have a leg to stand on here, do I?”
The Author, Lord David Prosser, lives in a small village in Wales. He is surrounded by the characters from this book and of course has attempted to disguise their real names in order to protect the innocent or, in reality, to avoid being sued. The cat, however has already taken action against him for using his real identity in the first book in this series (My Barsetshire Diary, available on Amazon.com). His wife and daughter maintain a stranglehold on his credit cards for what they call his abuse of, and liberties taken with their fine characters. Please, reader, recommend this book to friends and buy it as gifts for Christmas and birthdays so that His Lordship may remain solvent.
The Queen's Envoy (The Barsetshire Diaries) Page 14
