Doreen’s plump face fell. ‘I thought you’d say it was that. Will I have to give up the dancing?’ she asked dolefully.
‘I hope not—but you will have to rest it and let the ligaments settle down. I’m not sure if the trauma to your knee has given you a flare-up of arthritis. It could even be a displaced cartilage…’
Doreen looked alarmed. ‘How can you tell, then, Doctor?’
‘If it’s arthritis it should settle down after a few days of rest and some anti-inflammatory tablets. I believe a physiotherapist has a session at the hospital so if we could get you an appointment you could be shown a few gentle exercises to keep the muscles in that area toned. If it’s still not right after a week or so, we ought to have an MRI scan done so that we can see exactly what’s going on.’
Terry looked kindly at the worried-looking woman. ‘One thing I’d like you to do that could help…and I don’t think you’ll find it too difficult when you’re taking all this exercise…’
‘What’s that, Doctor?’
‘If you lost some weight it would help your knee a lot—you might find it settles down completely.’ Terry put it as gently as she could. She didn’t want to hurt this nice woman’s feelings.
To her alarm Doreen’s face crumpled and she pulled out a hankie from a large handbag and blew her nose noisily. ‘Oh, I have tried, really I have, but it’s difficult. I’ve three sons and a husband who all like huge meals, and I can’t stop myself eating with them. I know I look a sight.’
Terry leaned over the desk and patted Doreen’s plump hand. Doreen might have a cheery face but it obviously hid the very real worry she had about her weight, and the lack of self-esteem she felt probably affected her whole life. And there were many people who felt like she did, too embarrassed to ask for help.
‘You don’t look a sight, Doreen, far from it,’ she said gently. ‘My only concern is for your health. Extra pounds put strain on your body—blood pressure, joints and the risk of diabetes. I don’t want you to stop eating with your family, Doreen, just not quite so much.’
‘I’ve got no willpower,’ said Doreen mournfully.
‘Look, I’m going to suggest I hold a weekly weigh-in at the surgery to try and encourage people who need to lose weight. That and a diet sheet should help your resolve.’ She smiled at Doreen. ‘You’re the first patient I’ve seen in my new job, so I really want my first patient to do well! Will you come?’
Doreen looked brighter. ‘Yes—yes, I’d like that, something to keep me on the straight and narrow. Actually, there’s one or two of us in the troupe that are a bit weighty, so they might come along as well!’
She limped out quite happily and when she got to the door she turned and said cryptically, ‘It’s good to have a sympathetic lady doctor at last—someone who’s main interest is in her patients and hasn’t got other things on her mind. Well, you know what I mean, Dr Younger.’
What exactly did she mean? wondered Terry as she tapped in her notes for Doreen Lovatt. Perhaps when she knew Isobel better she’d make discreet enquiries about this woman that had been the locum before her.
The morning sped by with the usual variety of ills that presented themselves at a GP’s surgery, from chronic backache to glue ear in a small child. And all the patients were keen to talk about Maisie and her accident, which Terry surmised probably added at least half an hour to the morning’s work.
Just as she was about to shut down the computer, Isobel put her head round the door.
‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ she said grimly.
‘Oh, dear…what?’ asked Terry, wondering if Isobel ever came in looking happy.
Isobel’s voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Cyril Rathbone—that’s the bad news! He haunts this place. I told him surgery was finished but he won’t take no for an answer. Always thinks he’s at death’s door and has to be seen immediately. Mind you,’ she acknowledged, ‘he and his wife make a wonderful job of running the Caledonian Hotel up the hill and I think that’s quite stressful. Shall I send him in?’
‘No problem,’ said Terry with a grin. ‘There’s at least one in every practice!’ Whatever Isobel said about this patient, this could be the one time he was really ill after all.
Mr Rathbone, short, bald, but nattily dressed, marched into the room. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Doctor,’ he said briskly. ‘I normally see Dr Euan Brodie—we’re old friends, sit on the same committees, that sort of thing. He keeps a very good eye on me but, of course, he’s not available, which is a nuisance.’
Terry smiled, noting with amusement the way he’d made it clear that he was a special patient of the practice! ‘How can I help you, Mr Rathbone?’
‘I didn’t want to bother you really, but I’m in such pain that my wife insisted I should come and see someone, whoever it was…’
‘I see. I hope I can give as much satisfaction as Dr Brodie.’
Her sarcasm was lost on a man like Mr Rathbone, and she wondered, with his brusque manner, how he managed to make such a success of his hotel. Perhaps he was completely different with his guests!
‘Well, of course you don’t know me like old Dr Brodie,’ he said tersely. ‘He’s a wonderful diagnostician.’
Meaning you don’t have any faith in me at all, thought Terry wryly. But she sympathised. The patient-doctor relationship was a very personal thing built over a long time, and seeing someone new could be daunting.
‘The thing is, I’ve got an excruciating blister on my toe,’ continued Mr Rathbone. ‘I know they can become infected very easily and turn to septicaemia, so I’d like an antibiotic to fight the infection.’
‘Let me have a look at it,’ said Terry. ‘Take off your shoe and sock.’
‘There!’ exclaimed Mr Rathbone dramatically, revealing his foot with a small red patch on his little toe. ‘Can you wonder I can hardly walk?’ He took out a folded-up newspaper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Terry, pointing out an underlined headline with a stubby finger. ‘Read that! It’s all about diabetes and how an injury can be deadly if left untreated if you have that condition.’
Of all the things that could irritate a doctor, reflected Terry, it’s when a patient quoted something they’ve read about a condition and assume they’ve got it!
She looked through his notes on the computer carefully—there was no history of diabetes or any other existing condition that might make the area on his toe a cause for concern.
‘I see you had a blood and urinary test for diabetes a short time ago,’ she said. ‘They all proved negative, so I don’t think we need worry about that.’
‘I thought I’d just check that you were aware of the complications should I have had it,’ replied Mr Rathbone. ‘One can’t be too careful.’
Terry bit back the urge to say, But one can be incredibly irritating! and said instead, ‘It must be rather sore. It’s obviously been rubbing on shoes that are too tight. The best thing would be to put surgical spirit on it to harden the skin and a small padded plaster over the affected part. And, of course, wear soft shoes like slippers, if your normal ones hurt, until it’s healed.’
‘Slippers?’ echoed Mr Rathbone incredulously. ‘I run a hotel—I can hardly stroll around in front of my guests looking sloppy! What about antibiotics? Surely I ought to have a course of them?’
‘I think we’ll keep them as a last resort, Mr Rathbone. Hopefully it won’t become infected if you do as I suggest. But do come back if it gets worse.’
Terry’s voice was pleasant but very firm—she wasn’t going to be bullied into giving him medicine he didn’t need. Mr Rathbone stared at her in disbelief, then shook his head sadly. ‘I only hope you know what you’re doing—you young doctors are so inexperienced. You’re not from around here, are you?’
He got up and walked with a pronounced limp to the door before turning round and saying dourly, ‘I don’t know what’s happened to this practice—I see a different person every time I come. Where’s the other woman that was here? Not tha
t I had much faith in her, her mind didn’t seem to be on the job at all!’ He looked scornfully at Terry. ‘I suppose you’ll be gone soon too—there’s just no continuity!’
He went out and Terry blew out her cheeks in amazement, feeling a mixture of irritation and amusement.
‘Perhaps he’ll see Atholl next time,’ she murmured, although she’d be surprised if a man like Atholl would let Mr Rathbone dictate to him. She stretched and yawned, putting the man out of her head. She was ready for that picnic lunch that Atholl had promised after they’d met his friend and the boys.
Atholl had changed out of his smart suit and had on jeans and an old plaid lumber jacket. He looked critically at Terry’s outfit.
‘It could be cold when we get to the loch, it’s right up in the hills.’ he said. ‘I always keep a spare set of warm and casual clothes here to change into in case I’m called out to a mountain rescue or somewhere that doesn’t require that suit I wear for meetings.’ He rummaged in the boot of the Land Rover and threw a fleece over to her. ‘Wear that when we get there and you should be OK.’
Shona was in the back of the car, leaping about in excitement. ‘I just picked her up when I was called out this morning,’ Atholl explained. ‘I often do that. Some of my elderly patients love seeing her and she enjoys being made a fuss of.’
Terry could imagine what pleasure the lovely dog would give to lonely old people—and a great source of interest to them. ‘I’ve always wanted a dog,’ she said, ‘but inner-city London wasn’t the place to keep one.’
‘So did you have a flat or a house in London?’ he enquired as they set off towards the hills.
‘A flat,’ she replied briefly.
‘And was it near your work?’
‘Fairly—I could walk there.’ Her brisk tone didn’t encourage further questions.
Terry wasn’t very informative about her life in London, Atholl reflected. The way she’d reacted to the young reporter, the guarded way she’d answered his questions…it all added up to someone who wanted to forget her life there. He’d hazard a guess that she’d had an unhappy affair…she wouldn’t be the first person to move because of a broken heart. Oddly the thought of Terry in love with an unknown man made him uneasy—though someone as stunning as her must have had hordes of men longing to take her out. He accelerated rather fast up the road that led into the hills, large capable hands on the steering-wheel, intrigued and slightly irritated by this little mystery. He’d find out soon enough, he thought.
‘And how did you find your surgery today?’ he asked. ‘Although I guess ailments are pretty universal.’
‘I enjoyed it. Maisie’s aunt, Doreen Lovatt, came in to see me with a bad knee but we ended up talking about her worries over her weight.’
‘Ah, Doreen—she’s a good woman. In fact, all of her family are a bit overweight—you should see her husband and three sons.’
‘Poor woman. I tried to persuade her to lose some weight, but I can see it might be difficult for her. I wondered if you’d mind if I had a trial weight clinic for a few weeks? Say, after surgery one evening?’
Atholl flicked an amused glance at her. ‘Trying to improve the lifestyle on Scuola already? But feel free to do that if you wish—in fact, I think it’s a good idea. There’s quite a few would benefit around here.’
They continued talking in a general way about the practice and Terry mentioned Mr Rathbone.
‘There always seems to be someone who’s very demanding in every practice,’ she commented.
‘Absolutely.’ He grinned. ‘But the day you ignore them, that’s the day their severe stomach cramps really do turn out to be appendicitis. Mind you, he and his wife have transformed the hotel they run. It was in a terrible state a few years ago when they bought it, and by sheer hard work they’ve given it a complete makeover and it’s a real asset to the area. However, I don’t know how Janet Rathbone stands him.’
‘Apparently she insisted he come and see us.’
‘To get him out of her hair I should think.’ Atholl laughed. ‘No doubt we’ll see him again next week. By the way, I ought to fill you in a bit about the four lads you’re going to meet. They come from the same area that I grew up in, all from broken families. I don’t think any of them have had much notice taken of them individually or had the chance to do anything but get into trouble—they’ve all had run-ins with the police. These few weeks are meant to give them a breath of air, an opportunity to put their energies to good use.’
‘That’s a great idea. Who started it?’
‘Pete and I,’Atholl said drily. ‘You see, we were exactly the same at their age—out of control and getting sucked into gangs and dodgy company. We were lucky. We managed to get away from it all just in time, and now we want to give others that chance as well.’
‘That’s a great thing to do,’ she said quietly.
There was more to Atholl Brodie than good looks, then—he was someone who’d made the grade despite a tough start and was prepared to help other youngsters. A flicker of bitterness reminded Terry how different Atholl was from Max, who’d used his good looks and intelligence to such ill effect, hurting so many in his wake.
She flicked a look at Atholl’s strong profile and sighed. If only she’d met someone like him two years ago—someone who was kind, generous with his time, concerned for others. Instead, she thought bitterly, she’d been hoodwinked by honeyed words and her own gullibility—as had her father, she reflected. She wondered if she would she ever believe in a man again or trust her own judgement.
Atholl turned off the road up an unmade cart track, bumping over the holes until they came to a barn-like building in front of a small loch surrounded by hills. A washing line hung outside with several pairs of jeans and T-shirts hanging from it.
‘This is The Culleens where Pete and his wife have their outward bound venture,’ he remarked. ‘You’ll like Sally—she’s a great girl and expecting their first baby in about five weeks. She supervises most of the domestic stuff and Pete’s the outward bound expert.’
He opened the car door and jumped out. ‘Better put on that fleece—you’ll need it here,’ he advised.
He opened the rear door and Shona flung herself out and raced madly away towards the back of the building, barking excitedly. Terry followed Atholl as a burly young man wearing a thick sweater came into view from behind the barn. The man lifted his hand and hailed Atholl.
‘Hello, there!’ he called. ‘I was hoping you’d come.’
Atholl turned to Terry. ‘Let me introduce you to Pete Brown. Pete, Terry Younger, our new locum at the practice and assistant here.’
Terry smiled, seeing the familiar look of surprise when she was introduced to anyone. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m not a man! I know you were expecting one, but I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me!’
Pete grinned and shook her hand in a crushing grip. ‘I can tell you’re a lass all right!’ He turned round and bellowed, ‘Sally! Sally! Come here and meet Atholl’s new locum! Terry Younger…’
A tall and very pregnant-looking girl wearing jeans and an old coat came out of the barn. ‘Hi, there! Lovely to meet you, Terry.’ She had a wide, attractive smile and Terry took to her immediately. ‘It’ll be great to have a woman to talk to sometimes instead of all these men!’
‘Talking of which, you’d better come and meet these boys,’ Pete said. ‘They’re doing well on the whole—only Zac’s not pulling his weight at the moment, and yet he was very keen to start with.’
He led the way round the side of the building where three large youths were chopping wood whilst one leant against the wall watching them, his jaws working rhythmically as he chewed gum. The other boys stopped what they were doing and watched as Atholl and Terry came up to them.
‘Right, lads, meet Terry,’ said Pete. ‘She’s a GP in Atholl’s practice and she’ll be with us on some of our activities.’
The boy leaning against the wall leered at Terry suggestively. ‘Don’t
mind being overseen by her…’
‘Watch it, Zac,’ warned Pete sharply. ‘Try and be courteous.’ He turned to Terry. ‘Let me introduce you to Bert, Len, Colin and Zac.’
The boys nodded to her, slightly warily, possibly aware that they were being assessed by this new woman. Terry nodded back. She wasn’t going to be effusive about meeting them—it could seem patronising.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing you abseiling,’ she said. ‘I’ve never done it myself.’
‘You coming with us when we do that?’ asked one of the boys. ‘You could try it then.’
Pete nodded. ‘Yes, starting with a trek across the moor and maybe some kayaking as well.’
‘Sounds fun,’ said Terry.
Zac laughed heartily. ‘You wait till you see us—we’re bloody hopeless.’
‘Why aren’t you helping to cut the wood, Zac?’ asked Atholl.
Zac shrugged. ‘Ask Pete—he says I’m a danger to everyone. I’m quite happy to watch, mind you.’ He gave another robust laugh.
‘You’re just a bit clumsy, Zac,’ remarked Pete. ‘You nearly lost a finger cutting the bread yesterday—I can’t risk you using an axe until that cut’s healed.’
Zac giggled. ‘I was hungry—did it a bit quickly.’
Pete shook his head in mock despair. ‘You’re always hungry, Zac, you’ve an appetite like a horse. I hope you’ve brought some more basics, Atholl, to keep this lot fed.’
‘There’s a load of bread, milk and meat in the Land Rover, as well as all the gear I promised you, like ropes and tents. Perhaps the lads could unload the stuff now and take it in,’ said Atholl. Terry frowned and looked at Zac closely. He had reddened eyes and his lips were dry and cracked, and something about his slightly manic manner reminded her of some of the kids who’d been patients of hers in London. She watched as the boys carried the gear from Atholl’s car to a shed by the barn, Zac’s whoops of laughter drifting towards them. She would mention it to Atholl later. They went into the converted barn which was divided simply into various rooms—a large kitchen and sitting area, two dormitory-type bedrooms and a bathroom.
Hired: GP and Wife / The Playboy Doctor's Surprise Proposal Page 5
