The Country Doctor's Choice (12 page)

‘Is that what he said? I’ve heard some name-calling in my time, but
that
one has to be a first,’ said Jeremy, unable to keep a straight face.

‘Yes, he thought it was funny, too, and I told him it was no joke. When I said that Daphne was going to see a solicitor, he said it would be much wiser to ask the woman to attend me in the vestry by appointment, and let her know that if she doesn’t stop it forthwith, she’ll be hearing from my solicitor and threatened with a court injunction.’

‘But it’ll just be her word against yours, won’t it?’

‘No, because I shall have a strong third-party presence there as a witness, an authoritative figure, preferably a man who will stand there looking suitably grave while I speak sternly to her – and who will not leave us alone on any account.’

‘That sounds like a good idea. What about one of the churchwardens?’

‘I’d like a man who’s had some experience of domestic tension, Jeremy – and who has successfully pulled himself up, somebody liked and respected in Everham, articulate and – oh, you know who I mean, Jeremy!’

‘Are you telling me that you mean myself, by any chance? No way, I’m no heavyweight here, Derek, on the contrary I’m gossiped about because of Iris Oates – and don’t ask me to give her up, because she’s
the one individual who keeps me sane. No,
I’m
not the strong third-party presence you’re looking for.’

‘But I think you are, Jerry. You’re
human
. People
like
you. And I’m asking you nicely to do this for me as a friend!’

‘Well, if you really can’t think of anybody else—’

‘I can’t. Name a day and a time when you can nip out of school.’

‘Wednesday, say about ten?’

‘Yes, that’ll do.’

‘Let’s make it Wednesday week – give you a chance to think what you’re going to say to the woman. That’s er—’ He took out his pocket diary. ‘That’s February 20th.’

‘OK. And thanks a million.’

The continuing snow and ice brought in a stream of casualties, mainly elderly, who had slipped and broken hips, wrists and ankles. Paul looked tired, not surprisingly, thought Shelagh, after days and nights of overworking. And he was impatient.

‘When can we have another weekend, darling?’ he asked her. ‘Or just a night away? This bloody snow keeps laying around, but we can get down to Eastbourne before dark. Or find some place a bit nearer?’

‘It seems as if this winter is never going to end,’ sighed Shelagh. ‘Actually I’m off the second weekend in March, if that fits in with you.’

‘I can make it fit, no problem. Seems like a hell of a time to wait, but make it the Saturday and we’re as good as there. Oh, Shelagh, you need to get away just as much as I do. Your mother’s still holding on, so you’ve got no immediate worries where she’s concerned. I just want to – need to – we both do, darling.’ His eyes looked into hers, and she felt almost guilty. Her mother might have a relapse at any time, in which case their night of love would have to be postponed for an indefinite period, but meanwhile she owed it to him to show that her feelings were unchanged, though she wished they could be officially engaged before midsummer. Perhaps after another tender lovemaking, it might happen …

Fiona North was in tears, the cause of her distress being Roy’s two-year-old daughter Sally, to whom they were not allowed access.

‘And the situation’s not helped by your attitude to Roy,’ she accused him, shrugging away the arm he had put around her shoulders. ‘You won’t let him stay here, your own son!’

‘I’ve got him to join Alcoholics Anonymous, and found him a flat in Everham – he has just got to stand on his own two feet, he’s twenty-three, not a child but a grown man – a married man, can’t you see that? And I’ve got him this job as a garage forecourt attendant.’

‘Do you call that a job?’

‘Yes, it’s a job that he can do, and will bring in a small wage – give him a chance to build up his selfrespect. You never know, Amy might be persuaded to have him back.’

‘That wicked woman, he’s better off without her.’

‘My dear Fiona, there’s Sally to consider, and his responsibility to her – and
we
want to see her, she’s as much our grandchild as Peter-poppet.’

‘Amy refused him his rights, and threw him out!’

‘Yes, because he was lurching home belching and hiccuping – what woman would want him in her bed, for Christ’s sake? You’d throw
me
out if I was a drunk.’

‘She drove him to drinking!’

‘Oh, come on, Fiona, he was always drawn to the booze. Remember how we copped it when he was caught trying to buy liquor at the wine shop, underage? Anyway, I’ve done what I can for him, and now I want to see little Sally. I’m going to ask Amy if she will let her come to see us for one day a week.’

‘Well, I’m not having that woman in my house. If I saw her I think I’d give her a fist between her eyes – and don’t expect me to drive over there and grovel to her!’

‘And Roy’s lost his licence, so he can’t go, so it’ll have to be me, then.’

‘I don’t think it’s asking too much of you. Roy has a right to see his daughter.’

‘And we all want to see Sally, poor mite. Right, then, I’ll ring Amy and fix a day. I’ll make it Saturday
if that’s all right with her; I’m a bit tied up on Sundays with the choir.’

‘Thank you,’ she said in unsmiling acknowledgement.

‘Oh, Fiona, if you only knew how much I long to be as we were,’ he suddenly confessed, reaching out to take hold of her hand. ‘If you could only see beyond your own family and realise that other people also have rights – it would make such a difference to us.’

‘If you’re telling me to chum up with that bitch of an Amy, you can save your breath.’

Don’t say anything more, Jeremy North told himself. And thought of Iris Oates.

The snow of the longest winter since 1947 still lay in the churchyard when the Reverend Derek Bolt had summoned Miss Beryl Johnson to a meeting in the vestry of St Matthew’s. He was there at half past nine, expecting that she would be early, and Jeremy North appeared at twenty to ten. Miss Johnson arrived five minutes later. The stage is set for the play to begin, thought Jeremy, noting Derek’s nervousness and giving him a broad wink.

When Beryl had seen the envelope lying on the doormat, with her name and address neatly typed, she had no idea what it was or where it came from. It was not a utility bill or a begging letter from a charity, there being no such printed indication on the front or back of it.

When she picked it up and slit it open, she thought she would faint for joy. Derek Bolt was requesting a meeting with her in the vestry of St Matthew’s church on Wednesday the 20th at ten! The typed letter was brief, and mention was made of Mr North who would also be present, but Beryl thought only of the main contents, that the man she loved as much as life was summoning – inviting? – her to a meeting with him.

What should she wear? Her choice settled on her best coat of brown-and-white tweed, and a brown beret in place of a hat. None of her shoes seemed right, and she bought an expensive pair of soft brown leather boots that almost matched her handbag. A light silk scarf completed the ensemble, and she set off with mixed eagerness and apprehension in equal measures, hoping that Mr North might not yet have arrived; but he was already there in the vestry where the two men had been talking. She smiled uncertainly at them, but their faces were serious as she entered the vestry.

‘Please sit down, Miss Johnson,’ said the vicar, though both men remained standing.

‘I’ve asked to see you about the unsolicited letters and gifts you persist in sending to the vicarage,’ Derek Bolt began. ‘I have to keep the gifts in the safe, so that they will not be seen. My wife is very annoyed at the number of letters I receive from you, and it is partly due to her understandable anger that I have called you to this meeting. It is very disrespectful towards
her, as well as the sudden meetings we have in the town, clearly planned by you, for example, when you slipped and fell in the market square.’

‘Oh, Derek, you don’t – you can’t really know how I—’

He held up his hand. ‘Let me finish, please. Your behaviour has become a joke in Everham, it’s made me into a laughing stock, which is embarrassing for me and Mrs Bolt. I want no excuses, no pleading, I only want this nonsense to stop. Do you understand what I’m saying, Miss Johnson?’

‘Please, Derek, if you’ll only listen—’

‘No, I don’t want to listen. You must listen to me. I want this nuisance to
stop
, and I want your assurance that it will. Do you hear me? Do you understand?’

She began to cry, and her voice broke on a sob. ‘Please, Derek, please will you ask Mr North to step outside for a minute—’

‘Certainly not. Mr North is here at my request, to be a witness to everything said by either of us. I want him to hear your promise that you will stop harassing me. I don’t want to exclude you from St Matthew’s, though I think it would be advisable for you to attend another church while all this gossip is going on. So will you give me your assurance that you will stop following me?’

There was no intelligible reply. She continued to weep into a handkerchief, and Derek looked helplessly at Jeremy. Although Jeremy had been told
there was no need for him to speak, he decided that he had better step in.

‘Now then, Miss Johnson, Mr Bolt has put it to you fairly and squarely. You are not to pursue him any longer, because if you do he will take legal advice to force you to obey. You wouldn’t like to be summoned to appear in court, would you? But that’s what will happen if you persist in annoying him and his wife. Think of all the local newspapers, the embarrassment to all concerned. Come on, Miss Johnson, pull yourself together and be sensible. I know it’s hard to feel as you do, but if you have any regard at all for Mr and Mrs Bolt, you will cease annoying them.’

Beryl now gave way to loud, uncontrollable sobs, and the two men looked at each other helplessly.

‘What on earth am I to do, Jeremy?’

‘You go, and leave her with me. Go back to the vicarage or whatever, and I’ll drive her home. Go on, there’s nothing more you can do, she wants you to comfort her, but that would be fatal.
Go!
’

And Bolt obeyed, leaving North to take a firm hold on Beryl’s right arm and lead her, sobbing, out of the vestry, down to the west door, and out into the cold air. Holding firmly on to her, he took her to his car and pushed her into the passenger seat. He clicked her safety belt into position, then climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the engine.

What was said on that short journey was a
repetition of what had already been said in the vestry, and finally ended when he made her promise to stop pestering the vicar. She finally answered with a despairing ‘yes’, which he made her repeat.

‘You promise to – to keep this promise?’

‘Yes. All right, yes.’ It was barely a whisper.

He let her go, with pity in his heart, reflecting that his was not the only unhappy house in Everham.

How the news got out, nobody knew, but the three-way meeting in the vestry became known and talked about. Most of the women sympathised with the vicar and thought Miss Johnson a silly woman; others felt sorry for her and thought him unnecessarily harsh. Everybody praised Mr North’s involvement, and approved of his role as referee, adding to his popularity as headmaster and choirmaster.

But …

‘He and Miss Oates were seen together at that concert in the school assembly hall,’ said Mary Whittaker.

‘Yes, and seen by everybody there, all open and above board,’ answered Phyllis Maynard who had her own happy thoughts. Tim and Jenny Gifford had been visited by a social worker following their application, and were due to attend an adoption panel on the ninth of May. Phyllis could think of nothing else.

Sunshine at last, lifting Shelagh’s heart as she walked into the living room where Bridget sat by the window; Maura was in the kitchen, washing up after their lunch, but she at once put the kettle on to make another pot of tea for her niece.

‘No, honestly, Auntie, I can’t stay. I’ve just nipped in to see Mother,’ Shelagh said, smiling. ‘Isn’t it heaven now that the snow has gone at last? I see the daffodils are out, and there are catkins on the tree at the corner.’

‘Lambs’ tails,’ said Bridget. ‘That’s what we always called them.’ She sighed. ‘And there’ve been too many real lambs lost wid their poor mothers this year, buried under the snow on the hillsides, so I was hearin’ on the wireless. It’s been a terrible time for farmers, wid everythin’ behind time.’

‘But it’s over now, and we can look forward to more days like this one – blue skies and bare arms!’ Shelagh laughed, but covertly regarded her mother: the cancer still seemed to be in remission, and Maura was trying to believe that her sister was miraculously recovering. Shelagh was heeding Mr Kydd’s advice to accept the temporary reprieve that had been granted, and did not discourage her aunt, though she shrank from the thought of Maura’s disappointment and distress when her hopes were unfulfilled. Bridget herself did not refer to her condition, but there was a peacefulness about her, a calmness of heart and mind that seemed to fill the air of the whole house. Shelagh felt sure that her mother knew the truth, but was letting her sister continue to hope, enjoying these early spring days.

‘Will ye be comin’ to us over the weekend?’ asked Bridget. ‘Ye said ye were goin’ to be free.’

Shelagh tried to reply easily, ‘I can come over tomorrow night, Friday, but I’m, er – I’ve arranged to go out with friends on Saturday, and we’ll be late back. So I’ll be here until Saturday lunch.’ She forced a smile to hide her troubled conscience, but it was of no use. She would not be any more relaxed than on her previous escape to Eastbourne with Paul; she would constantly worry, not only about the possibility of her mother’s condition suddenly deteriorating, and also the fact that she was deceiving her mother and aunt. But she had promised Paul, and it would be for
just one night – and she was determined that by the time they returned to Everham on Sunday morning, he would have agreed to an official engagement. And then she would bring him to visit her mother again.

She looked at her watch: she would be assisting Dr Rowan with a short theatre list this afternoon, a couple of D and Cs, a cone biopsy and removal of a Bartholin’s cyst. It shouldn’t take too long, and there would be time to make a quick visit home; she was on call tonight, Thursday, before her free weekend.

As it happened, the gynae list had to be cut short because of an emergency caesarean section sent over from Maternity with an antepartum haemorrhage. Dr Rowan took over, with her assisting him, and a healthy baby girl was duly delivered. As she removed her theatre gown, cap and gloves, the telephone rang in the theatre office, and a staff nurse came running to report what the switchboard had said.

‘There’s been a major incident,’ she told them, ‘an accident on the A325, an articulated lorry ran into a London coach, and cars piled up behind them. They’re bringing the casualties here, and all medical and nursing staff who are free are asked to go down to Casualty to help. They say Diane Devlin’s been seriously hurt. She was in a car with her boyfriend – and to think I was watching her on the television last night!’

‘I’m on my way.’ Shelagh hurried to the changing room to put on her white coat, threw her stethoscope round her neck, and checked that she had a tourniquet
in her pocket – a length of stout rubber tubing to tie round a limb to stop haemorrhage; then she and Rowan ran down the stairs and along the bottom corridor to Casualty.

Never before had she seen such chaos as met her in Casualty that afternoon. The whole outpatients department had been taken over for the injured, the examination rooms being used for the more seriously hurt, while others sat or were laid on stretcher trolleys. There were the sounds of weeping and groans, orders being given and supplies of morphine and tetanus vaccination arriving in batches from the pharmacy, with a crate of intravenous saline. The X-ray staff had returned to their department, and Father Naylor, the hospital chaplain, hurried from one to another, giving such reassurance as he was able. Over all was a pervading smell compounded of blood, dirt, vomit and an element that Shelagh thought was the very odour of pain and fear. She braced herself.

Sister Oates was attempting to deploy such medical and nursing staff as were available, including two local GPs. She thankfully welcomed Dr Rowan and Shelagh.

‘Dr Rowan, will you help with the late arrivals unloading from the ambulance – sort out stretcher cases from walking wounded? Dr Sykes is in Room Three, Dr Hammond – will you see if he wants any help? I had to take his nurse away – can you take him this pint of glucose saline and an IV-giving set?’

Shelagh took the set and entered the room, to find Paul Sykes examining a woman who lay on the couch. She was deathly pale, her red hair was bloodstained, and her clothes were dirty, torn and dishevelled. In spite of this, Shelagh recognised Diane Devlin, the well-known TV actress who played the female lead in a popular soap opera. She appeared to be unconscious, and made no movement as Paul Sykes lifted each eyelid in turn, and shone an ophthalmoscope into the pupils. He straightened up.

‘Oh, hello, Shelagh – ah, thanks. My nurse has been called to some other vital need, so can you help me put up the drip?’

Shelagh nodded and handed him the giving set. She opened the bottle and pushed in the top end of the plastic tubing, letting the fluid flow through, and then clamped it off, hanging the inverted bottle on a portable drip stand. Taking the tourniquet out of her pocket, she tied it loosely round Diane Devlin’s forearm. A faint moan of protest came from the white lips, and Paul leant towards her.

‘Diane? Diane, can you hear me?’ he asked softly, his lips close to her right ear. She gave another sighing moan, and then very slowly nodded.

He looked up at Shelagh with relief. ‘She’s recovering consciousness, so I don’t think there’s any serious head injury, just a badly fractured tibia and fibula, and multiple lacerations. And of course she’s badly shocked.’

‘And – her companion?’

‘DOA,’ he mouthed silently, and Shelagh experienced a hollow sinking of her heart.
Dead on arrival
. She thought of the suddenness with which this calamity had struck the busy arterial road. In just a few short moments of havoc death had claimed lives, and irrevocably changed others.

She watched while he whispered into Diane’s ear. ‘Don’t worry, Diane, you’re safe with us at Everham Park Hospital, and we’ll look after you. You’ll be all right, Diane.’ He turned to Shelagh. ‘Right, put on the tourniquet, let’s get that drip up and going.’

He inserted the cannula into a prominent vein on the back of the right hand, and then the end of the giving set was connected, and the flow adjusted to about thirty drops per minute.

‘Plaster,’ he said, and Shelagh cut off a length of micropore tape. As she handed it to him, Sister Oates put her head round the door.

‘Dr Hammond, will you go to Room One at once,’ she said without ceremony. ‘Dr McDowall has got three patients to attend to, and needs help.’

Shelagh nodded, and left Paul to attach the micropore tape to the tubing. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to go.’

‘Yes, don’t keep the great white chief waiting – and send me a nurse if you can find a spare one.’

As soon as she entered Room One, she felt the tension, and a smell of blood and perspiration rose to her nose and throat. Dr McDowall and a student
nurse were cutting off the bloodstained trousers of a pale-faced man of about forty to forty-five, lying on one of two couches, and his wife sat beside him. Her face was streaked with tears and dirt, and a rough dressing above her right eye was held in place with a hastily applied bandage. On the other couch a girl of about eighteen writhed from side to side, gasping and moaning at intervals. Shelagh summoned up all her self-discipline and professionalism, and as if in answer to a wordless prayer, she experienced a certain sense of calm in the midst of havoc; she was a doctor, and this was where she was needed.

‘Right, Dr McDowall, what’s to be done?’

He looked up and smiled as if he were greeting her in the bar of The Volunteer.

‘Hi, Shelagh, you’re as welcome as a win on the pools. Meet Mr and Mrs Hartley, Alfred and Grace. They’ve been chucked around on the road quite a bit, and Alfred has lost a fair amount of the red stuff. Dear little Nurse Kitty here has been giving out tetanus jabs like free biros, and I want to get a drip going as soon as we’ve cleaned up Alf.’

‘Yes, I see. And the young lady?’

‘Ah, yes, that’s Cathy Hartley, their daughter who was with them in the car.’

‘Not Hartley, doctor, she’s my niece, and her name’s North,’ cut in Grace Hartley.

‘We haven’t any children, more’s the pity.’

‘Correction – niece. And if you could get some
sense out of her, it would be a godsend, Shelagh. She’s either got internal injuries or a bad attack of the vapours, and I’m inclined to go for the latter.’

‘Cathy’s obviously in pain,’ said Shelagh, picking up the girl’s hand and feeling for her pulse.

‘If you mean that she’s throwing herself around as if she’s been stung by a hornet, you’ll find that her pulse and blood pressure are normal, and she won’t answer a single question. Could you calm her down for us, Shelagh? It would do us all a favour, because quite frankly I haven’t got time for an in-depth counselling session right now.’

Shelagh sensed his irritation and lack of patience with the girl as he reapplied himself to Alfred Hartley’s needs.

‘Kitty, me darlin’, hand me that Venflon cannula – keep still, Alf – there we are! We’ll get a couple of pints of blood cross-matched for you, but meanwhile here’s a nice drop of Everham Park Special Brew running in – OK?’

He adjusted the flow of intravenous glucose and saline solution, and Shelagh turned her back on the group to give all her attention to the girl.

‘Easy now, Cathy – ssh! Stop making that noise, and tell me where the pain is.’

The only response was an agonised grimace and an even louder groan as the girl clutched at her abdomen.

Shelagh looked down at her, and in a flash realised what was happening. She began to remove the girl’s
stockings and knickers, and sure enough, there was fresh blood on them.

‘Did you know that you were pregnant, Cathy?’ she whispered in the girl’s ear.

‘No – I don’t know – oh! – I wasn’t sure – oh,
help
me!’

‘Keep calm, Cathy, and hold tightly on to my hand. You’re having a miscarriage. Be brave, now, it’ll all be over soon.’ Raising her voice she said, ‘Nurse, I shall need some ergometrine – will you go and ask Sister Oates for an ampoule from the OPD drug cupboard?’

‘Good God, whatever for?’ asked McDowall. ‘This is a multiple road-traffic accident, Shelagh, not the delivery unit – and I need Nurse Kitty to help me with these two.’

Shelagh spoke quietly and levelly to the student nurse. ‘Go and get me an ampoule of ergometrine, nurse –
at once
, do you hear me?’

There was an authority in her voice that demanded instant obedience. The nurse glanced doubtfully at McDowall, and then hurried from the room. With her left hand Shelagh continued to hold the girl’s hand, and with her right she laid gentle pressure on the lower abdomen. With the next expulsive pain, a fetus about the size of a closed fist emerged, still in its membranous bag, and with a tiny placenta attached. Shelagh judged it to be of about ten to twelve weeks’ gestation. She reached for a kidney dish from a shelf,
and quickly scooped up the aborted fetus to place in it, covering it with a paper towel and depositing it under the couch. The nurse hurried in with the glass ampoule which Shelagh snapped open, and asked for a 2cc syringe and needle to draw the contents up and inject into the girl’s right buttock.

‘
Ow!
’ protested Cathy.

‘Sorry about that, dear, but it will stop the bleeding,’ she said. ‘It’s over now, and you won’t feel any more pain.’

The student nurse watched open-mouthed, and so did Leigh McDowall.

‘Oh,
heck
!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thanks a million, Shelagh – thank God you got here in time. I shall have to resign and get a job as a plasterer’s mate—’

Shelagh turned blazing blue eyes upon him, and mouthed the words, ‘Shut up!’ with a meaningful glance at Cathy’s uncle and aunt.

‘Have I – have I lost it?’ whispered the girl, gazing up at her.

‘Yes, dear, you have – don’t worry – ssh!’ Shelagh whispered back. ‘Your relatives don’t know.’

‘Is Cathy all right, doctor?’ asked Grace Hartley. ‘I’ve been so taken up with my Alf that I haven’t paid much attention to my niece. We were taking her back to her parents in Everham. Is she badly injured?’

‘No, Mrs Hartley, she’ll be fine. We’ll admit her to a bed here overnight, and then she can go home tomorrow.’

‘Alfred will need to be admitted to a surgical ward, too, Grace,’ said McDowall. ‘Is it possible that you could go to your relatives tonight, the ones you were on your way to? We’re going to be awfully short of beds, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, doctor, though I don’t like leaving my Alfred.’

‘Can we telephone your sister and ask her to come for you?’

‘It’s my brother, doctor – Mr Jeremy North. I can remember his number.’

Shelagh suddenly gasped at hearing the name, but quickly composed her face.

‘Good, I’ll call him up when I can find a free phone,’ said McDowall. ‘And – er – did you say that her niece will be staying in overnight, Shelagh?’

‘Yes, Cathy’s feeling much better now, but she’d better be observed. After all, she’s had a nasty shock, though there aren’t any other injuries.’

She noted Leigh McDowall’s raised eyebrows, and shook her head slightly. If Cathy decided to confide in her aunt later on, that would be up to her, but Shelagh did not consider it her duty or her business. She hoped that McDowall too would keep his mouth shut.