Doctor in Love by Richard Gordon

from repairing his ethical sabotage and soothing down Buckingham Palace Motors and the furniture shop, I had to run the practice single-handed without anyone to sort out the National Health cards, the telephone calls, or the patients from the waiting-room. I also had a disturbing note from my father saying, ‘Got an extraordinary letter from a fellow called Bill Porson I’ve hardly seen for years. Are you going to marry his daughter Cynthia? Is she the same one as last time? Are you behaving like a gentleman?” In “The Lodge” I started hiding a bottle of gin in my wardrobe, and I broke a china pixie, two shepherdesses, and an idiotic-looking horse. I felt that I was going rapidly downhill, psychologically and professionally.

11
    “It is still beyond me to suggest a locum off-hand,” wrote Dr Farquarson from the Royal Neurological. “But I think you should really try to get an assistant of some sort or another, otherwise you’ll be joining me here. I suspect I shall be another couple of months out of things yet. Bobbie Cufford and his retinue seem unaware of any measurement of time more delicate than the calendar. I saw him again this morning – I regret to say that he has developed a most prosperous-looking stomach, and the bedside manner of a dead halibut – and he seems intent on keeping me out of circulation until the time comes for me to retire for good. They still haven’t got their diagnosis. Whether Bobbie cuts or not seems to depend on whether my right ankle jerk can raise a flicker. At least with general surgeons you’re in, cut, and out before you’ve time to draw a breath.”
    “I was visited yesterday by my nephew, who very thoughtfully brought me a bunch of grapes and borrowed ten pounds. I am sorry that you had your differences. After hearing his story I can only express my heartfelt gratitude for your keeping both of us on the Medical Register and out of the London Gazette . I have long classified my nephew as a high-grade mental defective, but I am beginning to feel this too generous a diagnosis. He has gone I know not whither.”
    Finding a new receptionist was easier than finding a new locum. A couple of days after Grimsdyke’s departure, as I struggled to hold two surgeries single-handed and see fair play in the waiting-room at the same time, a small cheerful-looking redhead of about nineteen pushed her way forward explaining that she had a “special appointment with the doctor”.
    “Well, I’m the doctor,” I said, starting to shut the consulting-room door. “And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait your turn with everyone else.”
    “No, not you. The other doctor. The one with the bow tie.”
    “Dr Grimsdyke has been called away on a long case and isn’t likely to return,” I explained.
    Seeing her face drop in childlike disappointment, I added, “I’m Dr Gordon. Is there anything I can do for you?”
    “Dr Grimsdyke promised he’d make me his receptionist.”
    “Did he?” I said, brightening immediately. “That’s different. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t keep a promise for him, is there?” She gave a glance which I felt compared me unfavourably with my late colleague. “If you’d like to join the practice, I assure you it’s a most interesting job. Plenty of time to yourself, too. Not to mention being part of the great army struggling against the forces of disease, and so on. Have you tried it before?”
    “I can type a bit,” she said. “I was with Jennifer Modes.”
    “How about a change? There’s nothing like variety.” She hesitated. “The other doctor told me there was a free flat as well. He said it would be nice for him to have me in easy reach for emergencies.”
    I had hoped to move into Miss Wildewinde’s apartment myself, but I was prepared to put up with my present lodgings in exchange for the chance of occasionally being able to get back to them before midnight.
    “Of course there’s a flat.”
    “OK. I’ll take the job,” she