Doctor On The Boil by Richard Gordon Page A

again.
    ‘Ah, tut,’ said the dean.
    ‘Look here,’ Sir Lancelot continued earnestly. ‘You and I are lifelong friends. There are no secrets between us, or precious few. I can speak frankly. The matron and I lived together in a small hotel as man and wife. We caught the car ferry plane back to Lydd only this morning.’
    ‘Well, you got something out of the mix-up, anyway,’ said the dean brightly. ‘I mean,’ he added quickly, ‘I’m sure it was quite excusable under the circumstances.’
    ‘You don’t understand–’
    ‘Oh! That reminds me of something,’ the dean interrupted. He made a pencilled note on his desk jotter, Don’t forget with Josephine tonigh t.
    ‘What are you doing, man, taking down the evidence?’
    ‘No, no, just a little domestic detail.’
    ‘Dean, I can confess to you. I am conducting something of an affaire de coeur with Tottie Sinclair. I implore you to keep it dark in a place like this, with everyone always sniffing for the stink of scandal. But Tottie only agreed to come away with me because…well, because I told her I would have married her, had I been going to live.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t think I should let that worry you,’ the dean told him airily. ‘The times have long passed when a gentleman felt in honour bound to marry a lady just because he’d…he’d…I mean, people are doing it now all the time all over the place.’
    ‘It is good of you to imbue me with such principles. But there is a little more to it. In Le Touquet last night I did in fact invite her to become my wife, regardless of my perilous state of health. She accepted.’
    ‘Why on earth did you do that?’
    ‘Firstly, my accountants seemed to think marriage advisable. Secondly…’ Sir Lancelot took another pinch of snuff. ‘She’s bloody good value, once she sets her mind to it.’
    ‘Then why don’t you marry the matron?’ the dean suggested. ‘After all, she’s not a bad-looking lass.’
    ‘My dear fellow, don’t be stupid,’ Sir Lancelot told him shortly. ‘A man of my age marrying a much younger woman really would be dead in six months. That week in Le Touquet was about all I could manage at a stretch. We’ve seen that sort of situation in practice time and time again. Even the laity know it well enough – businessmen dishing their wives and marrying their secretaries and collecting a coronary on their honeymoons.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I don’t think I like her all that much,’ he added reflectively. ‘She isn’t my cup of tea at all. I was just taken by the way she waggles her glutei.’
    ‘Perhaps you could tell her you didn’t mean it?’
    ‘Dean, I am not wholly bereft of integrity. Besides, it might get in the newspapers.’
    ‘I know,’ the dean added enthusiastically. ‘You could go away to Wales and pretend you’d dropped dead, anyway.’
    ‘What happens when I come back next summer for the Lord’s Test Match?’
    ‘Then for the life of me, I really can’t see what’s to be done.’
    ‘Nothing’s to be done. Nothing whatever. I shall marry Tottie, that’s all. I trust you will act as best man? A registry office I feel will suffice. Somewhat early in the morning, before the crowds are about.’
    There was a knock on the door.
    ‘Come in!’
    Terry Summerbee’s face appeared. The dean looked at his watch. ‘My dear Mr Summerbee, there is now no need to appear before me for insubordination, as I directed. The situation has resolved itself.’
    ‘Might I have a word with you anyway, sir?’
    ‘I’m very busy–’
    ‘I must be on my way.’ Sir Lancelot rose. ‘My new status as a more permanent member of the human race means a good deal of urgent work. I know you, don’t I?’ he demanded in the doorway.
    ‘Yes, sir. You lent me your car, sir.’
    ‘Must have been mad,’ murmured Sir Lancelot, leaving the room.
    ‘Well, well, Mr Summerbee, what is it?’ the dean asked impatiently.
    ‘About those X-rays, sir. It’s all my fault.’
    ‘No