haven’t seen him for quite a while, so I suppose he’s holding up all right.”
“Oh, Payton’s well. He never seems to fall ill at all, nowadays.”
“Then I certainly cured him last time. When was that? Four years ago?”
“Six.”
“As long ago as that? And how are you?” She looks well enough. More sleep needed, perhaps.
“Dr. Formby, I really don’t know why I’m taking up your time.” She tried to smile, and rose. “I’m here under false pretences.”
“Now, now. Your husband is worried about you—his secretary said you had to see me urgently.” And I made a special effort to fit her into the engagements for today, he thought as he watched Sylvia still more closely. “Let’s clear up your husband’s worry. Shall we?”
She sat down again. “But I’m not ill at all. I’m perfectly all right. All I wanted was to—to get away from Washington for a few weeks. That’s all. I told Payton last night that I—I needed a change. And he—he sent me here to see you.”
“I see.” Dr. Formby was far from seeing. There is something wrong here, he thought. “If you’ll step next door, Mrs. Pleydell, and take off your jacket, we’ll give you a brief check.”
“Really—”
He smiled again. “I’m sure you are all right, but I ought to make certain.”
But when they returned to the consulting room, he was more baffled than ever. Blood all right; blood pressure a little low; nose, throat and lungs all right; temperature normal; pulse fairly quick.
“Appetite?” he asked.
“Not very good today,” she admitted.
“Sleep?”
Her face coloured. “I didn’t sleep so much last night.”
“Before then, you felt completely normal?”
“Yes.”
She isn’t ill now but she’s going to be, he thought gloomily. “Why don’t you tell your husband, quite frankly, the reason you want to leave Washington?”
“He knows it.” He’s known about Jan for years, she thought wearily. She forced herself away from the discovery that had haunted her all day. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yet he doesn’t want you to go away from Washington?” Formby repeated.
“I think he feels that would be—would be a sign of weakness.”
“Oh.” So you’ve got to stay and face what you don’t want to face. “If you were ill, of course, he’d be the first to send you away, wouldn’t he?”
“Oh yes. He wouldn’t ask me to stay here if he thought I really needed a vacation. That’s why he sent me here.”
“I’m very sorry to say that you’re perfectly fit, Mrs. Pleydell, because I do think you’d feel much better if you could leave Washington.” He smiled wryly. “If only you weren’t so honest, you could fake an illness and then your husband would listen to you.”
“Fake an illness?” She was amused at the idea. “But no one gets away with that!”
“Don’t they?” His cheerful face became suddenly disapproving. “I’ve had a patient who came down with all the symptoms of a heart attack every time her son said he was going to get married.”
“But why—that’s criminal!”
“Yes, I think so. I began to get suspicious after the second illness. I was pretty sure after the third. So I advised the son to get married. He’s happy. The mother’s still alive and well.” He gave a wide grin. “But I’m not her doctor, now, of course. Oh yes, Mrs. Pleydell, there’s a small number of people who pretend illness, some to get sympathy, some to get their own way. It’s a kind of blackmail they use. Not very pleasant.”
Sylvia stared at him. “But,” she said slowly, “but can’t they be found out?”
“Eventually. If they repeat their illness. But at first, doctors have got to take all complaints seriously. You’ve got to believe people when they tell you their symptoms.”
“And, meanwhile, until you become suspicious, you’ve got to treat them as if they were ill?”
“Of course. Now, Mrs. Pleydell, my advice to you is—”
“But when can you be sure that
“Oh, Payton’s well. He never seems to fall ill at all, nowadays.”
“Then I certainly cured him last time. When was that? Four years ago?”
“Six.”
“As long ago as that? And how are you?” She looks well enough. More sleep needed, perhaps.
“Dr. Formby, I really don’t know why I’m taking up your time.” She tried to smile, and rose. “I’m here under false pretences.”
“Now, now. Your husband is worried about you—his secretary said you had to see me urgently.” And I made a special effort to fit her into the engagements for today, he thought as he watched Sylvia still more closely. “Let’s clear up your husband’s worry. Shall we?”
She sat down again. “But I’m not ill at all. I’m perfectly all right. All I wanted was to—to get away from Washington for a few weeks. That’s all. I told Payton last night that I—I needed a change. And he—he sent me here to see you.”
“I see.” Dr. Formby was far from seeing. There is something wrong here, he thought. “If you’ll step next door, Mrs. Pleydell, and take off your jacket, we’ll give you a brief check.”
“Really—”
He smiled again. “I’m sure you are all right, but I ought to make certain.”
But when they returned to the consulting room, he was more baffled than ever. Blood all right; blood pressure a little low; nose, throat and lungs all right; temperature normal; pulse fairly quick.
“Appetite?” he asked.
“Not very good today,” she admitted.
“Sleep?”
Her face coloured. “I didn’t sleep so much last night.”
“Before then, you felt completely normal?”
“Yes.”
She isn’t ill now but she’s going to be, he thought gloomily. “Why don’t you tell your husband, quite frankly, the reason you want to leave Washington?”
“He knows it.” He’s known about Jan for years, she thought wearily. She forced herself away from the discovery that had haunted her all day. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yet he doesn’t want you to go away from Washington?” Formby repeated.
“I think he feels that would be—would be a sign of weakness.”
“Oh.” So you’ve got to stay and face what you don’t want to face. “If you were ill, of course, he’d be the first to send you away, wouldn’t he?”
“Oh yes. He wouldn’t ask me to stay here if he thought I really needed a vacation. That’s why he sent me here.”
“I’m very sorry to say that you’re perfectly fit, Mrs. Pleydell, because I do think you’d feel much better if you could leave Washington.” He smiled wryly. “If only you weren’t so honest, you could fake an illness and then your husband would listen to you.”
“Fake an illness?” She was amused at the idea. “But no one gets away with that!”
“Don’t they?” His cheerful face became suddenly disapproving. “I’ve had a patient who came down with all the symptoms of a heart attack every time her son said he was going to get married.”
“But why—that’s criminal!”
“Yes, I think so. I began to get suspicious after the second illness. I was pretty sure after the third. So I advised the son to get married. He’s happy. The mother’s still alive and well.” He gave a wide grin. “But I’m not her doctor, now, of course. Oh yes, Mrs. Pleydell, there’s a small number of people who pretend illness, some to get sympathy, some to get their own way. It’s a kind of blackmail they use. Not very pleasant.”
Sylvia stared at him. “But,” she said slowly, “but can’t they be found out?”
“Eventually. If they repeat their illness. But at first, doctors have got to take all complaints seriously. You’ve got to believe people when they tell you their symptoms.”
“And, meanwhile, until you become suspicious, you’ve got to treat them as if they were ill?”
“Of course. Now, Mrs. Pleydell, my advice to you is—”
“But when can you be sure that
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