The Private Patient by P. D. James Page B

training scheme, and that’s become pretty inflexible. It might be possible to get you back on stream, and I will try to help, but it won’t be if you’re gadding off to Africa. And it’s not as if you’re going from religious motives. I wouldn’t sympathise if you were but I could understand—well, if not understand, accept. There are people like that, but I have never thought of you as particularly devout.”
    â€œNo, I don’t think I could claim to be.”
    â€œWell, what are you claiming? Universal beneficence? Or postcolonial guilt? I understand that’s still popular.”
    â€œGeorge, there’s useful work for me to do. I’m not claiming anything except this strong conviction that Africa would be right for me. I can’t stay here indefinitely, you said that yourself.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to consider carefully which way you want your future career to go. That is, if you want a career in surgery. But I’m not going to waste breath trying to persuade you if you’ve made up your mind. I suggest you think it over, and for the present I’ll take it that I shall need a replacement for you in three months’ time.”
    â€œI know it will be inconvenient for you, and I’m sorry about that. And I know what I owe you. I am grateful. I’ll always be grateful.”
    â€œI don’t think you need to bleat on about gratitude. That’s never an agreeable word between colleagues. We’ll take it that you’ll leave in three months’ time. I hope you find in Africa whatever it is you’re looking for. Or is it a case of finding relief from whatever it is you’re running away from? And now, if that’s all, I’d like the use of my office.”
    There was one other thing, and Marcus steeled himself to say it. Words had been spoken which had destroyed a relationship. Nothing could be worse. He said, “It’s about a patient, Rhoda Gradwyn. She’s here now.”
    â€œI know that. And she’ll be back again in two weeks for her operation, unless she takes a dislike to the Manor and opts for a bed at St. Angela’s.”
    â€œWouldn’t that be more convenient?”
    â€œFor her or for me?”
    â€œI was wondering whether you really want to encourage investigative journalists at the Manor. And if one comes, others may follow. And I can imagine what Gradwyn will write.
Rich women spending a fortune
because they’re dissatisfied with how they look. Valuable surgeons’ skills which
could be better used.
She’ll find something to criticise, that’s her job. Patients rely on our discretion and expect an absolute confidentiality. I mean, isn’t that what this place is about?”
    â€œNot altogether. And I don’t intend to distinguish between patients on any grounds other than medical need. And, frankly, I wouldn’t lift a finger to muzzle the popular press. When you consider the machinations and deviousness of governments, we need some organisation strong enough to shout occasionally. I used to believe that I lived in a free country. Now I have to accept that I don’t. But at least we have a free press, and I’m willing to put up with a certain amount of vulgarity, popularisation, sentimentality and even misrepresentation to ensure it remains free. I suppose Candace has been getting at you. You’d hardly have thought this up on your own. If she has personal reasons for her antagonism to Miss Gradwyn, she need have nothing to do with her. She’s not required to; the patients are not her concern. She doesn’t need to see her either now or when she returns. I don’t select my patients to oblige your sister. And now, if you’ve nothing else to say, I’m sure both of us have work to do. I know I have.”
    He got up and stood at the door. Without another word, Marcus walked past him, brushing