The GP's Marriage Wish. Judy Campbell

pen thoughtfully, then pressed the intercom to the office.

      ‘Maggie, could you spare a second?’

      ‘Sure—I’ll be with you in one second. I’m just sorting out some appointments.’

      ‘I just need a bit of background information…I won’t keep you.’

      Maggie’s face, surrounded by her wild hairstyle, peered round the door. ‘How can I help?’

      ‘I’ve just seen a patient called Janet Loxton—can you tell me her father’s name?’

      ‘Of course. He’s Bernard Lamont. You may have heard of him.’

      ‘The name sounds familiar—isn’t he an artist?’

      Maggie nodded. ‘Oh, yes—he’s one of Braithwaite’s celebrities. He exhibits at the Royal Academy, I believe.’

      ‘Ah, I knew you’d know about all the patients,’ said Victoria. ‘Can you tell me anything else about him?’

      Maggie smiled—she looked quite pleased to be asked. ‘He’s a right curmudgeon, though of course he’s very old now. I believe he can’t paint any more, so that’s hard for him. He and his daughter don’t get on.’

      ‘He lives with his daughter?’

      Maggie nodded. ‘Well, she moved into his house when her marriage collapsed—that was a few years ago when Bernard Lamont was OK. Now she’s got a new boyfriend and it can’t be easy to carry on a romance with a demanding parent in the background.’

      ‘Has she any family or siblings?’

      ‘Not that I know of. She used to work in London when she was married.’

      ‘Right. Thanks, Maggie, that’s very helpful. It’s good to get the background on patients’ lives—gives me a fuller picture. I’ll make a note to visit Mr Lamont.’

      Maggie laughed. ‘You’ll be lucky—he won’t see anyone.’ She turned to go. ‘I’ll get back, then. Can’t leave the desk too long at this time of day—it’s like a jungle out there sometimes!’

      They smiled at each other and Victoria pressed the intercom to summon the next patient with a sudden upsurge of spirits. She could see that Maggie had a sense of humour—someone she hoped she could have some fun with. Getting to know the patients and the day-to-day doctoring was part of being a GP, and if Maggie could help her fill in the backgrounds of these people, so much the better.

      The morning spun by with a succession of patients with fairly mundane complaints from sore throats to bad backs, and by the time the last patient came in it was nearly eleven o’clock and Victoria could smell an enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting across from the little kitchen. She glanced at the clock—hopefully she’d be able to grab a cup in about five minutes.

      A large, ruddy-faced man entered the room, leaning heavily on a stick, followed by an anxious-looking woman.

      ‘Please, sit down, both of you.’ Victoria smiled.

      The man sat down heavily, his chest heaving in and out and a wheezing sound coming with every breath.

      His wife started speaking quickly before he could say anything. ‘I’m so glad we were given this appointment, Dr Curtis, because I’m really anxious about Dan. He’s not been well for the last few weeks, but he wouldn’t come and see you. Today he seems really ill, and I’ve said if he didn’t come now, while he was in Braithwaite at the market, I’d throw his cigarettes away—and I meant it!’

      Dan Wetherby shook his head, unable to speak, and Victoria got up and warmed her stethoscope in her hands. ‘I think I’d better examine you, although I can hear your breathing’s not good even before I look at you. Let’s undo your shirt.’

      ‘Susan’s just fussing—there’s nowt to worry about,’ he wheezed, and was convulsed by a racking cough.

      ‘I’m not fussing,’ protested his wife. ‘I knew your mother, Doctor—she’s such a lovely woman—and she said months ago he was to come for a check-up. She even came round to see him, but he’s that stubborn…’

      Victoria waited until Dan stopped coughing and then put her stethoscope on his chest, front and back, listening intently. It sounded bad, as she had known it would, crackles and wheezes in all zones, and his heartbeat was very fast. The couple watched her face anxiously, trying to read from her expression what the diagnosis would be.

      She put the stethoscope on the desk and folded her hands in front of her. ‘You know yourself you’ve got a very bad chest, Mr Wetherby. How long have you been like this?’

      ‘Weeks,’ said his wife. ‘I begged him to come and see you, but he wouldn’t—the obstinate old fool.’

      ‘Can’t leave the farm,’ wheezed Dan.

      Victoria took a deep breath—she knew he wouldn’t like what she was going to say next. ‘You aren’t well, Mr Wetherby,’ she said gently. ‘Your lungs aren’t working as they should and I can hear all sorts of crackles. You need immediate hospitalisation to relieve your symptoms.’

      ‘Can’t you give me an antibiotic?’ he whispered. ‘That’s what I had last time I had an infection.’

      Victoria nodded. ‘You certainly need antibiotics, but the hospital will give them intravenously to make them work more effectively, and in any case until you have a CT scan and a sputum test, we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with…and we can’t give you those procedures here.’

      ‘I can’t go to bloody hospital… I won’t…’

      Susan clasped her hands together and looked across at Victoria. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’ she said quietly.

      ‘As I say, I can’t tell exactly what’s going on until tests have been done—and that has to be done quickly, and in hospital.’

      Dan struck his stick on the floor. ‘I’m not going—not without another opinion. Think of all the stuff I’ve got to do at the farm…’

      Victoria looked at Dan’s stubborn expression and sighed. Perhaps he felt he was giving in to his illness if he did what she advised. ‘Look,’ she said with an encouraging smile, ‘what about if I asked Dr Saunders to look at you? If he confirms what I think, would you go then?’

      ‘Might do,’ he muttered.

      ‘Oh, yes, you will, Dan Wetherby.’ His wife looked at her husband fiercely. ‘I’m not having another night like last night, with you hardly able to breathe for that cough. We’ll see Dr Saunders as well, just to hammer home that he needs to go to hospital.’

      ‘I won’t be a minute, then. I’ll just see if he’s still here.’

      Victoria went to the office to find out if Connor had started on his home visits or was still in surgery. He was sitting in front of the computer, peering earnestly at the screen and making notes.

      ‘Connor, can I have a word?’

      He swung round. ‘Ah, Freckles…I mean Victoria. Don’t tell me you need help already?’

      Victoria looked at him coldly. ‘Ha, ha. Very funny. Yes, I would like your help—and not because I don’t know what’s wrong with the patient,’ she said defensively.

      ‘I’m sure you do,’ Connor remarked lightly.

      She ignored his remark and continued. ‘Mr Wetherby has chronic airway disease, very tachypnoeaic with widespread respiratory wheeze. I believe he should be admitted immediately for tests and therapy, but he’s adamant he won’t go until he has a second opinion, so…’

      ‘You’d like me to come and look at him?’

      ‘That’s it.’

      ‘Only too happy to oblige a colleague. Lead me to him.’

      They