Saving Dr Gregory. Caroline Anderson

flashed her a distracted smile and busied himself on the computer. He had evidently said much more than he had intended, and now he regretted it. Her dismissal was obvious—and painful.

      He found her in the morning, after surgery, when she was clearing up her room and remaking the couch with a clean sheet.

      ‘Morning,’ she said, sparing him a quick smile as she bustled round.

      ‘Have you got a minute? There’s a patient I’d like to discuss with you, Polly.’

      ‘Sure.’ She stopped bustling, and pulled up a chair. Go ahead.’

      ‘Her name’s Helen Robinson, and I’ve suggested she comes to see you at the well-person clinic. She’s got nothing wrong with her, but she’s a real problem.’

      Polly’s heart sank.

      ‘I’ve got a letter from her old GP. He describes her as one of his “heartsink” patients.’

      Polly suppressed a smile. That had been her immediate reaction, too. She could imagine why. There were patients like that in every walk of medicine—physically apparently fit, but with a morbid fear of their own health or an unrealistic expectation of their bodies. Every last palpitation, twinge or hiccup would send them flying to the surgery in a panic. Perhaps Mrs Robinson was just a good old-fashioned hypochondriac?

      ‘She’s in her late forties, not yet in the menopause. She’s an attractive woman, slim and apparently healthy. They moved here six months ago, and she’s been to see me four times—each time with something unrelated and insignificant. But there’s something wrong—some pain inside that shows in her eyes. I don’t think she’s so much a heartsink as heartsick, and I think she just doesn’t know how to start to explain.’

      Polly frowned. She trusted Matt’s instincts, and if he felt there was something wrong, then there probably was. Not a hypochondriac, then, but was her problem medical or social?

      ‘What makes you think she doesn’t need to talk to a social worker or priest, Matt? Why does she need us?’

      Matt sighed and ran his hand through his hair, then pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘She had a lumpectomy seven years ago for breast cancer, and she was cleared by the oncologist a year ago. I asked her if she had any worries about it returning, and she said no, but she was cagey. Polly, I think something about it is troubling her. She hasn’t had a smear done for eight years, and when I asked her she said she didn’t think it was necessary. That’s when I suggested she should come to see you. I think a well-person clinic is sufficiently routine and unthreatening that you could check all sorts of things without planting any seeds of doubt in her mind. Will you look at her for me?’

      ‘Of course. When’s she coming?’

      ‘This evening. I’d like to talk to you after you see her—can you come round to my house? We can have something to eat while we chat.’

      Polly’s heart hiccuped, and then she remembered the unknown Mrs Gregory. ‘Is there any reason why we can’t do it here?’

      He shook his head. ‘No, not really, if coming to my house gives you a problem. The only reason was that I’m off duty this afternoon and I wanted to get my weight off this leg as soon as I could, but it doesn’t matter. I can come back quite easily.’

      ‘Oh!’ Polly had forgotten his leg. ‘Let me do the dressing now and have a look at it—have you got time?’

      ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he teased, but instead of lowering his trousers, he pulled up the left leg to his knee. Polly was relieved. Her feelings about Dr Matthew Gregory were becoming distinctly confused and unprofessional, and that troubled her. If he hadn’t been married, well then, fair enough, but as it was—she eased off the dressing, cleaned the wound and redressed it with swift but sympathetic fingers.

      Thanks,’ he murmured, sliding off the couch, and Polly, to avoid a repetition of yesterday’s kiss, busied herself at the sink.

      ‘I’ll come to your house, if you like. What time?’

      ‘When you’re ready. I’ll be in all evening. Thanks, Pollyanna. I’ll see you later.’

      She thought about Mrs Heartsink—or was it Heartsick?—for the rest of that busy day, and when she went into the waiting-room to call for her she was able to pick out the woman quite easily, because she had focused her thoughts on her so exclusively.

      She was fairly tall, elegantly dressed, with dark hair greying slightly and swept up into a neat bun. She looked like a businesswoman, and Polly wondered if she had been forced to give up her career to move here with her husband, and she wondered why they had moved. Then she remembered that the woman’s previous GP and not Matt had described her as a heartsink patient, and she dismissed that idea. Her problem, whatever it was, was longer-standing than that. And Matt was right—it showed in her eyes.

      ‘Come on through, Mrs Robinson,’ Polly said with a smile, and seating the woman, she picked up a blank well person card to fill in the details. First, after the name, was marital status.

      ‘I just have to ask a few routine questions, Mrs Robinson. Have you ever been to a well-person clinic before?’

      At the woman’s headshake, Polly said, ‘Well, it’s all quite simple and routine. We establish your history, and test all the usual things like blood pressure, cholesterol and so on. Right. What’s your marital status?’

      ‘Married,’ she answered shortly. Polly thought she detected a twinge of bitterness.

      ‘Occupation?’

      ‘I used to be manager in a travel agency until we moved.’

      ‘Oh!’ Polly said. ‘How lovely! Did you go anywhere exciting?’

      ‘Once or twice. Nowhere that special. My husband runs his own business, and getting time off is difficult.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Polly agreed. ‘I know several people like that, and they work harder for themselves than they ever would for anyone else. Perhaps we ought to have a look at him too, just to make sure that he isn’t overdoing things and doesn’t have any problems with blood pressure. This isn’t just a clinic for women, you know.’

      ‘He won’t come,’ Mrs Robinson told her. ‘He says doctors are a waste of time.’

      ‘But that’s rubbish,’ Polly said briskly. ‘Without doctors you probably wouldn’t be alive now, so he can’t say that.’

      ‘He can,’ Mrs Robinson assured her, and sighed heavily. ‘Sometimes I wonder why they bothered with me.’

      Polly frowned. Mrs Robinson was her last patient, and she felt they needed a cup of tea, to break the ice, but she didn’t want to do anything which might seem unusual and put Mrs Robinson on her guard. She pressed on.

      ‘Any current medical problems? I gather you saw Dr Gregory yesterday.’

      She shook her head. ‘I thought I had a chest infection, but he said I was clear. Must have been a bit of a wheeze.’

      ‘Any drugs or allergic reactions?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘What about your parents? Any history of heart disease, diabetes, stroke, that sort of thing?’

      Again she shook her head.

      ‘What about you? Do you smoke or drink?’

      ‘Drink, occasionally; I haven’t smoked since—well, since my op. I always watch my weight. Glamour is very important in the travel business, and I kept a close eye on myself when I was working.’

      ‘Do you miss your job?’

      Mrs Robinson shook her head again. ‘No, not really. I miss my friends. It’s a bit lonely.’

      Polly agreed. ‘I’ve only been here a week and a bit, and it takes a little getting used to. There must be