Chapter 25 – West

"But," one of my needier patients asked, "what if I don't get on with the other doc?" She fidgeted as she glared at me.

I gave her an encouraging smile. "You'll do fine. Please don't worry. Dr. Campbell, along with others, are taking on all my patients. They – the other doctors – are all very capable. But you will like Dr. Campbell. She has…" I paused, "Skills which you will find useful. Trust me." I'd been able to 'steer' my patients to doctors whom I knew and trusted, matching patient needs to skills. The NHS had acquiesced, although it had taken some negotiating on my part.

The patient bowed her head at me, not entirely in agreement, shown by her concerned eyes.

Finally it was done; patients shipped off, office space sublet, and I'd packed my flat contents into boxes for storage, disposal, or transport. I looked around the tiny rooms, remembering too well what had happened there. At last the removers came, followed my directions as to what went where, and then I turned the keys over to my landlord.

He gave me a fishy stare. "So you're off to the West Country."

"Yes, I am."

He sniffed. "Dorset?"

"Cornwall."

He laughed. "I was down there in the RAF for a time. Chasing Russki subs we was; sonarman on a patrol plane back in the sixties. Still a bit deaf from the bloody propeller noise." He squinted at me. "Don't you like London?"

London was fine. It was me who needed to get out. "London is good. But… oh don't we all need a change sometimes?"

"Right. The cider is good down there, mark my words," he added as he accepted the flat keys. "Good luck to you Dr. Timoney."

"Thank you."

He watched me from the steps of the building as I put my last case and laptop into my new car (it was three years old but it was new to me. It was a two-door black Volkswagen diesel). I turned and waved to him. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Doc," he called out to me. "Fair winds to you."

0 0 0

I settled in quickly 'down there'. The rental home was on a quiet lane, not far from the local co-op market, a pub, and a flower shop. Delabole, which was much larger, was just a few miles away for my other needs, such as petrol, a bookshop, or new towels. I found a good used bike, and toured around the lanes, and through my new neighbors, was introduced to the delights of good local cider, cheese, and produce. One neighbor even gave me permission to cross his field to the Coastal Path, saving a roundabout drive to get to it. It was only a short walk going that way, and oh my word the sunsets were marvelous. No marvelous was a very poor word to describe seeing the solar orb set into the horizon. Certainly not a view like that up in Town.

So I tried to set a new pattern to my life. Out for a good walk or bike ride after breakfast, and then check emails (there weren't many) then tidy the house. Later, after an early dinner, I'd read or watch the telly until 10 or so and then to bed. I felt a million miles away from my life before, and that was rejuvenating.

Kyle and Andrea Samuels were a retired couple who lived behind my house. He had worked at the quarry, and she had been there in the office. They were both spry and entertaining, despite being seventy plus. Kyle had taken up wood carving as a retirement job, finding interesting bits of wood to turn into birds or fish, and his wife had become a master potter. I marveled at the works Andrea created in her kiln.

"Those are fantastic! You are so talented," I emoted over the shelves of her work. We were in her pottery shed just over the wall from my garden.

Andrea laughed. "Nah, not that good, but I keep at it. This one?" She pointed to a blue-glazed vase, with golden iridescent tones, which would fit very well into any well-furnished home. "Not my best work. But it is one of my better ones." She cocked her head. "You like it?"

"It's wonderful. If I worked at it a million years I'd never be able to do that."

"Then here," she wrapped it in some newsprint and twine. "It's yours."

Once again I was exposed to local friendliness. "No, do let me pay you…"

"No Rachel! If you pay me then it becomes business, and I'd rather be friends, yes? So please take my gift. Brighten up your house."

I looked at the vase and sighed. "Thank you." I resolved to bring her nice flowers, although her garden was filled with a riot of late-spring colours happily waving in the breezy sunshine. Perhaps she would appreciate roses would from the shop. "I'd better be heading back."

Andrea asked me, "Heard tell you are writing a book?"

"Ah that." For two weeks I'd sat and stared at my computer, rather in a daze, and no words made their way into a file. "Poking at it." But it seemed that news traveled fast, for the postman too had asked about 'my book.' Hm. Were there no secrets out here?

"None of my business," she replied. "But you are too young to retire."

Retire? "Far from it."

"That's what I thought." She cocked her head and I sensed she was wondering what I was doing in Cornwall.

I bit my cheek. "Work, well… you could say I am on a bit of a holiday," I shared with her.

Andrea handed me the wrapped vase. "All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl."

"Right you are." I walked back to my house and found my mobile blinking at me for I'd left the thing behind; a good habit I'd been trying to develop – leaving electronic doodads sit for hours – and not check them all the time.

I triggered the thing and heard Ruth Ellingham's voice. "Rachel? Good to get back in contact," her recording said. "Sorry for not calling back right after you left me a message a few days ago. I was busy for bit. My book stuff – publisher bugging me for another one. Nonetheless we should have a dinner. Call when you can."

I called her and she picked up on the first ring. "Ruth, this is Rachel."

"Oh there you are," she said drily. "Can you come down to Portwenn? It's not far from you, and my car is in the shop."

"Of course. Tonight good?"

"That would work. Here's where I am," she gave me an address, "Got a pencil?" She rattled off a number of turns along various roads. "From Treligga it might take you 25 minutes. We can walk down to the Platt from my house. The Crab and Lobster is convenient but it won't be the Ritz. Oh, and there is a teeny spot to park a car nearby the house, if it's small – the car I mean."

Considering that the Ritz in London was a very famous hotel, I had no doubt the place she told me about would be way down the scale. "Not a problem. And my car is small, per your advice." I looked at my watch and it was 4:30. "It'll take me a little while before I can leave here. See you at 5:30?"

"If you don't get lost," she chuckled. "The lanes hereabouts can be twisty and confusing."

"I'll make my way," I told her confidently.

"Fine. See you soon Rachel. Looking forward to seeing you."

"Yes, and me as well. Bye."

"Goodbye."