Chapter 53

It was the following Saturday. Louisa was sitting at her kitchen table, marvelling at the view over the harbour in between doing her marking, when her mobile rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is that Miss Glasson, Louisa Glasson speaking?"

"Yes?"

"Oh, great!"

"Who am I talking to?"

"Oh, I'm very sorry, but Chris – Chris Parsons that is – gave me your number in case of an emergency…"

"Oh, is that Dr. Graham-Simmons?"

"Arch, please. I prefer to use my first name when I have to ask for help."

"OK, Arch!" Louisa laughed. "Can I help?"

"That's awfully nice of you. In fact, you can. Chris told me you were happy to do what you can."

"By the way, shouldn't you contact Mart…ehm…Dr. Ellingham? After all, you're going to be partners, sort of."

"Well, actually, after all I've heard…I'd rather not trouble him with my little problem, you know?" The young voice at the other end sounded definitely timid.

"Shouldn't you find a way of getting along with Dr. Ellingham, if you've got to work with him?"

"Right, but maybe it would help if I don't present myself as a lost lamb in the woods first time I contact him?"

"Oh, so you're lost?"

"Embarrassing, really. Chris offered me a route description, but I foolishly refused it. I mean, I do have a SatNav and it has always helped me. I've never got lost once, really."

"Yeah, they sometimes act up down here. You can call yourself lucky that you're mobile is working."

"Why, are there negative vibrations down here?", the young doctor laughed, "Sounds like an eerie electronic ghost in the machine!"

Louisa found the young man quite pleasant to talk to. "No, not at all. Just simple, old fashioned dead zones."

"So you think that's mucking up my GPS?"

"No, the mobile is always the first to go. Well, never mind. Just tell me where you are."

"That's difficult to say, really."

"Just describe what you see."

"Actually, my SatNav claims it's the Church Hill, but it can't be. That's supposed to be a normal road, but I'm almost stuck with my car. There's hardly room to navigate and I'm already worried about my little baby."

"What car are you driving?"

"A Porsche. A beautiful, black Porsche. If this baby is really going, then…WHEW!"

Louisa chuckled. "I see. And you're sure it's not Church Hill? Are there any houses in sight at all?"

"Actually, there are a few, but not enough to really call it a village centre." He described a couple of houses lining the narrow road.

"Maybe, dear Dr. Graham-Simmons…."

"Arch, please."

"OK, Arch, I'd say your SatNav is absolutely right. Just follow the road and you should see the harbour in a few minutes."

"Honestly, I don't think this car will fit. It might get stuck."

"Don't worry."

"So you think there's plenty of room."

"What I mean is, our garage has ample experience in getting cars out of the streets in case they get stuck. Actually, I hope you don't mind me saying so, but your motorised vehicle is hardly suited for Cornish roads."

"I did notice that, but what do people do around here? They did notice cars had been invented?"

Louisa laughed, as the voice of this locum clearly indicated that he didn't suggest that in all seriousness. It was a far cry from Martin's sneering remarks.

"Actually, you really do need a car around here, because the public transport is rubbish."

"So?"

"We buy our cars with respect to practicality rather than status – small, sturdy cars that can survive a bump or three and even don't mind getting stuck in between a flock of sheep."

"I see."

"And don't worry about telling Dr. Ellingham about that. It seemed he spent his first few weeks in constant contact with the garage. Oh, you big town boys! Big toys and not able to handle them!"

"I get it. Then I'll try my luck and hope that the repairs won't be too pricey. A shame really, but there you go! Nice to have spoken to you anyway."

"I suppose we'll meet soon. One can't really avoid each other in Portwenn."

"It'll be a pleasure. I'm due at the surgery in fifteen minutes, if I'll ever make it."

"There should be plenty of time."

"You can't by any chance come to the surgery? I could do with some moral support. And your voice sounds nice."

"Sorry, can't do. I think it's best you sort yourself out with Martin. He doesn't bite, you know."

"I just know that when Uncle Chris had first worked with him ages ago – and this old battleship really isn't easy to rock –he had the jitters every time."

"So why did you come here at all, if the thought's so scary for you?"

"Everyone says he's a bloody fine doctor, so I hoped I could learn a lot during this year. Well, and the area around here isn't too bad either. So I thought I could mix business with pleasure."

"I can assure you, if you really want to learn, then there's no better mentor than Dr. Ellingham. Just one bit of advice – don't call him Martin, Doc, or anything but Dr. Ellingham, and don't be as generous with your first name as you've been with me. I prefer first names, too, but Dr. Ellingham is a bit cagey about it."

"Thanks for the advice. And now‚ go in and win!"

Slowly and carefully, Dr. Graham-Simmons made it up Roscarrock Hill. He parked next to another status car, as he had learned that this was the way people down here thought about reasonably sized cars. He assumed it must belong to Dr. Ellingham.

The young doctor searched for his tie in the glove compartment and made a neat knot. His uncle had warned him that this brilliant doctor, whom he should share the practise with for about a year, was a very fastidious man, who appreciated formal attire, old-fashioned manners and didn't take fools lightly.

Archibald Graham-Simmons knew he was no fool, and he would be nobody's fool ever. However, he wanted to learn something during this year, so he thought it better to start with a good impression. Furthermore, he didn't want to get his Uncle Chris into trouble for recommending him.

Having to dress up and brush up his manners was a small price to pay, as he was in good practise from countless family shindigs and official dinners at boarding school and later Oxford.

With a perfectly tailored suit, a perfectly tied knot in his tie and polished shoes and manners, he knocked at the surgery door.

To be continued…