Chapter 54
"COME IN!" An angry voice bellowed, deep and sonorous and…loud.
The young doctor was glad that the door was still between them, as he jumped slightly. He remembered times when he had been called to the head of school, and he imagined himself again in a situation like that and remembered the coping mechanisms he had developed.
He took a few breaths and tried a smile. No, better not smile. From what he had heard from his uncle, this man was most probably better treated businesslike, no-nonsense.
Stone faced, he entered the cottage.
"So you're Chris Parsons' nephew."
"Yes, Dr. Ellingham." Keep it official, Archibald reminded himself. No witty answers.
"Have you noticed something?"
Dr. Graham-Simmons looked around.
"Come on, young man! Anything worth noticing?"
"Ahem, well, as you're asking – the surgery is not exactly state-of-the-art."
"If you'd expected a highly equipped, highly modern examining room full of toys and gadgets, you should have tried the Royal London Hospital. This surgery has everything that's needed and the diagnosis is done by the doctor, not the machines. Remember that!"
"Right, Dr. Ellingham!" This resembled more and more a military instruction than an introduction between two civilised people.
"Good. So nothing you've noticed? Something off, maybe?"
"Sorry, no, Dr. Ellingham." 'Except your manners, maybe' the young man thought but kept his tongue.
"Maybe I should make inquiries for a good clock-maker for you? You're two minutes late!"
"Sorry, Dr. Ellingham. The streets in Cornwall…"
Martin raised an arm, signalling the lad to keep silent.
"Is that what they tell you in Medical School nowadays? I just want to describe a little scenario for you. You're sitting comfortably in your desk chair. You've had the tenth runny nose in to see you that morning. Then your phone suddenly rings. A woman, choking on her words because she is more busy crying and sniffing than giving you any information. You just make out the words "fall" and "harrow" and "bleeding". You use the telephone number to trace down the address, somewhere on the moors. Just as the poor farmer loses his last drop of blood, you calmly arrive at the scene of the accident, explaining 'Sorry, the streets in Cornwall…'"
"I'm sorry, Dr. Ellingham."
"Get this into your head. Punctuality and organisation are vital for anyone in the medical profession. If you have to act, you've got to act quickly and correctly. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Dr. Ellingham!" Dr. Graham-Simmons gave the perfect impression of the eager pupil, hanging on every word coming from his master's lips. What he really thought was 'Arse!'. However, he was fond of his Uncle Chris, and he knew it was important to him that the two of them should work together for the next couple of months. However, it was beyond him how a nice man like his Uncle could ever be friendly with someone like this asshole sneering while handing out his good advice. On the other hand, working with this man for a few months would probably provide him with good after-dinner-stories for the rest of his life.
"You're sure you're a qualified doctor?"
'In contrast to you', Archibald thought, but just assured his elder peer that he had passed every exam with flying colours and made his MD summa cum laude.
"So you think you can be responsible for the welfare of this community on your own now?"
"He doesn't have to be, he's got me!" Without anyone knowing where she'd come from, Pauline had swept into the consulting room. Brushing in like a breeze, the door fell shut just as she had finished her sentence and had simultaneously plonked her colourful handbag on the floor.
Pauline squeezed between the two doctors, eyeing the new one up.
"Uh, you're a beauty. Where did they get you from? I hope you'll stay a bit. Portwenn can use someone like you." She pinched his backside. "I'm sure we'll work perfectly well together, don't you think, Doc?"
"What? Out!" Martin shouted.
"Not you, you grumpy so-and-so. I'm talking to the proper doctor." Pauline retorted. "You're in charge here now, aren't you, handsome?"
This welcome was overwhelmingly friendly for the former student, but not really unpleasant. This woman, whoever she was, represented quite a contrast to his business colleague. "Well, sort of, not really. Dr. Ellingham is…"
"…is in a business meeting and has no time for unwelcome visitors. Leave, now!"
"But I can't, can I?" Pauline just had eyes for the tasty young doctor. It would be a nice break to work for him for a while, and if she was lucky and Doc Martin ended up really being too barmy to continue in his job…who knew what could happen.
"Actually, Mrs. – I don't even know your name?" Dr. Graham-Simmons tried to defuse the tension without infuriating his boss.
"Pauline", the receptionist whispered in a seductive voice, "just Pauline. And it's Miss."
"Oh, good, I'm Arch."
"Can you please leave the socialising for later?" Martin bellowed, trying for attention. "We've got to organise this practise…"
"…and that's what you need me for." Pauline declared firmly, now confronting Martin.
"What? Whatever for?"
Pauline turned her attention again to the more pleasant sight. "I'm the practise manager."
"What?" Martin almost went into a frenzy listening to Pauline's view of the matter, but Pauline had forced the younger man a bit back, leading him by his arm, to talk to him in confidence, ignoring Dr. Ellingham who was just standing behind her.
"You know, Doc Martin would be absolutely lost without me."
"No, I would not!"
"So I don't really know how he could even think to introduce you to his practise without consulting me."
"You're crazy, woman!"
"But he must have forgotten, you know, he's a bit barmy, lately." Pauline tipped her head.
"I beg your pardon!"
"Well, not only lately, if you know what I mean." Pauline giggled.
"That's it! Enough!"
Pauline was pretty unimpressed by Dr. Ellingham's interjections. "Maybe I'll better show you my filing system." she still had Archibald's arm locked firmly, "You'll see, everything is shipshape and Bristol fashion."
"I'd be delighted, Pauline." Dr. Graham-Simmons could be a real charmer, if he wanted to be, and this young lady had enough qualities for him to try. After all, he had to find a way to fill some probably pretty boring evenings in a village like this, and maybe she could help him fill the one or other lonely hour. "And I would really love to, but there are a couple of things that Dr. Ellingham and I still have to discuss. Maybe you can give me your phone number and we'll talk about it over a glass of wine?"
"Gawd, no!" Martin groaned.
"Not you, stupid!" Pauline snapped back. Towards Archibald she purred. "That's a brilliant idea. See you at the pub, at eight?"
"Which pub?"
"Gosh," Martin kept interfering, "do you really think people around here can manage to drink enough to support two pubs? They try, but they don't really succeed."
"Oh, it's the pub, then." Archibald smiled at Pauline, picked up her bag, handed it to her and led her to the door.
Back in the middle of the consulting room, he was all business-like again.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, Dr. Ellingham, but I suppose a new face in a village like that will always attract attention."
"You seemed to have enjoyed it."
"Nice little young thing you've got here as your practise manager."
"Receptionist, she's simply a bloody receptionist. But not for much longer, if I can help it."
"Don't be too harsh on her. She's just a bit temperamental." In a low voice he added, "I like that in women."
"Are you here to take the role as practitioner or as Casanova – it's the one or the other. Or do I have to remind you on the Hippocratic oath?"
"Oh, right – but that would mean that practically every…there must be an exception for small communities like this?"
"Can we talk business, please? I didn't let you come here just to ogle my receptionist."
"No, of course not. Sorry."
Without any more interruptions by villagers, receptionists or wanna-be-practise-managers, Martin showed his new colleague around, explaining the organisation and storage system.
"The living quarters are attached. As I'm staying at my aunt's farm for the time, you can use the rooms."
Martin led Archibald first into the kitchen.
"It's quite – close – to the surgery, isn't it?" The young man raised his objections.
"Problem with that?"
"Actually, a bit, yes."
"Living room."
"It's more like a seating area, it's hardly a room in its own right."
Martin just raised an eyebrow and continued his tour of the cottage.
However, the upstairs could do very little to win Dr. Graham-Simmons over. "Gosh, it's tiny!"
"What do you want? It's perfectly alright for one."
"Might be, but honestly, my student flat was more spacious than this."
"So?"
"Uhm, I've been wondering – are there any reasonable hotels around here?"
"Not more spacious than this, I presume."
"Of course, but they'll come with a bit of service."
"Don't you think it would be good to be available at any time?"
"Sure, but I can re-direct any call to my mobile, they'd know where to find me – no problem!"
"Hm, your funeral."
Martin, of course, couldn't help with any information, but a call to Louisa did the trick. Martin flinched inwardly when he heard the young doctor applying his charms on Louisa over the phone. He was seriously nauseous hearing all this sweet talk. When Arch finally rang off, he was provided with name, address and phone number of the Wilson Hotel.
To be continued…
