I realize there are several parallel storylines going on in my story and it may be confusing to keep track of them all so I thought it might help to do some periodic recaps. So…
Previously on Doc Martin: The Movie: While Louisa is out of town recuperating from the trauma of the hostage situation and her father's arrest, Martin is coping with various inconvenient situations. He has just managed to avoid going through with the Effective Interpersonal Skills course and had an unexpected encounter with the aggressive herbalist Sandra Mylow. He is also investigating a suspicious case of oleander poisoning. Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Portwenn are starstruck that a pair of famous actors are filming a movie in the village.
Chapter 17: A Mutual Friend
Monday Midday
In truth, Martin had nowhere he needed to be. He had cancelled all surgery visits for the next two weeks. He drove out of the college car park at speed and it was only when he was safely heading for the motorway back to Portwenn that he slowed down and considered how he should spend the day.
He stopped at a petrol station and decided to check for office messages once again. Since he had last checked Pauline had apparently come up with a new answer machine recording, even though she was on holiday while he was supposed to be at the course.
"Portwenn Surgery.
Not feeling well? Lost appetite?
The Doc wants to help but we're closed a fortnight."
Thoroughly irritated, Martin punched in the code to bypass the recording and get to any left messages but he couldn't do it fast enough.
"So if your head hurts or your knee's out of whack.
Head over to Wadebridge until we get…" BEEP.
"This is Jago Powell for Dr. Ellingham. I know the surgery's closed but a mutual friend suggested I give you a ring anyway. We've got a bit of a problem on set and our regular nurse is out sick. Ironic, that. Anyway, Wynnie's got a tummy ache and she won't come out of her trailer and it's holding everything up. We're on location over by the Wenn house today if you get this message."
Ordinarily, Martin might have dismissed this vague message about someone named Wynnie and her tummy ache but, having nothing better to do, he decided to head over and see what it was about. The fact that this Jago person, who seemed to be the actor everyone was talking about, claimed they had a friend in common was mildly interesting.
The Lexus tank now full, he finished paying and drove onto the motorway with renewed purpose.
000
As Martin slowed to make the turn into the long driveway of Wenn house, P.C. Penhale was there directing traffic. Not that there was so much traffic that it needed directing. The constable lit up when he saw Martin and waved him past the barricades into the long driveway, and then got in his police vehicle to follow him in with lights and siren going, to Martin's annoyance.
Martin pulled into the courtyard and parked amongst the film crew vans. A man came over to greet him. He was almost as tall as Martin, but slender, with black hair, an old fashioned moustache, sparkling grey eyes, and angular features like a male model. He was smartly dressed in 1930s-style tweeds. Martin recognized him from the film set the other day.
"It's all right Jago, I mean, Mr. Powell. It's the Doc, our local GP. The one I was talking about," Penhale said. "He's authorized to be here."
"Yeah, I know Joe, I rang him. And just call me Jago," the man said. He stuck out his hand for Martin. "Jago Powell. You must be Dr. Ellingham. I've heard so much about you."
Martin reciprocated the handshake, but acknowledged the man with only a "hm." He wondered what, in fact, this actor had actually heard about him.
The man waved Penhale away. "Go on Joe, it's a private matter." He led Martin to where a pair of large caravans were parked.
"Joe Penhale, a cop. Never would have thought that. I knew him back in school," he confided. "I spent some of my teenaged years here. Went to Wadebridge High School with Sam Penhale, Joe's big brother. Sam was always the achiever. Very artistic chap, very clever. Sporting too. He tried out for Plymouth Argyle. And then there was Joe. The bumbling little brother, always tagging along. Well meaning bloke, though. Seems to think you're the cat's whiskers."
"Hm."
Powell led Martin one of the caravans and knocked on the door. "Go away!" came a woman's voice with an American accent.
"Wynnie darling, I've brought the village GP. He's here to take a look at you."
"I don't want some local quack."
"Wynnie, he comes highly recommended. Supposed to be some sort of diagnostic wizard."
Martin wondered if this was something Penhale had said about him.
There was a pause, and then slowly the caravan door opened. "Oh, come in then," the woman said impatiently.
Martin followed Powell up the small steps into the caravan, which was rather well appointed and not at all what he expected. A woman lounged on a sofa, wearing a peach-coloured silk robe. Despite the irritable tone of her voice, she too was not what he expected. When he had seen her from a distance doing her scene inside the house the other day, she looked very young and curiously drab. In person, she appeared to be in her late 20s and brimming with languid self confidence. She had blonde hair bobbed to a 1930s style, pale grey eyes, and high cheek bones. Martin assessed her body mass index to be slightly below a healthy range for her size, which was certainly different from what he was used to seeing among the inhabitants of Portwenn. He wondered if perhaps a mild case of anorexia nervosa was at work. He also thought her mouth too thin and her overall appearance too fragile to be a perfect beauty, but she had a surprising magnetism. Even to Martin, who did not make a habit of watching movies, her face was startlingly familiar.
"Wynnie, this is Dr. Ellingham. Dr. Ellingham, the fabulous Wynnie Barlowe."
"What are your symptoms?" Martin inquired, setting his medical bag on the floor.
"I had terrible stomach pains last night. It's a little better now, but they can't expect me to work when I'm clearly under the weather."
"She was running a slight temperature last night, weren't you darling," Powell said, touching his hand to her forehead.
"Have you eaten anything unusual in the last 24 hours? Been out of the country recently?" Martin asked.
"She's American, she's usually out of the country. Constantly running back home to Los Angeles, when she should be concentrating on projects here in the U.K.," Powell said.
"Stop talking," Martin ordered. "Let the patient speak for herself."
Wynnie glared at Powell and pushed his hand away. "I haven't had anything unusual."
"Pain localized to the right side of the abdomen?"
"No, right in the middle." She put the thermometer he handed her in her mouth.
"So not likely appendicitis or gallstones. If you're often travelling abroad, just getting used to the food and mineral content of the water here might be enough to upset your digestive tract."
The thermometer beeped and he checked it. "Hm. Seems normal now."
"I suppose that could do it," she said. "I don't mind being here though. The scenery is just gorgeous, and… some of the local males are surprisingly nice to look at too." She took hold of his hand and stroked it, giving a sidelong glance at Powell as she did so.
Martin felt the tips of his ears turn pink. Strange that he was getting such attention from two women in one day, but this actress at least seemed to be merely trying to make her co-star jealous, he thought. Suddenly he felt he could no longer wait patiently for Louisa to return, he missed her acutely.
"Nice, strong hands, not like some I know," Wynnie continued. "You'd never get a manicure, would you Dr. Ellingham? It's just not manly, is it."
Powell glared at her and stuck his hands in his tweed trouser pockets.
"I'm always careful about what I eat, Dr. Ellingham. No red meat, no sugar, no refined flour."
"Very sensible," Martin grunted.
"Thank you, doctor. I'm not like some people, who claim they've given up intoxicants they can't handle and then get busted for drunk driving." She gave Powell a needling look.
"Oh, give it up, Wynnie!" Powell was clearly annoyed she had gotten to him. "That was some sort of misunderstanding. The charge was dropped, and it was over a year ago."
"Anyway," she turned her attention back to Martin. "I also stay away from red wine and chocolate, even fair trade raw chocolate. It triggers my migraines. I still get them sometimes. Like yesterday, I got one in the middle of a scene and I had to go lie down. Mrs. Daniels, the housekeeper here, gave me some special tea that cleared it right up though."
"Hm." Martin had a sudden thought. "Was that before or after the stomach pains and fever started?"
"Hours before." Wynnie suddenly sat straight upright. "You don't think the tea had something to do with it. It really helped up my migraine. Mrs. Daniels knows her herbal medicines. She's like a wise old Cornish witch."
"Is she now," Martin scoffed. Powell made a sceptical noise too.
Martin thought her symptoms were similar to the ones Mr. Wenn had complained of, although perhaps not as severe, but he decided to keep his suspicions to himself for now.
She reached out and stroked the lapel of his jacket. "Wool-silk blend, isn't it. Summer weight. Very nice fabric. I like a man that dresses well. I don't suppose you'd consider being my personal physician on set?"
"No," Martin declared, sterilizing the thermometer with alcohol and putting it away. "I have a surgery to run."
"Here, take my card." She wrote something on a business card and held it out to him. "That's my personal cell phone. In case you want to get together sometime and talk about healthy lifestyles… or anything at all."
He stuck the card in his pocket without looking at it. She glanced at Powell again. "Jago's throwing a masked ball for this little village. I wonder if I'll see you there, doctor."
"No."
"Wynnie," Powell said, "don't you think the tabloids might wonder if you were keeping company at the ball with a man other than your husband? Word might get out that you're on the verge of divorce."
She scoffed. "Divorce is such a negative word. Carl and I are going through what I prefer to call a conscious uncoupling. Anyway, it's not like you're even capable of making a commitment to anyone, Jago. I hear you've already moved on to a new friend now. Who is it, Lois something?"
Martin picked up his bag and prepared to walk out, leaving the two to their bickering. He reached for the door handle, but this last comment caught his attention.
"Her name is Louisa, and she is just a friend, an old school friend," Powell said.
"You said you went to Wadebridge School. Er, is that how you know Louisa?" Martin asked.
"Right. She was in the same form with Joe Penhale, a year behind me and Sam but everybody knew Louisa Glasson. Prettiest and smartest girl in school."
There was a knock at the caravan door. Martin paused, then opened it.
To be continued…