He closed the surgery at twelve on Friday in anticipation of traveling to the symposium. He called Louisa to tell her he was leaving and promised to call her later to see if everything was ok but had to be satisfied with voice mail. He just got to the edge of the moors when Pauline called him about an emergency at a farm that turned out to be not too far from his location. Bert had called it in and said that a man called Michael had fallen down the stairs and looked about to 'cork it'. He called Bert and told him, "Call an ambulance and I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't move him." He had already passed the turn off and, as he was turning the car around, Edith called.
"Ellingham? Are you on your way yet? There are several people attending who could be useful to us when you return to Imperial. You should mingle…"
He interrupted her with, "I have an emergency and can't talk now."
"But, Ellingham, these people are important! I don't want you to be late." And he hung up on her. Accustomed to his behavior, she said resignedly, "Oh Ellingham! How I've missed you."
He arrived at the farm to find a man lying at the foot of the stairs, burning up and barely conscious. He hadn't brought his bag with him so had nothing with which to care for the man. His wife, Julie, and Bert had covered him up. Bert introduced them and asked, "How'd you get here so quick? I just hung up about a minute ago."
"I was on my way to Truro for an appointment. He's burning up! Take this blanket away. Michael, it's Dr. Ellingham. Can you hear me?"
Michael mumbled an answer. "Bert, call an ambulance. Jane, do have a thermometer? Well, get it and bring me some ice. I have to try and lower his temperature. And some rubber gloves." He snorted in disgust when she handed him a jam thermometer and a pair of marigolds (yellow, kitchen rubber gloves).
"My name is Julie, not Jane, and Bert's gettin' the ice. Won't be a minute. Anythin' else?" she asked coyly. Was she flirting with him? The woman's an idiot!
"Yes, do you have any petroleum jelly? No, how about some cooking oil? I have to lubricate this thermometer in order to insert into his rectum." He explained.
"Oh my god! Bert, Bert! He's gonna put that big thing up his bum! Should I stop him? Oh my love! Michael, brace yourself darlin'. This is gonna hurt!"
Bert handed him the oil, the thermometer was lubricated and inserted. Michael moaned but Martin couldn't tell if it was discomfort from the insertion of the oversized thermometer or from his sickness. "Thirty-nine. Jennifer, hold this ice against the back of his neck. It'll help cool him off. I'm going to wash my hands." That's when he saw dead game hanging in the pantry. Two of them had discernable tire marks on them and he almost gagged at the odor from the badger. He went back to the hallway and stared at her in horrified disbelief, "Are you and your husband eating those animals?"
"Well, yeah. Can't let meat go to waste. Why?" She asked and looked bewildered at his question.
"Because they're road kill and it's dangerous you imbecile! Among other dangerous diseases, they carry Trichinosis. People infected with it present the same symptoms as Matthew here. I'm calling Health Services. They'll dispose of all that game properly. Bert, have you served any meat from here in your restaurant?" Martin asked, still fuming.
"No sir, I have not. There's no contaminated meat in any restaurant of mine thank you very much! Why don't you go on to your appointment, Doc. I'll wait for the ambulance." Bert motioned that he would follow him out.
"Keep the ice on his forehead and the back of his neck until the ambulance gets here. And stay away from that meat!"
He left with Bert, saying. "Can you remember what to tell them? Wait, I'll write it down."
"Doc, they're goin' around to all the restaurants tellin'em that they got what you call 'exotic game'. I came here to check it out. Sure didn't know it was road kill! I'll spread the word. Don't want customers gettin' sick. You go on, now. I won't leave till ever thing's ok."
Martin nodded and he ran to his car, still marveling at the ignorance of some of his patients. Road kill! Good god!
He arrived at the hotel, got his room key and when he put it in the lock, Edith opened the door. "Hello, Ellingham. I was afraid you'd be late. You know, there are these things called ambulances and they're used for emergencies. Clever isn't it?" She said, mocking him.
"Good to know. How did you get a key to my room?" He asked as he rolled his suitcase through the door.
"It's our room. In order to spend the night together, both people have to be in the same room, wouldn't you agree? Why the face? We've slept together before in case you've forgotten. I assure you that everything's still the same, just not as springy." She was smiling and confident. Why? Surely she didn't think…"
He backed out of the room and looked at her assessingly. "I don't think so. I'll go and get my own room."
"Are you trying to tell me that you don't want this? Don't you remember what it was like? We were good together and there's nothing to get in our way this time." She exclaimed.
"Yes, I remember. We've been working on your speech and my phobia. Those are the only things that I've been thinking of." He responded.
"First a blood phobia – you a blood phobia! Of all people! And now a fear of intimacy. I helped you conquer the first, I can help you with the second. Just trust me." She said bracingly.
"Not wanting to be with you doesn't mean I have a fear of intimacy."
"I think it does. You're exhibiting symptoms…" she started to say.
He interrupted with, "It's a choice, not a symptom. I have my reasons."
"I hope your reason isn't that needy woman from that little tin biscuit town that you impregnated. Good god, Ellingham! Surely, you're not going to let her trap you! She let herself get pregnant and then chose to not get an abortion like I did. She's a big girl. Just give her some money and walk away. Your future's in London now." That scornful expression on her face was repulsive. Walk away from his child? From his responsibilities? He had forgotten just how ruthless she could be. No wonder Louisa didn't want her as her doctor.
"Are you saying that you aborted a baby? Our baby?" He asked quietly.
"Of course I did. I didn't want a baby to tie me down. To pay for a mistake the rest of my life. I could have trapped you, too, just like Louisa wants to do! You wouldn't have liked that." She continued scornfully. "You can't convince me that you want a baby!"
Bile rose in his throat and he felt such rage that he actually wanted to strike her. "You never asked me about the baby! And you don't know what I want or don't want now and, in any case, I don't have to convince you of anything. It's none of your business. I'm going to get another room." And he left.
She called after him, "The hotel is fully booked. You won't get a room so why don't you just leave your suitcase here? It'll save time in the long run."
He rushed to the lavatory and emptied his stomach. What if Louisa had made that choice? It was an unbearable thought. Washing his face with cold water and taking deep breaths calmed him down and he made his way down to the lobby.
She was right, no rooms available. They were full of apologies but maybe he could book in another hotel close by. Yes, they would check for him. No, every decent hotel was fully booked. There were two conventions in town in addition to this symposium.
He asked, "Check and see if Dr. Robert Preston has checked in, please. He has? What's his room number? Seven fourteen? Thank you."
Robert answered the phone and agreed to meet him in the reception area in ten minutes. Just as he hung up Martin heard a scream followed by the sound of running feet and banging doors. He knew those sounds. Someone was hurt. He followed the commotion and made his way to the kitchen. A man was screaming and jumping around and holding his hand out in front of him, blood streaming from it.
"I've cut me bleedin' finger off! Somebody do somethin'! Help!" He screamed, obviously terrified.
Martin walked up, grabbed the hand and tried to wrap a clean towel around it. "What're you doin' you lunatic? I'm bleedin' to death!" He yelled and tried to wrench his hand away, spraying blood all over Martin's shirt front and face.
"I'm a doctor and I'm telling you to stop acting like an idiot, sit down and hold your hand up in the air. Here, you help him. Keep it up! The rest of you, help me find his finger. Hurry now, the surgeons may be able to reattach it." Martin ordered and he, too, searched for the missing finger.
A waiter held it up, "Found it!"
Martin grabbed a clean plate, filled it with ice and put the finger in the middle of it. "I need some cling film to cover it with. I can hear the ambulance. Tell them what happened and give this to them."
He went back to the reception to find Robert waiting for him.
"My word Martin! You've got blood all over your clothing and face! What happened? Were you the one who called that ambulance?" He asked.
Martin replied, barely acknowledging the blood, "An emergency in the kitchen. And no, one of the employees called them. If you'll give me a minute, I'll get cleaned up. I'd like to speak with you if you have time. It's the only reason I'm here."
Robert raised his eyebrows a in surprise at that statement. Edith had gotten a little ahead of herself. Good! Martin deserved better. He answered, "Certainly. I'll wait for you over there."
Martin was accustomed to dressing quickly and, in a short amount of time, he and Robert were ensconced in comfortable arm chairs.
"I'm glad to see you, Martin. We need to talk about your phobia and possible return to surgery. I assume that's what you want to speak to me about. How do you think it's going?" Robert asked.
Martin nodded and answered, "It's going very well. I'm convinced that I can return to surgery and will do whatever necessary to prove it to you and the board. You'll want to speak with my therapist. Here's his card. He'll tell you the same thing."
"That's great news! We've certainly missed your talents and skill. I'll arrange a meeting with the board and be in touch very soon." Robert answered enthusiastically.
"There's something else. I don't want to go back to London. I prefer the hospital here in Truro. Their surgical department is somewhat lacking." He said.
Robert was pleased but puzzled with this request. "You're correct. Truro can certainly use your help. They're already short staffed and Pitts is leaving at the end of next week. He was one of your pupils, yes? Good surgeon but constant complaints from personnel. Can't keep his hands to himself."
"That sounds like Pitts. Total arse." Martin replied.
"But I have to ask you why the change of heart? Are you afraid that a post at Imperial might to be too stressful for you? I can assure you that Truro has been just as busy on many occasions." Asked Robert.
Martin's trusted this man whom he had known for years so felt comfortable telling him his reasons. Robert's inquiry was fully justified so he answered calmly and honestly. "It's a choice based on the needs of my family. I have a child on the way and know that the mother will be happier in Port Wenn where she's always lived. I already have a home there and want to live in it with them."
Robert studied his face and nodded in understanding. He had known this private and talented man for years, first as a pupil and later as a top-rated surgeon, and knew that for him to be so open about his family life showed how important this request was to him. "I didn't know you're going to be a father. Congratulations! I never thought I'd hear that about you! Couldn't be happier for you. I have three myself and two grand-children as well. It's a wonderful thing. A good family life can mean a lot to people in our profession. I understand and will do my best to make your choice a reality.
They said their good byes, shook hands and Martin headed toward the front doors. Edith was waiting for him.
"Where do you think you're going? I've gone out on a big limb for you, vouched for you. I'm the reason you have a chance to redeem yourself by returning to surgery. Stop this ridiculous behavior!"
Astounded that he walked past her, she followed like an annoying little dog snapping at his heels. "You're embarrassing yourself! And you're supposed to listen to my speech. Are you afraid you'll fail again, that your phobia will come back? Well, it will if you can't face up it." He went through the doors and she yelled, "Ellingham! Just wait till Robert hears about this!"
He turned, with his classic 'you're an idiot!' look and said "Edith, first – I told you to mind your own business, second – shut up! It's a pleasure to know that, with luck, I'll never see you again." And left for home.