despairing voice, all the while subconsciously fingering the little gold crucifix worn around his neck.
6
Bishopsworth, Lincolnshire
October
âGood morning, Dr Armstrong.â
The female voice was pleasant but matter-of-fact in its tone. James turned from hanging his coat on the back of the consulting room door to see one of the receptionists place a box of medical notes on the desk.
âDr McGarva would like to see you in his room after surgery this morning.â
âThank you. Did he say why?â
âNot exactly.â
With that, the receptionist abruptly turned and left with barely a sideways glance at James. A frown appeared on his forehead as he watched the back of her departing blue cardigan, her long, wavy, fair hair gently bouncing as she walked. There was something about her that unsettled him, but try as he might, he had yet to put his finger on the reason.
Ever since starting as a locum within the practice, he had felt that he got on well with the staff; especially the receptionists with whom, with the possible exception of the secretaries, he had the most contact. Although his general attitude was one of professional detachment, he liked to think that he treated everyone fairly and politely. In return, they were always pleasant to him, looked after him when he wasnât sure where to go on his visits, made him cups of tea and often had a bit of a joke to help the day along. He knew most of them by their Christian names; though not through any particular diligence on his part, for he was dreadful at remembering names, but because they all wore a badge stating their first name for the benefit of the patients. None of them called him James, however; always a formal âDr Armstrongâ, which he neither encouraged or discouraged. The situation was somewhat different with the particular receptionist who had this morning brought him the message from Dr McGarva. She was the one member of staff about whom he knew very little. He guessed that she was somewhere in her thirties, knew that she was married (only because her husband met her from the surgery in the evenings) and had overheard conversations about a house she was building. For some reason she made him feel uneasy. It wasnât that she was unattractive; indeed, on the contrary, she was in his view the most attractive of all the receptionists. However, the look in her eyes disquieted him and always gave him the impression that he had somehow done something intangibly wrong. When he did approach her for any reason, he lost his usual confidence, often finding himself dropping his gaze and ending up feeling awkward. As a result, he rarely spoke to her, preferring to make any requests to her colleagues whom he felt able to approach more freely. Because she habitually wore a blue cardigan over her uniform, thereby effectively hiding her badge, it was only recently that he had even learned that her name was Anna; Anna Baldwin, to be precise.
James shrugged and turned his attention to the box of medical notes Anna had left on his desk. They represented his forthcoming morning surgery. Casually, he flicked through the notes, finding many of the names familiar to him. It was interesting that, after only ten months in the practice, he was building up a list of patients who clearly gravitated to him rather than their registered doctor, despite the fact that he was only a locum.
Relieved to find that there were no exceptionally large sets of notes in the box that morning (implying that the cases were likely to be short and less complicated), he sat back in his chair. Absent-mindedly flicking through the pages of that monthâs copy of
Theology,
which he usually brought to the surgery in case there was some spare time in the day for him to study, he gazed across to the mirror on the opposite wall.
âI wonder what Dr McGarva wants to see me about?â he asked his reflection, his mind scanning back over the past few weeks, alert to
6
Bishopsworth, Lincolnshire
October
âGood morning, Dr Armstrong.â
The female voice was pleasant but matter-of-fact in its tone. James turned from hanging his coat on the back of the consulting room door to see one of the receptionists place a box of medical notes on the desk.
âDr McGarva would like to see you in his room after surgery this morning.â
âThank you. Did he say why?â
âNot exactly.â
With that, the receptionist abruptly turned and left with barely a sideways glance at James. A frown appeared on his forehead as he watched the back of her departing blue cardigan, her long, wavy, fair hair gently bouncing as she walked. There was something about her that unsettled him, but try as he might, he had yet to put his finger on the reason.
Ever since starting as a locum within the practice, he had felt that he got on well with the staff; especially the receptionists with whom, with the possible exception of the secretaries, he had the most contact. Although his general attitude was one of professional detachment, he liked to think that he treated everyone fairly and politely. In return, they were always pleasant to him, looked after him when he wasnât sure where to go on his visits, made him cups of tea and often had a bit of a joke to help the day along. He knew most of them by their Christian names; though not through any particular diligence on his part, for he was dreadful at remembering names, but because they all wore a badge stating their first name for the benefit of the patients. None of them called him James, however; always a formal âDr Armstrongâ, which he neither encouraged or discouraged. The situation was somewhat different with the particular receptionist who had this morning brought him the message from Dr McGarva. She was the one member of staff about whom he knew very little. He guessed that she was somewhere in her thirties, knew that she was married (only because her husband met her from the surgery in the evenings) and had overheard conversations about a house she was building. For some reason she made him feel uneasy. It wasnât that she was unattractive; indeed, on the contrary, she was in his view the most attractive of all the receptionists. However, the look in her eyes disquieted him and always gave him the impression that he had somehow done something intangibly wrong. When he did approach her for any reason, he lost his usual confidence, often finding himself dropping his gaze and ending up feeling awkward. As a result, he rarely spoke to her, preferring to make any requests to her colleagues whom he felt able to approach more freely. Because she habitually wore a blue cardigan over her uniform, thereby effectively hiding her badge, it was only recently that he had even learned that her name was Anna; Anna Baldwin, to be precise.
James shrugged and turned his attention to the box of medical notes Anna had left on his desk. They represented his forthcoming morning surgery. Casually, he flicked through the notes, finding many of the names familiar to him. It was interesting that, after only ten months in the practice, he was building up a list of patients who clearly gravitated to him rather than their registered doctor, despite the fact that he was only a locum.
Relieved to find that there were no exceptionally large sets of notes in the box that morning (implying that the cases were likely to be short and less complicated), he sat back in his chair. Absent-mindedly flicking through the pages of that monthâs copy of
Theology,
which he usually brought to the surgery in case there was some spare time in the day for him to study, he gazed across to the mirror on the opposite wall.
âI wonder what Dr McGarva wants to see me about?â he asked his reflection, his mind scanning back over the past few weeks, alert to
Similar Books
