Doctor On The Boil Read Online Free PDF Page A

laughed. The lift halted. As the door slid open, Sir Lancelot shut it rapidly in the dean’s face.
    ‘That shows I’d more sense than is usually the case with a junior nurse,’ she said as they went up again. ‘Certainly more than the ones I’m in charge of today. Or did I? Perhaps the youngsters’ outlook is right. They get more fun.’
    ‘It’s all comparative. We got excited simply holding hands in the back of the pictures. If I may say so, you’re looking absolutely wonderful, Tottie.’
    ‘Why, thank you. And you’re exactly the same, you know.’
    ‘I doubt that very much. Though I shall be hanging round the hospital for a while – which may give us a chance to find out.’
    Bingham’s angry face appeared briefly in the open lift door.
    ‘And how is Lady Spratt?’ Tottie asked, on their way down again.
    ‘Didn’t you hear?’
    ‘Oh!’ Tottie bit her finger. ‘Yes, I remember now. I’m sorry.’
    ‘No matter. I’m getting over it. However homespun the bonds, it’s always a shock when they’re sheared. Well, Tottie–’
    The door opened. The dean put his foot in it. ‘My dear Lancelot, has something gone amiss with the machinery? You’ve been going up and down like a yo-yo. I’m in a tearing hurry, too. Might I introduce you to our new matron?’
    ‘How very kind,’ beamed Sir Lancelot. ‘By the way, Dean, we meet after lunch, don’t forget.’
    ‘Ah! Yes. ‘Two o’clock. I’ll get Bingham to remind me.’
    Tottie made briskly off to her office. Sir Lancelot strolled thoughtfully past the site of the new building. It was remarkable. And perhaps a little exciting. He was going to enjoy his return to St Swithin’s even more than he had imagined.
    But first there was the dean at two o’clock, and Sir Lancelot remembered he had always had clammy hands and an ice-cold stethoscope.

4
    When the bar in the students’ common-room opened at five-thirty that evening, Ken Kerrberry said to Terry Summerbee, ‘Look, there’s that little thrombosed pile, George Lychfield. Do you suppose we could get out of him his father’s questions for the class exam? Terry! You’re not listening.’
    ‘Sorry. I’ve a lot on my mind. Er – I’m revising my neurology.’ When Ken repeated the suggestion, Terry shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t think the dean would confide in him .’
    ‘But he might talk loudly in his sleep. Who knows? It’s worth a try. George, you dear boy,’ he called loudly. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
    George’s eyes lit up behind his large round glasses. He was a short, plump young man who resembled a garden gnome from the same mould as his father, if less weathered in appearance. Two related reasons made him accept the offer instantly. Firstly he could, like his father, never refuse anything free, from a drug firm’s plastic golf-tees to an honorary degree. And his father’s carefulness kept him even shorter of money than his contemporaries.
    Ken bought him half a pint, mentioning idly, ‘You know your revered father’s putting the screws on the lot in my year next Monday week? I don’t suppose he leaves the written questions hanging about the house, does he, so you might have a quick butcher’s?’
    George looked aghast. ‘You must be joking? I could never do a dishonest thing like that. Not even if I was taking the exam myself.’
    ‘But if by pure chance your eye did happen to fall upon the exam paper…’ Ken took a gulp of beer. ‘I’d give a quid pro quo , you understand. Anything you care to name.’
    ‘Is that the time?’ exclaimed Terry, staring at the wall clock.
    ‘No, Ken,’ George told him firmly, as Terry hastened for the door. ‘There’s nothing, absolutely nothing which could tempt me–’ He paused. ‘Well…I hear you know a girl who works for TV?’
    ‘Your suggestion is not only outrageous but highly insanitary.’
    ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that . I only had in mind an introduction. A professional introduction. You see–’ He