The Citadel Read Online Free PDF

to her brother, her unstinted loyalty to his interests made her almost a paragon.
    Nevertheless, to Andrew she was always a little sterile, a spare dry spinster whose smile could never quite convince him of real warmth. If only she had been married, been surrounded by a family of romping children, she would have pleased him better.
    After lunch she rose and, a moment later, called him into the sitting-room. Her mood was dignified, even austere.
    ‘Here is your money then, doctor. I have found that my assistants prefer to be paid in cash. Sit down and I will count it for you.’
    She herself was seated in the green plush armchair and in her lap were a number of pound notes and her black leather purse.
    Taking up the notes, she began to count them meticulously into Manson’s hand – ‘One, two, three, four.’ When she had given him twenty she opened her purse and, with the same exactitude, counted out sixteen shillings and eightpence. She then remarked:
    ‘I think that is correct, doctor, for one month. We agreed on a salary of two hundred and fifty a year.’
    ‘It’s quite correct,’ he said awkwardly.
    She gave him a pale glance.
    ‘So now you know I don’t intend to cheat you, doctor.’
    Andrew left the house in a smouldering irritation. Her rebuke stung him the more because he felt it to be justified.
    Only when he reached the post office, bought a registered envelope and posted the twenty pounds to the Glen Endowment – he kept the silver as pocket money for himself – he saw Doctor Bramwell approaching and his expression lightened further. Bramwell came slowly, his large feet pressing down the pavement majestically, his seedy black figure erect, uncut white hair sweeping over the back of his soiled collar, eyes fixed on the book he held at arm’s length. When he reached Andrew, whom he had seen from half-way down the street, he gave a theatrical start of recognition.
    ‘Ah! Manson, my boy! I was so immersed, I almost missed you!’
    Andrew smiled. He was already on friendly terms with Doctor Bramwell, who, unlike Nicholls, the other ‘listed’ doctor, had given him a cordial welcome on his arrival. Bramwell’s practice was not extensive, and did not permit him the luxury of an assistant, but he had a grand manner, and some attitudes worthy of a great healer.
    He closed his book, studiously marking the place with one dirty forefinger, then thrust his free hand picturesquely into the breast of his faded coat. He was so theatrical he seemed hardly real. But there he was, in the main street of Drineffy. No wonder Denny had named him the Lung Buster.
    ‘And how, my dear boy, are you liking our little community? As I told you when you called upon my dear wife and myself at The Retreat, it isn’t so bad as it might appear at first sight. We have our talent, our culture. My dear wife and I do our best to foster it. We carry the torch, Manson, even in the wilderness. You must come to us one evening. Do you sing?’
    Andrew had an awful feeling that he must laugh. Bramwell was continuing with unction:
    ‘Of course, we have all heard of your work with the enteric cases. Drineffy is proud of you, my dear boy. I only wish the chance had come my way. If there’s any emergency in which I can be of service to you, call upon me!’
    A sense of compunction – who was he that he should be amused by the older man? – prompted Andrew to reply.
    ‘As a matter of fact, Doctor Bramwell, I’ve got a really interesting secondary mediastinitis in one of my cases, very unusual. You may care to see it with me if you’re free.’
    ‘Yes?’ queried Bramwell with a slight fall in his enthusiasm. ‘ I don’t wish to trouble you.’
    ‘It’s just round the corner,’ Andrew said hospitably. ‘And I’ve got half an hour to spare before I meet Doctor Denny. We’ll be there in a second.’
    Bramwell hesitated, looked for a minute as though he might refuse, then made a damped gesture of assent. They walked down to Glydar