Secrets to Keep

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE





‘So here lieth the local hero. Well, national really. Your heroics made front-page news, dear boy.’

Inwardly groaning, Ty opened his eyes to settle them on the well-made man in his early thirties who was unbuttoning a mohair top coat and making himself comfortable in the chair by the bed. He was expensively dressed in hand-tailored clothes, hand-made leather shoes on his feet, and his girth portrayed the fact that he liked his food: the sort cooked by top chefs in classy restaurants, or by his own cook in a lavish home that he drove to and from in a Rolls-Royce.

‘I was hardly the hero,’ growled Ty. ‘I read the reports too and they missed out the real heroine. She hardly got a mention.’

‘Well, dear boy, stands to reason. A working woman, people don’t care a fig about. But a prominent doctor who’s had a great tragedy in his past … Riveting reading.’

Ty groaned again. ‘They had no right to drag all that up. Damned reporters are just out for a good story, don’t care at all who they could be hurting in the process. Anyway, Cuthbert, what brings you to these lowly parts?’

Dr Cuthbert Gosforth looked shocked that Ty would even be asking. ‘Why you, dear boy. You went off without a word and we’ve all been very worried about you. When you first went off, we all thought you just wanted some time on your own, which was very understandable. It’s not every day one’s own father kills one’s wife and child and then himself, is it? But as time passed, we didn’t know whether you were alive or dead.

‘Mind you, having seen for myself where you have been burying yourself, you could hardly class that as living! God, what a hell-hole. Couldn’t understand a word the creatures were saying when I was making enquiries about your whereabouts. I of course made other enquiries before I set out and was told you were no longer a patient here so I assumed you’d discharged yourself home … only to find you were in fact still here, having told the staff not to reveal you were in residence because you were so fed up with the local dignitaries dropping in to pay homage.

‘I can’t imagine what state of mind you’ve been in, dear boy, to have taken on a practice where you did. I can’t believe people actually live in such places!’ Cuthbert gave a shudder. ‘But enough is enough. You don’t belong here. Leave these yokels to be ministered to by one of their own kind who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. I mean, look at yours, Ty, old thing. When was the last time you had them manicured? And had a decent haircut?

‘There’s an opening for you in my practice. I’m offering you a partnership. Think of it, dear boy. What a team we’ll make! We’ll have the old ducks flocking to simper over our handsome new doctor. A bit of sympathy, a prescription for something that won’t do a damn’ thing because there’s nothing wrong with the hypochondriac old bags … but we’re richer by three pounds each consultation, thank you very much.

‘Griselda has found a house for you not far from the surgery. It belongs to a retired lawyer who’s off with his wife to Europe for six months, so that’ll give you plenty of time to look for something you’d like permanently. I’ve a Daimler sedan you can have the use of until you get your own jalopy. Griselda is throwing a dinner party to welcome you back. They’ll all be there. She’s invited Joanna. You remember her? All legs and breasts. She always had a twinkle in her eye for you. Was quite upset when you met and married Anthea. Well, she’s free too now. Divorced. Did quite nicely out of it, by all accounts. Husband was the son of the Fortescue-Thompsons, and you know how much they are worth.’

He got up. ‘Well, got to be going, old boy. It’s quite a journey to this back-of-beyond little town and I’ve to get back as Griselda is dragging me off to the theatre tonight and we’re meeting the Williamsons for drinks first. I had a word with your doctor before I came in. They’ll be releasing you tomorrow, so we’ll be expecting you the day after. Let me know if you want the car sent to collect you. Too-da-loo then, old chap.’

For a good while after his old friend had departed, Ty lay back on his pillows, his good arm cradling his head, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. Only he wasn’t seeing the ceiling at all but what his life would be like from now on as Cuthbert’s medical partner. Back to money in his pocket to finance the lifestyle he’d been brought up to live. Only working eight hours a day, if that. No house calls unless the patient was the type who demanded the attention of the senior practice partner, not a lowly assistant. Having a clerk to see to all the paperwork, a receptionist to greet the patients who came in. A daily woman to supply tea and coffee brought into him on trays holding Royal Worcester china and solid silver pots. Taking leisurely lunches in expensive establishments; having the means to afford his own cook and housekeeper to cater to his every need. Invitations to parties, the theatre, weekends in the country … too many for him to accept.

Compared to the lifestyle he had been living these past eighteen months, it sounded like a slice of heaven.