Read Online Doctor On The Boil by Richard Gordon - Free Book Online

shoulder. ‘Where were you intending to take this ornithological specimen?’
    ‘I thought a Wimpy Bar, sir.’
    The surgeon felt in his pocket for a notebook. He scribbled a few words, and handed the page to Terry. ‘Take that to the Crécy Hotel. Ask for the manager. Enjoy yourself tonight at my expense. Life is too short for penny-pinching. I would recommend the grill in preference to the restaurant. Order the chicken à la kiev , which I know to be particularly good, but avoid the claret, which has always been unsound. Now I must hop on a bus.’
    ‘Well,’ murmured Terry to himself, climbing into the Rolls. ‘I suppose one should never look a gift horse in the mouth – or any other transport.’
    As he drew up near the hospital steps the clock on the dashboard said precisely six. An open sports car came noisily to a stop beside him. Terry recognized with annoyance the driver as Grimsdyke. The man seemed to be haunting him. He pressed the button to lower the electric window, and said politely, ‘Good evening.’
    ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Grimsdyke crossly. ‘In that? ’
    ‘Waiting for a friend.’
    ‘Oh? Well, so am I.’
    ‘Good. We can keep each other company until they show up.’
    ‘Now look here, young Summerbee. It is not they. It is she. I happen to be waiting for Stella Gray from X-ray. I have reason to suspect that your eye is on the same target. I advise you to take that four wheeled mausoleum and clear out.’
    ‘Why should I?’ Terry demanded. ‘She specifically promised this evening to me.’
    ‘Did she indeed? Well, now we can see, can’t we?’ He opened the door of his sports car invitingly as Stella came hurrying down the steps. ‘Here we are, my dear. Punctual to the minute.’
    ‘Evening, Stella,’ smiled Terry.
    Mouth open, she stared from one to the other. ‘Hi, lover man,’ she said at last.
    ‘ Which lover man?’ demanded Grimsdyke.
    ‘I… I don’t know, lover men. Why, Terry, of course.’ She moved towards the Rolls. ‘Yes, Terry. He asked me first.’
    ‘Don’t be bloody, Stella–’ began Grimsdyke angrily.
    Her eyes flashed. ‘And don’t talk to me in that sort of way, lover man, you pig. Let’s go, Terry.’
    Grimsdyke angrily slammed his car door. She climbed into the Rolls. ‘Is this yours , lover?’ she asked, leaning back as Terry started the engine.
    ‘But of course.’ He smiled. ‘I always believe in paying for quality. Don’t you?’
    They started to move away. In the mirror, he noticed with satisfaction Grimsdyke glaring at them behind his steering-wheel.
    Still assessing Terry, Stella asked, ‘Where are we going, anyway?’
    Crécy Hotel suit you?’
    ‘But that’s a fabulous place! Since it was rebuilt, everyone goes there – TV tycoons, royals, the lot.’
    ‘I thought you might care for it. I’ll have a word with the manager, to be sure of the sort of service that…well, that we expect.’
    She ran her fingers lightly across the polished wood of the dashboard. ‘We must see more of each other. Much more, lover boy.’

9
    Terry drove through the main gates of St Swithin’s in a mood of such elation that he smiled contemptuously at the wreck of his own car, which until a few minutes earlier had been dearer to him than any of his other – admittedly limited – personal possessions. But as the Rolls purred through the unsightly streets which the hospital so devotedly served, leaving behind the charmless area of north London for the haunts of largely decorous pleasure in the West End, he began to have second thoughts about the expedition. By the time he reached the Crécy Hotel, the seeds of doubt had grown inside him as quickly as a Japanese water-flower, and blossomed hideously into panic.
    If Sir Lancelot had inexplicably decided to press upon him free meals and transport, that was the surgeon’s affair. From Terry’s knowledge of the man, drawn from the hospital’s legends, it might be just another of his famous