Medic on Approval
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Laura MacDonald
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CHAPTER ONE
‘LINDSAY, darling, where is this God-forsaken place that you’re going to?’ Romilly Souter, Lindsay’s father’s long-term girlfriend, a little the worse for all the wine she’d consumed during dinner, surveyed Lindsay across the table through half-closed eyes.
‘You make it sound as if it’s the other side of the world,’ Lindsay replied, trying to keep her voice light in spite of a rising sense of irritation. ‘It’s only North Wales for heaven’s sake.’
‘But surely that is the other side of the world,’ said her friend Annabelle Crichton-Stuart from further down the table. ‘I remember Daddy taking Rupert and me to Caenarvon once when we were children and us thinking we were never going to get there. It was just mile after mile of mountains and sheep—and it rained all the time. It was absolutely ghastly.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ This was from Annabelle’s husband, Gideon. ‘I went to Snowdon once on an Outward Bound course—that was first rate.’
‘So tell us, Lindsay, why Wales?’ Charles Croad, who was one of her father’s oldest friends, leaned forward so that he could see Lindsay.
‘Why not?’ Lindsay shrugged, still outwardly calm but inwardly beginning to seethe as the opinions she’d feared every since making her decision all began to surface.
‘Well…’ Charles turned his head to look at Lindsay’s father, Richard Henderson, who sat at the head of the table. ‘I would have thought something closer to home might have been more sensible. Couldn’t you have found her a nice little corner in Harley Street, Richard?’
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried?’ Richard Henderson gave a short laugh. ‘It’s Lindsay herself who’s insisting on going further afield.’
‘But Wales,’ protested Annabelle. ‘Why Wales? It’s all rugby and singing and coal mines.’
‘Ah, now, there I have to confess.’ Richard nodded, his features thrown into sudden harsh relief as the candles on the table suddenly flickered. ‘Wales does have something to do with me.’ He paused as all chatter around the table died away and ten pairs of eyes turned in his direction. Only Lindsay kept her eyes downcast as she drew patterns in the white damask tablecloth with her thumbnail. ‘An old friend of mine, Henry Llewellyn, who also happens to be Lindsay’s godfather, has a practice there just outside Betws-y-coed,’ Richard continued. ‘When Lindsay made up her mind that she wanted to go into general practice I contacted Henry to see if he would take her as a trainee.’
‘But I thought Lindsay was a doctor already,’ Annabelle interrupted. ‘Why would she have to be a trainee?’
‘She is a doctor,’ Richard replied. ‘But if she wants to be a GP she needs to do a year’s work within a practice to gain experience.’
‘Presumably, after that you’ll come back to London and to civilisation?’ Romilly raised her eyebrows at Lindsay.
‘Maybe.’ Lindsay looked up quickly.
‘Oh, Linds, surely you wouldn’t stay there?’ wailed Annabelle. ‘As it is, you’re going to miss absolutely everything this year. Daddy was going to take the boat down to Cowes…Then there was the trip to the villa. Now…’ She trailed off with a helpless shrug as Charles Croad spoke again.
‘Why general practice, Lindsay? I quite expected you to follow your father into surgery.’
‘We all did,’ Richard replied. Then, with a wry smile, he added, ‘And that’s probably the reason.’
Even Lindsay joined in the general laughter that rippled round the table. Her fiercely independent nature was well known amongst her family and friends. Then, as silence fell again, she spoke. ‘I want to work with people,’ she said quietly.
‘You’d do that in Harley Street,’ said Romilly with a little sniff.
Lindsay shook her head. ‘I don’t mean privileged people, I mean ordinary people. People who’ve had it tough, not people who’ve had it all handed to them on a plate. I shall work this year in Wales in a rural community with farming people who’ve had a very difficult time in recent years. After that I shall probably come back to civilisation, as you put it, but if I do it won’t be to Harley Street—sorry, Daddy—but to some inner-city area that has social problems.’
‘People with social problems also need surgeons,’ Richard observed quietly.
‘I know that, Daddy,’ Lindsay replied, ‘just as I know that you’re disappointed that I’m not following you into surgery. One day it may happen. I don’t know. But at the moment I see my future in general practice.’
There followed a silence around the table which could have become uncomfortable, but then murmuring began afresh as first one and then another topic of conversation was introduced. To Lindsay’s relief, the moment passed and she was left in peace.
It was not to be thus for long, however, for later as they lingered over coffee in the drawing room of Richard’s beautiful Chelsea home Annabelle once again launched an attack. This time, mercifully, it went unheard by the rest of the gathering and remained simply between the two of them.
‘I really will miss you, Linds,’ she said accusingly, her rather prominent blue eyes brimming with misery.
‘I know, Belle,’ Lindsay replied gently. ‘And I shall miss you, too. But it isn’t for long. A year will pass awfully quickly and I’ll be back before you know it. And let’s face it, North Wales isn’t that far away—you and Gideon could even pay me a visit.’
‘Yes, I suppose…’ Annabelle replied doubtfully. ‘But I thought a while ago when we spoke you said you were postponing this year of training.’ Annabelle was sitting on the hearth rug to one side of the fireplace, with her feet tucked under her. As she spoke she glanced up curiously at Lindsay who was perched on the edge of the chesterfield.
‘That was then,’ Lindsay shrugged but she didn’t allow her gaze to meet that of her friend.
‘Did that have anything to do with Andrew?’
‘Andrew?’ she replied lightly. ‘It might have done. Why?’
‘No reason. I just wondered, that’s all.’ Annabelle turned her head and stared into the glowing embers of the fire.
There was a long silence then Annabelle spoke again. ‘You are over him, aren’t you, Lindsay?’
‘Of course I am.’ Her reply was swift, maybe a little too swift.
‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then.’ She paused. ‘Lindsay?’
‘Mmm?’ It had been her turn to gaze into the fire but she looked up, steeling herself to meet Annabelle’s questioning look.
‘You will meet someone else, you know.’
‘What makes you think I want to?’ She raised her dark eyebrows.
‘You do. Of course you do. And it’ll be different the next time. You just wait. Why, who knows? You might just meet someone in Wales. You know, some rugged sheep farmer or something.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ Rolling her eyes, Lindsay stood up and turned as her father made his way across the room to join them. ‘That’s the last thing I want, I can assure you.’
‘Well,’ said Annabelle, ‘I would say it’s just what you need.’
Lindsay decided to drive to North Wales even though her father tried to dissuade her.
‘I need to take a fair amount with me,’ she said, ‘and, besides, I shall probably need a car at the practice.’
‘You may need something a bit more sturdy on those mountain roads than that sporty little number you drive,’ her father replied drily.
‘I’ll worry about that as and when. I certainly don’t intend leaving it behind.’ Her sports car had been a present from her father when she’d qualified and quite simply was her pride and joy.
It was a beautiful, clear May morning when Lindsay eventually left her Fulham flat which she’d leased out for the coming year. Her friends had arranged a farewell party for her on the weekend prior to her departure, and her colleagues at the hospital where she’d been employed as a senior house officer had thrown another party at a local wine bar. It had been one round of goodbyes and such a flurry of activity that Lindsay was almost not sorry to finally be on her way.
She’d planned her route carefully, and instead of all motorway travel had opted instead to head for Oxford, followed by a gentle drive through the Cotswolds into Gloucester, before driving north into Shrewsbury.
The Cotswolds with their buildings of soft, mellow stone and acres of rich, green pasture were quite glorious in the first flush of early summer, and Lindsay felt her spirits lift with every passing mile. This was what she needed, she told herself firmly, to get right away from everything.
What she’d told the guests around her father’s dinner table had been quite true—she did want to get out and work with ordinary people, to get away from the privileged lifestyle that she’d been used to all her life—but the urgent need to get away had also arisen since her break-up with Andrew Barlow.
With Andrew she’d thought she’d met the man of her dreams and, at least for her, it had almost been a case of love at first sight. They’d met at a party at the house of a mutual friend in Kensington, and she’d immediately been captivated by the charm and wit of the handsome young solicitor. Their relationship had deepened rapidly, so rapidly that within a couple of months they’d moved in together. At first Lindsay had been blissfully happy. It had only been later, and gradually, that she’d realised that Andrew’s charm hadn’t been reserved for her alone.
It still hurt even to think about it, and as she pulled into a service area just outside Worcester once again Lindsay tried to put Andrew right out of her mind.
By the time she reached Shrewsbury her spirits were starting to flag a little, but the roads were good and she pressed on to Oswestry and into Wales, heading for Llangollen. The landscape grew wilder and more dramatic the further north-west she travelled until, at last, the mountains of Snowdonia rose out of the haze, forming a magnificent backdrop as the road wound its way through deep wooded valleys. Mountain streams cascaded from high crevices, crashing down over enormous boulders before gurgling their way over the smooth stones of some ancient river bed. Sheep grazed on every hillside amongst the ferns and heather, sometimes sprawling across the road itself and making driving hazardous.
Just when weariness was threatening to get the better of her and she was beginning to think she would never get there, remembering with a wry smile Annabelle’s experience of childhood holidays in Wales, she saw signs for Betws-y-coed and knew that her journey’s end was at last in sight. Even then it took her a further hour after a couple of wrong turnings to find the village of Tregadfan, where Henry Llewellyn had his practice.
At least, she thought, the village looked more substantial than some of the others she’d driven through, more like a small town really. For a start there were many more houses while the main street boasted at least two pubs and several shops, and there were signs pointing the way to a tourist centre and caravan park—but of a medical centre there was no sign. At the far end of the village the road took a sudden sharp right-hand bend over a quaint stone bridge.
Lindsay drew off the road and pulled up outside what appeared to be a little huddle of gift shops. Stiffly she climbed out of the car. There were very few people about, just an old man with his dog and two schoolgirls running down the road, swinging their schoolbags. A quick look at the shops revealed them to be craft shops, all of which were closed. With a sigh she paused for a moment and looked around her.
Deeply wooded pine slopes surrounded most of the village, with the mountains of Snowdonia soaring behind. The beauty of the place was breathtaking, and in spite of her tiredness Lindsay’s spirits soared once more. It would be very little hardship to be living and working in such a place for the next year, supposing, of course, she could actually find the place where she was to be living and working. Taking a deep breath, she turned and began to walk back over the narrow stone bridge, pausing for a moment on the parapet to gaze down at the crystal clear water.
On looking up again, she realised that on the far side of the bridge, next to a pub called the Red Dragon, was a small general store. Surely someone in there would know where the local doctor lived.
Three cars were parked outside the shop, together with a mud-spattered Land Rover. Two dogs were sitting in the Land Rover—a Border collie and an Old English sheepdog. The collie barked as Lindsay passed close to the vehicle while a low growl came from the other dog. Lindsay felt relieved that the door of the Land Rover was tightly shut as it looked feasible that the dogs could be quite aggressive in the right circumstances.
A bell sounded loudly as Lindsay pushed open the shop door, surprising her for it was unusual for shops to have bells these days, even remote village shops. Inside, the layout was that of a small serve-yourself mini-market but, in retaining the best of both ancient and modern traditions, it also boasted a main counter at the far end. Several people were clustered around the counter amid a hum of conversation, but almost before the sound of the doorbell had died away they’d all turned to stare at the newcomer, and as Lindsay advanced towards the counter all conversation ceased.
A man and a woman stood behind the counter, both small in stature, the man with a leathery, ruddy complexion and thinning grey hair and the woman red-cheeked and plump with a bright, bird-like expression. Lindsay hardly noticed the other people around the counter except that, apart from one teenage girl with long dark hair, they all appeared to be men. Some were leaning against the counter while at least two were seated on the type of wooden chairs which once were always seen in shops but which had become a rarity in recent times.
The woman was the first to speak, obviously a question directed at Lindsay but in a language which Lindsay assumed to be Welsh. Her heart sank. What if they all spoke only Welsh? Whatever would she do? How would she communicate with her patients? Taking a deep breath, and only too aware that she was still the object of much suspicious curiosity, she said, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Welsh. Do any of you speak English?’
As she spoke she glanced round with what she hoped was a friendly smile at the assembled group. She was met with blank stares and her heart sank even further. One of the men she especially noticed, for his eyes were a startling blue, making his stare seem even sharper than the others. He was leaning against the counter and was young, probably in his thirties. He had dark, reddish-brown hair that curled tightly to his head. He was of only medium height but his body looked thickset and powerful and, together with his clothing of jeans, checked shirt and a scruffy waxed jacket, led Lindsay to assume that he was, no doubt, the farmer who owned the Land Rover and the dogs.
‘What is it you want?’ the woman behind the counter asked. This time she spoke in English, albeit with a strong Welsh lilt. With a little jolt Lindsay dragged her gaze away from the man’s stare which, because of a slight air of hostility, suggested his manner could be as aggressive as that of his dogs.
‘Oh,’ said Lindsay. ‘You do speak English. I’m so glad. I don’t want to buy anything…’
‘Oh, aye,’ said the woman, her face still expressionless. ‘So what do you want, then?’
‘I was hoping you could help me.’ She paused but the silence from those around her was almost deafening. ‘I’m looking for a house. It’s where Dr Llewellyn lives. Dr Henry Llewellyn. It’s called—’
‘So it’s the doctor you’re looking for, then?’ This interruption was from the man behind the counter. There was still a look of suspicion on his face but Lindsay smiled, trying to ignore it.
‘That’s right,’ she said.
The woman continued to eye her up and down, taking in every detail of her appearance from her smart black trouser suit with its faint pinstripe, which she wore with a wheat-coloured silk shirt, to her dark hair tied back with a chiffon scarf, her gold earrings and wristwatch, and the tan which still lingered after her recent holiday. ‘And where have you come from, then?’
For one moment Lindsay was tempted to tell the woman it was none of her business where she came from, but she swallowed the retort, putting the woman’s apparent nosiness down to natural curiosity. There couldn’t be many people, apart from tourists, who arrived in the village, looking for the local doctor. ‘I’m from London,’ she replied.
After she’d spoken she was aware of some change in the atmosphere amongst those around the counter. It was, however, so slight as to be almost imperceptible, and she found herself wondering if she’d imagined it.
‘Oh, from London, are you?’ The woman made it sound as if London were on the other side of the world. ‘So what would you be wanting with Dr Llewellyn, then?’
She was about to tell the woman that it really wasn’t anyone’s business but her own, but before she could do so the farmer pushed himself away from the counter, said something in Welsh to the couple behind the counter and sauntered down the shop to the door.
Lindsay watched him go, aware that what he’d said had caused some reaction from the others. Not exactly amusement—that would be hard to imagine from so dour a group—but a general lightening of the atmosphere which, she suspected, was at her expense.
Then, to her relief, the man behind the counter began giving her the directions she needed.
Moments later she left the shop and began to walk back over the bridge. By this time it was early evening. The shadows were beginning to lengthen and a light mist was forming around the mountains behind the village. On the far side of the bridge was a wooden seat, and on a sudden impulse Lindsay decided to phone her father. No doubt he would be fretting and wondering if she’d arrived safely. Sitting down, she took her mobile phone from her bag and dialled her father’s number. He answered the phone almost immediately, confirming her suspicions.
‘Where are you, Lindsay?’ he asked anxiously, after they’d greeted each other. ‘Have you got there yet?’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m ringing for. I’m in the village and I’m on my mobile.’
‘Doesn’t Henry have a phone at the house? I know he lives in the wilds but isn’t that rather taking things to the extreme?’
‘I don’t know.’ She laughed. ‘I haven’t got to the house yet. I couldn’t find it so I went into the village shop to ask the way. I think the locals thought I was something from outer space the way they stared at me—but at least I now know where Henry’s house is. I just thought I’d ring you first in case you were sitting there, worrying.’
‘Well, no, not really…’
‘Come on, Daddy, you know that’s not true.’
‘Oh, well, all right, then, I suppose I was getting a bit concerned. But you’re there now.’
‘I’ll ring you again, probably tomorrow.’
They said goodbye and Lindsay put her phone back into her bag, stood up and walked back to her car. Two small boys were sitting on the wall, staring admiringly at the car. Lindsay smiled at them and operated the remote control that activated the locks.
‘That your car?’ asked one of the boys. He had such an accent that Lindsay guessed at what he’d said rather than understood it.
‘Yes, it is.’ She nodded and smiled again.
‘It’s dead cool,’ said the other boy. ‘Like the colour, too. Does it go fast?’
‘Fast enough,’ Lindsay replied as she slipped into the driving seat. Still the object of the boys’ open admiration, she waved a hand and drove away.
According to the man in the shop, Dr Llewellyn’s house was outside the village. The practice was behind the chapel, but it would be closed now, she’d been informed, and Dr Llewellyn would be at home. Following the directions, she drove back through the village the way she’d come then took a left turn onto a fairly narrow road.
Lindsay had only travelled a short distance when she saw that there was an obstruction blocking the road ahead. With a muttered exclamation she slowed down and stopped.
There was a large van immediately ahead of her which all but blocked the road, but the problem seemed to be with something that was beyond the van, something outside Lindsay’s vision.
She sat for a few moments, tapping the steering-wheel impatiently with her hands. Now she was so close to her destination all she really wanted to do was to get there, have a bath, a meal and a rest. Since she’d stopped in the village her weariness seemed to have caught up with her.
After five minutes or so, when there seemed to be no sign of the problem, whatever it was, resolving itself, Lindsay switched off the engine and climbed out of her car. There was nothing else on the road behind her so she walked forward to the van. It was only then that she realised that the driver wasn’t in his cab. Peering round the van, Lindsay could now see that there had, in fact, been an accident a little further up the road. A caravan was on its side, half on the grass verge and half on the road, and a little group of people was clustered around someone lying on the ground.
Lindsay started forward, her first instinct to see if she could help, at the same time silently cursing herself for sitting in her car, wasting what could turn out to be valuable time. A young man in blue overalls, presumably the driver of the van, was running towards her.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘Caravan tried to take the corner too fast—he came out of it.’
‘How many are hurt?’
‘Two. The old chap has hit his head and his wife has hurt her arm.’
‘I’ll see if I can help,’ said Lindsay.
‘Oh, it’s OK,’ the van driver replied. ‘Ambulance is on its way—I need to move the van so it can get through.’
‘Even so, some first aid might help.’ Not waiting to hear any more, Lindsay darted forward. She was vaguely aware that there were other vehicles on the road beyond the caravan but she didn’t take too much notice of what they were, her main concern being for the person lying on the ground.
‘Let me through,’ she said to the people standing around. ‘Please, stand back there and let me through. I’m a doctor.’
The people did move at that, albeit reluctantly, Lindsay thought, and as they parted she saw that a woman was sitting on the grass verge, holding her arm, and that the person lying on the ground was an elderly man. Crouching beside him was another man, a man whose waxed jacket and jeans looked uncomfortably familiar. As Lindsay stopped he looked up at her over his shoulder.
Her heart sank as she recognised him. There was no mistaking the owner of that blue-eyed stare. It was the surly farmer who had been in the village shop. ‘Oh,’ she said abruptly, ‘it’s you.’
