before that happened, replacements were required for two staff members who had recently gone to work in Africa.
When she stopped the car outside the grace-and-favour cottage of the woman she’d come to visit, the husband came striding out, dressed in a waterproof jacket with boots on his feet, a cap on his head and to complete the outfit he had a gun tucked under his arm.
Dennis Quarmby was gamekeeper for Lord Derringham, who owned Kestrel Court, the biggest residence in the area, and with it miles of the surrounding countryside. But at that moment the main concern of the man approaching was not grouse or pheasants, or those who came to poach them on his employer’s estate.
His wife was far from well and on seeing that the lady doctor from the practice had arrived in answer to an urgent request, he waited for her to get out of the car before going on his way.
‘Our eldest girl is with the missus,’ he told her, his anxiety revealed in his expression. ‘I wanted to be here when you came but Lord Derringham has just been on the phone to me because someone has been breaking down the fences up on the estate and he wants me there right away. He rang off before I could tell him I was waiting for a doctor to visit Christine. Her eyes and mouth are so dry she’s in real distress, and with the rheumatoid arthritis, as well, she’s feeling very low.’
Georgina nodded. She’d seen Christine Quarmby a few times recently and on one occasion had had to tell her that she was suffering from rheumatoid arthritis. Now there was this and there could be a connection that had serious implications.
When she went inside the cottage, the gamekeeper’s wife said, ‘Has my husband been telling you my tale of woe, Doctor? He does worry about me, though I have to admit I’m struggling at the moment. I’m having trouble swallowing, as well as everything else that is wrong with me.’
It was clear that the glands that produce tears and saliva weren’t working, Georgina thought, in keeping with some sort of autoimmune disorder. But it required the opinion of a neurologist before she prescribed any medication and she told Christine, ‘I’m going to make you an appointment to see a neurologist and the rheumatologist that you saw when we were trying to sort out the rheumatoid arthritis. We’ll see what they come up with.’
‘I know someone who has the lupus thing,’ Christine said. ‘You don’t think it’s that, do you, Doctor?’
‘I wouldn’t like to make a guess at this stage,’ she told her, surprised that her patient had been thinking along the same lines. ‘I’ll ask for an urgent appointment and we’ll take it from there.’
As she was leaving, Dennis returned and announced that as soon as he’d informed his employer that his wife was ill, he’d told him to forget the fences and come home.
‘Christine will tell you what we’ve discussed, Mr Quarmby,’ Georgina told him, ‘and in the meantime send for me again if she gets any worse.’
‘I’ll do that, all right,’ he promised. ‘She plays everything down, having been made to suffer in silence when there was anything wrong with her when she was a kid, and thinks she shouldn’t complain, which is not the case when there’s anything wrong with me. I do that much moaning, everybody knows.’
‘Yes, well, look after her. She needs some tender loving care,’ she told him. ‘I’m sending Christine to see two of the consultants at St Gabriel’s and hopefully we’ll have a clearer picture of what is wrong when she’s been seen by them.’
When she returned to the practice in the main street of the village, it felt strange, as it had done for days with Anna and Glenn no longer there. Anna Bartlett was James’s sister and had been one of the practice nurses.
On a snowy day in January she had married Glenn Hamilton, who’d been working at the surgery as a temporary locum, and in early March the newlyweds had gone to Africa to work with one of the aid programmes out there, before returning to Willowmere to settle down permanently.
They needed to be replaced and soon, or she and James would be overwhelmed by the demand for their services, and though she intended working until the baby was due, she would need time off afterwards. So some new faces were going to be needed around the surgery without delay.
It was lunchtime and James was having a quick bite when she appeared. ‘The kettle has just boiled,’ he told her. ‘How did you find Christine Quarmby?’
Her expression was grave. ‘Not too good, I’m afraid. There is something very worrying about her symptoms. Christine thinks she might have lupus, which as we know has connections with rheumatoid arthritis, and she could be right, though I do hope not. I’m referring her back to the rheumatologist she saw before and am going to arrange for her to see a neurologist, as well.’
‘Hmm, there isn’t much else you can do at this point,’ he agreed. ‘By the way, Georgina, I’m interviewing this evening for another doctor and a practice nurse. Beth Jackson is struggling single-handed in the nurses’ room, and we haven’t yet had anyone come in as another partner since the gap that was left when my father died.
‘I would have liked Glenn to become permanent. He was an excellent doctor, like yourself, but it didn’t work out that way. Do you want to sit in on the interviews, or will you have had enough by the end of afternoon surgery?’
‘I’ll give it a miss, if you don’t mind,’ she told him, ‘unless you especially want me to be there.’ She gave a wry smile, ‘I’ll be the next one to cause staffing problems, but not until after the baby is born.’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he said. ‘Just take care of yourself, Georgina. With regard to the interviews, I’ll bring you up to date with what’s gone on in the morning, so go and put your feet up when the surgery closes. It’s only a fortnight to Easter. Why don’t you go away for a few days?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised, and made a pot of tea to have with the sandwich she’d bought at the bakery across the road.
‘How many applicants have you had for the two vacancies?’ she questioned as he prepared to go back to his duties.
‘There have been quite a few. I’ve sifted out the ones that sounded suitable and once the children are asleep, I’ll be coming back for the interviews. Their daytime nanny finishes at half past six, which coincides with the end of my time here under normal circumstances, but Helen, my housekeeper, has offered to be there for Pollyanna and Jolyon tonight.’
When Georgina let herself into the cottage on a quiet lane at the far end of the village, it still felt empty without the lively presence of Nicholas. It had been nice to have her ex-husband’s brother around for a while.
He’d been based in the United States since just after she and Ben had divorced. The offer of a job in aerodynamics that he’d long coveted had come up and he’d been torn between taking it and staying to help them sort out their lives. Both of them had insisted that his future mattered more than theirs and he’d gone, though reluctantly.
Nick had been back a few times and stayed with them both alternately. He’d done the same this last time when he’d come over to Manchester to arrange the U.K. side of the firm that employed him in Texas, staying with her during the week and spending his weekends with his brother in London as part of a situation where she and Ben never made any contact.
If she had ever felt the necessity to get in touch, as was now the case, Georgina knew where Ben could be found.
