and I’m sure that your friends and George love you enough to understand. But you must tell them and you must be firm.’
Dorothy nodded in response.
‘And I want you to call through your blood sugar reading every day to my nurse. Any raised levels and I need to see you straight away. Don’t try to persevere if the levels change. I can’t reiterate this enough. Diabetes is a serious condition, but as it only occurred after your illness we may be able to control it with a sensible diet from here on in. But it will mean ongoing monitoring and food restrictions.’
‘Really? You mean I may not need to take the medication again, ever?’
‘Let’s hope so. In some cases, an adjusted diet is all the treatment a patient needs and I hope you are one of the fortunate ones. Would you like me to tell George that he should refrain from buying the cake and the painkillers?’
‘Oh, Lord, no. He would have a fit if he thought I’d told you that.’ Dorothy’s disposition was suddenly flustered.
‘You can rest assured that I won’t say anything, then, Dorothy, but you need to be firm with him. And I do mean firm. You can’t eat the cakes just because your husband has bought one for each of you.’
‘I’ll just tell him I’m not hungry.’
‘You can tell George whatever you like, that is not my business, although I would have thought telling him the truth about your condition would be better, but again that’s not my place to advise you how best to manage George. However...’ He paused and his voice became increasingly deep and more serious in tone. ‘Whatever you tell him, you must not waver under pressure. It’s your long-term health that we are talking about here. And George would most definitely want a healthy wife.’
She nodded her agreement to Ryan’s terms then continued. ‘If I stop the medication and avoid the temptation of the sweets, do you think my headache will finally go away?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Ryan told her as he stood.
‘Then that’s wonderful news and worth the sacrifice of a few cakes...’
‘All cakes, not a few cakes.’
‘That’s what I meant.’
Ryan smiled as he reached for Dorothy’s arm and lifted her to her feet and walked her out to the reception area, asking Molly to make an appointment for the following week.
He left Dorothy with Molly, then turned and smiled in her husband’s direction. ‘How are you today, George? Keeping dry and out of the cold as much as you can, I hope.’
George grunted and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Damned appointments all day. After this I have to go home, pick up Dorothy’s darned cat and get her to the vet. Fur-balls again. If it’s not one thing it’s another. So much for retirement. I never get a day at home in peace. And the cat doesn’t like me anyway. It either hisses at me or ignores me. Typical woman.’
Ryan wasn’t sure quite what to say. The elderly man was healthy for his age, with relatively few ailments, but his demeanour was another story. He behaved as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and nothing appeared to make him happy. Ryan had initially suspected a level of depression but that was quickly ruled out by a referral to a clinical psychologist. George had retired from his successful fishing charter business in the lower Eyre Peninsula town of Port Lincoln a very wealthy man. He had a very sweet wife, the two of them had taken numerous extended overseas holidays and were active for their age, and their four daughters had provided them with half a dozen healthy, happy grandchildren. If only, Ryan thought, there were a medication to remedy a glass-half-empty outlook on life. George’s cup was chipped, stained and the handle missing most days and he truly had no idea how fortunate he was to have the love and devotion of a woman as wonderful as Dorothy for over sixty years.
Ryan knew that he would never have that same unconditional love and, in his heart, he knew why. He would never trust anyone to get that close to him again.
* * *
Ryan walked back into his office leaving Dorothy Dunstan speaking with Molly. He hoped that she had listened to his instructions and would adhere to the strict diet, and the headaches would in time subside. There was of course a very good chance that the cause of her daily headache was George, and if that was the case there really was no medicinal cure. The only cure would be to leave him. And a woman like Dorothy would never consider that an option.
As he closed his door, Ryan’s thoughts unexpectedly turned from Dorothy to Molly. Molly, with her uncontrolled mop of brown curls and contagious smile. And feisty attitude. The agency had told him Molly Murphy would be temping at the office to replace Maxine, his office manager of six years who had slipped and broken her arm in her Zumba class. Immediately he had formed a picture in his mind of a pleasant and efficient Irish woman in her late fifties or early sixties to replace his very efficient but now injured gym junkie and almost sixty-year-old office manager. With an image of the Irish replacement having a love of home knits, wonderful cooking skills and a slight brogue accent, Ryan felt confident the woman would meet the needs of the family-focussed practice for four weeks. She would be the wholesome motherly figure like Maxine whom his patients would like and adapt to quickly.
Then Molly had arrived and she didn’t come close to his vision. In her mid to late twenties, she had no Irish accent, and she didn’t seem the type to sit home knitting. She had shot his clichéd assumptions out of the water. She certainly was a conundrum. And more than a little difficult to read. He had observed her open and comforting rapport with patients during the morning and decided that her chosen path in a medical support role matched her natural affinity with people and his patients would quickly warm to her, but there was something that didn’t add up. Her administration skills appeared more than competent but her medical expertise appeared more aligned to that of a doctor or nurse. He had overheard her speaking to more than one patient and the level of detail she provided exposed the true depth of her knowledge. The agency had not provided a résumé as his request had come at short notice but Molly came highly recommended and very quickly Ryan could see why.
He couldn’t deny he was curious about her. There was definitely more to Molly Murphy than met the eye.
At odds with her empathetic nature was a woman who had come out fighting like a cornered alley cat when he’d mentioned her dubious footwear. He was grateful that he hadn’t raised the matter of her arriving drenched to the bone with only minutes to spare.
He shook his head a little as he crossed to his desk and opened up the emails on his computer. Not many people surprised Ryan McFetridge any more. He treated most people with a level of distrust until they could prove otherwise and he believed that he could fairly easily and accurately sum them up. But he didn’t feel his usual level of confidence about his summation of Molly. He wasn’t sure what he felt but it did unsettle him that he felt something.
He closed his emails. There was nothing of interest, just a reminder about a medical association event he had agreed to attend the next evening and some pharmaceutical promotions. Running one hand through his short black hair, he opened the afternoon patient roster as he routinely did after every morning’s appointments were completed. He did a double take and, far from being annoyed, his interest was piqued when he saw changes to the layout of the next day’s patient listing. He hovered the cursor over the first name and the medical history and purpose of the appointment appeared. He tried it again on the next patient and again the function allowed him access to the notes of the previous three visits without going into each patient’s records. It was an abbreviated medical
