‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with the garden, Mr Denny. You’ve got quite a discharge from your eye.’
‘It’s very sore.’
‘I’m sure it is.’ Alice put the ophthalmoscope down on her desk and washed her hands. ‘I want to test your vision. Can you read the letters for me?’
The man squinted at the chart on her wall and struggled to recite the letters. ‘Not very clear, I’m afraid.’ He looked worried. ‘My eyes have always been good. Am I losing my sight?’
‘You have a virus.’ Alice sat down and tapped something into her computer. Then she turned back to the patient. ‘I think you have shingles, Mr Denny.’
‘Shingles?’ He frowned. ‘In my eye?’
‘Shingles is a virus that affects the nerves,’ she explained, ‘and one in five cases occur in the eye—to be technical, it’s the ophthalmic branch of the trigeminal nerve.’
He pulled a face. ‘Never was much good at biology.’
Alice smiled. ‘You don’t need biology, Mr Denny. But I just wanted you to know it isn’t uncommon, unfortunately. I’m going to need to refer you to an ophthalmologist—an eye doctor at the hospital. Is there someone who can take you up there?’
He nodded. ‘My daughter’s waiting in the car park. She brought me here.’
‘Good.’ Alice reached for the phone and dialled the clinic number. ‘They’ll see you within the next couple of days.’
‘Do I really need to go there?’
Alice nodded. ‘They need to examine your eye with a slit lamp—a special piece of equipment that allows them to look at your eye properly. They need to exclude iritis. In the meantime, I’ll give you aciclovir to take five times a day for a week. It should speed up healing time and reduce the incidence of new lesions.’ She printed out the prescription on the computer as she waited for the hospital to answer the phone.
Once she’d spoken to the consultant, she quickly wrote a letter and gave it to the patient. ‘They’re really nice up there,’ she assured him, ‘but if you have any worries you’re welcome to come back to me.’
He left the room and Alice picked up a set of results. She was studying the numbers with a puzzled frown when Rita walked in. A motherly woman in her early fifties, her navy blue uniform was stretched over her large bosom and there was a far-away expression on her face. ‘Pinch me. Go on, pinch me hard. I’ve died and gone to heaven.’
Alice looked up. ‘Rita, have you seen Mrs Frank lately? I ran some tests but the results just don’t make sense.’ She’d examined the patient carefully and had been expecting something entirely different. She studied the results again. Perhaps she’d missed something.
‘Forget Mrs Frank’s results for a moment.’ Rita closed the door behind her. ‘I’ve got something far more important for you to think about.’
Alice didn’t look up. ‘I thought she had hypothyroidism. She had all the symptoms.’
‘Alice…’
Still absorbed in the problem, Alice shook her head. ‘The results are normal.’ She checked the results one more time and checked the normal values, just in case she’d missed something. She’d been so sure.
‘Alice!’ Rita sounded exasperated. ‘Are you even listening to me?’
Alice dragged her eyes away from the piece of paper in her hand, still pondering. Aware that Rita was glaring at her, she gave a faint smile. ‘Sorry, I’m still thinking about Mrs Frank,’ she admitted apologetically. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Dr Giovanni Moretti is the matter.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Alice slapped her hand over her mouth and rose to her feet quickly, ridden with guilt. ‘I’d totally forgotten about him. How could I?’
Rita stared at her. ‘How could you, indeed?’
‘Don’t! I feel terrible about it.’ Guilt consumed her. And after he’d been so helpful. ‘How could I have done that? I showed him into the room, made sure he had what he needed and I promised to look in on him, but I’ve had streams of patients this morning and I completely forgot his existence.’
‘You forgot his existence?’ Rita shook her head. ‘Alice, how could you possibly have forgotten his existence?’
‘I know, it’s dreadful! I feel terribly rude.’ She walked briskly round her desk, determined to make amends. ‘I’ll go and check on him immediately. Hopefully, if he’d needed any help he would have come and found me.’
‘Help?’ Rita’s tone was dry. ‘Trust me, Alice, the guy doesn’t need any help from you or anyone else. He’s slick. Mr Hotshot. Or I suppose I should call him Dr Hotshot.’
‘He’s finished stitching the boy?’ She glanced at her watch for the first time since she’d started surgery and realised with a shock that almost an hour and a half had passed.
‘Just the head, although personally I would have been happy to see him do the mouth as well.’ Rita gave a snort of disapproval. ‘Never heard such obscenities.’
‘Yes, they were pretty drunk, the three of them. How does the head look?’
‘Better than that boy deserves. Never seen a job as neat in my life and I’ve been nursing for thirty years,’ Rita admitted, a dreamy expression on her face. ‘Dr Moretti has amazing hands.’
‘He used to be a surgeon. If he’s done a good job and he’s finished, why did you come rushing in here telling me he was having problems?’
‘I never said he was having problems.’
‘You said something was the matter.’
‘No.’ Rita closed her eyes and sighed. ‘At least, not with him. Only with me. I think he’s fantastic.’
‘Oh.’ Alice paused by the door. ‘Well, he arrived a day early, brought me coffee first thing, sorted out a bunch of rowdy teenagers and stitched a nasty cut so, yes, I think he’s fantastic, too. He’s obviously a good doctor.’
‘I’m not talking about his medical skills, Alice.’
‘What are you talking about, then?’
‘Alice, he’s gorgeous. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!’
‘Actually, I thought he looked a mess.’ Her hand dropped from the doorhandle and she frowned at the recollection. ‘But he’d been travelling all night.’
‘A mess?’ Rita sounded faint. ‘You think he looks a mess?’
Alice wondered whether to confess that she’d thought he looked dangerous. Strangely enough, the teenagers hadn’t bothered her. They were nothing more than gawky children and she’d had no doubts about her ability to handle them. But when she’d looked up and seen Gio standing there…
‘I’m
