“I may be an old man but I’m not deaf.” Du Montfort’s words were assertive but his voice was flat with exhaustion.
“Sorry,” Adam said. “I think being shaken about earlier will catch up with you and you may be in some discomfort tonight.”
The nurse climbed up on the cart and unfolded a blanket to drape over him. The old man tried to wave her away but his hands were shaking.
Even Ann looked worried now.
Adam hesitated for a moment then climbed back up onto the cart and reached for the old man’s wrist. His skin was dry and papery, his pulse fast but weak. “A light supper, I think,” he said. “Maybe some hot soup, and then bed. Stay warm.”
“I can tell you’re dying to examine me, but you’ll have to wait a few days.”
“Not me, I’m not a general practitioner. You should see your own GP who has your history and possibly–”
“Not him.”
Ann gave him an ‘I told you so’ look.
“What’s wrong with your GP?” Adam crouched down by Du Montfort.
“What’s wrong with him? He’s a cretin, that’s what’s wrong with him.”
Adam persisted. “In what way is he a cretin?”
The old man met Adam’s gaze, and his eyes showed deep gratitude that someone at last was taking him seriously. “He’s…” Du Montfort waved a shaky hand dismissively. “Polite.”
Adam curbed the impulse to laugh and waited. The old man clearly was used to being treated like a difficult man and played up to it. It happened with chronic patients. At last he explained, “He listens to me very politely and makes a great show of using his stethoscope, then give me the answer he already had ready before he arrived.”
Yup. Thought as much. The doctor too must have become used to his patient and saw only an old man with a bad temper.
“I want you to be my doctor.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” Ann gave him an encouraging smile.
“I can’t. But I can try to find another GP.” He could. He had a few days here. It would give him a chance to meet the local doctors and if none of them were suitable, he’d check on Guernsey or Jersey.
Why did he even care? This was none of his business. Hadn’t he left home so he could avoid involvement?
Unfortunately, the old man had made up his own mind. “You can do the job. I’ll employ you.”
“I’m not the right kind of doctor,” Adam tried to explain. “You need a—”
“Did you go to medical school?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take the Hippocratic oath?”
What? “We don’t have that anymore. It’s been replaced…” Was he really going to squat here on a horse-cart in the gathering dark and cold and explain the General Medical Council’s Code of Ethics? Certainly not to a sick old man.
The sick old man, however, was not going to give up. “Are you allowed to refuse someone who needs treatment?”
“Of course not, but…”
“I am asking for your help. You cannot refuse.”
“But…” Adam running out of arguments, looked up at the nurse. “Look…I’m only here for a few days.”
She shrugged. As far as she was concerned, the argument had already been settled. “Where are you staying? Can we reach you later if we need to…” She waved a hand at her patient.
