DOCTOR IN CLOVER

newspaper column as poor Petunia. It had been great fun telling my cousin what a pompous little pustule he really was, which I'd been meaning to ever since he confiscated my private bag of doughnuts, but it seemed a bit hard if the old boys at St Swithin's could use my chumminess with Petunia to wreck his hopes of promotion. I decided it was only fair to repair what damage I could. His remarks about my literary efforts had been pretty galling, I admitted, but in this country authors are thought a pretty unproductive class, anyway.

I hadn't been back to St Swithin's for months, and it was pleasant to stroll again through the old gateway and have a word with Harry the porter about the prospects for Goodwood. I took the lift up to Sir Lancelot's theatre, thinking how frightfully young the students were getting, and waited rather nervously in the surgeons' room while he finished off a gastrectomy.

'Right, Mr Hatrick, you sew him up and be careful of that tatty bit of peritoneum,' I heard him booming. 'Nurse! My morning tea and two digestive biscuits, if you please. Ah, there you are, Grimsdyke.'

He appeared in the pair of bright-blue pyjamas he used for expressing his personality under sterile operating gowns.

'Our patient from Long Wotton seems to be making a satisfactory, if not spectacular recovery,' Sir Lancelot began.

'So it would seem, sir.'

'But I want a word with you about another matter.'

'Ah, yes, sir.'

I braced myself. At least he couldn't throw anything handy and messy at me, like he used to inside the theatre.

Sir Lancelot untied his mask.

'I believe you are acquainted with this young Miss Melody Madder?'

'You mean Miss Melody Madder the actress, sir?'

'Naturally. Your cousin buttonholed me in the Parthenon yesterday with some garbled and apologetic story on the matter. I understand there has been something in the newspapers. I only read _The Times,_ of course.'

'I-er, don't really know her, sir. Merely on nodding terms.'

'Oh.'

'Just happened to pass her in a crowd, sir.'

'I see.'

'Not my type at all, sir. I don't much like mixing with those sort of people. Always avoid them, sir.'

'Indeed.'

'In fact, sir, I can confidently assure you that she wouldn't know me from Adam.'

'Then I am extremely disappointed to hear it. It happens that particularly wish for an introduction to this young woman myself.'

'Good Lord, do you really, sir?'

Sir Lancelot started munching a digestive biscuit.

'I had hoped to prevail upon your kindness to effect it, Grimsdyke. Under the circumstances there is no reason for my detaining you any longer. I am much obliged to you for calling. Good morning.'

'One…one moment, sir. I mean to say, I know her pretty well, sir. That is, I could easily get to know her, sir.'

'What the devil do you mean? You are being insultingly evasive.'

'Fact is,' I confessed, 'I didn't think you'd approve of her, sir.'

'And why not, pray? I am as appreciative of success on the stage as in surgery. I have attended sufficient theatrical people to know that it comes in both professions only from exceptional talent and exceptional hard work.'

He took another swallow of his tea.

'Now listen to me. You may be aware that I am launching an appeal for funds to carry on surgical research at St Swithin's. The National Health Service, of course, doesn't run to such luxuries.'

'Miles mentioned it, sir.'

'I am arranging a meeting in the Founder's Hall at the beginning of the next academic year to initiate the campaign. You are familiar with the words of Horace, _'Si posis recte, si non, quocumque modo rem.'_ No, of course you're not. It means, 'Money by right means if you can, if not, by any means, money.' I should much like Miss Madder to be present. She is, after all, of considerably more interest to the public than the appearance of merely the Prime Minister or Archbishop of Canterbury. And in this case beggars fortunately can be choosers. You think you can persuade her? Good. Then I leave it entirely to you.'

He brushed away the digestive crumbs.

It was perhaps the odd sensation of doing Sir Lancelot a favour which suddenly gave me another of my brilliant ideas. I felt I could now put poor old Miles right back in the running for St Swithin's.

'How much does the fund need to get it off to a good start, sir?' I asked.

'Some ten thousand pounds, I should say.

You are surely not going to write a cheque, Grimsdyke?'

'No, sir, but Lord Nutbeam might.'

'Indeed?'

'It was Miles who suggested it, sir. He felt sure Lord Nutbeam would cough up for surgical research in view of his clinical history.'

Sir Lancelot stroked his beard.

'H'm. Well, if either of you can persuade him, I need hardly say that I should be delighted. Keep me informed. Now I must get on with the next case. Good day.'

'Good day, sir.'

'By the way, Grimsdyke.' Sir Lancelot paused in the doorway. 'Miss Madder.'

'Sir?'

He made vague movements in front of his thorax.

'It's all done with wires and whalebones, isn't it?'

'Oh, no, sir! It's all living tissue.'

'Is it, by George! You must be a more enterprising young man than I imagined.'

'She was one of my patients, sir,' I explained.

Though I thought it best not to tell the old boy I'd only been treating Petunia for nausea.

18

'A fund for surgical research? I should be delighted to contribute,' said Lord Nutbeam.

'That's really terribly decent of you. You see, I was talking to Sir Lancelot the other day, and he felt that-shall we say-ten thousand pounds would make a nice shot from the starting gun.'

'My dear Doctor, I assure you I shall give the utmost that I can possibly afford. I'm so glad you drew my attention to it. And what are you doing this lovely morning? Ethel and I are continuing to explore London. Such fun, you know. We are going to the Zoo again, where I find the monkeys absolutely intriguing. Would you care to accompany us?'

'Jolly kind of you, but I've got to drive out to the Union Jack film studios.'

'Have you, indeed? I should love to visit a film studio myself. If you have a moment before you go, would you be kind enough to slip round the corner and buy me a large bag of monkey nuts?'

It was a few days later, and one of those mornings which make you think of flannels on the village green, punts dozing on the river, strawberries and cream in the garden, and all the other gentle English summer delights which compensate for the place being uninhabitable most of the winter. I was still staying with the Nutbeams in their house in Belgravia, and the previous evening I'd telephoned Petunia about Sir Lancelot's meeting.

'Come and see me at the studio tomorrow,' she'd invited. 'And, darling, what are you doing about Jimmy Hosegood?'