DOCTOR IN CLOVER

'How awfully considerate of you, Gaston. Naturally, I won't say a word. But supposing he talks about you?'

'He never does,' I assured her. 'Another Martini?'

'Yes, please,' said Connie.

I passed a couple of enjoyable months escorting Connie' to all the more fashionable plays and restaurants, particularly as she still seemed to imagine that I was some wealthy young specialist, and I never seemed to find the chance to put her right. Then one afternoon Miles cornered me in the surgeons' room.

'I believe you've still been seeing Connie?' he demanded.

I tossed my sterile gown into the students' linen bin.

'On and off, yes.'

'I'd like you to know that I-I'm perfectly serious about her.'

This didn't disturb me. Miles was perfectly serious about everything.

'May the best man win, and all that, eh?'

'Damn it, Gaston! I wish you wouldn't regard this as some sort of sporting contest. I happen to love Connie deeply. I wish to make her my wife.'

'Good Lord! Do you really?'

The notion of Miles making anyone his wife seemed as odd as palm trees growing on an iceberg.

'And I'll thank you not to trifle with her affections,' he added.

'You will, will you?' I returned, feeling annoyed at his tone. 'And how do you know I don't want to make her Mrs Grimsdyke, too?'

'You? You're in no more position to marry than a fourth-form schoolboy.'

I felt the conversation was becoming embarrassing, and edged away. Besides, I had to be off to work again.

Entertaining Connie was making such inroads into my finances that I'd been obliged to find more regular employment. Fortunately, I'd met a chap called Pedro in a Shaftesbury Avenue pub, and after giving him some free advice about his duodenal ulcer and a good thing for Kempton Park, I was offered five evenings a week as a waiter in his Soho restaurant. Pedro was a fierce task-master, most of his relatives still chasing each other over Sicilian mountains with shotguns, and I had to clean all the soup off my best set of tails every night before going to bed, but the tips were good enough compensation for both.

Or they were until that particular evening, when Miles walked in with Connie.

'Shall we sit over here?' she said, advancing towards my corner. 'I hate a table too near the door.'

I ducked quickly into the kitchen.

'What the 'ell are you up to?' demanded Pedro.

'I-er, just wanted to adjust my sock suspenders.'

'I don't pay you to adjust your socks, mister. You get back in there. There's customers just come in.'

I passed a hand across my forehead.

'You know, Pedro, I don't think I'm feeling very well tonight. A bit faint. I might be sick over the fish or something. If you don't mind, I'll just totter through the staff entrance and make home to bed.'

'Ow the 'ell you think I run my business one man short?' Pedro picked up a carving knife. 'You leave this restaurant only over your dead body, see mister? If you want to be sick, come out and be sick in the kitchen, like everybody else. You go to work.'

I edged back through the swing doors. I slipped my menu and table napkin behind a bread basket, and prepared to dash for the pavement. I'd almost made the main entrance, when Connie glanced idly round and spotted me.

'Why, it's Gaston! Hello, there! You dining here, too?'

Miles turned round and scowled.

'Oh, hello, Connie. Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. Expecting an old school chum. Chap called Honeybank. Doesn't seem to have turned up.'

'Charming little restaurant, isn't it?'

'Oh, very.'

'You seem very dressed up,' muttered Miles.

'Going on, you know. A ball, and all that.'

'I think men look their best in tails,' remarked Connie. 'Don't you Miles? What on earth's dear Pedro doing?'

I thought dear Pedro was probably putting that knife on the grinding machine, but only murmured something about having to be off.

'But if you haven't eaten you must stay for a bite with us,' Connie insisted, 'I'm sure Miles wouldn't mind.'

'Not a bit,' growled Miles.

'It might be a little awkward, actually-'

'But definitely, Gaston. Tell the waiter to bring another chair. Ah, there you are, Pedro. How is your lovely canneloni tonight?'

'Delicious, madame.'

Pedro came over rubbing his hands. I stood on one foot, leaning against the table. Dashed difficult, striking an attitude simultaneously suggestive of helpful servility and longstanding chumminess.

'And the _osso buco,_ it is excellent,' Pedro added.

'Then shall we all have canneloni followed by _osso buco?'_Connie looked inquiringly at Miles and myself. 'I'm terribly hungry.'

'Two canneloni two _osso buco,'_ snapped Pedro in my ear. 'Didn't you 'ear what madame says?'

'How extraordinary repeating the order like that,' exclaimed Miles.

'Just a little joke,' I explained, as Pedro backed away. 'I know him very well.'

Connie sighed. 'How lucky you are! I can't imagine anything more useful in London than being friends with all the head waiters. But Gaston, do sit down. You make me feel uncomfortable, standing about like that.'

'Just a second, if you'll excuse me. Phone call-the school chum, you know.'

I slipped back to the kitchen.

'What the 'ell's the matter with you tonight?' demanded Pedro. 'You stick around with a silly grin on your face like a drunk monkey. How you expect me to run my restaurant if you don't listen to the customers?'

'Look, Pedro, I really think I ought to be at home tucked up in bed-'

'Take that in, and don' talk so much.'

He handed me two dishes of canneloni._

'Good Lord!' exclaimed Miles. 'You've brought the food yourself.'

'Ha ha! Just another little joke. Dear old Pedro, you know. I keep threatening a public health inspection of his kitchen, and just nipped in to take him by surprise. The canneloni was ready, so I brought it along.'

Connie found this terribly amusing.

'But Gaston, you haven't a plate. And do please sit down.'

'I'll just prop on the back of this chair.' I edged myself into a position where I might be mistaken for serving the spinach. 'They get so terribly crowded, I'm sure Pedro hasn't got a spare seat. I don't think I'll try any canneloni myself, thanks. But let me help you.'

'You serve quite professionally,' exclaimed Connie.

'Jack of all trades, you know…'

'Are you sure you're quite all right tonight?' demanded Miles.

'Oh, fine, thank you.'

I felt that the situation was reasonably hopeful, as long as they crammed down their blasted canneloni before Pedro came back.

'What were we talking about? I suppose you've heard the story of the bishop and the parrot-'

Just then a voice behind me called, 'Waiter!'

'Well, you see, this bishop had a parrot-'

'Waiter!'