Dr Finlay's Casebook (7 page)

‘I did suspect it, sir. But what on earth can one do about it?’

‘Operate immediately! Remove the affected part and the fixation disappears. At least he’ll have no appendix to blame for lying in his bed and stopping off work!’

In the operating theatre Dr Cameron was already prepared and under the anaesthetic. Quickly Professor Nicol washed and prepared his hands, then took up his scalpel. After a few swift and expert
strokes the incision was made; and a small, exceedingly healthy-looking appendix was exposed and skilfully removed. The small incision was then re-stitched.

‘What a wonderful operation, sir. So neat and swift,’ Finlay exclaimed. ‘But what a pity the appendix is so small. It’s just a wee healthy thing. He’ll never
believe getting that thing out had cured him.’

‘I have precisely the same thought, dear Finlay. Come with me. I think a trip to my Pathology Department would be in order.’

Leading the way into an annexe at the end of the corridor, Nicol selected a jar from the end of the shelf. ‘This came out of a sick, really sick, old woman this morning. Isn’t it a
beauty – for our purpose?’

Dangling in the spirit that almost filled the jar was the longest, most hideously inflamed and peptic appendix imaginable, complete with a bag of pus at the end. It was the worst Finlay had ever
seen, and yet, for his purpose, the best appendix ever.

‘This should convince Cameron, the lazy old dog,’ Nicol laughed. ‘He can display it with pride, as evidence that he is cured. Now come lad, and have a coffee and a bun with me.
I can see that ye’ve been sadly overworked lately. But now we’ll be having no more of that nonsense.’

Half an hour later, when the patient was again in the ambulance, smiling happily and lovingly clutching his specimen, Nicol repeated his injunction, ‘You may start work in the surgery
without fail next Monday.’

‘Thank you professor, sir, with a’ ma heart. I’ve the evidence that I’m cured right before me.’

Indeed, when they reached home Cameron stepped nimbly out of the car and into the house.

‘Janet, Janet, woman! My appendix is out. See for yourself.’

When Janet had looked and shuddered, Cameron moved off to his consulting room and placed the specimen on the mantelpiece.

‘That will show my patients that I’m cured!’

‘Would you like to spend the night here looking at it?’ Finlay asked testily.

‘Not on your life. Now it’s here and no’ inside me I feel I’m better. But consider for a moment, dear colleague, and perhaps I may say, friend. Consider what it was like
to have that beastly, horrid
beeling
growth inside my fine body. Do you wonder I had to lie up and refrain from work. Had I forced myself to, I should have burst it and expired in the
street, among the slush and rubble of Anderston Buildings.’

‘Ay, ye were wise to let me run a’ the risks, sir.’

‘Do not be unfeeling, Finlay, I beg of you. I am still suffering from the effects of the operation.’

‘Tut, tut, man. Professor Nicol definitely ordered you to take
both
the surgeries. Indeed, he told me, on the way to the ambulance, that if you did not begin to exercise yourself by
getting up and moving around, adhesions might set in and damage your kidneys!’

‘He did! Bless my soul. Ah well, I maun buckle to it and keep my kidneys clear.’

‘Now it’s time for some o’ that nice hot, strong chicken soup Janet has ready for me. It’ll strengthen me for a hard day’s work tomorrow.’

As he walked to the dining-room he took Finlay’s arm and murmured tenderly in his ear.

‘Dearest Finlay, best assistant in a’ the world, I was sair afraid our wonderful partnership was broken, and all our adventures tegether over and done with. But now, please the good
Lord, now we’re all set to carry on our good work and to establish new records of our achievements in the annals of Scottish medicine which may honour us, not only before our colleagues but,
please God, in the eyes of our compatriots.’

Sad News and an Old Flame

One fine evening that autumn, when Finlay had a free half-hour after his surgery, he strolled, bareheaded, down the Gielston Road to enjoy the cool air and catch a glimpse of
the setting sun as it vanished in a blaze of glory behind the Lammermuir Hills. Alone at this hour and in such a place his mood was meditative and, as had been his habit during the past few months,
inclined to sadness and regret. Possibly, in his profession, he had been a success of sorts. But in his personal life? Ah! That brought neither pride nor consolation to his thoughts.

So many of his contemporaries were married, each with a wife and children to bless and harass them. But he had failed to achieve this natural consummation of a man’s life. His one chance
to achieve love and happiness he had been too timid to accept and treasure when it was offered. And in the swift passage of time it was gone, lost forever. Destined when he retired to become that
pitiful object, a lonely bachelor; condemned to nights of solitude, without even a dog to lie beside him while he read, or dreamed, the evening away.

Abruptly he turned – the sky had lost its radiance – and at a brisk pace he started off for the house of Dr Cameron which he must perforce call home.

He had not gone far before his name was called and the quick patter of running footsteps caused him to turn round.

A boy, with a strapped bundle of books under one arm, was smiling, and calling to him by name.

‘Dr Finlay, sir! I’ve finally caught you. Every night this week I’ve been taking my evening run out here in the hope of meeting you.’

‘Bob Macfarlane! Dear Bob!’ Finlay embraced the lad. ‘What in the world are ye doing back in Tannochbrae?’

‘It’s rather a long story, doctor, and a tragic one. Did you not read all about it in all the newspapers?’

‘I rarely have time for the papers, Bob.’

‘Well, it’s just this, Finlay. You know that my father was constantly engaged in steel construction work. The last one was a huge new block of flats in Anderston. Dad was always in
demand, for he could climb and balance on the big metal girders like a monkey. Dangerous work but wi’ big, big wages. It was a treat to look up from far below and see him leap across a huge
gap, from one narrow girder on to another still floating on the cranes.’ Bob paused, then said steadily: ‘One morning Dad tried too wide a jump, missed the other girder,’ a pause,
‘and fell three hundred feet to the concrete pavement. Thank God he suffered no horrible injuries. He was killed instantly.’

Shocked by this terrible news Finlay was silent. Then he said, ‘Surely your mother got some compensation!’

‘The big London company offered her £500. She would have accepted it but fortunately Charles Dean, a young lawyer my mother knows, stepped in and said “No!” He told
mother he would not stand by and see her swindled. He returned the cheque and started a suit against the company for culpable negligence, responsibility for the death of one of their employees and
damages thereon. Apparently my father should have been provided with a belted sling support from the overhead crane. The company tried to buy him off, but they didn’t know Charlie Dean. He
wouldn’t have it. He fought tooth and nail for my dear mother and, in the very end, when the London newspapers got word of the case and were preparing to make a big story out of it, the
company finally gave in. Mr Dean was able to present my dear mother with a cheque for £20,000. And what’s more, he wisely invested it in gilt-edged stocks so that we have a sure and
steady tax-free income of over £500 a year.’

For a moment Finlay was silent. Then, in an odd voice, and pointing to a wayside bench, he said. ‘Let’s sit here, Bob.’ Presently, having apparently collected himself, Finlay
said:

‘What a blessing for your dear mother that this brave young lawyer was there to help her.’

‘Oh yes, Finlay, he really stood up for her. We had known Mr Dean even before the accident to my dear dad. In fact, he and my mother were intimate friends, very intimate. To be quite
honest Finlay, he was deeply and truly in love with her, well before the accident.’

‘And she was with him, of course.’ Finlay managed to bring out the words.

‘Dear Finlay, with Mother it is hard to tell. There’s no doubt but that, for a long, long time she was terribly in love with you. But, as you never said the word, it’s possible
she felt free to look elsewhere.’

‘And if she did, Bob, who is to blame her. I have loved your mother ever since I first saw her. My love has so grown that I have never looked at, never laid a finger on another woman. But
circumstances prevented me from speaking. So now, who would blame that dear, lovely lass, if she were to take to her bosom this young lawyer who has fought and won a fortune for her, and who would
expect her to remember the man who has loved her, will love her a’ his life, in steeled, suffering silence? Let her forget him, as if he, too, were dead. Let her wed, and be happy with this
lawyer who has really proved how much he loves her.’

Here Finlay broke off with heaving breast and Bob saw that this fine man whom he loved and admired was weeping, anguished tears falling in scalding drops on the wooden bench.

A long silence prevailed. Then Finlay, again master of himself, said quietly: ‘So here you are, Bob, at the Academy to brush up your Latin, before ye go to the university.’

‘Yes, Finlay, and also to see you, my blood father!’

‘Then let’s meet often, Bob, and go fishing for burn trout in the high moorland streams.’ He paused. ‘Your mother will be holidaying with her lawyer friend?’

‘No, Finlay. She has gone alone to the Baths at Harrogate Spa. She says she wants to wash herself clean of her past life before she comes back to Tannochbrae to meet you.’

A long silence. Then, as they paused before approaching Tannochbrae Finlay said firmly: ‘Not a word of my weakness to your mother!’

‘I reserve the right to open my heart to my dear mother whenever I wish, and I am writing her a long letter this very night!’

The Flame is Extinguished

One fine morning, almost a month later, Finlay finished his leisurely breakfast and, assuring himself that Dr Cameron was dealing with the surgery, went out to stroll up and
down in front of the house, enjoying the cool morning air. Long days of striding across the moors with Bob had left their rugged mark on him. He was at his best, tanned, erect, his shoulders
square, his movements supple and easy. Momentarily his attention was caught by signs of activity in the house next door, a fine old Georgian building that had long been empty. Often Finlay had gone
through it, admiring the lovely rooms, beautiful antique furniture, the rich carving of the woodwork, and from the upper floor the magnificent view of the surrounding countryside and the distant
Lammermuir Hills.

Now the signs of activity increased and indeed the big old FOR SALE sign was being taken down and removed.

Finlay, who knew everyone in Tannochbrae and was well liked by all, shouted across the big garden.

‘What’s up, Davie? Don’t tell me the house is sellt.’

‘Ay, deed an’ it is, Dr Finlay, sir.’

‘Who’s bocht it, Davie?’

‘Dinna ken, sir. It’s our ain lawyers in the town that have managed the sale. And forbye, they’re managing a’ the cleaning, painting, doing over and everything else. I
believe the garden is a’ to be done over as weel, a’ the lawns reseeded, and the broken stonework built up.’

‘Good enough. Maybe we’ll have the duke back as our neighbour.’

‘Seriously, sir, that’s the talk in the town. For him or the duchess for, as ye ken weel, at one time it was their hoose.’

As Finlay moved away, Janet, who had been listening to the conversation called out: ‘Sir! Did he say when the duchess would move in?’

‘Not until you’ve had news of it, Janet.’

Having delivered this long-delayed compliment, Finlay looked in at the surgery to assure himself that Dr Cameron was dealing with a manageable number of patients and then walked casually along
the Gielston Road to see if the burn was running full enough to be fishable. Never had he felt so well, so much master of himself and, in plain truth, the practice, as if he had become the head
doctor and not Dr Cameron, with his bogus appendix stuck on the mantelpiece.

As the days passed, the old house next door, so long neglected, began to re-emerge, recreated as the beautiful residence it once had been. Not pretentiously large but perfect in structure and
design. So, too, with the garden which began to bloom in company with the house with green lawns, replanted flower beds and a paved walk down the side of the house, which would give access to both
the side door and the sunken garage, also with a paved courtyard.

Steadily the house advanced towards completion and still Janet had failed to pierce the mystery of the new owner. The lawn was now a mass of primroses, daffodils and crocuses.

‘Dr Finlay, sir,’ said Janet one morning. ‘I’ve had the great privilege of seeing inside
the hoose
. Early this morning one of the workmen, Jock Blair, let me in to
look round, and I can tell you, from what I have seen with my own eyes, that it’s absolutely lovely. All the fine antique furniture has been polished, and the wonderful carpets spread out
– Jock tellt me they was frae Persia and Turkey, and worth a pretty price. Mind ye, sir, when ye’re inside it dinna seem big, it’s as snug as can be. I’m sure it’s the
duchess who has bought it. I’ll keep my eye skinned to see when she arrives.’

Spring had now come and with the onset of the warm weather the restored house and resplendent garden did indeed become a delight to the eye. All the workmen had left, and it stood alone in its
beauty. As the practice was light Finlay would stroll up and down after breakfast enjoying the perfect scene, often joined by Janet who, with a lively interest, awaited the arrival of the
duchess.

One morning a car appeared quite suddenly, rounding the far corner. It was a big, shining, continental car, and one of the highest quality. The lady at the wheel drew up at the kerb and stepped
nimbly out, enabling the onlookers to observe that she was quite lovely and fashionably attired in a smart grey dress, scarlet silk scarf and a fetching black toque. After having scanned the house
intently, she turned, ran up to Finlay and flung herself into his arms. Showering him with passionate kisses, she murmured, ‘My dearest darling! At last, at last! And forever!’