‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. You get to bed and I’ll see you whenever you come back to work.’
Vicki grimaced. ‘God knows when that’ll be. Jonathan made me promise not to come back until I’ve stopped being sick. If it follows the same pattern as last time, it could be months.’
‘I’ll speak to him about finding someone to cover for you as soon as I get back to the office.’ Rose made her voice stern. ‘Now, inside and off you go to bed.’
By the time Rose, with an enormous sigh of relief, returned to the surgery, it seemed as if Lord Bletchley had been and gone. Jonathan was back at her desk with his feet up, flicking through the magazine Rose had skimmed through earlier. He was scowling.
‘Bloody paparazzi,’ he muttered. ‘Can never get their facts right.’ He flung the magazine aside and got to his feet. ‘How is Vicki?’
‘She was going to go straight to bed. Her husband’s on night duty, so he’ll keep an eye on her.’
Jonathan pulled his hand through his thick dark hair. ‘I can’t see her being back for at least a month. If then. Would you mind getting onto the nursing agencies? You’ll find the number of the one we use regularly in the diary. Ask if there’s anyone who could cover on a day-to-day basis for the next four weeks at a minimum.’
An idea was beginning to form in Rose’s head, but she liked to think things through before she spoke. Jonathan looked at his watch. ‘I’ll be in my room if you need me. I’ve a couple of phone calls to make.’
Could she? Should she? Rose rolled the idea around in her head. It would be the perfect solution. She was a trained nurse and there really wasn’t that much to keep her busy at the desk. Mrs Smythe Jones had told her that she hoped to be back in a week or two. Rose could combine both roles for a short time. She’d much prefer to be kept busy. And if they needed someone to man the desk while she was in with a patient, she thought she had a solution to that too.
The ringing of the door interrupted her musings. She pressed the door release and watched bemused as a teenage boy with a resentful expression was almost dragged inside by an irate-looking woman.
‘Come on, Richard,’ the woman was saying. ‘We might as well see the doctor now we’re here.’
The boy looked at Rose through long hair that almost covered his face and Rose bit down the stab of sympathy that swept over her. He had the worst case of acne she had seen outside a textbook. His face was covered with angry raised bumps and he looked utterly miserable. Underneath the bad skin, Rose could see that he could be a good-looking boy, if it weren’t for the surly expression and terrible acne. It brought back memories of her own teenage years, when she had felt as self-conscious with her height as this boy clearly did with his skin.
She smiled at the boy, knowing how embarrassed he would be feeling.
‘You must be Richard Pearson,’ she said. ‘If you want to take a seat with your mother, I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.’
All Rose got in reply was a grunt. Nevertheless he sat down, dipping his head so his hair covered his face.
His mother looked at him with a mixture of frustration and love. ‘I apologise for my son’s rudeness,’ she said. ‘He didn’t want to come.’ She turned her back to her son, leaned across the desk and continued, her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘I’m at my wits’ end. He’s refusing to go to school now. He just sits in his room, playing on his computer. I’ve tried other doctors. Dr Cavendish is my last hope. I heard from a friend that he helped her daughter.’ She glanced behind her again. Richard was engrossed with his mobile; either playing a game or texting.
‘I’m sure Dr Cavendish will do everything he can. I’ll just let him know you’re here.’ Rose certainly hoped he could help. Nothing so far had given her any confidence in his medical ability. Oh, he was certainly charming. The way he had been with Lady Hilton had made that evident, but no amount of charm was going to help this poor unhappy boy. At the very least surely he would refer him to a dermatologist?
She buzzed through. ‘I have Richard Pearson to see you,’ she said.
‘I’ll be right out.’ He really did have a lovely voice. Deep with just a hint of a Scottish accent.
As before, he was out of his room almost before she had a chance to put the phone down. He went over to the boy and held out his hand. ‘I’m Dr Cavendish. But you can call me Jonathan, if you like. Why don’t you come into my room and we can have a chat?’
Richard reluctantly got to his feet, and scowled at his mother.
Something in his expression must have caught Jonathan’s attention. ‘Why don’t you stay here, Mrs Pearson?’ he said, his voice as smooth as silk. ‘And have a cup of tea while I talk to your son on his own for a bit. Then if you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.’
‘I’d like to come in with my son,’ Mrs Pearson said stubbornly.
Richard looked at his feet and shuffled them uncomfortably.
‘Richard? What would you like? I see from your notes that you’re seventeen so I’m happy to see you on your own. However, if you’d prefer your mother to come in with you, that’s perfectly all right too.’
‘On my own,’ Richard mumbled with an apologetic look at his mother. ‘I’ll be okay, Mum. As the doctor says, I’m almost eighteen.’
Mrs Pearson seemed unconvinced. Rose touched her gently on the elbow.
‘Why don’t I get us both a cup of tea?’
Mrs Pearson watched Jonathan lead her son away, but then let Rose guide her over to one of the armchairs and sit her down.
‘I don’t really want any tea,’ she said. ‘I just want to get my son helped. This time last year he was popular and outgoing, and he seemed so happy. But ever since the problem with his skin, he’s become so withdrawn and miserable. I keep telling him that it’ll get better in time, but he says he doesn’t care. It’s now that matters.’ She drew a shaky breath. ‘I’m so scared he’ll do something silly.’
Rose sat down next to the distraught mother. ‘There are medicines that can help. It’s often just a case of finding the right one. As soon as he knows we can improve his skin, he’ll be happier. It’s too cruel that he’s been hit with this just at a time when his hormones are already all over the place.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ The woman sniffed and then looked at Rose, puzzled. ‘I guess you pick up all sorts of information working in a doctor’s practice.’
‘I guess you do.’ Rose smiled. There was no point in telling her that she had spent the last four years studying nursing, and dermatology had been one of the last modules before she’d qualified. And as for understanding teenage angst, it hadn’t been that long since she’d been through it herself. She remembered only too well how awful it felt to be the odd one out. Somehow at that age you could never accept that others had the same feelings of inadequacy and that they were just better at hiding it. Not that she could imagine Dr Jonathan Cavendish going through anything like it. She doubted that he’d had a moment’s uncertainty about his looks in his life.
She chatted with Richard’s mother until almost half an hour had passed. Eventually, Richard emerged with Jonathan. To her relief the teenager seemed much happier. He almost managed a smile for his mother.
‘So take the tablets for a week and come back and see me. If things haven’t improved substantially, we’ll think of what to do next. One way or another, we’ll get on top of this.’
Richard’s mother looked uncomfortable for a moment. Rose guessed instantly that she might be worrying