There But for Fortune by Vivian Stuart

Author:Vivian Stuart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jentas Ehf
Published: 2022-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Nick, are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you?’ I asked, as the Ibusz coach slowed down within sight of the Open-Air Theatre and Gömbös conscientiously began to extol the merits of the various operatic and theatrical performances we might expect to enjoy during our stay in Budapest. Nick, although he continued to protest that he felt fine, still looked very white and shaken, and I was worried about him.

He shook his head, swore softly and unprintably beneath his breath and then apologised. ‘Sorry I blew my top, Doc, but the truth is I’m pretty mad. I mean, it was the darnedest fool thing to do, wasn’t it . . . to walk straight into the business end of that car?’ He gingerly felt his right knee, wincing as he did so, and then shook his head again, very firmly, when I asked if I could examine it. ‘Hell, no, I’m all right. All in one piece, anyway, apart from a few bruises here and there . . . mostly here, I reckon. I must have landed on this knee.’

‘Then why not let me look at it?’ I persisted. The others had left the back seat to us and even the American girls, after some anxious enquiries and a great many expressions of sympathy, had moved forward by tacit consent, so as to leave me alone with my patient. ‘I’m really quite a competent doctor, Nick,’ I felt obliged to point out.

‘I’m sure you are, Stacey. And I’ll be more than grateful if you’ll give me the once-over when we get back to the hotel. In fact I’d have no objection to a full physical check-up then. It’d be a new experience to have a lady doctor looking after me, and . . .’ his irrepressible grin returned, ‘I reckon I’ll enjoy every minute of it, you know that? Cool, gentle hands on my fevered brow and all that jazz!’

‘Be serious,’ I pleaded. ‘You’re a tennis player, aren’t you? Well, if you have damaged your knee, you would be foolish to neglect it. At least let me strap it up for you.’

‘Strap it up?’ he demanded. ‘What with? You don’t have a medical bag that I can see.’

‘I’ve got a silk scarf that will serve the purpose temporarily. If it’s really bad, we can ask the driver to stop at a chemist and I’ll get an elastoplast bandage for you.’ I touched the knee through his flannels. ‘You won’t be able to walk if you let it swell up, you know, Nick.’

He gave in reluctantly and pulled up his trouser leg, so that I could examine the injured joint. There was less swelling than I had feared there might be, so I decided that my scarf would suffice as a bandage, until we went into town. The coach halted again, so that Gömbös might point out the Lido and the Rose Garden Restaurant, and I took this opportunity to strap up Nick’s strained knee. He submitted, red-faced to my ministrations, but admitted that the knee felt better when I had done.

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