Free Doctor On Toast by Richard Gordon

re-arranging the cushions to make the sofa nice and comfy for her. ‘I’d like you to put out the gin from my spirit locker, and just nip across to the Veranda Bar and collect a pitcher of ice with half-a-dozen tonics and – Good God!’ I cried. ‘You!’
    ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Basil Beauchamp. ‘You!’

9
    I slammed the hospital door. Basil and I stood staring at each other like a couple of lobsters caught in the same pot.
    ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ I demanded. ‘Dressed up like that?’
    ‘Exactly the same, dear chappie,’ he replied very affably, ‘might I ask you.’
    ‘But I’m the ship’s doctor!’
    ‘And I’m the ship’s steward. Or at least, one of them. There’s a good dozen sharing my cabin down below for a start. Still, that’s nothing after provincial dressing-rooms. But my dear Grim! What a delightful surprise to meet you. And what an amazing coincidence. How’s the cut of my white jacket? I picked it up yesterday from the theatrical costumier’s.’
    I grabbed the hospital door handle.
    ‘I – I’ve got a difficult patient in here,’ I said quickly. ‘Hysterical female, you know.’
    ‘How terribly exciting for you.’
    ‘Just give me a moment to get rid of her.’
    ‘But of course.’
    ‘And we’ll settle down to a nice cosy chat.’
    I slipped inside the hospital.
    ‘Darling,’ said Ophelia, ‘you don’t use these saw things on people , surely?’
    I seized her arm. ‘Terribly sorry, old girl. An awkward patient’s just turned up in my cabin–’
    ‘Well, I must say! I was asked here for a quiet drink–’
    ‘The doctor’s life, you understand.’ I gave a little laugh. ‘Professional duties first, never know what’s going to turn up next, and all that. No, no! Not that door.’
    She looked startled.
    ‘My patient’s frightfully infective. Never do to mix with him. Probably smallpox. The other door here leads straight on deck. Know your way back to your cabin? Mind the step. Bye-bye…’
    Ophelia disappeared, rather mystified. I staggered back through the hospital. Reaching my own cabin, I found Basil with his feet up on my sofa, pouring himself a glass of my gin.
    ‘But this is perfectly astounding, dear chappie!’ He helped himself to one of my cigarettes. ‘How on earth did you come to be aboard?’
    ‘I wanted a holiday. Run down, you know. Overwork in Town. The sea air should do me a world of good.’
    ‘Yes, you do look a bit hot and flushed.’ Basil sniffed. ‘That’s very odd.’
    ‘What’s very odd?’ I asked shortly.
    ‘That smell. It’s like the perfume my fiancée uses.’
    ‘It’s the antiseptic. But what about you?’ I demanded, coming to the point. ‘Surely at this very moment you should be amusing the little kiddies up at Blackport?’
    ‘So I should, dear chappie, so I should. But the good burghers of Blackport, given ample opportunity and invitation to witness our little entertainment, refused to avail themselves of the chance. When the cast started outnumbering the audience the management felt they had inflicted sufficient suffering on both sides of the footlights, and put up the notice.’
    ‘What a damned nuisance! I mean, what a damn shame.’
    ‘On the contrary, it was absolutely a blessing in disguise. Blackport was a ghastly place, anyway, all tripe and trams.’ Basil unhooked the collar of his jacket. ‘But do I hear you ask,’ he continued amiably, ‘why I should exchange the freedom of a West End actor – indeed, the freedom of an unemployed West End actor – for the cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d existence of a mere ship’s steward?’
    I snatched the gin from Basil’s elbow and poured myself a glass.
    ‘It was a woman, dear chappie,’ he explained simply. ‘I don’t expect you’ll remember, after that lovely medical exam you gave me before Christmas, I introduced you to my fiancée? A charming girl called Ophelia. Well, she is at the moment on board this very ship. What on