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“It’s breathtaking. I didn’t know it was so old…. All those years building it. I must get a book about it.”
“I have several at home. You must borrow one.”
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Surprisingly he came again at the end of the week, on his way back to Holland, to examine with Dr Beecham one of her patients who, recently returned from the tropics, was showing the first likely symptoms of kala-azar, or so Dr Stokes thought. To be on the safe side, Fran had put her in the single ward and had nursed her in strict isolation, so that they were all gowned and masked before they went to see the patient. Dr van Rijgen, being tied into a gown a good deal too small for his vast person, stared at Fran over his mask. ‘Let us hope your praiseworthy precautions will prove unnecessary, Sister,’ he said. She caught the faint sneer in his voice and blushed behind her own mask. She had, after all, only done what Dr Stokes had ordered; he had spoken as though she had panicked into doing something unnecessary.
Which, after a lengthy examination, proved to be just that. Acute malarial infection, pronounced Dr van Rijgen. ‘Which I think can be dealt with quite satisfactorily here. It is merely a question of taking a blood sample to discover which drug is the most suitable. I think we might safely give a dose of chloroquinine phosphate and sulphate…’ He held out a hand for the chart Fran was holding and began to write, talking to Dr Stokes at the same time. ‘You were right to take precautions, Peter, one can never be too careful.’ A remark which Fran considered to be just the kind of thing he would delight in; buttering up Dr Stokes after sneering at her for doing exactly the same thing.
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