The Country Doctor's Choice Read Free

Bolt opened the door to Jeremy North, and showed him into his study.
    ‘So what are your plans for expanding the choir, Jeremy?’
    ‘I’d just like to do more with it, recruit more members, and maybe even sing at local venues, especially at Christmas – maybe a special choir I could train up, teach them a few new pieces, part-songs, soloists with a chorus backing, something a little more adventurous than the regular Sunday choir, though that would continue, of course, and hopefully improve.’
    ‘Where would you rehearse – the church or the hall? And you’d need more than one rehearsal a week, surely, in addition to Thursday evenings?’ Derek Bolt sounded doubtful.
    ‘That and another evening – I’m pretty sure there’d be a good response, we’ve got some good voices to start with, and the word would be passed round.’
    ‘There’s Rebecca Coulter, she’s a fine contralto,’ said Derek, ‘and that Miss Oates, she’s got a sweet soprano voice, hasn’t she? But she’s a sister at Everham Park, so she wouldn’t be able to attend all the evening rehearsals—’
    ‘Actually, she’s on Outpatients, so her hours are more regular than ward staff, and she’d be able to attend most of them,’ said Jeremy casually. ‘There’s old Mr Wetherby, he doesn’t always hit the right note, but he’s loud, so useful
pour encourager les autres
.’
    ‘And that chap who cycles here from North Camp, bit of a loner, and – er – likes to mingle with any boys – is he any good? And could he keep his hands to himself? I don’t want to hear of any parental complaints!’
    ‘Poor old Cyril, fancies himself as a tenor, but a bit whistly. No need to worry, there won’t be many boys under the age of forty-five. What about that quiet little woman who attends just about every service held here, could she add a bit of a joyful noise if asked?’
    Derek Bolt frowned. ‘I dare say she would if you asked her, but be careful. She’s a bit – er, neurotic, and inclined to get overemotional.’
    ‘Really? She always seems as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’
    Ah, but you don’t know her as I do, thought the vicar, and continued, ‘There are those two stalwarts, Mrs Maynard and her friend Mrs Whittaker – and Phyllis’s daughter Jennifer, what’s her name, Gifford. She’d probably join with her mother, and if her husband’s interested—’
    ‘Poor Phyllis Maynard won’t be up to it yet, though it might be good for her.’
    ‘Give her time,’ said the vicar. ‘What about the music? Will you use the organ?’
    ‘No, the Sunday-school piano will do fine.’
    ‘It seems like a lot of extra work for you, Jeremy, you’ll have to give up two evenings a week. Won’t the family object?’
    ‘Shouldn’t imagine so. I’m not that necessary at home these days.’
    ‘How are they all? Didn’t your son get a job at the printworks?’
    ‘Yes, and daughter Denise got a job at the coal merchant’s, and they’ve both got their P45 cards.’
    ‘Oh.’ Derek heard the warning note not to enquire further. ‘Well, you have my blessing to go ahead with your search for singers. You can put a bit in the newsletter and on the noticeboard. I’ll say a bit from the pulpit if you like.’
    ‘Thanks a lot, Derek, that’d be great.’
    Driving home, Jeremy North smiled to himself. Hooray! Two evenings a week away from the chaos, teaching willing amateurs to sing, not that Iris will need much teaching, she’s a natural. Nice little thing, must be thirty-something, wonder where she lives and with whom?
    He turned into the drive of the large detached house with lighted windows gleaming through the October dusk: a house that had once been a happy family home.
     
    ‘Ah, Shelagh my dear, how are you? Sit down, sit down,’ invited Mr Kydd, who usually addressed her as Dr Hammond, but this was an informal interview. He waved her towards a comfortable armchair in his office, and smiled in a fatherly way.
    ‘It’s good