The Book of Hours Read Online Free Page B

say you were in fairly good shape.”
    â€œWould you.” Another wave of fatigue swept over him. Brian fumbled with the buttons to his shirt and willed himself to remain upright. “Well, given your fantastic three-minute examination, I can’t tell you how reassured that leaves me.”
    She crossed her arms. “We do not like to overprescribe medication in this country, Mr. Blackstone. Particularly antibiotics. And especially not antibiotics as strong as the one you’ve been on.”
    He started to explain how he had bribed the hospital pharmacy clerk in Colombo twenty dollars to give him a prescription for the antibiotic most recently arrived from overseas. How this was an old trick for seasoned travelers, since many third world pharmacies did not bother to store antibiotics in cool, dry places, meaning they rapidly lost their potency. But he decided it was not worth the bother. He had met doctors like this before, people who assumed they had nothing to learn from anyone, especially not the patient. “I need another round of treatment.”
    â€œI’m sure you think you do.”
    â€œLook, is there another doctor I can see around here?”
    She bridled. “You’re welcome to check up front. I’m sure Dr. Riles can fit you in. Perhaps sometime next month will be convenient.”
    â€œGreat. Just great.” He rammed his shirttail into his trousers and hoped she did not notice his swaying. “Thanks for nothing.”
    But she did not move back to her desk; she merely stood in the center of the room with her arms crossed. “I happen to be renting Rose Cottage.”
    Bitterness rose like gall in his throat. “I guess that means you’ve heard about the sale of the property.”
    The change came as fast as a lightning strike. Eyes flashed wide, arms cocked on hips, face flushed crimson, voice rose to high-pitched clamor. “So that’s it! You let this place fall into utter ruin, and then show up only to sell it!”
    â€œI don’t—”
    â€œI should have known it the instant you walked in here! You . . . you moneygrubbing weasel!” She cocked back an arm, and for an instant Brian thought she was going to strike him. But she merely flung it toward the door. “Get out of my office!”
    Brian stalked down the hall, feeling wind batter his back as the doctor slammed her door at his departure. The receptionist greeted him with a cheery smile, one shared by several of the others in the waiting room, and asked, “Feeling all better now, are we?”

Three
    T HE MORNING CONTINUED PRETTY MUCH AS IT HAD BEGUN . A steady stream of patients’ sniffles and aches kept Cecilia’s thoughts partly at bay, but the sense of dread rose steadily. When Maureen finally called back to say Grant Riles was ready to see her, she found it hard to rise from her chair.
    There had been quiet but fierce opposition to the idea of an American doctor being given a place in Knightsbridge. At first Cecilia had thought it was because she was viewed as too foreign, and at every opportunity she had repeated the fact that she had been born here and her mother was English. It was only several weeks into her position as locum, or temporary General Practitioner, that she learned the truth. The people did not doubt her ability as a doctor and had no objection to her American heritage. They simply did not think she was going to stay.
    The only reason she had been granted a chance at all was because the white-haired senior doctor had vouched for her. Dr. Grant Riles was a man of remarkable energy. At sixty-three years of age, he remained pestered by his inability to speed up the world to a more acceptable pace. He tended to bark whereas others spoke, and flipped through medical journals with such impatient force that Cecilia normally received them with the pages torn halfway out. But he was a walking dictionary of medical treatments and a fierce advocate of