Summer Seaside Wedding. Abigail Gordon
woman with an irregular heartbeat came next and was immediately dubious when she saw a fresh face behind the desk and a young one at that.
‘I was expecting to see Dr Balfour,’ she said haughtily. ‘Are you fully qualified?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Amelie told her pleasantly. ‘I have a degree and have been employed in a French hospital for the last two years. I am here to see how general practice works in the UK. So would you oblige me by unbuttoning your cardigan, Mrs…er…’ a quick glance at her notes ‘…Arbuthnot, as any kind of change in the heartbeat needs immediate attention.’
‘Yes, it is a little fast this morning,’ she told the patient when she’d listened to it intently. ‘Has it happened before?’
‘On and off, but not as severe as this,’ was the reply.
‘And you have seen Dr Balfour on those occasions? There is no mention of it in your records.’
‘No. When it has happened before I’ve ignored it and it has gradually gone away.’
‘But not today?’
‘No. Not today.’
‘Then an ECG is called for. If you will accompany me to the nurses’ room it will be done, and whatever the feedback we will find out what, if anything, is wrong with your heart.’
As Esther Arbuthnot got slowly to her feet she said grudgingly, ‘They say that a new broom sweeps clean, so maybe being passed to you for my consultation isn’t such a bad idea after all. What is your name?’
‘Amelie Benoir,’ she said as she led the elderly woman towards the ECG facility, where Lucy would perform the test.
The speed with which the results came through had Esther Arbuthnot in a state of amazement that turned to alarm when she was told that there could be a problem with one of the valves of her heart and that there had been evidence of a minor heart attack some time in the past.
‘We need to refer you to a cardiologist for further tests,’ Amelie told her gently as she observed how the patient’s bumptiousness was disappearing fast, yet not so fast that she wasn’t already planning ahead.
‘There is a top heart surgeon in Bluebell Cove,’ Esther informed Amelie. ‘His name is Lucas Devereux and he has a private clinic that he runs from his home.’
‘He’s the consultant I want to see. I can well afford it. He is married to Barbara Balfour’s daughter Jenna, who was a practice nurse here until they had their first child. So if you would arrange for me to see him as quickly as possible, I would be obliged.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she assured her, ‘and in the meantime no excessive exertion. Just take it quietly and rest whenever possible. I will be in touch as soon as I have an appointment for you.’
When she’d gone Amelie wondered how many Balfours there were in Bluebell Cove. They had to be related to Harry Balfour, the head of the practice, in some way. At the first opportunity that arose she would ask Leo who this Barbara Balfour was.
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