The Doctor's Cinderella

‘Okay,’ Lizzy said before she crossed the room and made herself comfortable on a waiting-room chair.

Molly sensed Lizzy was quite at ease with being in the practice, almost as if it were a second home to her. She checked the appointment schedule. Forty-five minutes had been allocated for Lizzy Jones, which was unusual considering the pace of the morning, and there was no reference to patient notes available online. She wasn’t listed as a new patient but she wasn’t in the records management system either. Molly found all of it unusual and decided she would raise it with Ryan later.

There were no other patients waiting as they had been running early and the previous patient had just left. Molly glanced up periodically and noticed Lizzy had taken off her overcoat and neatly placed it on the chair beside her. She was happily swinging her legs and glancing around at the paintings on the wall. Sometime in the ensuing minutes while Molly was processing correspondence Lizzy made her way back to the reception desk.

‘Are your shoes red?’ Lizzy asked excitedly.

Molly jumped with the surprise of having the young woman upon her again without warning. Then she cringed at the thought of her mismatched shoes. As a knee-jerk reaction to feeling more than a little self-conscious she placed one foot on top of the other. Quite purposely squashing the solo bow on her left foot.

‘Umm...’

Before she had a chance to finish her reply a deep male voice came from somewhere close behind her.

‘Well, Lizzy, I’m looking at them now and they’re definitely not red. Actually, it would appear that Miss Murphy couldn’t quite decide whether to wear blue or black shoes today...so she chose one of each colour and threw in a bow of sorts...but only on one of them.’

‘That’s funny,’ Lizzy said with a wide grin that further lit up her happy face.

‘Well, funny’s one way to describe it,’ the male voice countered. ‘Another would be odd. Quite literally.’

Molly didn’t turn. She was only too well aware it was her boss of four hours. The far too perfect Dr Ryan McFetridge. Charcoal-eyed, raven-haired, six-foot-two, sole general practitioner to the wealthy and privileged who happened to need a temp office manager at the same time that Molly needed a job, any job. It was her only option to ensure she and Tommy were not evicted by the week’s end. And that morning as she had stood in the rain watching the bus pull away a tiny part of her had feared that might happen.

‘Do you like to mix it up?’ the deep voice continued, bringing Molly back from her unsettling thoughts.

Molly drew a deep breath, plastered on a smile and spun to face her boss. His perfect smile made the picture even more ridiculous. And made her feel even more self-conscious. She was bedraggled and he was standing so close with his leading-man looks, not to mention a voice as smooth as melted chocolate. She knew the type. He had playboy written all over him. But he didn’t impress her. Not in the least. Molly Murphy had sworn off men...and nothing was going to sway that vow.

‘Or was it a case of dressing in the dark?’ he continued as he stepped to the side a little and, opening one of the filing cabinets, began sifting through old hard-copy case notes. After finding what he wanted, he returned his gaze to her but said nothing.

‘Actually, you nailed it,’ she responded without expression in her voice or on her face. ‘I did dress in the dark this morning, quite literally.’

‘Power outage?’

‘Of sorts,’ she replied, not liking the fact he hadn’t broken eye contact. For some unknown reason, despite her showing no emotion, he was unsettling her. It wasn’t his line of questioning. It was his proximity to her. Through his clothes and her own, she could almost sense the warmth of his body. It was as if her own body was adjusting its thermostat to his and she was enormously relieved when he stepped away.

‘That would explain a lot.’

Molly wasn’t sure what the comment alluded to but assumed it was her previously wet hair and clothes. Before she could take him to task on the meaning behind his remark, he popped the patient record under his arm and then asked Lizzy to follow him to the consulting room.

As the two of them disappeared, Molly was angry with herself. Why the hell was she reacting to him being so close? She should be angry with him but instead she felt a warm wave wash over her and suspected her cheeks might be flushed. She was appalled and surprised.

Molly had met Ryan briefly when she had first arrived, flustered and rushed. She accepted he was an extremely good-looking man but their meeting had been brief, and from a distance across the office as he’d taken an early arriving patient into his consulting room. She had been more interested in settling into the job with the assistance of the young nurse, Stacy, who was there arranging influenza shots and bloods. Molly just wanted to stay under the radar and unnoticed herself, rather than noticing too much about her employer. But suddenly, now, she had noticed far too much about him.

The handsome medico was dressed straight from a men’s designer store, the kind of store filled with expensive leather shoes and every imported suit hanging an equal distance from the next on the rack, all covered with shoulder protectors, and assorted silk ties dressing shirts that were housed in open mahogany display cabinets. She knew the stores only too well. A year before, she and her fiancé had been regular customers of them. Her fiancé was quite the clothes horse and she had unwittingly been footing the bill. Ever since, the stores and the people who shopped there had held no appeal to her.

And there was Dr McFetridge’s elegantly decorated consulting rooms in one of Adelaide’s most affluent eastern suburbs. The leafy side streets were lined with large, opulent, double-storey homes with return driveways and at least three imported cars while Molly’s home had no driveway, which was fine as she had no car to park in one anyway. She had sold it along with her jewellery to cover the bond on her home and buy some simple furnishings. And she could get by just fine without it. Except for this morning, when a car would have been very handy.

Everything about Ryan was impeccable. She assumed his designer underwear would match his socks too. Black and more than likely the finest imported woven silk...

She stopped mid-thought and shook herself mentally. What had got into her? And why on earth was she even thinking about her employer’s underwear? It had to have been the knock to her head. Or perhaps being celibate for a year was affecting her reasoning, she decided. But it hadn’t until that moment. The need to have a man in her life was below the need to match the colour of the bin liner to the trash can. Of no importance and not worth a second thought. And a man like Dr McFetridge was not on her wish list; no man was.

Perhaps it was the significance of the day that was making her react. That had to be it, she told herself, and the next day would be different. She wouldn’t be having the melancholy thoughts and she wouldn’t give her boss even a second thought.

But she begrudgingly admitted to herself that she did like his cologne. The fresh woody fragrance was still lingering. Fragrance had not been her priority that morning. She was lucky to get close to soap and nothing about her lingerie matched. Molly’s stomach dropped and she moved in her seat to confirm in her rush she had remembered underwear. She breathed a sigh of relief when she could feel the elastic of her knickers. Thankfully she had grabbed one of the three pairs pegged to a coat hanger to dry over the bath the night before. She cringed momentarily.

If they had not been hanging in her line of sight would she be wearing any?

Just as quickly yet another unsettling thought swept into her mind. She pushed it aside. They were on and she didn’t need to dwell on what might or might not have been. It had been a ridiculously rushed start to her first day but with a smidgen of Irish luck, from her father’s side, she had made it with five minutes to spare. Although after seeing the consulting rooms she wondered just how long he would keep her on staff. It was only too obvious to Molly that appearance certainly counted with him. His dress sense, his rooms, all of it was immaculate.

And she was not. Well, not at that time. She had previously dressed well and taken pride in her hair and make-up, but equal amounts of money and sleep deprivation meant both had gone to pot. And nothing much about that was going to change overnight. But she was clean and efficient. Like the pitch to sell a small imported car, she thought.

Her mind was jumbled and she had to stay focussed. It couldn’t be that difficult. He was just another tall, dark, good-looking man and she was not interested in men, tall, short, dark or fair; she was not interested in being used and lied to again. And stripped of her faith in humanity...and her worldly possessions...in one fell swoop.

She opened her eyes just as quickly and, looking around at everything, she was reminded that, while she no doubt looked out of place in Ryan McFetridge’s practice, her skills should ensure she stayed put as long as possible and enable her to meet the rent and avoid Joel’s advances.

Despite her decision not to bite back too fiercely, Molly could not roll over and let another man think his looks would allow him to act in a way that was just wrong in her book. While it was only her shoes, she had to put a line in the sand and retain a little dignity. She had made it to work on time and he had no idea what she had been through to get there. So what if her shoes didn’t match? As if it mattered in the scheme of things—her feet were hidden behind the desk and it didn’t make her less competent, she reminded herself, all the while feeling quite ridiculous and uncomfortably exposed. Although she did not truly feel the level of bravado she was trying to exude, she would do her best to let her temporary employer know where she stood.

Twenty minutes later, Lizzy and Ryan reappeared. He placed the notes on the reception desk, and Molly couldn’t help but notice he patted the dog-eared records almost affectionately. She was even more confused.

‘I’ll need you to make another time for Lizzy in four weeks with Dr Slattery. His details are on the notes here. And can you make it a time that I can attend with her so block out ninety minutes in my calendar too, please, Molly, to allow for my travel time.’

‘Certainly,’ Molly replied, then, wondering why Ryan would be accompanying his patient to see another medico, added, ‘Is this for a second opinion?’

‘No, it’s not a second opinion. Lizzy is Dr Slattery’s patient.’

‘Okay, I’ll call his rooms and make that time now.’

Molly didn’t quite understand but decided not to question him further. However, she did need to address something. His remarks about her shoes were playing on her mind. She wanted to be clear in what she would tolerate and what she wouldn’t and wanted to address it before Ryan disappeared back into his room.

‘I’ll make the time right away, then after that I could take a lunch break, go home and collect matching shoes if you think they’re an issue.’ Molly’s tone was not confronting but it was firm and resolute. She was respectful of Lizzy’s presence and aware she was witnessing everything.

There was silence for a moment. Molly watched as Ryan’s eyebrow raised but she quickly sensed amusement rather than annoyance in his expression. It was almost as if his eyes were saying ‘bravo to you’ but his lips hadn’t moved, not even twitched.

She was incredibly confused and that had not happened to her in a very long time. For the last year she had felt confident that she could size up a man quickly. There were two categories: not to be trusted and those over sixty-five.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he told her. ‘You look perfectly fine just as you are.’

Molly was taken aback by his response but didn’t have time to say anything as he continued.

‘Lizzy, I don’t think you’ve met Molly. She’s my new office manager and she’ll be here for the next month. You’ll see her whenever you call in to visit me.’ Ryan paused again for a moment, his eyes darting between the two women, as if deep in thought. Then he continued, ‘Molly, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Elizabeth, who prefers to be called Lizzy, and the aforementioned red shoes are her favourite.’

Molly almost fell off her seat. She had not seen that coming at all. Dr McPerfect had a teenage daughter. She suddenly understood why Ryan wanted to attend her appointment with her general practitioner and why Lizzy wasn’t on the record management system. Lizzy was his daughter, not his patient, despite having a different surname. And if Molly had heard correctly, he wanted her to stay on for the length of the assignment. He apparently wasn’t about to fire her for rushing in at the last minute looking as if she had been plucked from a downpipe.

Ryan was not the man she had imagined at all.

Watching the way Ryan walked from behind the reception desk and over to Lizzy, putting his arm around her in such a loving way, made Molly’s heart soften just a little. Suddenly Molly saw him as just Lizzy’s father, although he didn’t look old enough to have a daughter Lizzy’s age. She felt her heart almost skip a beat. There was something in the way his dark eyes smiled as he pulled his daughter protectively to him that to her surprise took Molly’s breath away. It was an unconditional love he had for her. And she knew that feeling so very well. It was exactly how she felt when Tommy gave her a hug goodnight. And it was the feeling that kept her going when everything else in her life was turning to mud.

Molly had thought she had men safely locked away. They were not to be trusted. Period. Suddenly Ryan was testing her bias. Suddenly she realised that she had been the one casting judgement on her boss because she was afraid of being judged. Dr McFetridge was keeping her on staff even though she had assumed she did not fit his vision of perfect. Perhaps it was her idea of what perfect should look like that was skewing her outlook. Everything about the previous five minutes had taken her aback. She had been the one guilty of assuming the book was the total of the cover.

Molly was quickly being forced to accept that perhaps there might actually be more to Dr McFetridge than handsome packaging.

CHAPTER THREE

RYAN HAD WANTED uninterrupted father-daughter time to discuss the medical issues at hand and then link via a telephone conference to discuss the prognosis and potential treatment plan with Lizzy’s GP and the specialist.

A choice would need to be made but Ryan had no intention of rushing into a decision that didn’t sit well with his daughter. He had removed his own GP hat and had worn his father hat during the conversation. There were a number of considerations moving forward. How his daughter felt about each and every one of them was paramount to Ryan. With the options clearly explained, Ryan wanted to sit and talk more with Lizzy before making their joint decision and visiting her doctor.

Finally, a driver arrived to collect her. Ryan waved goodbye and walked his next patient into his consulting room and closed the door. He sat down opposite the older woman and leaned in towards her slightly.

‘Tell me, Dorothy, how are you and how is the adjusted medication level coming along?’

‘Not too bad, Doctor.’

The elderly lady’s reply didn’t convince Ryan as he watched as her softly wrinkled hands fidgeted with her handkerchief. She was twisting the delicate lace-edged linen nervously.

‘Not too bad?’ he replied. ‘That’s not what I was hoping to hear and it’s not the same as good. I would like to hear that you’re feeling very well, Dorothy. You’re the most energetic and engaging octogenarian I know. What’s bothering you?’

He didn’t take his eyes away from hers. Ryan was not going to let her leave without an explanation.

‘Well.’ She paused for a moment then took a considered breath and continued. ‘My sugar readings are all around six or seven, which you told me is fine, but the headaches are still there. Every day I have one. Some days I even wake up with one and, on those days, they are particularly bad. I don’t like taking painkillers but George says I must take them or I’m like a grumpy bear. He makes sure I do every four hours and gets quite cross if I don’t want to take them. I don’t want to upset him and I would hate to be a grumpy bear but I’m taking twelve of those tablets a day and that can’t be good.’

Ryan’s displeasure with George’s behaviour towards his wife, insisting that she take the tablets rather than solving the problem, showed in his frown. ‘George is not qualified, Dorothy. And you should not need that level of medication, so let’s get to the reason for the headaches.’

He did not further push his annoyance that George was encouraging the painkillers without consultation with a professional. Dorothy Dunstan, in Ryan’s opinion, was as far from a grumpy bear as one could get. Even in pain. The eighty-one-year-old was a slightly built woman, with a mass of white curls, stunning blue eyes and the sweetest smile. He had no doubt she would have been very beautiful as a younger woman and her prettiness would more than likely still turn heads in the upmarket retirement village where the couple lived.

Her husband, George, on the other hand, also a patient of Ryan’s practice, was a solidly built man with a gruff demeanour and very much closer to a bear’s disposition on the best of days, particularly when his diverticulosis flared up and he blamed everyone around him. Ryan was upset that the man would force his wife to take medication just to keep her happy around him.

‘Let’s trial a break of your current medication. That may help with the headaches. No guarantee but it’s worth trying that route.’

‘Really, Doctor? But what about my diabetes?’

‘The surgery to remove your gall bladder last November also removed the chronic infection. That would have been stressing your body and as a result a number of organs were not functioning properly and your blood sugar level became elevated. I have been lowering your dose each month, as you know, but now I would like you to stop taking your medication completely for one week.’ Ryan paused and looked Dorothy in the eyes with a serious expression dressing his face. ‘But, Dorothy, you must maintain a diet without any added sugar as the dietician advised. None. No chocolates or other sugary treats. That means no cakes or biscuits with your cup of tea...and no scones, jam and cream either.’

‘I promise, Dr McFetridge, but I do love Devonshire teas and it has been very hard to say no to my friends when they make scones. And George buys us both cake with our coffee after lawn bowls and I don’t like to say no to him.’

George’s selfish and ignorant attitude was testing Ryan’s patience but he controlled his desire to tell Dorothy what he thought of her husband. ‘I know, but you also want to stay healthy and drug free so it’s worth the sacrifice and I’m sure that your friends and George love you enough to understand. But you must tell them and you must be firm.’

Dorothy nodded in response.

‘And I want you to call through your blood sugar reading every day to my nurse. Any raised levels and I need to see you straight away. Don’t try to persevere if the levels change. I can’t reiterate this enough. Diabetes is a serious condition, but as it only occurred after your illness we may be able to control it with a sensible diet from here on in. But it will mean ongoing monitoring and food restrictions.’

‘Really? You mean I may not need to take the medication again, ever?’

‘Let’s hope so. In some cases, an adjusted diet is all the treatment a patient needs and I hope you are one of the fortunate ones. Would you like me to tell George that he should refrain from buying the cake and the painkillers?’

‘Oh, Lord, no. He would have a fit if he thought I’d told you that.’ Dorothy’s disposition was suddenly flustered.

‘You can rest assured that I won’t say anything, then, Dorothy, but you need to be firm with him. And I do mean firm. You can’t eat the cakes just because your husband has bought one for each of you.’

‘I’ll just tell him I’m not hungry.’

‘You can tell George whatever you like, that is not my business, although I would have thought telling him the truth about your condition would be better, but again that’s not my place to advise you how best to manage George. However...’ He paused and his voice became increasingly deep and more serious in tone. ‘Whatever you tell him, you must not waver under pressure. It’s your long-term health that we are talking about here. And George would most definitely want a healthy wife.’

She nodded her agreement to Ryan’s terms then continued. ‘If I stop the medication and avoid the temptation of the sweets, do you think my headache will finally go away?’

‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Ryan told her as he stood.

‘Then that’s wonderful news and worth the sacrifice of a few cakes...’

‘All cakes, not a few cakes.’

‘That’s what I meant.’

Ryan smiled as he reached for Dorothy’s arm and lifted her to her feet and walked her out to the reception area, asking Molly to make an appointment for the following week.

He left Dorothy with Molly, then turned and smiled in her husband’s direction. ‘How are you today, George? Keeping dry and out of the cold as much as you can, I hope.’

George grunted and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Damned appointments all day. After this I have to go home, pick up Dorothy’s darned cat and get her to the vet. Fur-balls again. If it’s not one thing it’s another. So much for retirement. I never get a day at home in peace. And the cat doesn’t like me anyway. It either hisses at me or ignores me. Typical woman.’

Ryan wasn’t sure quite what to say. The elderly man was healthy for his age, with relatively few ailments, but his demeanour was another story. He behaved as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and nothing appeared to make him happy. Ryan had initially suspected a level of depression but that was quickly ruled out by a referral to a clinical psychologist. George had retired from his successful fishing charter business in the lower Eyre Peninsula town of Port Lincoln a very wealthy man. He had a very sweet wife, the two of them had taken numerous extended overseas holidays and were active for their age, and their four daughters had provided them with half a dozen healthy, happy grandchildren. If only, Ryan thought, there were a medication to remedy a glass-half-empty outlook on life. George’s cup was chipped, stained and the handle missing most days and he truly had no idea how fortunate he was to have the love and devotion of a woman as wonderful as Dorothy for over sixty years.

Ryan knew that he would never have that same unconditional love and, in his heart, he knew why. He would never trust anyone to get that close to him again.

* * *

Ryan walked back into his office leaving Dorothy Dunstan speaking with Molly. He hoped that she had listened to his instructions and would adhere to the strict diet, and the headaches would in time subside. There was of course a very good chance that the cause of her daily headache was George, and if that was the case there really was no medicinal cure. The only cure would be to leave him. And a woman like Dorothy would never consider that an option.

As he closed his door, Ryan’s thoughts unexpectedly turned from Dorothy to Molly. Molly, with her uncontrolled mop of brown curls and contagious smile. And feisty attitude. The agency had told him Molly Murphy would be temping at the office to replace Maxine, his office manager of six years who had slipped and broken her arm in her Zumba class. Immediately he had formed a picture in his mind of a pleasant and efficient Irish woman in her late fifties or early sixties to replace his very efficient but now injured gym junkie and almost sixty-year-old office manager. With an image of the Irish replacement having a love of home knits, wonderful cooking skills and a slight brogue accent, Ryan felt confident the woman would meet the needs of the family-focussed practice for four weeks. She would be the wholesome motherly figure like Maxine whom his patients would like and adapt to quickly.