“Mary, and Edmund, and some guy I don’t recognise. He looks a bit like Patrick Macnee, post Avengers. Sort of smooth and slightly pleased with himself; the sort of guy who’ll flirt with the lay-deez and privately think them all fools for letting him do it. I don’t like him: on sight, I don’t like him. Don’t trust him. Pull the bedclothes up to my chin. Rufus looks up. ‘Oh, thanks, Anthony. I’m so sorry to drag you away.’ ‘No trouble at all, dear boy. I was only downstairs, after all.’ I look at ...their faces. Unreadable. What’s he done? Who is this guy? ‘What is this?’ I ask suspiciously. Mary employs her most sugary voice. ‘Melody, dear, Anthony is a doctor.’ ‘What?’ ‘And old family friend,’ adds Anthony in the sort of studied Bedside Manner tones that give me the heebie-jeebies. A chill down my spine. He’s not believed me. He’s pretended to, to get me back here, and all this time … ‘I don’t need a doctor.’ He gives me a white coat smile and advances on the bed.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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