The tale is told now as a memory of a time long past, when the world seemed finally settled the clinic ran smoothly, colleagues respected me, and patients called me by name. Yet life, as it often does, slipped a new twist into the story, and I could only sigh: why again?
After my externship in the United States, where Eleanor Whitaker took her first steps in American medicine, and the endless Doctor, I feel sick! days that blended absurdity with exhaustion, a fresh chapter began The Queen on a Contract. Ahead lay the residency, where medicine plays by its own strict yet honest rules, sometimes even a little humorous.
The story can stand alone; you may start here even if you have not followed the earlier parts.
The movies make it simple: the lawyer fights to the end, the judge is wise and fair, good always wins. In life its different. Those bitter recollections fell over Eleanor after an evening spent with her husband watching yet another Hollywood blockbuster.
For several years she had worked as a GP at the Health Centre in Rochester?the name had long since been anglicised to RochesterHills and finally felt she belonged. Patients knew her, the staff held her in esteem, and the benefits, by British standards, were generous.
Then one brisk morning the director hurried past her office and muttered, Theyre selling us out. Things will only get worse. Youd better start looking for work. A few hours later a friend arrived with an invitation to a lecture at Dr. Arthur Bellamys centre. Bellamy was a renowned cardiologist who owned half the buildings on the main thoroughfare. The event was staged in his Frenchstyle bistro, complete with a harpist, fine wine, and a sumptuous dinner.
Hes keen on scouting new doctors, her friend whispered with a wink. And hell write off the taxes for you.
The evening unfolded flawlessly: the lecture was topnotch, the food exquisite, the music elegant. Then came the introduction a sleek suit, goldrimmed glasses, a confident smile and an offer for an interview.
The salary isnt spectacular, but the bonuses are excellent, Bellamy said, sliding a cheque for forty thousand pounds across the table. Two weeks holiday, perhaps a Saturday now and then. We have a closeknit team. Youll be my queen.
Only one clause in the contract gave her pause: a noncompete for five years and fifteen miles. Standard, Bellamy shrugged into his phone. Well cut it to ten miles. Youll never want to leave anyway.
She believed him. She believed the floortoceiling windows, the roaring fireplace in his office, the fragrant coffee brewed in a Turkish pot by a courteous secretary. She believed that cheque, which at the time seemed a fortune. She believed because she yearned for a storybook ending.
The first months felt like a dream realised: her own consulting room, a green courtyard beyond the window, a personal medical assistant, colleagues with whom she could discuss the toughest cases. Yet it soon emerged that Bellamy needed general practitioners merely as machines to generate referrals to his own centres. The bonuses were tied not to the quality of care but to the sheer number of tests ordered.
The climax arrived when she was ordered to send a sixteenyearold boy for a full cardiac workup, despite her conviction that he had merely strained a muscle. The boys mother, upon seeing the suggested diagnosis on the referral, made her dizzy with shock.
A cloud of anxiety hung over the practice: constant monitoring, surveillance, sudden dismissals. One day, as if a lifeline, Helen a friend from residency days suggested they open a clinic together.
I know an elderly doctor whos selling her practice cheap. Well bring our own patients.
But the noncompete
They say the courts wont enforce it, Helen replied firmly.
For the first time in years Eleanor tasted freedom. She would never have dared on her own. They began planning, until Helen vanished. She resurfaced at Bellamys office with an offer he couldnt refuse: a private suite, his own patients, on one condition Eleanor could not come along.
Want an extra ten thousand? Bellamy asked in the same smooth tone, still calling her queen.
Im leaving, she replied, holding back anger and hurt.
Think about it youll regret it. Ill sue if you do! he spat through clenched teeth.
A security guard escorted her out as if she were a criminal. The consulting room stayed behind: the shelves of reference books, the painting his late wife had painted, the desk lamp from his home. She could only take what fit in her hands. In the car she broke down in tears.
What followed were long weeks of hunting for premises, meeting landlords, compiling equipment lists. When it seemed everything was falling apart, former assistants called.
Dr. Whitaker, were with you.
With their help the new clinic opened. Patients found it on their own, despite rumours that she had died or fled to Russia. The old office was only nine and a half miles away half a mile, really, a trifle. Soon a letter arrived from Bellamys solicitors.
The court dragged on like a stubborn flu: hundreds of pounds for each phone call, piles of paperwork, patient witnesses. After each meeting with lawyers Eleanor felt drained, like a rag, and began to believe that Bellamys fairytale could indeed end in total ruin.
Then the verdict was read.
The judge, yawning and shuffling papers, said, I see no problem. Reduce the radius, shorten the term to one year.
That was all. All the months of struggle, the thousands spent, the sleepless nights reduced to a brief no problem.
She reopened, this time in a quieter neighbourhood, away from the overcrowded districts. The patient list grew, too. Just when it seemed the past was finally behind her, the phone rang.
Its Dr. Bellamy. Hows my queen? Hope youre not holding a grudge. Could you sign the paperwork for a new MRI? I need doctors signatures.
For a heartbeat her chest tightened. She wanted to hang up, to unload everything she felt about him. Yet she inhaled deeply and answered evenly, almost with a smile.
All right, Dr. Bellamy. Thank you. Youve made me stronger.
She hung up and realised: yes, he had forged her. So much so that she no longer needed a crown.
