I heard the echo of my knocking on the door inside the apartment, and I seemed to wait for an age before the lady answered the door. The corridor was freezing cold. When she opened the door my mouth must have dropped open. She was forty-three years old, I knew from reading her records at the practice and didn't look a day over thirty. She looked younger than Jen and Paula; she just stood there and smiled, my mouth went dry, I couldn't speak. She was tallish, around five foot eight inches and her dress thin and with straps over the shoulder. It was white with diagonal and varying width red stripes. Her white bra straps were visible, a sight I have never liked. She was wearing white tights. Her make-up was muted but stylish, but she had quite strikingly deep red lipstick on full lips, blue eye shadow and black mascara. The red lips stood out in her ensemble. Her hair was light brown cut in a bob with a side parting. She wore gold rimmed spectacles that rested on a thin nose. She stood looking at me, enjoying the sight of me enjoying the sight of her, totally unabashed. The surprising thing was that she was almost completely flat-chested, and I liked that.
"You must be Dr. Earle, Jen's told me all about you."
"Hi. You know her then?" I asked. "And please call me Steve."
"Thank you, yes I will. But please come in first, you look chilled to the bone."
"Thank you I will. It's cold out here. It's warm in here though. How do you know Jen then?"
"We've known each other for years. We have a little group of girls who get together for a laugh occasionally. At my home in Cheshire, when I can get down there. It's a little difficult with my husband. That's the reason the flat is warm, to make sure he's comfortable." Her accent was nondescript and I couldn't place it at all.
"Yes I understand, well speaking of your husband, shall we get started and so where is he and shall I take a look?"
"That's what you're here for isn't it?" She said, sounding slightly cold and distant and then, "follow me." She seemed very formidable and severe woman suddenly and I was wondering how I could get out of here as soon as possible without causing offence. So far she didn't tally with what Jen had told me about her.
She led me through the hallway to the bedroom where Mr. Rogers lay in bed. He hardly looked alive. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling and there was no movement other than the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out and the occasional blink of his eyes. The room itself was warm and cosy. The bedclothes consisted of a white continental quilt, with an embroidered mauve runner half way across. The pillows were the same colour with the runner along one side. The bedroom was painted a pale mauve with a peach coloured carpet. The wardrobes were made of Oak, at least to me it looked like a light Oak with matching bedside tables and a dressing table. Very understated and stylish looking though, I thought.
"Frank, that's my husband's name, has been like this for seven years now. He started very early in life and went downhill quickly as he got older, and then ended up like this. I do the best for him, but it's not easy for me. We have only each other you see, no children and he has no living relatives; and nor do I. We were both only children and our parents have passed. That's why we have our girlie nights at my place when I am on respite leave. I'm sorry I didn't mean to go on." She tailed off. All of a sudden the severe look disappeared to be replaced with a look of desperation and vulnerability. She looked like she was about to burst into tears
"No, don't worry; I can see it can't have been easy for you. Let me have a look at him, OK?" I was trying to be nice, but professional as well.
"Yes, I'll leave you to it. Would you like a cup of coffee when you've finished?"
"Yes please, that would be great. Thanks. I should only be a couple of minutes today, just a check-up for now."
"How do you like it?" She asked.
"If it's real coffee, black, if not white, no sugar either way thank you," A hint of welcome I thought to myself.
With my answer she turned and left the bedroom. I couldn't help but notice she had a lovely slim figure, enhanced by the dress with a tight fitting skirt that outlined her panties. Her legs were long and shapely, helped by the high heels and the skirt just reaching to below her knees. I looked at my patient and gently opened his mouth with my mirror. I started to hear the sound of coffee being made, with a filter maker by the sound of it so it would be real coffee. I was impressed. His teeth were immaculate; his wife Celia had obviously cared for them very well. I quickly made my notes and left him in peace and walked through into the kitchen, which I found by the smell of freshly brewing coffee being wafted down the hallway. Then it struck me. The request for a home visit had been for toothache, but there was no sign of any problem and I realised just what Mrs Rogers wanted. Me. Jen hadn't told me that. Well not in so many words anyway.
The kitchen wasn't very large, but it was well equipped and there was the coffee maker on the worktop, next to a window, which looked over towards my apartment block, about a mile away.
"Sit down Steve, I'll pour, do you like cream and sugar?"
"No thanks, just as God intended, black please, no sugar as it's not instant." I assumed she'd not heard me before but was trying to make small talk.
"I prefer cream and a sweetener."
"Each to their own. It wouldn't do to be all the same would it?"
She poured the drinks as I sat down and brought them over and set them down on the table. Rather than sit opposite me she sat right next to me. She leaned forward and placed a hand on my thigh and whispered, almost confidingly, "I do try to look after his teeth for him. I try to maintain his dignity, or what's left of it. It's not easy and he can hardly move so he doesn't help me at all."
She didn't move her hand from my thigh and just looked at me, leaning forwards. I was a little startled with her being so forward. But then I thought she was probably starved of human company, trying to keep me here for someone to talk to. And as she leaned over I could see her cleavage quite easily and she was not wearing a bra now, the strap had gone. She had been wearing one before I was sure because I had seen the straps over her shoulders. She'd obviously taken it off while I looked at her husband. The dress strap looked ready to fall onto her arm and I found myself hoping it would expose some of her breast, even a glimpse of a nipple. She leaned a little closer and as she did her hand slid further up along the inside of my thigh. She just looked me in the eye.
"Like it?"
"Pardon?" I replied almost choking on my coffee.
"The coffee."
