‘So sorry to have kept you waiting.’

The last of his week’s writing prompt taken from William Boyd’s Restless, my current read.

‘So sorry to have kept you waiting.’ The doctor’s smile was shallow.

Lizbet grunted an offhand acknowledgement. It seemed to her the doctor wasn’t sorry enough.

computer and stethoscope

Seated in the antiseptic-smelling surgery, the doctor glanced from Lizbet to the computer – the back of which faced the patient to avoid them gleaning some arcane data – and back to Lizbet.

‘How can I help you today?’

By not keeping me waiting thirty minutes beyond my appointment time when I’m on my lunch break. So sorry to have kept you waiting. Humph. You must realise I’m on my lunch break.

‘I’m pregnant. At least that’s what the home test said.’

The doctor showed emotion for the first time. He grinned widely. ‘At last! I told you that holiday we took would do the trick.’

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5 thoughts on “‘So sorry to have kept you waiting.’”

  1. “So sorry to have kept you waiting.” Her smile was warm, radiant, the apology genuine.
    “S’allright,” he mumbled, as he followed her into her office.
    “So, what can I do for you,” she inquired. “You mentioned something on the phone about a large diamond.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “This one.” Pulling a giant stone from his pocket.
    She was genuinely shocked. Never had she seen such a massive rock, shining brilliantly in his outstretched palm.
    “Wh..where did you get that?” The words were out before she could stop them.
    “None of your business,” he snorted. “Just tell me what you think it’s worth.”
    “Well, I would have to examine it properly – but on an initial glance, $4 million.”
    Clifford beamed toothlessly. Dressed in a filthy trench coat that had seen better days, hair dirty and unkempt, fingernails black – she wondered how on earth such a creature had come into possession of something so valuable.
    Examining it closely under a spyglass, she saw the cut was brilliant, the colour pure, and the weight she estimated to be at least 20 carats – something she had never seen in all her years as a practising gemmologist.
    Probably more like $5 million, she thought.
    Sandra drew a deep breath. “Well, if you wish to sell it, the authorities will need to know its history,” she explained. “Something this valuable cannot just be sold to a dealer without an accompanying certificate.”
    “I don’t have one of those,” he offered lamely. “Can’t you just organise to pay me and then sell it to a collector or something.”
    “Fraid not,” Sandra said.” Without all the proper documentation, I can’t do anything.”
    He slipped the jewellery piece back into his pocket.
    “Ah well – we’ll see about that,” Clifford said, turning to leave.
    As the old tramp shuffled out the door, Sandra reached quickly for the phone on her desk.

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