When the pesky child and her lovely mother finally left the surgery, Nicholas got on the telephone quick-smart.

‘So have you found her yet?’ he growled into the receiver. Tiny beads of perspiration formed along his brow. ‘What was she in? Oh, for heaven’s sake, was that the best you could do? Well, I can tell you that you’d better find her and soon.’

Nicholas Lush slammed the receiver down. He couldn’t believe his ears. This was awful. He slumped down in his chair and leaned forward on his desk, his head cradled in his hands.

The telephone rang.

He reached out and snatched it up. ‘What now?’ Nicholas fumed. ‘It had better be good news . . . Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Yes, yes, had a little bit of bad news earlier but I’m sure things will be fine. You want to inspect the records this afternoon? Certainly, Admiral. Half an hour. Of course,’ Nicholas patted away the perspiration on his forehead.

He reached forward and wiggled the mouse to wake his computer. Fortunately he knew well Admiral Harding’s love of spot inspections.

Nicholas was up to date with his records for the week – mostly doling out the odd headache tablet here and there to the crew and, of course, yesterday there was the horrendous seasickness he’d dealt with when guests had come aboard. Annoyingly today’s minor surgeries would take longer to record.

Nicholas’s stomach gurgled and growled. He was eager to finish the pesky paperwork as quickly as possible and then, hopefully, the admiral would arrive on time. He didn’t want to miss afternoon canapés, having been forced to skip lunch.

Nicholas entered the name Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones into the computer. Her suite name appeared along with some other details about her age and parents. Nicholas typed his notes quickly.

Once he’d completed her record, he pulled the piece of paper containing the permission from the lad’s mother from his top pocket. He’d forgotten to get the boy’s full name from the steward.

Nicholas studied the handwriting. He could have sworn that it said A. Headlington-Bear. That was odd. She hadn’t mentioned anything about a son when they’d been talking last evening. But then again, the woman was an appalling flirt and perhaps she’d thought he’d pay her less attention if she mentioned a child. He wouldn’t have.

Nicholas brought up a new entry. He tapped in the surname Headlington-Bear. Three names blinked on the screen in front of him. Ambrosia Headlington-Bear, Jacinta Headlington-Bear and Neville Headlington-Bear. He entered Neville’s name into the report and began to type the details of the incident when he glanced at the patient’s age. Apparently Master Neville was forty-eight years old. That was odd. The records were linked directly to the National Health database. He entered Ambrosia’s name. That was interesting. She was forty-one. Certainly a surprise, given she didn’t look a day over thirty. He entered Jacinta’s name. Age eleven. This was very strange indeed.

So, if the boy wasn’t, in fact, Neville Headlington- Bear, then who on earth was he and what was he doing in Mr Headlington-Bear’s suite? ‘Children,’ Nicholas murmured. ‘Can’t be trusted, can they?’

The doctor sighed. He rested his elbows on the desk in front of him, and exhaled through his clenched fist. Nicholas hit the delete button on the computer. Master Neville’s surgery didn’t need writing up at all. But the lad needed a house call.

Nicholas stood up. There was a sharp rap on the door. He really didn’t have time for any more patients – there were other more important things on his mind.

‘Lush,’ a voice boomed from the hallway.

‘Coming, sir.’ Nicholas opened the door to find Admiral Harding flagged by First Officer Prendergast.

‘You’re earlier than I expected, sir,’ Nicholas gulped.

‘I hope everything is in order.’ The admiral glanced at his watch. By his calculations he was exactly on time. He entered the surgery and looked around.

‘Of course.’ Dr Lush folded his arms in front of him.

‘Prendergast here has kindly offered to assist you. I think we need a full stocktake of medication and other supplies and you don’t seem to be too busy,’ the admiral observed.

‘No, not busy at all sir,’ Lush whispered through gritted teeth.

‘Well then, why don’t you direct me to the records and you and Prendergast can start the stocktake.’

Lush looked at Prendergast, wondering about his offer of assistance. He knew him as a nice enough young fellow but in his experience the First Officer wasn’t the least bit interested in the infirmary.

‘Not enough to do up on the bridge today?’ the doctor asked his assistant.

‘Something like that,’ Prendergast replied.

‘Well’, Lush sighed, ‘this is the last thing I need today but at least I’ve got you to help.’