There was a time in the 1960s when a letter addressed to "Patrick Woodcock, London" would be sure to find its way to his surgery in Tachbrook Street, behind Victoria Station, for he was certainly the most celebrated and cherished general practitioner in the capital. Despite being properly ignored by the public at large (for he achieved nothing in his own right to bring his name to notice), Patrick, who has died aged 82, was always the first doctor to be consulted by those whose achievements he admired and applauded.
This was not because he was medically astonishing, happily admitting that his knowledge was run-of-the-mill and lamenting that it was difficult, when one had dinners to prepare and theatres to attend, to keep up with the latest developments in medical science. It was rather because he dispensed his pills with friendliness, charm, an easy manner and a delicate refusal to talk about the ailment in question when the latest Iris Murdoch novel or the newest Stephen Sondheim show were of far greater interest. Patients were thereby subtly encouraged not to take their illnesses seriously (because he manifestly was disinclined to), and they were in consequence quickly cured.
A consultation would very likely be terminated with an invitation to dinner, at which point Patrick's real vocation would surge forth. For he was a host of no small genius.
Born of Quaker stock in Birmingham, he went to Ackworth school, a Quaker establishment in West Yorkshire. He put a medical degree from Birmingham University (1938-43) to use on Royal Army Medical Corps service in Egypt, rising to the rank of major.
In 1948, he established a practice in Lupus Street, London, taking on a lot of work, including children's clinics, within the framework of the newly established National Health Service. The house was one in a row purchased to make way for Pimlico school, so in 1962 Patrick moved to Tachbrook Street, and set up as a private GP.
Once in London, he set about developing his uncanny knack for friendship with those exalted by talent. His conversation was cleverly reticent and benign, which enabled him to say whatever his interlocutor most wanted to hear and leave an echo of wisdom in his wake. Thus he was trusted by all, and has figured lightly in scores of books about his famous patients.
In 1954, Martha Graham and her dancers brought him considerable custom during a London season; as often, he was a popular "company doctor". One of his closest friends in the literary world was Christopher Isherwood, an invariable visitor when on trips to London; in art, Keith Vaughan, David Hockney and Patrick Procktor confided in him; in the theatre, Tony Richardson, John Gielgud, Noël Coward and - especially - Noël's designer, Gladys Calthrop, relied upon him, and the entertainer Chita Rivera doted on him. When first summoned to attend on Marlene Dietrich at the Savoy Hotel, he was greeted by what he supposed to be her companion, a little, bent old lady, who turned out to be the fabulous Dietrich herself before the magical transformation on stage.
Patrick was brilliant at mixing people of fame and achievement with younger and greener guests, and watching what would happen - he was a convener rather than an impresario. He admired the creative spark of his friends, and encouraged incipient talent to aspire high, while steadfastly refusing to be ambitious for himself. He was one of those rare and vital people who offer the young a chance to find excitement in social life, and who thereby exercise an influence which can never really be documented.
Early in the 1950s, he befriended Elizabeth David, from whom he learned to prepare simple but delicious provincial French food, at a time when many Englishmen were still boiling turnips. After a long day in the surgery, he always did his own cooking, without any apparent fuss, from an open kitchen next to the dining-table.
It was in the kitchen that his own creative energies were concentrated. In like manner, Patrick decorated with bare carpets and sofas in off-white hues, the radiance supplied by paintings and vases of flowers, again simply arranged with only one or two colours in each.
In the 1970s, in anticipation of his retirement in 1985, he bought a terraced house in Uzès, France, where he presided over a mini-salon of local talent and guests from England. Elizabeth David wrote An Omelette And A Glass Of Wine (1984) when staying there, including in it an essay on the town's market. True to form, Patrick was on hand to entertain Chris Patten when he visited Provence for his 1999 television film In The Footsteps Of Elizabeth David.
Patrick died in his favourite armchair with a book on his lap, a glass of wine by his side, and his lunch in the oven.
His marriage in 1943 was annulled in 1948; he is survived by an elder brother.
· Patrick Willis Woodcock, doctor and socialite, born January 25 1920; died June 7 2002
