Ship's Surgeon (4 page)

“It must be marvellous to feel secure with the one you love,” she said wistfully.

He sounded a little cooler as he replied, “And it’s right for you—security and being cherished. Get off to bed. I’ll send the invalid chair along straight after my first surgery in the morning. Goodnight.”

She answered him quietly and went to her cabin. Tiredly, she undressed, washed and brushed her teeth. She turned out the main light, leaving only the fluorescent bar above her bedhead, and was about to slide between the sheets when she remembered the envelope she had left in her coat pocket. She found it, and again felt for the non-existent contents. How strange her name looked in those graceful italics; no mistaking it—Miss P. Fenley. The bureau was closed tonight, but she would be able to make enquiries in the morning. Surely the clerk would remember who had handed in such a distinctive-looking envelope?

Idly, Pat looked at the thing in her hands, peered into it. Good heavens, there was some minute writing inside the front part of the envelope. She tore back the gummed flaps, spread them and read:

“If you could use a nice sum of money write ‘yes’ on a slip of paper and leave it on your dressing table when you go to breakfast tomorrow. Ask no questions of anyone and destroy this at once, or you may be sorry.”

Pat leaned on the wooden side of her bed. It was a joke, of course, one of those corny hoaxes that certain inhibited types resorted to when they felt neglected. But why pick on Pat Fenley? On the other hand, wasn’t that just what a practical joker would do—choose a girl travelling more or less alone for their first victim? Perhaps they intended to start a sort of chain reaction; if so, they’d made a mistake in selecting Pat to start it off. Jerkily, she shredded the envelope, put her hand through the open porthole and sent the little cloud scudding.

As she got into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin, Pat began to get angry. She was on board with a job to do, and that was more than could be said of the rest of the couple of hundred first-class passengers, excepting Mrs. Lai. Kristin was an unpleasant complication, nothing more. And as for the comic who couldn’t wait to get cracking with mystery letters, he’d better stay clear of Number Thirty-two B Deck or she might be tempted to retaliate!

In the darkness she felt her flexible fingers gripping upon each other, and she thought of the doctor’s sharp blue eyes and cynical mouth, the knowledgeable smile when she showed a trace of emotion. He was kind and bantering towards his patients, she was sure of that. He had good sensitive hands, a fine brain and uncanny insight. But somewhere along the way his heart had lost all but its deliberate mechanical action. Well, that was
his
loss. Even taking into consideration all she had had to endure lately, Pat had no wish to lose her power to feel. The doctor was nonchalantly expert at his job, but in Pat’s opinion he was missing a lot. After which reflection she fell into an uneasy sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

“Gently,
Deva. Just a half turn to the left .. and now come slowly round to a half turn to the right. Good. A breather and we’ll try it again.” Pat slipped a finger over the girl’s pulse. “Feel all right?”

“Wonderful, Pattie. May we do the legs again?”

“Not in this position. Another trunk turn first, then you can he back against the rest. Ready?”

Deva was a model patient, eager for therapy but not too venturesome. At the nursing home she had occupied a luxurious soundproof ward, and perhaps it was the extreme change of atmosphere which made her love every minute she spent in the cubicle, with the ship’s blue and white hospital just outside the curtain. Fortunately, although the
Walhara
was tossing a bit as they ploughed into the notorious Bay, Deva remained quite unconcerned. Yet even Pat was off her food.

“Right,” she said, five minutes later. “That’s enough for this morning. I’ll get you into the wheelchair and call the doctor.”

But Bill Norton must have heard her clear, smiling tones, for he yanked back the curtain and entered the cubicle.

“Hello, there,” he said in his cool fashion. “Well, how do you feel after your exercises, Deva? Sorry I couldn’t watch them—I was busy among the crew. Let’s test your pump.” He was silent while he did so. Then: “All right. Go back to your bed.”

“May I get up for lunch?”

“I guess so, but we’ll take it easy for three days.” With a negligent foot he hooked the invalid chair close to the couch, and with no trouble at all he transferred the thin, childlike figure from one to the other. “There you are. My steward will take you home.”

The dark eyes laughed up at him. “Home? Yes, bed is home, where I feel safe. How did you know that? But of course you must know much about people.” Her smile became earnest. “Is it impertinent for me to ask if you have a wife?”

“No. I don’t have a wife.”

“Yet you must have known many pretty nurses.”

Tongue in cheek, Bill answered, “Sure, but I made a getaway and the urge faded. Is that woman of yours outside?”

“Yes, Lallie is waiting. But, Doctor,” she persisted, “you are not so old. I would be most pleased if you would consider taking Pattie as your wife.”

“Would you now? All right, I’ll consider it.”

Her colour heightened, Pat gave him a swift exasperated glance. Inexplicably, his nonchalance hurt a little, and the hurt sharpened her voice slightly. “We must go now, Deva. There’s just time for you to get settled before elevenses. We shan’t need your steward, Doctor.”

“I’d forgotten you were a superwoman,” he said negligently. “Come back when you’ve settled the patient. I think she’s ready to start the vitamin diet.”

“Very well, Doctor.”

Deva was wheeled back to the stateroom, divested of the sari-silk wrap and put to bed with plenty of supporting pillows. Mrs. Lai brought a tastefully arranged tray that smelled of herb tea and sugary sweetmeats, and Pat made her way back to the surgery. The cabin was empty, but as she sat down Sister Edwards came in with a load of packets and bottles which she locked away in a cupboard.

“We’re getting busy,” she remarked. “Nurse Brodrick has to watch a baby with colic and we’ve just had a toddler with a greenstick. Five of our dozen beds are occupied and a third of the crew are down with ’flu. Not to mention a hundred or so passengers groaning in their bunks from seasickness. Did you ever think of becoming a nurse?”

Pat nodded. “I meant to—then a school friend contracted polio and I changed my mind. I’ve never been sorry.”

“I’m not surprised. You types have to slog, but you do have normal hours—not to mention kudos!” She paused. “Did Dr. Norton ask you to wait here for him?”

“He told me to come back after taking Miss Wadia to her stateroom.”

“Oh. Well, he’s attending to a patient. Miss Avis Markman—do you know her? A white-haired creature with eyes like clear barley-sugar.”

“I believe I’ve seen her.”

The plump Sister winked significantly. “She’s a wow. We had an adhesive silvery type last trip, but she’d been around. This one has everything—the hesitant tones, utter confidence in the doctor, and artistic temperament. She gave her occupation as dress-designer. I’m short on cash—like to make a bet?”

“I’m not exactly loaded myself, but what bet?”

“That the fair Avis will become an almost permanent fixture at the doctor’s table.”

“Is he ... like that?”

“With him, it’s only surface stuff, but Miss Markman has deliberately fastened on to him. She limped gracefully, but I doubt whether there’s anything wrong with that leg of hers. She says it’s a strain caused by posture when she works at her drawing board, that she’s had cortisone injections for it. I wonder!”

“You’d hardly think up a thing of that kind just to get friendly with a ship’s doctor. It’s probably true.”

Sister Edwards shrugged her thick shoulders. “You’re young and charitable. I’ve been with Dr. Norton on his previous couple of trips and each time we’ve had malingering young women cluttering the place. He’s too ugly-handsome for a ship’s surgeon!”

Pat laughed a little. “He does happen to be immune, though, and I suppose you can’t blame him for seeking a little light relief with the passengers. There won’t be any spare women on the plantation.”

The Sister flicked at her own full cheeks. “If I were ten years younger I’d send these curvy blondes packing and get busy myself. He’s all man, and no nonsense. He’d have no difficulty in making a woman forget herself and everything else ... except him. It would be a blissful amnesia!”

Wryly, Sister Edwards twisted the scarred wedding-ring on her finger, winked an eye and walked out. A second later, the inner curtain was held aside, to allow the willowy blonde Pat had seen in the dining-room last night to enter the surgery, with the doctor close behind her. Pat stood up.

“I can come back later,” she said.

“No, my patient’s leaving. Have you two met each other? Miss Fenley ... Miss Markman.”

Avis Markman inclined her head as if she were afraid
the
swathed floss of her hair might tumble about her ears. She was about twenty-five, had a small pale face and shiny make-up, curved baby-pink lips and heavy shadowed eyelids. The topaz eyes were startlingly limpid as they glanced over Pat’s white uniform, her bare, bronze-dark head.

“I thought you had only the two nurses and a male assistant, Doctor,” she said in soft, little-girl tones. And then, reading Pat’s profession on her shoulder, “Oh, dear. You must be very clever.”

Bill said, “We might get Miss Fenley on that biceps femoris of yours, Miss Markman. As you’re not working now I wouldn’t advise the cortisone. Just rest the leg for a few days in the position I explained to you, and then see me again. You may find the pain will let up as the climate changes.”

“You’re
very
kind.”

Bill opened the door. “And you’re very brave,” he murmured suavely. “Take your time.”

He closed the door quietly, came behind the desk. “Sit down again, Miss Fenley. Cigarette?”

“No, thank you.”

Something in her voice made him look at her, directly. With a half-smile he said, nodding towards the door, “Nice woman, that. Did a year at nursing, she told me, and it nearly killed her. She’s already had successful therapy for that leg muscle, so it’s quite possible we’ll be able to help her. I’d prefer to have a report from her own doctor, but failing that, we’ll work something out, if it becomes necessary.”

“I came to see you about Deva Wadia,” she reminded him.

“Don’t go acid on me because I suggested you might be able to help someone else.” He was maddeningly unruffled as he took from a drawer the letter Pat had given him yesterday. “What is Deva’s present diet?”

“Meatless—her family are almost vegetarian. As you probably know, there are several Indians on the kitchen staff and they prepare whatever Mrs. Lai orders for herself and Deva. The basis seems to be rice, brown sugar, nuts and fruits. Deva eats fish occasionally, but not eggs and cheese.”

“Sounds monotonous, and she’s naturally anaemic. I’ll give you two kinds of vitamin capsules, and in a week or so we might start injections for the anaemia. It’s about a month to Ceylon. With luck we’ll have her fit enough to walk off the ship.”

“Really? I do hope so!”

His expression was quizzical. “As keen as all that to get on to Australia? How long is it since you last saw your uncle?”

“I’ve never seen him.”

“Good lord. Did he invite you out? “

“No. He won’t even know I’m on my way till I leave Ceylon. I’ll send him a cable.” The ship took a decided tilt to port and involuntarily Pat clutched at the edge of the desk. She felt a fine sweat break out across the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. “If you’ll give me those capsules I’ll ... go now.”

“Been dosing yourself?” he asked quickly.

“No. I’m not usually sickly, but I ... I haven’t eaten today.”

“All right, relax.” He spoke on the intercom: “Cocktail gherkins and cream crackers, pronto.”

“Why, Doctor,” said a hollow male voice in mock surprise. “You poor soul.”

Bill flipped up the key, grinning. “Their jokes are cleaner than the medical type, and hammier. Don’t look so glassy, my dear girl. We were pitching much more violently an hour ago. You feel queer because you’re empty. Ah, here we are,” as a steward entered. “Chew away on those gherkins and crackers and don’t take a sip of anything till you feel fine.” He bit on a gherkin himself. “I’ve liked these things ever since I was a kid—used to pinch them from the pantry.”

She smiled shakily. “You’re most kind.”

“The Markman girl said that, so I must be slipping. By the way,” without a change of voice, “have you heard from the heart-throb since you came aboard?”

“You mean...” she broke off, swallowed a scrap of vinegary cucumber. “I’d rather not talk about it, Doctor.”

“Why not? It’s fairly new, isn’t it? For a healthy young woman you looked terrible yesterday, and you’re still black under the eyes. No man is worth it, Patsy. Take my word for it.”

Pat did not deny his assumption; it was best that he should think her unhappy about something which had no connection with the ship. In low tones she said, “You don’t think about a man’s worth when you’re fond of him. Alan is going to be a good doctor, and I can understand the way he feels about everything.”

“Everything being your brothers?” he asked shrewdly. When she did not reply he added, “Is that why you’re going to the uncle in Australia—to beg him to take the responsibility for the boys? You must already have corresponded with him—did he turn you down?”

“Not exactly.” Pat looked up, saw concern as well as impatience in his keen blue glance. “Are you really interested?” she begged.

“Sure I am,” he said a little roughly. “Just give it to me straight—no dramatics.”

She smiled palely. “You’re not the ideal confessor, but you’re a doctor, and...
”
she drew a breath. “Alan is a houseman at St. Cedric’s. He hasn’t much money, but with my salary we could get along till he goes into partnership with his cousin. But my brothers are still at school—they’re only eleven. Fees and extras for two are pretty heavy, and we’ve had some unexpected expenses, so that there’s just about enough money left to carry them on for this year. My uncle in Melbourne is my father’s older brother; he’s generous and could afford to pay for the boys’ education, but as it happens he has no sons of his own—only a daughter. He offered to be entirely responsible for the boys—give them a first-class education and see them through university—if I’ll let him take them over completely, in Australia.”

He stood back and looked down at her, dipped his hands into his pockets. “Presumably he’d have you to live with him too, but you can’t leave little Alan.”

She lowered her head. “I have to stay in England, but Uncle Dan is adamant. In his last letter he said he’s a business man and he likes to watch his investments at close quarters. That’s what he called Tim and Keith—investments!”

“He’s bound to regard them that way till he knows them. I wouldn’t say he’s unreasonable.”

“You’re as cold-blooded as he is! I refuse to uproot them.”

“Boys of eleven are adaptable and keen for that kind of change. If you want your Alan so much, let them go—”

“I couldn’t bear to send them to a strange country and that flinty old man!”

“It’s selfish of you to want to keep them,” he said mildly, “and this Alan must be a bit of a heel if he won’t marry you till the boys are out of the way. Sorry, but that’s how it looks to me.”

“You don’t understand at all, but thanks for listening.” She stood up. “And thanks for the treatment. I feel better now.”

“Independent little cuss, aren’t you?” he said tersely. “You’re wishing like hell that you hadn’t spoken to me about your troubles. Still, having spoken, you can’t object to hearing a little advice. Stop butting your head against walls. You’re either in love enough to give up your brothers to someone who will do a lot for them ... or you aren’t. I don’t believe you know the first thing about love.”

“Do
you
?” she countered crossly.

“Enough to keep clear of it.” A cool, derisive glint came into his eyes. “Tell you what, we’ll experiment a bit—find out just how much this safety-first man of yours means to you. No strings ... just an experiment.” Pat’s throat had dried up; it could have been the vinegar, but she didn’t think it was. “What do you mean?” she asked.