The Shrouded Web

by Anne Mather

  Rebecca trembled visibly. What could she say? How could she answer such an accusation? For after all it was true. She had run away before—from Peter Feldman.

  ‘I must go,’ she said, turning to the door.

  ‘Yes—go!’ Piers eyes were cold and contemptuous. ‘Get out of here!’

  Rebecca wrenched open the door and somehow she got outside on to that beautiful pile-carpeted corridor. As she walked to the lift it was as though she was dazed and even when she emerged into the sunshine of the street there was no sense of reality about it. The reality was there—in that hotel suite—with Piers. But how could she go back and accept whatever it was he had intended to offer her? If nothing else she had always considered she had self-respect. But oh, how cold those words would sound in twenty years, she thought despairingly…

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  REBECCA crossed the forecourt of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital and entered the wide reception lounge. St. Bartholomew’s was a new hospital and its lines were sleek and clean and modern, blending in well with the new estate that had been built round it. It was just outside of London in one of the new developments that was taking some of the overflow from the city’s crowded suburbs.

  Rebecca greeted the porters who were on duty in the hall and made her way up to her office adjoining Ward 15. Sister Annette Fleming, whom she had come to relieve, smiled at her as she came into the room and hung her cloak away in the closet.

  ‘All quiet on the western front,’ she observed, lightly. ‘Gosh, am I glad you’re here. I’m tired!’

  Rebecca’s eyes twinkled at her. ‘You should go to bed when you’re supposed to, instead of spending half your day with Barry Morrison. Doesn’t he know night sisters need their sleep?’

  Annette pushed back her chair. ‘I find it difficult enough to sleep in daytime without the phone constantly ringing,’ she exclaimed. She yawned, and pressed her hand to her mouth apologetically. ‘You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Persistent!’ remarked Rebecca dryly, picking up the record sheet Annette had been working upon. ‘You’ll have to tell him to be more patient. As a houseman himself, he ought to know better.’

  Annette draped her cloak over her shoulders. ‘There’s some coffee in the pot if you want it. Mr. Halliday had a quiet night, after all. There were no admissions, and Mr. Porteous is coming down to see Mr. Wilson himself this morning.’ Annette frowned and looked over Rebecca’s shoulder as she studied the reports. ‘Oh, and that boy David Phelps seems much easier this morning.’

  Rebecca nodded. ‘All right. Do you think his mother will come and see him today?’ She bit her lip. ‘Poor kid! She doesn’t seem to care what happens to him.’

  Annette shrugged. ‘I guess being the mother of four children with no husband to bring in the lolly isn’t exactly a picnic!’

  Rebecca sighed. ‘I suppose not. Where is the father?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, darling. He doesn’t take me into his confidence.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Snap out of it, Rebecca! We’re not here as social workers, just as nurses, remember?’ She patted her friend’s shoulder. ‘Heavens! I nearly forgot. You had a phone call yourself, just before you came in…’

  Rebecca stared at Annette exasperatedly. ‘Not Paul Victor again!’

  ‘The very same.’ Annette chuckled. ‘And you called Barry persistent!’

  Rebecca flopped down into the chair Annette had vacated. ‘For goodness’ sake, why does he persist in phoning me?’

  ‘I guess he thinks he’s in love with you.’ Annette tilted her head to one side, smilingly.

  Rebecca gave her an impatient frown. ‘I’m almost six years older than he is,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Honey, don’t tell me, tell him.’

  ‘I have.’ Rebecca hunched her shoulders. ‘Why ever did I allow myself to be hustled into going out with him in the first place?’

  ‘Because he’s handsome, and you liked him,’ remarked Annette frankly.

  ‘He’s a boy!’

  ‘And you’re a woman, I know.’ Annette giggled merrily. ‘Honestly, Rebecca, you are a fool. You simply can’t see that you’ve got to be firm! All this letting him down lightly! It doesn’t work. Can’t you see?’

  Rebecca heaved a sigh. ‘Apparently not.’ She shook her head. ‘I did—I do like him. It’s just that—well, he’s a little intense for me. And I guess I’m always conscious of the age gap.’

  Annette moved to the door, looking back at her doubtfully. ‘It’s not only the age gap, is it, though?’ She frowned ‘It’s something else; the something that prevents you from taking seriously any of the men who pursue you.’

  Rebecca bent over the reports. ‘Now, Annette—’ she began.

  ‘Now, Annette—nothing!’ Annette gave an exasperated snort. ‘Sooner or later you’ll have to take someone seriously, Rebecca.’

  Rebecca looked up. ‘Why will I?’

  ‘You want to get married, don’t you? Have children?’

  Rebecca shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Perhaps I’m not the marrying kind.’

  Annette wrinkled her nose angrily. ‘Of course you’re the marrying kind! Heavens, haven’t I seen you myself with those children down on Ward Six? You’re exactly the kind.’

  ‘Isn’t it time you were leaving?’ asked Rebecca pointedly.

  Annette draped her cloak closer about her. ‘You’re exasperating, do you know that?’

  Rebecca smiled. ‘I know. You’ve told me before.’

  Annette stared at her for a moment longer and then with a sigh she left the room. After she had gone, Rebecca went and poured herself some coffee and over the aromatic beverage she thought again about Paul Victor. He was, as Annette had said, very persistent, and although Rebecca liked him she wished he would realise that so far as she was concerned he was wasting his time. As a medical student here at St. Bartholomew’s, he could have had his pick of the nurses and student nurses, but for some inexplicable reason he had picked her. It was not so inexplicable really. Tall, and slim, and attractive, Rebecca found it all too easy to attract men, but she seemed indifferent to her appearance and to the men who asked her for dates. It was through Annette and Barry Morrison that she had met Paul. Barry, several years older and a houseman at St. Bartholomew’s, had known Paul since their schooldays, and in consequence had invited Annette’s friend Rebecca and Paul to join him and Annette for dinner one evening. The evening had been a great success, and with some misgivings Rebecca had agreed to go out with Paul another evening, alone. It was then that she had realised how useless it was, and since, she had been trying to convince Paul of her decision. It was no good. She simply wasn’t interested in men, and nor did she want to be.

  Later in the morning, accompanying the surgeon, Mr. Porteous, round the ward, Rebecca encountered Paul Victor. He was with several other medical students and he signalled to her vigorously behind Mr. Porteous’s back, creating a general feeling of amusement among the other students. Rebecca compressed her lips impatiently. Annette was right. She would have to tell Paul firmly once and for all.

  After the surgeon had gone, Rebecca returned to her office and was talking to the staff nurse when there was a knock at the door. Staff Nurse Williams went to open it, and she glanced round at Rebecca helplessly. ‘It’s Mr. Victor, Sister,’ she said awkwardly.

  Rebecca got up from her chair angrily. ‘Paul, this has got to stop!’ she exclaimed.

  Paul hesitated, just inside the door, glancing pointedly at Staff Nurse Williams. ‘Rebecca, I have to see you! Didn’t you get my phone message? I asked Sister Fleming to tell you I’d phoned.’

  Rebecca clenched her fists. ‘Yes, Paul, I got your message,’ she replied shortly. ‘But what you don’t seem to understand is—this is a hospital ward, not a reception centre!’

  Paul grinned. ‘Come on, now, don’t be stiff and starchy. When can I see you?’

  ‘I’ve told you, Paul. I can’t see you. I—I don’t have time.’

  Paul colou
red. He was a handsome boy with thick curling dark brown hair and blue eyes. Most of the nurses thought he was dishy, but Rebecca was immune from that kind of romanticism. She had been cured of that three years ago…

  ‘Why?’ he asked now, apparently uncaring of Janet Williams’ amused appraisal. ‘You’re finished at seven-thirty. Couldn’t we have a drink together?’

  Rebecca hesitated. She didn’t want to accept any more invitations from him, but he was gradually becoming more persistent and she couldn’t have him coming here to her office for obvious reasons. And in any case she could hardly speak to him here in front of Janet Williams.

  ‘All right, all right,’ she said, sighing. ‘We’ll have a drink. I’ll have to go back to the apartment to change first, but I’ll meet you at the Gridiron at eight-thirty.’

  Paul’s face lightened. ‘Great! I’ll see you!’ He disappeared out the door and Janet closed it firmly and then met Rebecca’s rueful gaze. Rebecca shook her head helplessly.

  ‘What else could I do? He’s impossible.’

  ‘I think he’s nice.’ Janet gave a sigh. ‘Why don’t you want to go out with him?’

  Rebecca shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We’re too different, I suppose. Besides, I’m years older than he is.’

  Janet secured a strand of hair that had come loose from her cap. ‘Age means nothing these days,’ she exclaimed. ‘I wouldn’t let that stop me. Not if I was interested.’

  ‘It’s not just that.’ Rebecca gave an impatient gesturé. ‘I just don’t want to get involved with—with anyone.’

  Janet shrugged her shoulders. ‘You could do worse. They say his family are simply rolling in money!’

  Rebecca bent her head. ‘Money doesn’t interest me.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Janet wrinkled her nose. ‘I wonder why?’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, let’s change the subject, shall we? I’ve had enough of Paul Victor for the present.’

  * * *

  Rebecca’s apartment was in the older part of the town, the upper floor of a converted Victorian type dwelling. Although its plumbing was sometimes erratic and the paint was peeling on the landings she preferred it to the stark concrete and plate glass monstrosities which were springing up around the town centre. With emulsion paint, and a good deal of old-fashioned elbow grease, she had transformed the largest room into a colourful, comfortable lounge and its warmth and homeliness were welcoming after a tiring day. It was a place to retreat to whenever she felt the need; a place where she could be herself.

  During the past three years she had needed a retreat many times and she had learned a great deal about herself in the process. She had had plenty of time to get over that disastrous affair in Fiji and looking back on it from the maturity of years she found she was able to pity Adele and her twisted malevolence. However, even now, she found it difficult to think of Piers St. Clair with any degree of detachment. Mostly, she tried not to think about him at all, and her work helped tremendously. Only sometimes in the dark reaches of the night it was impossible to deny the stirring shreds of the agony she had suffered.

  When she had first returned to England, she had thought of Adele frequently, particularly as Adele herself wrote to her several times, pleading her forgiveness and begging her to return. She had replied to Adele’s first letter, refuting all Adele’s attempts at apology and asking her not to write again. When she had continued to correspond, Rebecca had burned the letters, unread, and eventually Adele had given up. Rebecca wanted no tenuous links with the past to mar whatever future she could carve out for herself.

  It was two years since she had taken this position at St. Bartholomew’s, and now she felt almost content; as content as she would ever be, she supposed. She got on well with her fellow nurses, and she had purposely gone out with several of the unmarried doctors in an attempt to rid herself of Piers’ image. But most attempts had been unsuccessful and none of them had touched her deeply. She knew she was accused of being frigid, but it wasn’t that. She supposed, in her most depressed moments, that she still loved Piers St. Clair, and she might as well accept the fact that nothing would change that.

  Now she made herself a snack while she prepared to meet Paul, flicking through the clothes in her wardrobe with a critical eye. Already October was upon them and while the days remained mildly warm, evenings were definitely chilly. Eventually she chose a dark blue trouser suit, made of a woollen material that was both light and warm. Her hair, which she wore shoulder-length these days, tipped slightly at the ends, and she left it loose instead of pinning it into the neat pleat she wore at the hospital.

  The Gridiron was in the centre of the town, one of the sleek hotels that provided casual eating facilities near the bar. When Rebecca entered the bar lounge, Paul was already there, sitting on a stool beside the bar, smoking a cigarette and toying with a whisky and soda. His eyes brightened when he saw her, and he patted the seat beside him encouragingly. Rebecca crossed the bar, and slid on to the stool at his side, ignoring the warm blue eyes which swept over her.

  ‘What will you have?’ Paul indicated the drink in his hand.

  Rebecca frowned. ‘Just a martini, I think, please,’ she answered, and refused his offer of a cigarette as they waited for the barman to bring her drink. Cupping her chin on one hand, she surveyed the pseudo olde-worlde effect behind the bar enchanced by a trail of multi-coloured lights. ‘I like this place, don’t you?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘It’s all right. I thought we might go on to the Prince Edward later for a meal.’

  Rebecca bit her lip, and smiled rather absently at the barman as he delivered her martini. ‘I don’t think you understand, Paul,’ she said carefully. ‘I only arranged to meet you tonight so that I could ask you in rather more private surroundings than my office at the hospital to stop bothering me.’

  Paul rested his elbow on the bar, and supporting his chin, regarded her tolerantly. ‘That was kind of you.’

  Rebecca couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Well, honestly, Paul, six phone calls in the past fortnight, and this morning you actually put in an appearance! You didn’t know who might have been in my office when you knocked. What would you have done if Mr. Porteous or Mr. Latimer had been there? Not to mention Dr. Hardy.’

  Paul grinned. ‘I should have produced some masterly piece of nonsense designed to allay the most suspicious mind.’

  Rebecca sipped her martini exasperatedly. ‘Don’t you care that I’ve told you I don’t want to meet you again?’

  He chuckled. ‘Not particularly. You’re here tonight, aren’t you?’

  Rebecca had to concede that point and she shook her head helplessly. ‘Paul, I’m five—almost six years older than you are. We—well—we have nothing in common.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘Well, anyway, I want you to stop pestering me. I like you—I think you’re a nice boy—but I don’t want to get involved with anybody.’

  ‘So I hear.’ Paul studied his drink thoughtfully. ‘They say you had an unhappy love affair. Is that right?’

  Rebecca’s cheeks burned. ‘Who are “they"?’ she enquired coldly.

  Paul shrugged. ‘People. Men, mostly.’

  Rebecca seethed. ‘It’s a pity they have nothing better to do then, that’s all,’ she exclaimed. ‘Men—they’re worse gossips than women!’

  ‘Some are, some aren’t,’ remarked Paul. ‘I notice you don’t deny it.’

  ‘Why should I? It’s no business of yours whatever the truth of the situation, and I don’t intend to satisfy your inquisitiveness!’

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he suggested softly. ‘I am interested—not curious.’

  Rebecca swallowed half her martini at a gulp. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ She glanced round. ‘This bar gets very crowded, doesn’t it?’

  Paul sighed. ‘Then let’s go and have dinner.’

  ‘I do not intend going any further with you than the door of this hotel!’ retorted R
ebecca heatedly.

  Paul heaved a sigh. ‘Why? What’s wrong with me?’

  Rebecca lifted her shoulders. ‘Nothing—there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s simply that—well, you’d be wasting your time with me.’

  Even as she said the words, Rebecca felt a strange sense of foreboding. She had said those words before—to Piers St. Clair.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ Paul leaned towards her. ‘There’s no man in your life, I know that. Just let me be around. I won’t ask anything that you’re not prepared to give.’

  Rebecca stared at him compulsively for a long moment, and then she looked jerkily down at her glass. Why couldn’t she accept his friendship? All right—he was young, but maybe that was in his favour. At least he could not accuse her of leading him on. She had made her position abundantly clear.

  Sighing, she looked up. ‘All right, Paul,’ she said.

  ‘All right—what?’

  ‘All right, I’ll have dinner with you.’

  Paul’s eyes brightened considerably. ‘You will? Marvellous!’

  Rebecca caught his arm. ‘On my terms,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Agreed,’ Paul nodded, and Rebecca bent her head. She had not committed herself, so why had this sense of foreboding increased? It was a peculiar sensation and she couldn’t honestly find any reason for it except that for a brief agonising moment she had brought everything that had happened in Fiji to the forefront of her mind.

  * * *

  Much to Rebecca’s surprise her friendship with Paul Victor was quite a success. They did not see one another often, but when they did their association with one another developed naturally into the casual companionship of friends, the kind of companionship Rebecca would not have thought possible between members of opposite sexes. He was well-read, and their tastes in literature and plays were similar. In the summer he enjoyed tennis and swimming, as she did, and he had told her that he had travelled all over the world with his father and consequently had enjoyed the benefits of a warmer climate in the depths of winter. Rebecca did not mention her own time in Fiji, even though she felt sure Paul would not have asked too many questions, but she did tell him more about herself than she had told any man. Occasionally now he came to her apartment, and if their relationship was frowned upon by some members of the hospital staff, it was jokingly speculated upon by others, and both opinions she ignored. Only Annette Fleming knew the real truth of the situation, and she encouraged her, thinking Rebecca knew, that eventually Paul might shake her out of her indifference.