“For a time?” Mr. Baylis seized eagerly on that.
“So I most sincerely hope,” Jason answered gravely. “But though modern medical science can do a great deal, it will be of no service to you if you don’t cooperate.”
“I hate being coddled and pampered,” Mr. Baylis growled. “Of course you do. But that’s not what I mean. You have to accept discipline, Mr. Baylis, but it must be self-discipline. No one else can do it for you.”
“For how long?”
“In some degree, for the rest of your life. For instance, you have to lose weight. That means you will have to go on a strict diet immediately, and when the desired target is achieved, you will have to exercise more self-control than ever, since it’s easy to imagine that the odd little indulgence doesn’t matter. But it does. One thing leads to another. Do you understand?”
“I suppose so. Well, I’m not that greedy about my food, but a lot of business tends to get done over, the lunch table, you know. Oh, all right,” he said in response to Jason’s shrug. “If I don’t do as you say, I won’t be there to do any business! That it?”
“It is, Mr. Baylis,” Jason said dryly. “Well?”
“All right, I’ll play,” Mr. Baylis said grimly. “Anything else?”
“Quite a lot. No excess of any sort—no telling yourself that it’s essential you finish a job, whether physical or mental, when you know that you’re too tired to do so. There’s no heroism in that sort of behavior. Do I make myself clear?”
“You certainly do,” Mr. Baylis told him, clearly struggling against the resentment he felt at having to take orders from a man so much younger.
“Right,” Jason said cheerfully. “Now for the credit side. Dr. Grainger and I will work out as palatable a diet as possible. We will also arrange for a physiotherapist to give you treatment at home. This will include exercise. And, of course, you will do a certain amount of walking every day.”
“That’s better!” Mr. Baylis sounded almost cheerful. “Only mind you make it clear to my wife that I’m only doing what I’m told. She’s afraid a puff of wind will blow me away.”
“Natural enough,” Jason commented. “But I’ll set Mrs. Baylis’s mind at rest on that point.” He paused, considering. “Oh yes, one other thing. At the beginning of next week and at intervals after that, I’ll want you at the hospital.”
“What for?” Mr. Baylis asked suspiciously.
“For tests that can’t be done here.”
“Why not?” Mr. Baylis asked belligerently. “I can pay for what I want.”
“No doubt,” Jason agreed imperturbably. “But the apparatus used for obtaining X-ray and electrocardiograph records is too big to be transported. So you must come to the hospital.”
“Hm, got an answer for everything, haven’t you?” Mr. Baylis grunted with reluctant admiration.
Jason laughed outright, and Kit’s heart turned over. Jason had never been a man who laughed easily or frequently, but when he did, there was an incredible infectious quality about it. Just for a second, she had a glimpse of the old Jason, and she found herself smiling quite spontaneously as he said dryly, “That’s what you’re paying me for, isn’t it?”
That afternoon, during her time off, Kit went for a walk. She told herself that it was to buy stamps, although in a well-run house like Moneyhill she could probably have had them for the asking. In fact, the real reason for the outing was twofold. She wanted to see just what was left of the old village High Street she remembered. But in addition, she felt she must get away from the house, and even more important, from the people who lived in it.
For Kit had had too much experience of living in other people’s homes not to be sensitive to the atmosphere that means things are not quite as they should be.
She pondered over this as she walked briskly down the driveway and out onto the road, which, though it was busier than she had remembered, was still substantially the same. Just what was wrong? Mrs. Baylis? That, was the first answer that came to her mind, but was it fair?
She was certainly a dominant character—Dr. Grainger had confirmed that impression—and perhaps not particularly tactful, but her husband had spoken warmly of the way she had gone back to the office in order to relieve him of any anxiety. He had said, too, that she had had a hard life, and that it had given him great happiness to make it easier for her. As mistress of Moneyhill, Kit thought, life was probably easy to the point of luxury, and it could not have been pleasant to give it all up, even temporarily, having once become used to comfort, particularly as she was so anxious about her husband.
So anxious. Kit frowned. Well, naturally, any wife would be anxious in such circumstances. But was it really quite natural for as intelligent a woman as Kit judged her to be to take her anxiety to a point where it became real folly? She seemed determined to make her husband more of an invalid than either Jason or Dr. Grainger felt was necessary. But why? What reason could there be except the obvious one of being too anxious?
After all, Kit thought, it must have been terribly worrying to find out that this was not the first attack, and that he had said nothing about the earlier one. Yes, that must be it. And though Mrs. Baylis gave the impression of being a woman capable of commanding every situation, she might have a vulnerable spot. So many strong people had, and so often it concerned those nearest and dearest—in this case, Mr. Baylis.
She found, to her delight, that the High Street had altered very little. Some shops had changed hands, but that was all. The old church at the top of the hill was exactly the same, and the High Street as a whole was still the delightful blend of Tudor, Georgian and Victorian architecture that it had always been.
Kit breathed a sigh of pleasure. After all, it was a homecoming, even though no one belonging to her lived here now. But there must surely be some people who remembered her...
And at that moment she found her passage blocked by a short, stocky woman who exclaimed unbelievingly, “Well, if it isn’t Kit Cavendish all dressed up like a nurse! What are you doing here? Going to marry Victor Wrinch after all?”
It was Miss Catchpole, the sister of the local pharmacist and a real character. Nothing had ever happened in Ravenslea that she didn’t know about, though she had the saving grace of keeping most of her information to herself rather than gossiping about it. And clearly, Kit thought, both amused and irritated, she had not changed her habits any more than she had her style of dress. Indeed, her purple felt hat and her overlong fur-trimmed coat might well have been those that Kit had seen four years previously.
There was only one way to deal with Miss Catchpole.
“I’m dressed as a nurse because I am one,” she explained pleasantly. “And the only reason I’m here is because this is where my patient happens to be.”
“Hm, private nursing, eh?” Miss Catchpole deduced. “Who’s your patient?”
It was hopeless! And anyhow, what did it matter? It was bound to be common knowledge quite shortly.
“Mr. Baylis, at Moneyhill.”
“Mr. Baylis!” Miss Catchpole’s eyes narrowed and she sniffed expressively. “Then nothing’s going to convince me that Victor Wrinch didn’t have something to do with you coming here. Why, he’s hand in glove with those Baylises! With her, anyway.”
Kit said nothing, though she knew that her silence was confirmation of Miss Catchpole’s opinion.
“Now look here, Kit.” Miss Catchpole spoke so seriously that Kit was startled. “I like you. Always have. And your family. I was sorry when you all left. So I’m going to give you a bit of advice—not that you’ll take it, but at least I’ll have done my best. Watch your step at Moneyhill! And not just because of Victor, determined young man though he is.” She paused and then went on deliberately, “When a woman thinks she’s as clever as a man—or cleverer—she always goes too far, simply to convince other people. And she doesn’t care what methods she uses either. So ... watch out, my dear!”
And without waiting for a reply she walked off, leaving Kit a
ll the more uneasy because she felt that what Miss Catchpole had said partly answered the questions she had been asking herself about Mrs. Baylis.
She tried to dismiss the matter from her mind, but it was not easy. As a result she was still in a preoccupied frame of mind as she turned into the gates at Moneyhill, only just avoiding being hit by a scarlet sports car.
The driver braked hard, and as Kit leaned, breathless, against the stone gate pillar, he jumped out.
“I say, are you—” He stopped short. “Good lord, it’s you!” he exclaimed blankly.
It was the good-looking young man with whom Kit had traveled down to Ravenslea.
CHAPTER THREE
Kit was the first to recover from the unexpected meeting.
“It’s not really surprising that I’m here,” she explained. “I’m nursing Mr. Baylis.”
But this only seemed to bewilder the young man further, for he frowned as if he did not believe her.
“A nurse? You?” And then, suspiciously, “You didn’t tell me you were a nurse.”
“Why should I have?” Kit asked with some asperity. “If you remember, neither of us told the other much about ourselves!”
“Oh, I’ve nothing to hide,” he assured her, more than a little on the defensive, Kit thought. “I’m Noel Baylis. Your patient is my father. And Mrs. Baylis, consequently, is my stepmother, though she’s only ten years older than I am.”
He paused as if he expected Kit to make some comment. “One of these days, you and I must have a long talk about my father’s health.”
The way he spoke made it clear that something in relation to his father’s condition dissatisfied him. Kit’s heart sank. Not another complication, surely!
“I think you would get a lot more satisfaction if you discussed the matter with either Dr. Heathfield or Dr. Grainger,” she told him diplomatically. “You see, it’s not considered proper for a nurse to give an opinion because she’s not qualified to diagnose. She simply acts under orders.”
“Yes,” Noel Baylis. drawled. “But the question is—whose orders?”
“Those of the consultant and the doctor concerned,” Kit replied firmly.
Noel’s dark brows lifted slightly.
“You’ll be lucky,” he told her sardonically.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my patient,” Kit said coldly.
“There’s a good little nurse,” Noel mocked. Then, with a complete change of manner, he went on with what certainly sounded like genuine concern. “You’re quite sure you’re all right? The car didn’t touch you at all?”
“No,” Kit assured him. “It didn’t. And I’m quite all right, thank you, Mr. Baylis.”
He gave her a long, thoughtful look.
“You might be at that,” he agreed, but before Kit could ask him what he meant by that, he was back in the car and sliding gently out into the road.
It was, of course, only natural that after so many warnings and hints Kit should be even more than usually on her guard. But as day succeeded day with nothing untoward happening, she began to wonder if she had not been the victim of a series of false alarms.
Mrs. Baylis’s attitude could not have been more cooperative. She accepted all decisions without comment and made arrangements for the dinner menu to be altered to suit Mr. Baylis’s diet. As for Mr. Baylis, although no one could possibly call him a docile patient, he had evidently taken Jason’s warnings to heart and did no more than grumble mildly at the restrictions. Rather to Kit’s surprise, he never seemed to worry about his company. It was evident that he had complete faith in his wife’s ability to run everything, and he never questioned her, except to ask if she was tired at the end of a heavy day» Her answer was almost invariably the same.
“Only reasonably tired, darling. Nothing that a few hours’ relaxation at home won’t cure.”
“And that’s true,” Mr. Baylis confided to Kit. “It isn’t just that she’s very clever as well as very strong—though, thank goodness, she is that. But she also has a gift that, in my experience, few women have. She can keep her business life and her private life in watertight compartments, as men do. She leaves any troubles behind when she shuts her office door, and doesn’t think about them until the next day, and the result is, she goes back to them fresh and able to deal with them. A wonderful woman!”
When a woman thinks she’s as clever—or cleverer—than a man...
Kit heard the echo of Miss Catchpole’s words, but here was someone who certainly ought to know saying that Mrs. Baylis was clever ... and in the way that a man is. Well, why not, these days? Probably, almost certainly, Mrs. Baylis had had a far better education than Miss Catchpole, who was of the era when the girls in a family definitely lost out if there were boys to be educated. So Miss Catchpole would be prejudiced.
Thus, while Kit did not forget the warnings she had received, she could at least feel a considerable degree of reassurance. In this she was helped not only by the fact that Jason and Dr. Grainger were satisfied with Mr. Baylis’s progress, but also because she saw nothing at all of Victor and very little of Noel.
Kit still found Noel a strangely contradictory character. From casual conversation she learned that he had been to Switzerland to take part in the skiing championships and had carried off an unusual number of trophies. It was Sue Day who told her this, adding that he was quite wonderful at most sports, including rowing, which he’d done a lot of at Cambridge. She sounded so proud of her cousin’s prowess that Kit could not help wondering if this quiet girl was in love with him.
But then she had gone on, “Of course, spending so much time on sports, he didn’t work at his studies and got a very poor degree. A pity, because he has quite a good brain if only he’d use it!”
It was said so scornfully and was in such complete contrast to Sue’s earlier enthusiasm that Kit found it as puzzling as Noel’s own contradictory nature. For she had not been mistaken. There were, very definitely, two Noels.
One was a charming young man who seemed thoroughly to enjoy playing his way through life. The other—and the change could come in the space of a moment or so—was very different. Morose to the point of surliness, out at elbows with everybody with whom he came in contact, using that odd trick, which Kit had sensed on their first meeting, of withdrawing into some world of his own no one else was admitted to. In this mood he would sometimes sit for hours, speaking to no one and apparently not hearing if anyone spoke to him. But more often, he would go off, sometimes walking, sometimes in his car, but always returning in good spirits, his black mood a thing of the past.
What surprised Kit most was the tolerance that both Mr. and Mrs. Baylis showed toward what they must surely have regarded as a very unsatisfactory state of affairs. But both seemed to take it for granted that not only should a young man want to have a good time, but also that at times it was quite natural for him to upset the whole household with -his boorishness. Only Sue tried to rouse him, sometimes by ignoring his moods altogether, sometimes by an onslaught so vigorous as to be astonishing in so quiet and timid a girl. But her methods never achieved anything anyway. Noel went his own way.
Sue herself was also something of a puzzle. Quiet and timid—yes. And yet she ran the entire household efficiently and smoothly. Housework was done well, but with a minimum amount of disturbance. Delightful meals were invariably on time and were served with a degree of elegance that spoke of personal supervision. Flowers, too, were always fresh and perfectly arranged. Those in Kit’s room, she soon appreciated, were changed every other day. What was perhaps the most important thing of all, such of the servants as Kit came in contact with seemed perfectly happy. Clearly, there was far more to Sue than appeared on the surface. And yet Kit still found herself wondering...
Kit tried to think of her own affairs as little as possible. As far as Victor was concerned, there was evidently nothing to worry about since, judging by the fact that he made no attempt to see her alone, he must, as she had hoped, have lost his earlier int
erest in her. Just what his reason for getting her down to Ravenslea had been she still had no idea unless, indeed, it was for the one he had given her. Conceivably it might be.
Jason ... That was a different matter. She had seen him briefly when she had accompanied Mr. Baylis to the hospital and for slightly longer the next time he had visited Moneyhill. His manner on both occasions was pleasant, but quite impersonal. Obviously he had put her firmly out of his life and he wanted things to stay that way.
Nonetheless, he was both fair and generous professionally. He told her that there was a marked improvement in Mr. Baylis’s condition, even in so short a time, and gave her the credit for it. Kit knew that she would live on that praise for days, although, not to be outdone, she made it clear that Mrs. Wickham, the physiotherapist, had contributed a lot to the improvement.
“Quite true, she has,” Jason admitted. “But she is with him for only comparatively short times, whereas you have the task of keeping his spirits up day after day. And that’s very important.”
And he had smiled, but there was nothing personal in it. To him the past was dead, and she would be wise to remember that. Yet when, by chance, she discovered that he was not married, she experienced a moment of foolish exhilaration. She might mean nothing to him, but at least no one else had taken her place in his heart.
A week later Kit was wondering how on earth she could have been so optimistic as to imagine that life at Moneyhill was going to be serene and uncomplicated.
The first hint of trouble came one morning when Mr. Baylis asked Kit if she would mind taking a message to his wife.
“I’d ring for one of the maids,” he apologized. “But I know my wife must be on the point of leaving for work, and I don’t want to miss her.”
Assuring him that she did not mind in the least, Kit ran lightly downstairs only to come to a halt as she reached the hall. Not that she had any doubt where to find Mrs. Baylis, for the study door was ajar, and her voice, cold but under perfect control, was clearly audible.
Kit Cavendish-Private Nurse Page 3