Ship's Surgeon

by Celine Conway

  “What’s all this?” Bill came in, looking himself but in some way a little different. “All right, Miss Dalton. I’ll handle it.”

  The nursing assistant was happy to vanish. Pat’s instinct was to slide back under the blanket, but she ignored it.

  “I’d like a dressing-gown, if you don’t mind, Doctor,” she said without a tremor. “I can’t walk back to my cabin like this.”

  “No, you can’t, can you?” he said expressionlessly. “Before you leave the sick bay I must have your temperature and pulse. And I want you to tell me how you feel.”

  “I’m a bit stiff—haven’t swum so far for a long time—but exercise will put that right.” She submitted to the thermometer and his fingers on her wrist, and afterwards said, “Now please may I go?”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Her head bent, she answered, “No, there’s more, but I want to look and feel normal before I say it.”

  He studied her. “That’s fair enough. I’ll get you a gown and take you to your cabin. I don’t suppose you’re hungry, but you must have a light lunch—not in the dining-room.”

  “I want to be normal,” she said tremulously. “You’re not helping me at all.”

  “It certainly won’t help you to meet all the other passengers at one go. They know all about that surprise swim you took.”

  She lifted dark-ringed eyes, met his glance and lowered her own. “Yes. I hadn’t thought of that.” A pause. “Thank you for coming in after me last night. I was almost exhausted.”

  “ You’d have made it to the buoy,” he said offhandedly. “I’ll find the wrap.”

  It was her green one; it must have been hanging nearby. She belted it with shaky fingers, wished to heaven he’d go away and leave her to find her way alone. He didn’t, of course. Without speaking he took her forearm in a firm grip and put his other arm round her. She did feel weak, but she didn’t lean on him; she also took care not to look at any of the passengers they met in the foyer and corridors. He went inside her cabin with her, took the dressing-gown from her shoulders and hung it up.

  “You’ve got part of your own way,” he said, “but you’re not getting more. You’re going into bed and staying there for the rest of the day—and no visitors. Tomorrow we dock at Fremantle, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Till then, you’ll keep out of circulation. And you don’t need a bath right now; wait till tonight. Get into bed.”

  “At least let me wash and tidy up,” she said dispiritedly.

  “Very well. Go ahead.”

  “I can’t do it while you’re here. What do you think I am?”

  “I think you’re the most stubborn, uncomprehending patient I ever had,” he said curtly. “Go on—I’m not watching you.”

  “If I promise to get into bed you don’t have to stay.”

  “I’m not arguing. Have your damned wash or I’ll wash you myself.”

  She began to fill the basin. “What’s the matter with you? I didn’t ask you to dive in after me last night. I’m thankful you did, but...”

  “Will you shut up for a minute!” he barked at the porthole.

  Startled into silence, Pat soaped her hands and face, rinsed them in cold water and tapped them dry. She combed back her sticky hair, took clean pyjamas from a drawer and placed them on the wall tray above the bed. She slipped between the sheets and was surprisingly grateful to find herself resting again. Last night’s experience had taken more out of her than she had thought.

  He turned round. With the bright fight behind his head his face looked dark and intent. “That’s better,” he said. “I’ll send you some fish and a cold pudding with coffee. Read, write, do what you like, but don’t get up till I say you may.”

  “You said no visitors, but there’s someone I must see. No, don’t shake your head—I have to see her.”

  “Her?”

  “This is in confidence—you won’t tell anyone?”

  “I have to keep a good many secrets.”

  “Yes, I know. Bill...” she stopped and bit her lip, started again. “Doctor Norton...”

  “Well?” He sounded taut as a steel spring.

  “I have to see Mrs. Fenley—you know, the millionaire’s fiancée. I can’t explain why, but I must see her. And I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

  Bill seemed to be stopped in his tracks. It was quite some time before he replied, “It would be much better if you forgot the whole thing for a while. Have your lunch, then a nap, and tackle the business afterwards. You’ll feel more able to face things.”

  A coolness feathered over Pat’s skin. “What is there to ... to face? Has she said anything about ... our talk?”

  He threw out a hand. “What’s the use of trying to save you pain? You just won’t have it. I never knew anyone like you in my whole life. You make me sick, angry ... and pretty well everything else.”

  “Is this leading up to something?” she asked fearfully. “What’s happened? Don’t try to break it gently. It’s so much worse to be uncertain...”

  “Hold on, now,” he said roughly. “If you start getting excited I’ll pump something into you that will knock you out till tomorrow!”

  “All right,” she said, holding herself in. “Tell me.”

  He did, baldly and without emotion. “Mrs. Fenley’s dead. She went under before they could reach her.”

  “Drowned?” Pat whispered, her eyes huge and unbelieving. “Did she ... fall too?” Her head sank right back into the pillow and she closed her eyes. “Kristin ... why did she? Nothing is that bad ... is it?”

  Bill was close, bending over her and speaking urgently. “I didn’t want to start this talk now. I can see it’s terribly distressing and about the worst thing for you, till you feel quite fit. Yes, Mrs. Fenley fell too. If it was an accident, God knows how the two of you managed it, but we got you out and she wasn’t a good enough swimmer to make it. You don’t have to say any more—not yet.”

  She looked at him, almost sightlessly. “But I want to.” She swallowed. “Kristin was upset; she was going to throw herself over the rail. I tried to stop her, but ... well, I think she must have been panicky and gripped on to me.” Panicky ... or evil? Pat shivered. “Poor Mr. Corey.”

  Bill nodded. “He took it hard. He may want to speak to you about it later on. What will you tell him?”

  “The truth.”

  “And what is the truth?” he asked. “The woman had the same name as you have, you’re calling her Kristin, and your being out there on deck together at that time of night couldn’t have been coincidental.” His eyes narrowed. “What was that woman to you, Patsy? For the moment, it’s between you and me.”

  “She was my ... stepmother.”

  Bill straightened slowly. “The deuce she was! That explains a good deal. Corey didn’t know, of course, and she meant that he shouldn’t. The facts are beginning to fall into place.” He shook his head angrily. “It beats me how you’ve got through this trip at all. You must have had the hell of a time, and you’ve kept every single detail to yourself! You know something? I was never more glad than when we passed Deva Wadia into the keeping of her parents. I thought you were at last free of worry, and there could be no more escapades like that ghastly night we found you on your hands and knees in the stateroom! But oh, no. Deva only made way for something far more shattering. That woman wanted you out of the way, and you knew it. Yet you took the risk of being alone with her in conditions...” He had to break off.

  She saw him above her, nostrils thinned, a muscle so tensed in his jaw that it distorted the line. She had never seen Bill so pale; it was frightening.

  “The truth I shall tell Mr. Corey,” she said thinly, “isn’t what you think. I shall tell him that I saw her on deck, that she was leaning too far over the rail, that I urged her to get back, that she fell and I fell with her. That is the truth.”

  “But it leaves out the essentials!”

  “He’s a good man,” s
aid Pat. “I’d hate him to know he’d been fooled; it might put him off other women. Besides myself, you’re the only one who knows that Kristin and I were ... connected. I’m telling no one else, and neither must you. Promise me!”

  “I’ll promise if you’ll tell me the whole works. Not now, but some time later.”

  She replied in lacklustre tones. “Yes, I’ll tell you. If you see Mr. Corey, be kind to him. It must be appalling to lose someone you love as he loved Kristin. You don’t have to remember the sort of person she really was—only what she was to Vernon Corey. And ... and Bill, if he wants to come and see me, let him. He and I sort of ... understand each other.”

  Bill turned to the door. His voice was harsh and controlled. “You’ve sure got some explaining to do, but leave it. I’m still going to send you some lunch, and you must try to eat. I’ll tell Corey just what you want him to know. You’ve done all you can. Rest now.”

  Vaguely, she had the feeling that Bill was badly hurt in some way. He didn’t even look back as he left the cabin. She closed her eyes again, felt the throbbing of the ship’s engine, heard the hiss of spray beyond the porthole, smelled the familiar ship’s smell and tasted tears in her throat. She didn’t want to cry; after last night she had hardly a tear left. Just once, she relived those seconds when she and Kristin were struggling on the rail; she had pushed at Kristin’s waist, had actually felt her begin slithering down towards the deck, but in that instant something else had happened. What was it?

  Almost unconsciously, Pat moved her wrist, and with the sudden ache she knew. Kristin had cracked down with all the strength of her fist on that wrist, to make Pat leave go of the steel support. It must have happened not quite as planned because Kristin herself had been so unsafe that she had over-reached and hurtled downward in the narrow dress which, when wet, would have bound her long elegant legs together almost as securely as if they had been roped.

  Pat sweated, and suffered. When the stewardess brought the luncheon tray she mistook the complete inertia for sleep, and carried it away again. At three o’clock she brought lemon tea and toast, shoved a couple of extra pillows behind Pat’s back and said cheerfully,

  “Well, that little doze has done you the world of good. Eat your toast, dearie. I shouldn’t worry about pyjamas—much cooler like that, and who’s to see you, except the doctor? He won’t notice, anyway. Sister Edwards said he’s in a brute of a mood—probably because it’s his last day. Tomorrow night we have our old doctor back. He won’t be in a good mood, either, though he’s had the longest honeymoon I’ve ever heard of. That’s right, eat up. Shall I bring you some cakes or fruit?”

  “No, thank you, but I’m grateful for the toast. I must be empty.”

  “You frightened everyone to death.” She closed up, no doubt remembering that Pat had not been alone on the deck, but went chatty in another direction. “Pity you’re shut up in here for the day. They’ve got a children’s party on the sun deck and there’s a super film on tonight—a comedy. And then I suppose there’ll be a sort of midnight drink party as a farewell to Dr. Norton. One of the stewards is packing for him now, though we don’t dock till tomorrow afternoon—probably leave at noon the following day. Sure you wouldn’t like some more toast?”

  “No, I’ve had plenty, thanks. You may take the tray.”

  “Like anything special for supper?”

  “I’ll think about it when the time comes. Don’t worry about me. I think I’ll read.”

  After the stewardess had gone she did take her book from the tray and open it; but the print danced and she pushed the book away. She couldn’t even rouse herself to change into pyjamas. She was alone. No one cared how she looked, and it was very unlikely that Vernon Corey would come to see her.

  Poor man. He hadn’t been in love with the real Kristin, but perhaps, in time, events would prove that she had done for him what no other woman had so far accomplished—made him want marriage. He would meet someone else, and because Kristin had roused a need in him he would fall in love again—and this time there would be no grief; life surely wouldn’t stab him in the same place twice?

  If Pat hadn’t been forbidden to leave the cabin she would have got up and dressed and taken a walk. It was being confined here that made her feel slack and unwanted. She wouldn’t think about Kristin, and the dreadful justice of her end. Some time she would have to tell the twins, but it wouldn’t penetrate very deeply with them because their mother had always been a shadowy creature, even when she lived with them. No one but Pat would ever know the depths of Kristin’s character. Bill, of course, but he’d immerse himself in tropical medicine and forget.

  Pat’s mouth twisted. You might say Bill Norton was already in transit from the Walhara to Suva in the Fijis. Mentally, anyway. Would that girl who lived with him in his cabin, who had “never let him down”—would she be at Fremantle to meet him? Probably. He’d no doubt cabled her days ago, and she’d be there to charm him out of the brute of a mood.

  The sun had gone down but it was still light outside when Bill Norton knocked and walked straight into the cabin. “Glad to see you sitting up,” he said, but didn’t look at her closely. Seemed to avoid it, in fact. “People have been asking after you—sent their regards and good wishes.”

  “Thank you. Did you see Mr. Corey?”

  He nodded briefly. “It was grim, but I think he believed what you wanted him to. He’s leaving the ship tomorrow, too. Says he couldn’t bear another five or six days on board.”

  “I feel so achingly sorry for him.”

  “On the whole I’m not sure that I do. He’s better off without the kind of wife she would have been. Are those brothers of yours only half-brothers?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was their mother?” When she had given him another affirmative he said, “You certainly clammed up about it, didn’t you?”

  “You sound almost ... bitter.”

  “That’s the way I feel—shut out, ignored. If I’d been another passenger I could understand it at least a little. But a doctor is a privileged person—one you can trust with your confidence, who’ll advise and help. Up to a point we were also friends; I hope so, anyway. You had no right to wade through everything alone, no right to treat me as a stranger, almost as an enemy.”

  “There were threats. I don’t have to go into them, but I was so afraid something I might say would injure the boys. Kristin forced my hand...” She let it tail off.

  “Forget it for a bit.” He looked at her then, at her pale face, the strong slim shoulders, and abruptly he asked, “What do you feel about me, Patsy?”

  She stiffened with pure fright. He wouldn’t lead up to anything of that kind—not Bill. Straight out, so that he could see how she took it. Sitting there, she felt so darned defenceless, but she did manage to infuse vexation into her tones.

  “What in the world do you mean by that?”

  “Just what I said. I know you do feel something, and I know the reason you feel it, but what is it, exactly?”

  “I still don’t know what you’re getting at.” She gestured nervously. “I feel friendship for you, and gratitude for last night...”

  “Hell, there must be more than that,” he said, exasperated. “What about that night I kissed you? If I’d been more gentle you’d have responded. I felt it.”

  “And you’d have hated it,” she returned swiftly. “So what?”

  “All right, I’ll put it another way. How much of that faithful heart of yours is still with that Alan puppy?”

  Pat’s heart, already beating fast, began to leap about where it didn’t belong. “It’s not fair to question me like this. Supposing I were to demand what you felt about me?”

  “I’d tell you,” he said. “And quick.”

  Her hand moved jerkily on the turned-down sheet. “You have me entirely at a disadvantage, and you ask questions that are not only embarrassing, they’re downright unethical in a ship’s doctor!”

  “Ha!” Derision and disgust turned th
e exclamation into almost a snarl. He flung off his jacket. “The braid’s gone, and I’m a man. I’m not your doctor, Patsy. I’m the man who’s going to marry you, but first I want to know where I stand. How much were you in love with that scruffy houseman in England?”

  Pat’s hand had flown to her throat; she stared at him. “Not very much,” she said faintly.

  “But you’d have married him!”

  “I might have, because I thought I was in love with him.”

  “And when did you discover that you weren’t?”

  “When he married someone else. My feelings were hurt because he must have been deceiving me for some time, but it didn’t tear me to bits, as it should have.” Her voice shook. “What was that you ... you said just now?”

  “I’m going to marry you,” he said, and took her into his arms. But after he’d kissed her just once, very thoroughly, he said, “Damn this bunk-board. Come on out so that I can hold you.”

  She laughed softly, but with a note of hysteria, as he lifted her to the floor. “Do you really love me, Bill?” she entreated him.

  “I love you, I want you ... and what’s more I need you. And let me tell you this—I never before needed any woman ... any woman.” His voice thickened as he hauled her close. “Say you love me, Patsy.”

  “I do love you, Bill. I know it’s the real thing because it never happened to me before. Never.”

  He kissed her neck and shoulders, again found her lips. “We’ll get a special licence in Fremantle,” he said. “Then we’ll fly down to Melbourne and see this uncle of yours. If we like the look of him we’ll let him have the boys.”

  “I can’t decide about them yet,” she said dreamily. “I have to get used to this.”

  “I’ll do the deciding—those twins have a brother now. If they’re in Australia we’ll be able to have them for part of the long school vacation. They can fly in very easily.” Resolutely, he let her go and flung her wrap about her shoulders. “For the love of Mike get into some clothes. My cabin is also a sitting room, and we can talk there without ... well ...” he broke off.