by Jane Corrie
given, she managed to coax an acceptance from him to come and dine with her the following evening, and received an amused, 'They do feed me, you know,' reply.
The next item on Cara's agenda was the making-up of the material she had bought for her pare us. She had enough material to make herself three, and being an able needlewoman, envisaged no difficulty in this task. She had found a small enclosed arbour at the back of the villa that provided her with complete privacy, either for sunbathing or for pottering around the small rock garden, that now showed signs of slight neglect, and which Cara would take much pleasure in bringing back to order. It was here that she would be able to wear her chosen dress without arousing comment. This would be her domain; for five days a week she would have to submit to convention, the weekends were hers to do as she pleased. She did not seek companionship, and would welcome the peace her enchanting new home would offer her. She gave a contented sigh at the thought; if her work came up to expectations, she would consider herself a very lucky person.
In this happy frame of mind Cara started to make her pareus. It did not take long, for it was more a question of how much material would be needed for each garment, giving herself ample room for movement, and -since she was a modest person, making sure that the front piece retained a decorous height that revealed only her bare slim shoulders.
Nevertheless, she thought as she tried the first one on, she could not see herself wearing it in Uncle Theo's presence; the poor lamb would be horrified. She grinned at her thoughts and if he
only knew—she pulled a wry face as she tried the second one on. In many ways her uncle had reminded her of her father, but in this instance there would have been a difference. Her father would have made some wry quip, and even alluded to the past, an incident that would have caused him much amusement. She bit her lower lip as the wetness formed in her eyes. Oh, how she missed him, with his no-nonsense approach to life, and his irrepressible sense of humour that made light of otherwise vexing situations.
It was a pity, she told herself, that she hadn't inherited her father's philosophic views on life. She had a sense of humour, of course, and thank goodness for that, but she was apt to meet her fences before she came to them, as the saying goes. She was also a little on the reserved side, and hated fuss of any kind. In this, she suspected she took after her Uncle Theo, since she could not remember a great deal of her mother.
She was just about to slip off the second pareu and try on the third, when a bell pealed from the front of the villa. Cara frowned; it must be the front door bell, yet she was not expecting a visitor. It couldn't, she told herself as she made her way to the door, be Uncle Theo. He was not the sort of person who did anything on impulse, and in any case, he wasn't due until the next evening.
Sheer curiosity as to who her visitor was made her unaware of her apparel, but as she opened the door and met the slightly surprised eyes of Pierre Moreton as he took in her mode of dress, she was made painfully aware of the fact.
Her cheeks flamed pink as she noted the way his
ME ISLAND BRIDE
gaze slid lightly over her figure, and his voice was more reserved than it had been when he had last spoken to her. He's embarrassed, she thought wretchedly, and no wonder I How could I have been so thoughtless!
'I was just passing,' he began mildly, 'and thought I would see how you were settling in.'
'Very well, thank you,' Cara managed to stammer out, and wished miserably that she could ask him in, but the chances were that he would refuse— well, he would have to, wouldn't he? she argued silently with herself.
As if aware of her dilemma and deriving, Cara suspected, a certain amount of amusement from it, he said dryly, 'Well, I won't stay. If there's anything you need—anything, that is, in the household line, you know where to find me,' and with an amused nod of the head he made his departure.
Cara stood looking at his tall broad back as he made his way through the courtyard and out on to the boulevard. Just what did he mean by that? she wondered as she slowly went inside the villa again and closed the door.
Anything in the household line, he had said, as if she was likely to ask for anything else. 'Oh, dear,' she muttered softly, 'he must be wondering just what sort of a new tenant he's landed himself with!'
So much for her privacy, she thought sadly; the very first time she had worn the pareu since her return and she had had to have a visitor. She shrugged lightly. As least he was not likely to repeat the visit, and it wasn't as if she had had prior , warning of the visit, so she couldn't be accused of any ulterior motive in appearing in what the European would
describe as a state of half-dress!
The thought considerably cheered her up, and she started planning the meal she would give her uncle the next evening, and made out a list of the provisions she would have to get in.
So the weekend slipped peacefully by, and in no time, it seemed to Cara, Monday was upon her, and armed with the reference provided by Pierre Morelon she presented herself for duty at the hospital.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN Cara arrived at the hospital on Monday morning, she made her way straight to the Matron's office, and was about to knock on her door when a pleasant-faced young nurse who was on her way through the corridor told her that Matron had started her rounds.
As Cara was uncertain as to her next step, the little nurse suggested that perhaps she might like to be shown her office, since she must be the new physiotherapist who Matron had said would be starting that morning.
Cara gratefully accepted the offer and was led down the corridor and out across a small covered section towards what looked like an added wing to the hospital.
Eventually they came to an area of the hospital that housed the office staff encompassing records and the appointment desk, and Cara realised that they had arrived back at the front of the hospital.
The nurse had not said much during the journey, but Cara took her silence as shyness, for she understood the Polynesian nature well, it was part of their charm, and when the girl smilingly indicated an office next to the physiotherapy room, Cara thanked her for her help and said that she hoped that she hadn't taken up too much of her time, whereupon the young nurse replied that she was
going off duty anyway, but was happy to be of assistance.
The office was small but adequate for her needs, and contained a desk and a chair, and two filing cabinets. Cara sat down in the chair behind the desk and surveyed her domain with a feeling of accomplishment; she had arrived!
A glance at her watch told her that it was a quarter past nine, and she wondered how long the Matron's rounds would take and whether she ought to wander out and introduce herself to some of the people that she would be working with, but on second thoughts decided that she ought to wait for Matron to do the introducing. It would not do for her to step out of line on her first morning, as anxious as she was to start work.
To pass the time, Cara went through the filing system, and found the files woefully short of previous data. It looked as if a big clear-out had been enforced, but no doubt the previous records would be located in the records office should they be required, and Cara hoped that it would not be long before the files were bulging once again with the data of patients' treatment.
By nine-thirty she had explored all her domain, including a peep into the physiotherapy room next to her office and found it well equipped with the necessary aids the exercises required. All she needed now was a list of the patients at present receiving treatment, and she knew that there ought to have been an appointment book about somewhere but had failed to locate it. She must ask about this after she had seen Matron.
On this thought, as if entering on cue, the Matron walked into her office. `Ah, so you have found
your way here, I see,' she said on a note that sounded a little peevish to Cara's sensitive ears.
'I hope that was all right,' replied Cara hastily, thinking that perhaps she ought to have waited in Matron's office until, she had finishe
d the rounds. 'But one of the nurses told me you were on the rounds and asked if I'd like to see my office. I wasn't sure how long you would be, you see,' she ended slowly.
'Oh, that was quite all right,' replied Matron in a voice that suggested quite the opposite, and hoping to placate her Cara dug in her handbag for the reference Pierre Morelon had given her, and handed it to her with a quiet, 'I believe this is what you wanted.'
It was accepted with an abrupt nod and thrust into Matron's apron pocket with no accompanying remark, and Cara wondered if she need have bothered to get it anyway. Either the Matron had had a bad weekend, or she had not taken to her, Cara didn't know which, but fervently hoped it was just the normal Monday morning malady that seemed to affect all and sundry at one stage or another.
The rest of the morning Cara spent being introduced to various members of staff, a task taken over by one of Matron's deputies for which Cara breathed a sigh of relief. She knew Matron was a very busy person and had no wish to irritate her further by taking up her valuable time.
The appointment book was finally located in the physiotherapy room tucked into a drawer of a small desk used by the assistants delegated to help in the work, and it was almost midday before Cara could
actually begin to get down to her work, but she was thankful that the initial approach was over and she could now concentrate on the task ahead of her.
There were five new names to be added to her filing system already. These she had been given during consultations with the Sister of each ward she had visited, and who felt that certain patients might benefit from such treatment. On the whole, Cara thought satisfactorily, a very rewarding start to her work.
The following morning, and now wearing a white dress uniform provide& by the hospital, together with an impressive-looking badge pinned to her breast pocket that gave her status in gold lettering, Cara waited for her first patient to arrive.
The morning went well and Cara had no complaints about the staff detailed to help her, and found them to be a very competent team.
One member of staff, though, frankly puzzled her, for he seemed to be completely out of place in such work. His burly frame and six foot four height, and dark green overalls such as those worn by the hospital porters, made him look as if he had wandered in by mistake and decided to stay.
A few days later Cara found that her original thoughts on the subject of Armand were correct. He was a porter, and had made himself indispensable to the unit by his willingness to not only fetch and afterwards return the patients to their respective wards, but actually helping in the exercises given to the patients, particularly the less dexterous ones where his strength yet very gentle administration was required.
In the days that followed Cara found that Armand was a tower of strength in more ways than one, for although he was French he had a good command of English, as had most of the nursing staff. This was not the case with the majority of patients, and Armand took on the role of interpreter between Cara and her patients. It said a lot for Armand that none of the nursing staff took exception to this state of affairs; his nature was such that no one could take offence. He was entirely reliable and always lent a sympathetic ear to whatever grievances the young nurses aired from time to time.
The Matron, Cara discovered, was respected but not liked. Even Armand with his easy-going and understanding nature would be sure to side with the nurses on any dispute that involved the Matron, and Cara wondered if he had ever had a confrontation with her, but knowing Matron, Cara simply could not see her lowering her status by entering into any such situation with him. She would be more likely to delegate the task to some other authority. Whatever the cause of his dislike, Cara doubted if she would ever discover it, but it did rather intrigue her, since Armand was not the type of person to harbour a grudge against anyone.
Inevitably she heard scraps of gossip from time to time, and one particular piece gave her a nasty jolt. Her informant on this occasion was Armand, and as such could be relied upon to be absolutely authentic, and it concerned the Matron.
It started with the news that one of the student nurses had been severely reprimanded by Matron for what she termed as 'flagrant disregard of the rules' and the other nurses were discussing the matter. 'She'd got a date,' said one of them indignantly. 'She'd only slipped back to the hospital to give one of the girls a telephone message she'd taken for her at the hostel. As if she'd turn up for duty in high heels and a halterneck dress! She told Matron she was off duty, but it didn't make any difference.'
`Well, it wouldn't, would it?' piped up a young friend of hers: 'If you ask me she's got her knife in Nicola, just as she had with Jan. They were friends, remember.'
This remark prompted another nurse to ask Armand, 'How is Jan, Armand? I haven't seen her around lately.'
Armand shrugged expressively. 'Making out,' he replied tersely. 'Doing office work now. More money in it.'
'A crying shame, I call it,' commented the senior nurse in Cara's team. She was a promising student, too.'
'Well, we all tried to dissuade her from leaving,' commented another nurse. `So did you, didn't you, Armand? But I suppose we'd have felt the same if we were always getting picked on.'
The tight expression on Armand's normally pleasant face told Cara that perhaps she had the answer to Armand's dislike of Matron. Whoever Jan was, it was obvious that he had been very fond of her.
It would not, mused Cara, be a romantic involvement since Armand, at a guess, was in his early fifties, and although there was no hard and fast rule where affairs of the heart were concerned, Cara was sure his feelings were purely altruistic, and it would be in character for him to take a stand against oppression of any kind.
Tel
A quick glance at her watch told her that the last three patients would shortly be up from X-ray, and she hoped their arrival would conclude the discussion on past and recent happenings in the hospital. It would not do for any of the remarks to get back to Matron, even though the team conversed in English in deference to Cara, for which she was very grateful since French was their mother tongue but English, too, was a universal language, and there was no guarantee that some of the remarks would not be passed on.
Cara's position at that time was not an enviable one; she was in charge of the team, and as such she ought not to encourage gossip of that nature. To be strictly fair, Matron's role was not an easy one either. You couldn't please everyone, and rules and regulations had to be adhered to.
Fervently hoping that the goodwill that she had so far encountered would not be placed in jeopardy, Cara ventured to suggest that perhaps there was more to the episode than met the eye. To her consternation this was met with instant agreement, though not quite in the manner she had hoped for. Armand looked amused, and the girls looked pleased, leaving Cara with the impression that she had just made a profound statement, but in what connection she had no idea!
She might not have become enlightened had not Armand, who had stayed behind when the morning exercises were over in order to help clear away some of the implements used in the exercises, asked her how she was settling down, and the hostel wasn't too bad, was it?
The assumption that she was staying in the hostel
somewhat surprised Cara, but of course he knew nothing of her circumstances. There had been no occasion before to talk on personal matters, and although she knew it was a kindly enquiry on his part, she also sensed a certain amount of curiosity behind the question.
'I'm not staying at the hostel,' Cara replied. 'I've been very lucky in getting a lease on a villa here.' Seeing the look of surprise this statement produced from Armand, she explained her circumstances, and how the villa she had lived in -with her father had been commandeered for the new airport, ending with a bright, `So Monsieur Morelon offered me the Villa Pepite.'
The name. caused Armand to swiftly direct his attention from the walking aid he was just stacking neatly against the wall and give Cara a piercing look. His manner when he next spoke was decidedly
on the reserved side, as, against his normally friendly approach. 'Are you a friend of Matron's, then?' he asked stiffly.
Surprised, Cara replied hastily, 'No, not really. I hardly know her.'
Armand immediately relaxed his formal attitude and gave her a grin. `So she didn't get it,' he said half to himself, but Cara heard.
'Is there something I ought to know?' she queried, with a nasty suspicion that she was not going to like the answer.
Instead of replying to this, Armand asked her another question. 'Does Matron know your new address?' he asked with an innocent air as if certain of the answer before she gave it.
Cara took a minute to think this over, and had
to admit that the answer was no. The address given on her original application form had been her previous address and she had not yet altered it. 'No,' she said abruptly, and frowned at Armand. 'You haven't answered my question,' she said accusingly.
He was still not ready to answer, and Cara knew a spurt of frustration at his apparent absorption with his inner thoughts. 'I shouldn't be in too much of a hurry to alter your address,' he advised her with another grin as if savouring some secret amusement from the situation.
'Why?' demanded the now exasperated Cara.
Armand shrugged his burly shoulders. 'Matron's been after that property for the last year or so,' he said slowly, giving Cara a quick speculative look to see how she took the news.
Cara's lovely brown eyes opened wide in surprise, then she exclaimed woefully, 'Oh dear! It could be sticky at that, couldn't it? But how was I to know?' she argued reasonably more for her own benefit than for Armand's. She stared back at him. 'How did you know this?' she asked him curiously, for although she knew there was such a thing as the hospital grapevine where all snippets of news gradually filtered through the ranks, she could not see Matron noising her business abroad.
'Through Jan,' he replied tersely, now on the defensive.