by Jane Corrie
'The girl you were just talking about?' asked Cara. 'The one who used to be a student nurse?'
He nodded abruptly. 'And now works in an office,' he added bitterly, then looked at Cara. 'She's my niece,' he explained. 'And a nicer girl you couldn't wish to meet. Oh, not because she's my sister's
daughter. You ask anyone; they all liked her.'
Cara settled herself on the edge of the desk where she had been collecting the notes made on the patients' progress that morning. 'Tell me about her, Armand, and why she left,' she requested quietly.
Armand turned back to continue his work in clearing the area, and Cara had a feeling that he resented her curiosity, though it was more than that for her, and she had a vague suspicion that she was going to wish she hadn't asked. 'I'm sorry, Armand,' she said swiftly. 'It's none of my business, forget it.' She was taking the coward's way out, and she knew it, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, could it?
His quick reassuring grin made her spirits sink, for she knew she was going to hear all about it whether she wanted to or not.
'You're in it,' he said slowly, leaving Cara wondering just what he meant by that, then he continued, this time on a more sober note. 'You told me you used to live here before you went back to England,' he said, and giving her another quick look asked, 'What do you know about the villa you've leased?'
Now in no doubt as to where the conversation was leading, Cara flushed a delicate pink, and she debated whether to deny all knowledge concerning the past history of the villa, but her flush gave her away and seeing it Armand gave her an amused look. 'Ah, you English,' he said teasingly. 'We French take such things as a matter of course. So you did know,' he said more as a statement than a question, and Cara could hardly say otherwise, not now.
Still slightly embarrassed, she said almost apologetically, 'Well, let's say I guessed. I wasn't all that old, you know, when I left,' she ended lamely, not knowing what else to say.
'The lady in question,' went on Armand with an air of producing a rabbit out of a hat, 'was Mrs Besson, a retired naval officer's widow.'
Cara just stared at him. Besson! That was Matron's surname! It couldn't have been Matron .. 'Matron's ...' she was about to ask when Armand finished the sentence for her.
'Her mother,' he said blithely.
Cara was extremely glad she was sitting, or at least resting her weight on something. Was that the reason why Matron wanted the villa? she wondered.
As if picking up her trend of thought, Armand gave a swift nod. 'Thinks she's entitled to it,' he said casually. 'Only the new owner doesn't,' he added significantly.
Cara stared down at the polished floor at her feet, seeing not her small neat feet encased in the uniform white brogues, but the face of Pierre Morelon. for it was he that Armand was talking about.
For reasons of her own Cara did not want to pursue the matter, but she did want to know what had happened to the previous tenant. 'What happened to Mrs Besson?' she asked quickly.
Armand looked a little disappointed at the swift change of subject but answered, 'Oh, she died about a year ago. Heart attack.'
Closely watching him, Cara was sure he had a spark of amusement in his eyes, and when he went on to add a few more details she was sure of it. 'It was rumoured that it happened shortly after the reading of Monsieur Morelon's will. Her expectations were not fulfilled, apparently, and she worked herself up to a frenzy.'
Cara's depression deepened and as before she fervently wished she had not asked for these confidences, but she could see no way of stopping her willing informant from giving her the rest of the story.
'It was all rumoured that there had been a difference of opinion ' continued Armand persistently. 'There was another gentleman in the case, a certain colonel that she entertained. And that,' concluded Armand sourly, 'is why Jan didn't stand a chance. Not with the daughter of Mrs Besson, anyway.'
The sudden switch back to the original subject of the conversation threw Cara completely, and she looked as lost as she felt.
`Jan's mother worked for Mrs Besson,' explained Armand. 'What you would call a daily help in England,' he added helpfully, not that this in any way enlightened Cara, who was still lost.
`Mrs Besson was convinced it was Jan's mother who had spilt the beans, as you might say, about the visits of the Colonel. She had been very careful to keep the visits a secret. She was,' he said curtly, 'a very vindictive woman, and made it her business to see that my sister, Jan's mother, did not get another domestic job.' His lips folded tight before he added, 'And she needed the money, too. She was a widow, with three children to bring up.'
He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke again and nodded towards the door of the room, 'And she's the same,' he said, meaning presumably the Matron, Cara thought. 'She hounded Jan from
o
the moment she arrived at the hospital for training, and didn't let up until Jan had given her notice in.'
Cara didn't know what to say, although it did strike her that it was hardly credible that someone could carry on a vendetta like that, particularly as the person concerned had died. It seemed so pointless and she ventured to mention this to Armand, but he had the answer to that, too, and one that Cara could not argue with.
'Money,' he said curtly. 'Old Jean-Paul was a very rich man. There was no doubt that if Mrs Besson hadn't decided to burn both ends of the candle she would have been a very wealthy woman after his death. There is also no doubt that the villa would have been hers, too.' He nodded once more towards the door. 'She used to live there with her mother before she went to France for training, and she was expecting to come back to it when she took up her appointment here last year. By that time it was all over. Jean-Paul had died, and her mother shortly after.'
Cara felt a pang of sympathy towards the Matron; in a sense her case had been similar to her own. She too had hoped to return to the home she had known and shared with her only parent. 'How sad for her,' she said quietly. 'It must have been a terrible homecoming for her.'
Armand gave her a surprised look, then shook his head. 'Not sad,' he commented, 'frustrating, yes. She wasn't fond of her mother, if that's what you're thinking. They didn't get on at all. My sister saw enough of them together to vouch for that, and she's not one for idle gossip. Mrs Besson must have known that or she wouldn't have employed her in
the first place. It was sheer spite that made her take it out of Marie. The same goes for the daughter, she was expecting to come into a small fortune.'
Cara now had to do some rapid rethinking; but somehow it didn't add up. Matron had not sounded bitter about Monsieur Morelon. In fact she had been just the opposite, even patronising when his name was mentioned. 'I still don't see why Matron should want the villa,' she said perplexedly. 'Unless,' she mused, 'she's in lodgings and wants somewhere to live on her own.'
Armand gave her a pitying look. 'You've met the son, I presume?' he asked sardonically.
Cara frowned, 'Yes,' she replied still mystified. 'But I still don't see ...' Then she did see—most graphically; Pierre Morelon was a very handsome man—he had also inherited the Morelon wealth.
Her eyes widened as the implication hit her, and seeing her expression, Armand nodded in a satisfied way. There was no need of further explanation.
CHAPTER SIX
FOR the rest of that week Cara felt as though she was living on a cliff edge that any day might crumble under her feet and !ling her into an abyss There was no doubt that Matron would eventually find out that the villa had been let—and to whom!
There was one small crumb of comfort she could derive, though; she had told Matron that Jean-Paul Morelon had been her father's patron, and in view of this, she might accept the situation and not unleash her disappointment on Cara. There was also lonthe reference she had received from Pierre More-
, and surely this, too, would safeguard her against any comebacks.
On the face of things there was nothing for Cara to worry about, yet she had a niggling f
eeling at the back of her mind that while Matron might accept Cara's recommendation from Pierre Morelon for a position at the hospital, she would not be so complacent over his leasing the villa to her—particularly as she was the other interested party.
Armand's hints that Matron had a specific goal in mind that had nothing to do with sentiment—at least where her mother was concerned—did not help matters one little bit but decidedly complicated them.
As Cara had not needed further elucidation from Armand on the situation, neither did she need the services of a fortune-teller to give her the end result
should things go wrong. Matron's hounding of the nurse Jan would pale into insignificance against the war she would wage against Cara if she thought Cara was moving into what she considered her territory, in other words was developing a romantic tendresse for Pierre Morelon
Had this state of affairs prevailed in England, Cara would have been able to shrug it off as an annoying distraction, but nothing else, and if things did get sticky she would have been able to look for another situation elsewhere. But this was not England, and without a work permit Cara would have to leave the island she thought of as home, and the thought made her more sensitive to the situation than she might otherwise have been. She was in no doubt that should the Matron set her mind to it, she could by various ways and means remove Cara from the hospital.
When thoughts such as these crowded in on her, she found herself wishing that Armand had not been so forthcoming, even though she realised it was his way of forewarning her of possible repercussions once the Matron had learned her new address. There was no point in using delaying tactics either. The sooner she altered her address the better, for if she failed to do this she could be accused of trying to conceal it, and making matters worse than they already were.
Her best ploy, she told herself, was ignorance. She had been away from Totorua for a long time and past gossip would mean nothing to her. It wouldn't have done either, if Armand hadn't made it his business to enlighten her, she thought miserably. Matron would not know this, and should any oblique reference to the villa be made by her, Cara would feign total ignorance on the whole issue.
For two days after she had changed her address everything went as normal, and Cara began to wonder if she hadn't let her imagination get the better of her and the whole thing was just a storm in a teacup. She was on the point of convincing herself of this, when a happening on the third day put her firmly back on the cliff edge again.
It began when a new patient was brought in for treatment by one of the ward nurses, who was about to leave the room when she caught sight of Cara gently manipulating an elderly woman's arm in an effort to try and get some movement out of it.
'Cara Vernon! ' she exclaimed in unconcealed delight. 'Remember me, Maaua?'
Cara looked up from her task with the same amount of delighted surprise as shown by the young Polynesian- nurse who now held out a slim honey-coloured hand towards her.
Maaua was Tu-Tu's granddaughter, but the fact caused Cara no trepidation at that time, she was only too delighted to find someone she had known and played with during her stay in Totorua. At last she had met someone who could bring her all the news of the village and the playmates she had grown up with.
As it was not possible for the girls to talk there, Cara asked Maaua what lunch break she would be taking and arranged to meet her afterwards in the-staff lounge.
The lounge was ideal for the girls' purpose, for at that time of day it was hardly used by other staff and enabled Cara and Maaua to catch up on
the news between them without any interruption or interested bystanders.
Many of the girls Cara had known had now married, and two of them had families. Maaua had been the youngest of the group, and Cara thought that she must now be about nineteen years of age, and had grown into quite a beauty, with large, dark honey-coloured eyes that lit up when they spoke of the past.
When all the news in this direction had been exhausted, Cara gave her news, and how she had trained as a physiotherapist, and applied for a job at the hospital.
'We all knew that we'd got a new member of staff,' Maaua said, 'and that she was English, but I never dreamed that it was you. I thought it was terrible for you when you had to leave,' she added sympathetically. 'And I couldn't understand why you had to go.'
'Neither could I,' agreed Cara with a grin. 'Now I'm glad I went. It's not easy to get a job here, you know, and if I hadn't qualified as a physiotherapist, I wouldn't have been able to come back, at least not to stay,' she amended with a smile.
The time flew by and soon they were due to return to their duties. Cara, after finding out that Maaua had a room in the nurses' hostel, invited her to visit her at the villa one evening if she was ever at a loose end. 'It's not far from here,' she told her, 'not if you use the short cut through the archway and that will bring you to the back of the villa.'
It took a moment or so for Maaua to realise what place Cara was referring to and when she did, she gave a deep chuckle and raised her dark eyebrows
in query as she asked Cara, 'Do you know who owns that villa?' with just a hint of mischief in her voice.
Cara blinked quickly and felt a tremor of discomfort but managed to answer blandly enough, 'Oh, yes, Monsieur Morelon, of course. His father was my father's patron, you know,' she added for good measure in case Maaua had other ideas on the-subject.
Maaua's grin widened, showing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, and Cara gave her a searching look. She hadn't remembered what had happened the day she was brought back to the village, had she? Even so, she told herself stoutly, she couldn't have known who the man was.
A few minutes later she was asking herself just how wrong she could be. To her utter consternation, Maaua not only recalled the event, but knew the man had been Pierre Morelon
'For goodness' sake,' pleaded a thoroughly worried Cara, 'don't mention a word of that ridiculous happening. I'd forgotten it,' she lied, 'and so has Monsieur Morelon, so please, Maaua, don't ever mention it again.'
Maaua's lovely eyes widened at Cara's vehemence, and Cara was immediately contrite. She was making mountains out of molehills again. 'I'm sorry, Maaua,' she said quickly. 'It's just that it could make things awkward for me if that story got around the hospital. Not that there was anything in it,' she added casually, and -gave Maaua an accusing look. 'Your grandfather must have taken a dislike to poor Pierre Morelon to have attempted to frighten him like that.'
Maaua grinned at this. 'Sure gave us something to talk about,' she said wickedly. 'Place was buzzing with the news for days.'
Cara gave her another searching look, and then grew thoughtful. 'Did Tu-Tu know who he was?' she asked.
Maaua nodded vigorously. 'My granddaddy knew everything,' she said simply.
The news did not surprise Cara one little bit, she had somehow known this. 'Well, I'm glad,' she said airily, trying to shrug off the odd sensation that had once again made itself felt, "that Monsieur Morelon took it in his stride. He could have made trouble for Tu-Tu, you know.'
Maaua simply shrugged at this, as if it were of no account, then she asked Cara a question. 'Did he recognise you?'
By 'he' she obviously meant Pierre Morelon, and Cara bit her lower lip in vexation; she would rather not have to answer that question at that particular time. `No, thank goodness,' she got out slowly, adding hastily, 'It would have been too embarrassing for words if he had. So you see why, Maaua, I want it to stay that way.'
Maaua nodded thoughtfully, and realising that Cara was asking for her co-operation in this, assured her with a sober, 'Well, I won't say anything.'
Her reply reassured Cara who thanked her fervently, and reminded her to call in on her one evening, and this Maaua promised to do when her beau of the moment gave her a free evening out.
It was a pity from Cara's point of view that Maaua hadn't been able to resist adding a mischievous rider to their previous conversation. 'Grand-
daddy was never proved
wrong,' she said with a grin just before the girls parted, and Cara's partly amused answer of, 'Well, there's always a first time,' sent Maaua off on her way chuckling, and left Cara gazing thoughtfully after her.
A day later Matron sent for Cara, and Cara, who had been half expecting such a summons, tried to convince herself that it was only natural that Matron should want to know how she was getting on with her work, and that there was no reason to 'suspect that she had an ulterior motive in asking to see her. However, by the time she knocked on Matron's office door and waited for permission to enter, her knees felt decidedly weak.
One look at Miss Besson's face told Cara that if she did ask her how she was getting on with the work, it would only be a preliminary skirmish to what would most certainly follow.
'Ah, Miss Vernon,' purred Matron in a tone of voice that immediately put Cara in mind of the cat that had swallowed the canary, and now had one paw in the goldfish bowl for the second course, 'how are you getting on?'
Cara swallowed before she answered, 'Fine, thank you, Matron. No problems at all.'
She ought to have added, 'so far', as the look Matron sent her plainly intimated that she was about to change that state of affairs.
'And how are you getting on in your new home?' she asked the apprehensive Cara.
Well, at least she didn't intend to beat about the bush, thought Cara. 'Oh, fine,' was all she could come up with, realising that she must sound like a parrot that had only one word in its repertory, but
at least it stopped her from blurting out,' I didn't know you wanted it,' which would have been disastrous, like laying down a dummy hand at bridge and leaving your opponents in full possession of the contents of the hand.
'I'm rather interested in that property myself,' went on Matron conversationally, and then glanced up from the papers she had been glancing at on her desk as if to give the impression that she was only making idle conversation, but she now gave Cara her full attention. 'Just how well do you know Monsieur Morelon?' she asked baldly.