"I'd be a funny sort of male if I didn't," he replied dryly, enjoying his drink with his shoulders at rest against the mantelpiece. Beneath the drawing-room lights his bronze hair was burnished, curling as obstinately as ever despite its close cutting. The gold flecks in his brown eyes turned them into the tiger eyes Laraine remembered so well from the days when she had first worn his college fraternity pin, then his engagement ring. But in those days his boldly curving mouth had been far more eager for hers than it had been tonight, and a tremor of angry pain ran through her shapely body.
"Damn you, Ross, for your obstinate pride," she was suddenly crying out inside herself. "Aren't you ever going to understand that I wanted a lovely, permanent home here in Cap Flamingo; a continuance of the life I had always known? I didn't want to spend my married life in hotel rooms with no other belongings but those I carried in a couple of suitcases!"
Her dark eyes dwelt on him, willing him fiercely to understand, but he was laughing at a remark of Diana's and pointedly ignoring her, it seemed.
When they returned to the drawing-room after dinner,
Fern only remained for a short while. The Kingdoms invariably treated her like one of the family, but tonight, with Laraine present, she felt that Jenifer and Ross had memories to share with the bewitching model which were not to be intruded upon by a comparative stranger. So she murmured a quiet goodnight and after assuring herself that Edwina was comfortable she enjoyed a leisurely bath and read in bed for a while. She finally switched off her bedside light and lay in the soft darkness listening to the rustling vines down in the patio and the hoarse, pulse-like throbbing of crickets. The room itself was redolent of Curtis Wayne's carnations, and Fern smiled a little when she thought of herself the previous evening, running along that lonely stretch of ocean road.
Her lashes drifted down over her eyes and she fell asleep... to awaken suddenly about an hour later. A sound of some sort had aroused her and she lifted herself on one elbow and listened intently. Abruptly she slipped out of bed and felt her way to one of the windows. She gazed down into the patio, and there in the pale gleam of starlight, pacing the stones, was Ross Kingdom. He was smoking a cigarette. Again and again Fern saw the end of it flare into a little red eye.
What was troubling him? Fern wondered. Was it Laraine? Had the look of her, the touch of her, reawakened his old feelings for her and was he still too proud to tell her?
One week later, when Dr. Lands examined Edwina, he found her to be making excellent progress. But she didn't badger him, as Fern expected, to let her get up and resume a normal existence. She watched him put away his stethoscope and snap the locks of his medical bag, then she spoke abruptly. "Owen, have you ever heard of a British neuro-surgeon by the name of Axel Wright?" she asked.
"I most certainly have," he replied. "Wright is considered one of the most brilliant men in the neurosurgical field. Why do you ask ?"
■
"He operated upon young Ross a few months ago."
Fern gave a slight start, while Owen Lands thoughtfully fingered his moustache. "You're worried about the lad, eh, Edwina?" he said.
"A bit," she admitted. "He's a whole lot quieter than he used to be. Jenny thinks so, too."
"Well, he's older, my dear," Owen reminded her. "He's grown more settled in his ways, very probably, and the effects of that head injury may be taking a time to wear off. But he's a strong man, Edwina, and when I saw him downstairs a while ago he looked in pretty good condition to me."
Ross's aunt looked relieved. Owen would certainly know if there was anything physically wrong with the boy, for though she often abused the privilege of a long friendship to call him a 'fool doctor' she had no real doubts as to his medical capabilities.
"How do you like nursing this old barn-stormer?" the doctor enquired of Fern.
She smiled. "We don't get along too badly, do we, Miss Kingdom?"
"But Fve little doubt that Edwina kicks up her heels a bit over the diet Fve prescribed for her," he laughed, his eyes resting with warm pleasure on Fern's young face, her coral lips half parted in a smile, her eyes the misty lavender of a summer sky at eventide. The girl was a real beauty, with no tricks up her sleeve and a serene, inborn dignity that appealed immensely to his bachelor's nature. He never could abide those ultra-seductive females, forever armed for battle with the male sex, paint on their eyes and red stuff on their fingernails, turning them into bloodied claws ... symbol of woman's subconscious determination to make a victim of every man she came into contact with.
Fern walked downstairs with the doctor. The final scenes of Jenifer's film had been shot and she was going riding with her brother. Their mounts had been hired from a nearby stable and a groom had brought them over. Ross was already in the saddle of a restless chestnut who was trampling the gravel of the driveway in
his impatience to be let out into a gallop. Jenifer was answering a phone call in the den, Ross explained to Dr. Lands, not unaware of the professional glint in the doctor's eyes as they rested upon him.
Fern stood beside the doctor on the front steps and pondered on what Edwina had recently said in connection with Ross, but there wasn't much of a convalescent look about him at the moment. He wore a brown turtle-neck sweater, fawn corduroy breeches and knee-length boots. He looked full of vigour, and when he smiled down at her, his teeth glinting strong and white again his suntanned skin, Fern felt her knees go strangely weak.
"Watch yourself, my girl!" a voice cried out inside her. "He's terribly attractive, and loneliness is a hole in the heart."
"Can you ride, Fern?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Then I shall have to teach you. It's great fun and the Cap Flamingo hills provide some wonderful gallops. When are you next off duty?"
She hesitated, wanting to accept his offer, yet suddenly afraid of the physical appeal which he had for her.
"Aren't you interested?" he enquired quizzically, and before she could answer him (she hardly knew, in fact, what her answer would have been), Jenifer came across the hall looking very smart in her tailored riding outfit and a slouch hat. "Good morning, Dr. Lands," she said. "How did you find Aunt Winna?"
"Her health is rapidly improving, thanks to some excellent nursing," he shot a smile at Fern, "but I'm wondering if she'll keep to a proper diet once she's out of Nurse Heatherly's hands."
"I doubt it," Jenifer laughed, swinging into the saddle of a pretty black mare with the doctor's assistance. "Don't get yourself called out to a patient next Saturday evening, Dr. Lands. We're having a welcome-home party at the country club for Ross and you're invited. You as well, Fern," she added, making a mental note to put Curtis Wayne's name on the guest list. The guy was
rich, as well as attractive, and this pretty kid didn't want to spend all her days in sickrooms.
Fern thanked Jenifer, then watched the brother and sister canter away from the house. When they reached the end of the driveway Ross mischievously touched his crop to the hindquarters of Jenifer's mount and the next moment the pair of them were galloping towards the hills yelling like a couple of gauchos. Dr. Lands laughingly shook his head. "That pair of redheads were devils as youngsters," he said.
"I can well imagine it," Fern smiled.
The following morning there was a letter lying beside Fern's breakfast plate. She often received letters from her sisters in England, but this one had been mailed in Cap Flamingo and she didn't recognize the handwriting. She slit open the envelope, aware of a feeling that was close to apprehension as she drew out a folded sheet of expensive notepaper. She quickly read the letter and a smile gradually formed itself on her lips, for her correspondent was Mamie Austin, wife of the sick businessman whom Fern had accompanied home on the Liberte. Mamie and her husband wondered how she was settling down in California and they invited her to dinner at their house on the twenty-fourth. They were now living in Cap Flamingo so that Harold would be nearer to his place of business and not have to do so much travelling. They had acquir
ed her present address from the Los Angeles nursing agency where she was registered.
Fern glanced up from the letter, her pleasure in its friendly contents making her eyes sparkle. Tomorrow was the twenty-fourth and she was due for a few hours off in the afternoon, but Miss Kingdom wouldn't mind if she changed her off-duty time to the evening.
Fern was breakfasting alone with Ross this morning, for Diana was spending a few days with a friend and Jenifer invariably slept late when she wasn't working. Ross glanced up from a lazy scanning of his own mail. "Good news?" he asked, his attention held by Fern's sparkling eyes.
Fern explained about the dinner invitation, but in-
evitably her explanation led to the further fact that Mr. Austin was an executive of the fruit canning firm that was interested in a business tie-up with Bramley's, the British firm for which she had worked. Ross's quick ear caught the sudden note of tension in her voice when she mentioned Bramley's and he also noticed the rather agitated fluttering of her eyelashes when she dropped her glance to Mrs. Austin's letter.
"—Do try to come to dinner, Fern," one passage read. "Harold and I have a nice surprise in store for you."
What could Mrs. Austin mean? Fern's heart seemed to miss a beat and some of her pleasure in the invitation melted away in a renewal of apprehension. The feeling persisted throughout that day into the next and a couple of times Fern was tempted to phone the Austin house and make the excuse of not being able to leave her patient. But Mamie and her husband had been extremely kind to her during her early days in California, and all Mamie probably meant in her letter was that she had invited a pleasant young man to the party whom she hoped Fern would like; she was inclined to be the match-making sort, Fern recalled.
She decided to wear a short black dinner dress with tiny diaphanous sleeves, and with her platinum hair arranged in a chignon and pearl studs clipped to her ears she looked cool, trim and slender as a wand. Earlier in the day Ross had said he would be driving into town that evening and would be happy to drop her off at her friends' house. Fern knew that Laraine Davies' apartment was situated on Beauregard Avenue, which was fairly close to where the Austins now lived, and she guessed Ross had a date with the model.
Dusk was chasing the sun home when Ross steered his car into the driveway of the Austin house, where several cars were already parked. "I must say you're looking charming," he gallantly informed Fern after he had assisted her from the car. Then, noticing the rather troubled little glance which she threw at the house, he asked her what was the matter.
"Oh, nothing, Mr. Kingdom." Her feeling was. too
tenuous to be explained in words. She smiled up at Ross, and as always he made her feel small and fragile, though she was a fairly tall girl. "Thank you for the lift."
"My name, blondie, is Ross." He grinned, lightly touched her hair and told her to enjoy the party. Then he climbed into his black Mercury, the tail-light flickered red and the next moment he was driving away, leaving Fern to press the doorbell of the Austins' smart, ranch-type house.
A butler opened the door and Fern was ushered into the hall. Mamie Austin, smiling, bustling, rather plump, had been eagerly awaiting the girl's arrival and she effusively embraced her. Mamie was a childless woman and she had a great fondness for young people.
"How pretty you're looking, Fern!" she exclaimed. "So suntanned and fit." Mamie was pleased, for Fern had looked drawn and unhappy when she had first arrived in America. They entered a charmingly furnished drawing-room where a group of smartly dressed people were talking together. "I told you in my letter that I had a nice surprise in store for you, my dear." Mamie steered her young guest the length of the room to where Harold Austin stood in conversation with a slender, dark-haired young man. Hearing Mamie's approaching voice, he glanced round, and Fern found herself looking straight into the steel-blue eyes of Ken McVicar.
"Ken is over here to study our American canning methods," Mamie chattered on, happily certain that her surprise was a pleasant one, "and he's been telling us what very good friends you were in England."
As a nurse Fern was trained to face startling situations with an appearance of calm, but upon finding herself face to face with Ken again, so unexpectedly, she almost cried out as though in protest against a sharp pain. A pain which had grown dull and now attacked her heart with renewed strength.
"Hullo, Fern!" His fingers caught eagerly at hers. "How wonderful to see you again!"
"Is your wife with you, Ken?" The question leapt out of her mouth almost of its own accord.
A dark flush distributed itself in patches at his temples and upon his high cheekbones. "Rose—married her cousin," he replied.
For one wild second Fern thought she was going to laugh or weep. So all Ken's scheming and her heartache had been for nothing ... Rose Bramley had married someone else.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN the dinner-party ended Ken insisted upon taking Fern home. He had not yet acquired a car, so Harold Austin phoned for a cab for them. "You must come and see us often now we're living in Cap Flamingo," Mamie told Fern, warmly embracing her in the front porch. For a moment Fern let the motherly arms comfort her, though Mamie still didn't suspect what a trying evening this had been for Fern. Drawing on her nursing composure for all she was worth, she had managed to hide her inner agitation, but once she was alone in the dim intimacy of a cab with Ken she could feel her shaken nerves overwhelming her.
She sat with tense hands clasping her evening-bag, the slightly calloused feel of the black beaded satin offering her something solid to cling to.
Ken was over in California for two months, the tie-up of Bramley's with the big Golden Orange combine now being completed. The Golden Orange methods of production and distribution were rather more streamlined than Bramley's and Ken had been selected to make a study of them so they could be used experimentally at his Maidenhead branch. Throughout the dinner-party both he and Fern had clung to impersonal topics of conversation, but now, as their cab sped through the night, Fern knew they would talk about themselves. She grew taut when he moved closer to her, then he said : "I want you to know, Fern, that after you left England I
didn't try any more to marry Rose for her money. Being without you taught me a sharp lesson. It taught me to realize there's no substitute for love. But you always knew there wasn't, didn't you, my darling?"
"Don't—call me that!" Fern could feel him searching in the dimness for her hands and she pushed him away from her. She was trembling . .. with anger, she abruptly realized. "Things can never be as they once were, Ken. I—I've learned to live without you in the past months."
"That doesn't apply to me, Fern." His voice had grown husky with feeling. She was lovelier than ever, as though heartache had added a maturity to her grace, and he had almost spoken the truth when he said that money was no substitute for love. He still wanted money and the power it provided, but no longer at the expense of being married to someone like Rose Bramley, whose frightening amount of possessiveness had made him relieved in the end, rather than disappointed, when she agreed to marry a cousin so that the Bramley fortune could be kept in the family.
A kerbside lamp slanted its rays into the cab and Fern's delicately boned face was fleetingly revealed to Ken, with tiny shadows showing beneath her eyes from the tension of this evening.
"Fern, please forgive me for being such a blind, ambitious beggar four months ago." Ken's voice was coaxing, wistful, with a low ring of passion in it, and she couldn't help but remember other happier moments with him in the haunting tang of British tobacco clinging to his dinner-jacket and the familiar scent of his hair-dressing. But re-living past happiness only probed her wound, made it hurt anew, and she rolled down the window beside her and let a gush of night air into the cab.
"I—I can't face talking about ourselves right now," she said. "Seeing you again has shaken me and I'm all mixed up, uncertain of how I feel about you. You seem to expect me to be just the same as ever... as though Rose Bramley never existed a
nd the wound you inflicted such a minor one that mere words, like 'forgive' and
'darling', can heal it in a moment. They can't, Ken. It's going to take more than words."
The cab drew to a halt. Fern stepped out of it and after a momentary hesitation Ken followed her up the front steps of the Kingdom house. With a gentle urgencv he turned her towards him, and the sidelights of the front door showed Fern the tense whiteness of his face. "Yes. be angry with me, darling," he said. "Pity me, too, because I'm ambitious, but believe me when I tell you I love you still. I've never stopped loving you, and these past months without you have been the loneliest of my life."
Loneliness! She knew exactly what it felt like, but he had hurt her so; shattered her belief in him as a person of integrity.
"I'll phone you. We must meet for a real talk," he said.
"Goodnight, Ken!" She turned her latchkey and escaped into the house, closing the door on his white, unhappy face.
During the days that followed Fern was very disinclined for conversation and had to force herself to a show of cheerfulness. Edwina noticed there was something wrong, but she respected Fern's privacy and didn't go probing for an explanation. She was provided with one from an unexpected quarter. Before her confinement to bed Edwina had been very active on a local committee providing aid for refugees, victims of floods and famines, etc., and one of her committee associates, a Mrs. Hammond, had been a guest at Mamie Austin's dinner-party. Therefore when she called to see Edwina, to keep her informed about the committee's activities, she naturally mentioned seeing Fern at the party.
"In the company of a most attractive young Englishman, my dear." Mrs. Hammond's gossipy eyes gleamed bright as a vigilant bird's, for she loved nothing better than a good hearty chat about other people's business. "Mamie told me he's a manager for Bramley's, that British fruit canning firm which has just merged with the Golden Orange company, and it was obvious that
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