Presently he inserted an arm under her and made her drink a bitter, milky draught.
“This will ward off sickness,” he said. “Is that the worst part of it?”
“I don’t know.” From under dark, heavy lids she looked at him. “What have I done? Have I ... caught something?”
“Sunstroke,” he said briefly.
“Is that all?”
“It’s plenty. Makes you feel ill as the devil.”
“It was my fault. You said I must ... always wear a hat in the sun.”
“Don’t talk. I’ve sent for Paul. He’ll know how bad it is and give you the correct sedative. I’ll pull the curtains and stay in the room with you.”
Venetia lay motionless. She was vaguely aware of Blake’s presence and infinitely grateful for the constant renewing of the icy wetness of the cloth. Once she felt his touch inside her collar, as if he were gauging her temperature, and through her pain sensed his caged impatience. When Paul came she heard Blake meet him outside the door.
“You’ve taken the hell of a time, Paul. It’s half an hour since I sent the boy.”
“I call that good going. What’s wrong with Venetia?”
“A severe touch of sun. She’s in pain. Give her something to put her to sleep for a few hours. I was on the point of giving her some luminal myself.”
“Leave me alone with her, will you, Blake?”
Twenty minutes later Paul came into the lounge. “She’ll sleep,” he said, “but I’m afraid she’ll be seedy for several days. She seems strung up about it, too. I’ll send you some tablets to relieve the symptoms, but don’t let her get up till Tuesday; that will give her nerves time to settle. Thanks,” as Blake handed him a brandy-and-soda. “I wonder what possessed her to sit in the sun for so long? Women do the strangest things.”
“Will she be asleep already?”
“Probably. I gave her a strong shot. Why?’
“It can wait,” Blake said, without expression. “Stay and have lunch with me.”
“I wish I could, but I have to watch a case at the hospital.” Paul emptied his glass. “Call me again if you need me, though I hardly think you will. She’ll be better when she wakens. So long, Blake.”
Paul walked down the drive to where he had left his car. Remembering Venetia’s invitation a month ago, he cast a glance over the magnolias and flamboyants. It certainly was a superb garden, and this drive, with its profusion of white, cream and scarlet blossoms upon a backcloth of thick dark green leaves had an organized beauty peculiarly its own. Blake had designed the place with an eye to natural loveliness. He had not even missed the value of those pink scallops of the mountains which filled in the view. A remarkable piece of planning which he rather envied.
He pushed his bag into the car, slid into the seat and started up. Carefully he reversed, to find himself faced by a dainty little English two-seater driven slowly and expertly by Thea Garrard. Automatically he switched off and got out on to the drive.
Thea did the same. Thea, exactly as he recalled her; slim, rather tall, immaculately turned out in a navy linen suit with an embroidered white chiffon blouse, her black hair smoothed into a loose knot, her eyes faintly smoky, as if she had thrown up a screen between them. She looked younger than thirty, and even more attractive than he remembered her.
“Good afternoon, Sister Garrard,” he said, faintly stressing the syllables. “Nice to see you again.”
“Thank you, Dr. Rivers,” she said conventionally. “I heard from Blake that you were practising in these parts and making a go of it. I hope you haven’t been paying him a professional visit?”
“No, it’s your sister-in-law. Nothing serious,” he added hastily, as she made to pass him. “A dose of sunstroke which Blake could have handled himself. As she’s fairly new to the country and was feverish, he may have wondered if she’d picked up a germ.”
“I seem to have arrived in time to be of use,” she replied. “Poor Venetia.”
“She’s sleeping now.” Yes, she was still the same Thea; efficient and annoyingly unmoved. What would it take to rock that composure of hers? “How long are you staying at Bondolo?” he asked.
“Till Monday.” The pause was scarcely perceptible, just long enough for her to avert her head an inch or two and transfer her attention to the trees. “I’m not on holiday—just changing jobs. I start at the Ellisburg Hospital at nine o’clock on Monday morning.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Oh, you do?” She smiled distantly. “The smallest items of news percolate, don’t they?”
“It wasn’t news to me, Thea. You see, I had a hand in getting you there.”
The merest hint of colour crept up from Thea’s neck. Her mouth straightened. “That was very kind of you, but the information is rather dampening to my ego. I’d imagined that my record had done the trick.”
“I’m not being pompous, Thea. You did get taken on your merit—of course you did. My part in it was infinitesimal and completely selfish. About ten days ago the hospital staff and local doctors had a meeting about the serious shortage of trained nurses. That was when I first saw your application and heard that you’d been accepted. I made enquiries and discovered that the Durban hospital was hanging on to you, so I pulled a few strings. I might tell you it pleased me a lot to know that you were so keen to work at Ellisburg.”
“I’m afraid you mistake my motives. There’s nothing altruistic about them—I’m not that sort. I’d simply had enough of the coast and rather fancied the idea of living nearer my brother, now that he has a wife.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Have it your own way. Am I allowed to mention our former friendship?”
“There was nothing unmentionable about it.”
“True enough. I worked with an attractive, unsmiling Sister, and escorted her on two occasions to hospital concerts. We conversed, but seldom jested. That was how we felt at that time, wasn’t it?”
Thea said: “I must go in. Will you excuse me?”
“I shall have to.” Lightly, he added: “I’ll see you on Monday encased in starch and discipline. You’re more approachable this way, Thea. Goodbye.”
She answered him, and at once took the path to the house. Paul, she thought, was one of those changeless, dependable men. It wasn’t in him to turn on a woman, or to be unfaithful to a bargain. Extraordinary, the way she could still wince from that two-year-old affair, still shrink when a man’s hand touched hers in any but a business-like way, and feel a definite ache in her lips when two other people kissed. Blake hadn’t realized how deeply the disillusion had bitten, but Paul had seemed to know all about it, without being told a word.
In the beginning, his discerning eye had repelled her; that, and her revulsion from men in general. At that time she had needed only her work, and had been grateful that her profession absorbed so much of her time and energies. Paul’s friendship was a quality she could not allow within her armour against his sex. He wasn’t as hard-bitten as some doctors become. Even for his patients he had a curious streak of tenderness.
Over the last eighteen months she had changed. One couldn’t have daily contact with human joys and sorrows and remain outside them. Not that she would ever again contemplate marriage; the other affair had constituted both a lesson and a warning. Thank God she had had the sense to pull up this side of sanity and get back to nursing. She was certainly not sticking out her neck again.
Thea came into the porch, smiling, in spite of herself, with the pleasure of being home again.
From the doorway, Blake said: “Well, Thea? You’re looking younger.”
And she replied: “I wish I could return that compliment. If I didn’t know you for a healthy brute and a heavy sleeper, I’d say you’re suffering from insomnia. Are you worried about Venetia? Paul Rivers just told me it wasn’t serious.”
Over lunch she watched him. Blake was only thirty-four. Those grey streaks at his temples didn’t mean a thing, because they were hereditary. Their father had had thick, d
ark hair till the day he died, but she couldn’t remember the time when he had not had the fascinating white wings. They were a distinction which began early in the Garrard men and attained maturity round the age of fifty-five. No, the difference was in his eyes and mouth. Thea did not know quite what she had thought to encounter in her newly-married brother, but she had certainly hoped to find him expansive and happy. Blake was neither.
CHAPTER SIX
VENETIA woke gently and slowly. Her senses resumed their functioning, but she kept her eyes veiled to the outer world. She remembered the sickness and the longing to die. Both were gone and at the moment she had no headache either, only a severe compression like an iron cap over her scalp. Paul, when he had helped her to undress, had said that most of the reeling and thudding was the result of movement; she must simply lie still till the inflammation had subsided, try not to cough or do the least thing to jar her head. The minimum of movement would mean the minimum of pain. The doctor’s order would be easy to obey; she had never felt less like getting out of bed and facing life.
Through her lashes she could see that the curtain had been pulled to one side to let in more air. Daylight was fading, so it must be about six o’clock. She had slept for six hours and still felt doped.
Her glance widened and became concentrated on the woman who sat in the column of late light, knitting something which might have been a plain pink bed-jacket. A woman with straight, well-cut, familiar features, smooth black hair, and an air of serene detachment from the labour of her fingers. So this was Thea.
The realization brought back this morning’s scene with Blake, and an uncomfortable tightness came into her chest.
“Hullo, Thea,” she said softly.
The other woman cast aside her knitting and swiftly crossed to the bed. Smilingly she bent and kissed Venetia’s cheek.
“Hullo, my dear. How’s the head?”
“Weighty, but not too bad. I’m so sorry to greet you with a patient.”
“So am I, for your sake.” Thea laughed quietly. “What are you staring at?”
“You really are like Blake. Dr. Rivers said you were, but I couldn’t imagine a feminine edition of Blake’s looks. Thea, I’m so glad you’ve come.”
The shy welcome touched Thea more than she would have cared to acknowledge. She hadn’t bargained for so young and unsophisticated a sister-in-law. Venetia didn’t somehow line up with Thea’s assessment of Blake at lunch-time.
“I hope we three are going to have fun together, but our first task is to see you through this piece of bad luck.” She lifted a pillow from the foot of the bed. “I’m going to raise you. It’ll be quite easy and you won’t feel a single throb. Just stay as you are and you’ll find your head and shoulders six inches higher.” One arm slipped under Venetia’s pillow, while the other hand pushed the second one beneath it. “How’s that?”
“Heavenly. I’m cooling already.”
Thea surveyed the wide apartment with approval. “Good thing Blake had you put straight in here this morning. It’s the coolest room in the house. I’ve never understood why he prefers the other side. You must find it suffocating, even if he doesn’t.” From habit she adjusted the bedcover and folded back the sheet. “Would you like to see him at once, or shall I freshen you first?”
“A wash first, please. I’m sticky. But, Thea,” the blue eyes put more into the question than Venetia intended, “are you staying tonight?”
“Of course. Tomorrow as well. I told you in my letter.” Thea turned her attention to clearing the bedside table ready for the hand-basin as she added flippantly: “That is, if you’ll have me. You’re the mistress of the house now.”
“An inexpert one, I’m afraid. I’d like you to live here always.”
A youthful, unguarded statement which caused Thea a twinge of uneasiness. Venetia was so slightly built and appealing, so completely vulnerable. The antithesis of the type of woman she had expected Blake to choose, she repeated to herself, and was annoyed with her own reflections.
Tentatively, she remarked: “I could have attended your wedding if Blake had asked me. But he was completely high-handed. Why did he try to put me off buying you the kist as a gift? You haven’t one, have you?”
“No.” Venetia was incapable just then of prevarication. “I heard nothing about it.”
“Oh, well,” said Thea. “No lives lost. I did get one after all. It’s on its way up by train. Stay like that while I fetch water and towels, and we’ll soon have you as dewy as a rose.”
When she came back they went on talking, or rather Thea chatted and Venetia stayed silent, absorbing the reassuring atmosphere exuded by the other’s cool efficiency.
Mosi carried away the water and straightened the room. He had hardly closed the door when Blake knocked and walked in. Venetia’s heart jerked, but she achieved a smile.
Brother and sister exchanged glances, and Thea said: “I like your wife, Blake. Venetia and I are going to be the best of friends.”
“Good. I was sure you would.” He stood above Venetia. “It’s a relief to see your colour more normal. I believe your temperature’s down, too. Think you could eat something?”
It was dreadful to have Blake on one side and Thea, quizzically observant, on the other.
“I’ll try if you think I should,” she answered.
“Milk-and-soda would be more suitable than food,” suggested Thea.
“She hasn’t eaten since breakfast,” he said. “Tell Mosi to scramble an egg, will you?”
“Fancy a scrambled egg, Venetia?” enquired Thea.
“Blake, I’d really rather have the milk-and-soda,” she said apologetically.
He gave in more readily than she had anticipated, but she would have swallowed whatever he ordered rather than argue. When Thea had gone out, he pulled forward a chair and sat down. He crossed his legs and plunged a hand into his pocket, apparently in no haste to speak. In fact it was Venetia who ended the silence.
“Please smoke if you want to.”
“I don’t,” he said. “I’d rather talk, if it wouldn’t make your head worse. Does my being here distress you?”
It did, but his nearness in this mood was worth quite a bit of suffering. At the moment Venetia was not concerned with herself.
“No—please stay. Blake,” her tone dropped, “Thea doesn’t know you were going to turn her away, does she? You ... you haven’t said anything to her?”
He shook his head. “Don’t upset yourself over it any more. When I remember that it was my churlishness which sent you into the sun without protection I could shoot myself. Sometimes I get into a frame of mind when I can’t help being a swine.”
“It was my own lunacy,” she protested; “the same sort of idiocy that prompted me to wade through the storm and fib about it. I’m an awful trial to you, Blake.”
His smile was a little grim. “You are—more than you realize. Possibly all young women are somewhat unpredictable, but you seem to be more so than most.”
“I never mean to behave so crazily. I feel first and think afterwards, when it’s too late.”
“I know you do.” His interest centred on the silver bedside clock which gleamed in the glow from the table-lamp. “Cling to that habit as long as you can—it’s one you’ll eventually lose—but for the love of Pete cultivate a respect for the sun!”
The soda-and-milk arrived then, and she had to sit up to drink it. Blake helped her, but her head knocked and her vision blurred. She leaned against him with tears of weakness glistening on her lashes.
“My poor sweet,” he murmured. “Sunstroke is always like this. It’s hell for a day or two, and after that you’ll still have to be careful not to get up from a chair too quickly. It’ll be a week before you’re right. I oughtn’t to have let you talk.” With unwonted tenderness he lowered her. “It won’t hurt for us to be quiet for a while. Forget everything, and if you slip off to sleep, so much the better.”
After she had lain for a few minutes the pain di
minished into the former ache of pressure. Her arms rested outside the cover and Blake stroked the fingers nearest him with an abstracted, soothing motion. His warmth and strength, so lightly bestowed, reached and encompassed her heart.
“Your dinner will be ready,” she reminded him presently.
“No hurry,” he said. “Thea arranged for a cold meal. She’ll be having hers now. I’ll go when she comes.” Another tranquil half-hour ticked by before Thea entered the bedroom.
“It’s time Venetia was tucked in,” she announced.
“Mind if I ask you to say good night and go, Blake?” She turned and made a casual complication of arranging windows and curtains.
“Good night,” Venetia whispered.
He bent over and kissed her forehead. “Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”
He was gone, and Venetia found herself braving the effort of twisting her head rather than have Thea inspect her face by lamplight.
During Sunday, Venetia had ample opportunity of admiring Thea’s poise and charm, and she even contrived a degree of enjoyment from the relationship between Thea and Blake. Yesterday, for some reason, Blake had acquiesced to the soda-and-milk diet, but today he was back in form. Useless for Thea to insist that a healthy young woman laid out by a slight indisposition could get along with practically no food and recover the quicker for the temporary abstention. Blake remained unconvinced. He ordered a boiled egg for Venetia’s breakfast, some steamed fish and a baked custard for her lunch and a cream-cheese salad for her supper. To please him, Venetia would have got through steak and onions.
The glass door was open all day. Except for two hours in the afternoon, when she was bidden to sleep, Thea and Blake were constantly about, either lounging in chairs half in and half out of the room, or playing table tennis within Venetia’s view on the veranda.
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