A Case of Heart Trouble

by Susan Barrie

  “Don’t be absurd, Doctor,” she protested, not entirely steadily.

  “I—”

  “But I’m not being absurd.” His eyes were compelling—or seeking to compel—her; and when a badly alarmed, and slightly hunted, look appeared in her green eyes, and he realized she was about to flee the room without even making certain that he took his tablets, he did reach out and catch hold of her, and to her absolute horror she was drawn down on to the bed and firmly and thoroughly kissed.

  She gasped, her blood took fire with resentment and outrage, and, forgetting that he was her patient, she gave him a quick, hard slap across the face. And then clapped both hands up to her own face and stood looking down at him in even greater horror.

  “I’m so sorry, Doctor! Oh, I’m so terribly sorry!” she gasped.

  His face was pale—save where an increasingly pink mark showed up plainly on his cheek—and his eyes glittered strangely for a moment. And then he laughed, shortly and a trifle peculiarly.

  “Don’t apologize, Nurse!” he begged her. “I’m the one who should apologize! ” But there was no real repentance in the way he stared up at her. “However, I enjoyed the kiss! ”

  “But I hit you! ” She sank down weakly on the foot of the bed, no longer in the least afraid of him— not even apprehensive lest he should repeat the offence—and every moment of her training accused her silently of having done something completely unethical. She had behaved as no true nurse would ever behave, whatever the justification, and what Matron would think of her if she knew she simply couldn’t think! She was appalled because she had failed so dismally in a moment of crisis, and she was appalled because that livid mark on his cheek was showing up more and more every moment.

  “I—I hit you,” she repeated, in a whisper, and the enormity of the thing she had done brought tears to her eyes. Jewel-bright tears that softened their amazing green and spilled over and splashed on to her hand.

  “Dallas!” All in a moment he, too, was shocked. He bent forward and captured the hand, squeezing it so fiercely that she ought to have felt some sort of pain, but she didn’t. “Dallas, don’t look like that! It wasn’t a crime. And in any case, I asked for it!” His attractive mouth twisted wryly. “I asked for it and I got it, slap on the cheek! ”

  His fingers investigated the slight weal she had raised down one side of his face, and all the while his eyes regarded her thoughtfully. Then once again he laughed softly.

  For such a little hand it carries quite an impact. You ought to be glad you can defend yourself so admirably against the advances of impossible patients, Nurse.”

  She rose and went to the bedside table. Agitatedly she counted out the tablets that were part of the nightly ritual, and as she handed them to him with a glass of water she said shakily:

  “I expect you feel you’d like to replace me. I shall quite understand ... I mean, I shall quite understand if you think it necessary to apply to Matron for someone else to be sent down. Only . . . I hope you won't tell her—”

  “How violent you were?” He shook his head at her solemnly, having swallowed the tablets. “I promise I won't block your escutcheon, Nurse. And if I did, I'd be giving myself away, wouldn't I? She'd send down someone with a face like a plate, and completely unkissable! So I think, on the whole, I’d be wise to hang on to you!”

  He smiled up at her gently.

  “Don’t be silly, Dallas. I behaved like a cad, and I’m sorry. Forgiven?”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “You’re such a darling. You do something to me, but I don’t know quite what it is. Sheer loveliness never had much effect on me, and although you’re lovely enough it can’t be just that. Perhaps it’s because my fancy is still a little sick, and it wanders off at a tangent, as it were. I’ll have to harness it, and keep my eye on it, or it might bolt clean away with me! ”

  He was lying once more with his dark head pressed into his pillows, and sudden tiredness and weariness having overcome him he looked as she had seen him often before, vulnerable, and slightly haggard . . . and it was such a shattering attractive haggardness that, with the feel of his kiss still on her lips, the close pressure of his arms an imperishable memory, it made her feel weak and vulnerable herself.

  She was in love with him. She had known she was in love with him for weeks, even when he scarcely noticed her. He was her patient, he was a married man, and he had no feeling for her beyond an amorous desire—a sick desire, he called it! —to make light love to her if she would permit it. On the whole, it might be better if he asked Matron to replace her.

  She turned away, and then she turned back again to make absolutely certain he was comfortable, and that she could leave him with a clear conscience. She adjusted his bedside light for him, but he said drowsily—already the tablets were working:

  “You can put it out, Nurse. I shan’t read tonight.”

  She extinguished the light. She lingered for a few moments beside his bed, wishing passionately that the incident of a few minutes before had never taken - place.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t say goodnight. Already he was asleep.

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  IN the morning he apologized again for the incident of the night before. It was a much more earnest apology this time, and in fact he appeared to have been thinking the matter over quite a bit.

  “After all, it would be a bit hard on you if all your male patients tried to make love to you,” he observed, as if that aspect of the matter had only recently presented itself. He watched her thoughtfully as she moved about his room, removing his breakfast tray in order to save the legs of the housemaid, preparing for the daily massage of his injured leg, which was highly necessary at this stage. The morning sunshine poured over her and the crisp green uniform she was wearing, and her honey-gold hair looked like a glaze of sunshine itself, discreetly arranged beneath her rakish little white cap.

  “Do you ever have difficulty with male patients, Nurse?” he asked curiously. “Have any of them ever tried to kiss you, as I did?” “It has happened,” she replied, apparently intent upon the temperature of a bowl of water.

  He frowned for an instant.

  “And what action did you take? Did you slap his face for him, as you slapped mine?”

  She looked up quickly, her face revealing that she had not forgotten that she slapped his face. And that she was upset every time she recalled it.

  “When I said last night that I would understand perfectly if you wished to replace me. Doctor, I meant it,” she declared agitatedly. “In fact, having thought about it a good deal, I’m fairly certain that’s what you ought to do.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied, extending his hand to her. “Come over here and let’s shake hands on last night, and forget all about it. After,” he added, with his rather whimsical smile, “you’ve told me how you treated the other offender.”

  She looked down at their linked hands, and found it somewhat of an effort to detach her fingers from his.

  “Oh, that was nothing very serious,” she informed him, quietly. “The man was very young, and a trifle lightheaded at the time. He didn’t mean to be offensive, either, so I forgave him.”

  “But I’m not so very young, and I was merely amusing myself, is that it?” his mouth twisting wryly.

  She looked back at him almost gravely.

  “Only you know whether you were amusing yourself,. Doctor,” she said. “Or whether, perhaps, you’re what I would describe as an indiscriminate kisser! ”

  And as she moved away she heard him whistle softly, and then laugh.

  “Touche!” he exclaimed. “I expect I deserved that. An indiscriminate kisser! ” and he laughed again, but without any real amusement.

  For the next day or so his progress seemed to be halted slightly, and then it went ahead with leaps and bounds. They had been at Loring Court for three weeks, and it looked as if the month’s convalescence he had allowed himself would be more than enough to enable him to pick up a few of t
he threads of his old life again. Or at least he would be able to dispense with the constant attentiveness of a nurse, and Dallas realized that it wouldn’t be long before she was back at Ardrath House again.

  Her patient no longer walked with two sticks, and could even dispense with one on occasion. The magnificent autumn weather had aided him tremendously, and he was looking brown and well, a trifle thin still, perhaps, but otherwise almost his old self, when a visitor arrived at Loring Court.

  Dallas had been cutting flowers for the vases—she did quite a lot of things for Aunt Letty now that her principal reason for being where she was no longer made such wholehearted demands on her time—and had just returned to the house with a great bunch of glowing scarlet and crimson dahlias in her arms, when she saw the visitor standing in the hall, looking a little uncertainly about her.

  She was so slender and elegant and beautifully- dressed that Dallas thought instantly of her own slightly disheveled appearance. Lately she had worn her uniform almost constantly--even in the evenings—but this morning, because it was such a perfect early October morning, crying out for tweeds and a sweater, she had put on slacks and a chunky white pullover. Before getting the gardener’s permission to cut what blooms she wanted she had wandered in the rose-garden, snipping off dead heads and collecting petals for a bowl of potpourri, and her hair was full of shrivelled morsels of faded leaves and odd rose petals, her hands rather badly pricked by thorns.

  Her hands she was able to keep well out of sight, but her general appearance must, she knew, have struck some people as a little out of keeping . . . rather more like the casual appearance of a daughter of the house than a member of the nursing profession receiving an extremely generous salary for supervising the recovery of the master of the place.

  The other woman—and she might have been somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, Dallas thought—darkly, glowingly beautiful, as well as exquisitely dressed—regarded her at first in obvious surprise, and then said quickly that perhaps she was staying with the Lorings.

  “I believe Aunt Letty has a niece, or a great- niece—or something . . .?” she said vaguely.

  Dallas smiled slightly.

  “I'm afraid I can't claim any connection with Mrs. Loring,” she replied quietly. “As a matter of fact, I’m employed here, temporarily. Normally, at this hour, I'd be wearing my uniform, but I’ve been doing odd jobs in the garden.”

  “Good heavens,” the other exclaimed, “don't tell me you're the nurse?” Her dark eyes glinted with amusement. “Martin's nurse? I'd expected to find someone very prim and correct in charge of him! Usually he's horribly fussy! ”

  Dallas felt acutely uncomfortable.

  “As I’ve just explained,” she said awkwardly, “I don’t normally go about like this. . . .”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” the other declared airily. “To me you look quite good fun ... a pretty nurse who’s not a bit starched, and quite a diversion for poor old Martin! How is he, by the way?” she asked. “Very much better,” Dallas replied truthfully. “Splendid. And where

  is he?”

  “When I saw him last he was in the library, dealing with his letters.”

  “Oh?” The delicate eyebrows arched. “He’s capable of doing that sort of thing now, is he? And no doubt aching to be back in harness, coping with the demands of his little world from the sanctity of Harley Street! I’d like to see him, please,” she added, with a slight touch of peremptoriness.

  “Of course,” Dallas returned, wondering whether she ought first to ascertain whether the doctor was willing to see her. She was so beautiful that he ought to be charmed, but . . . well, one could never tell with a man. Certainly not one who had just undergone a long period of convalescence. “Perhaps I’d better find out whether he’s still busy,” she said. “Sometimes he doesn’t like to be interrupted. . . .” “Nonsense,” the other exclaimed impatiently. “He’s not working yet, and an invalid shouldn’t be busy. And in any case, I know he’ll see me.” Dallas looked at her uncertainly, however. “What name shall I say?”

  “Loring,” the other replied immediately. “Just say Mrs.

  Loring!”

  Dallas was so startled, and so completely taken aback, that at first she found it almost impossible to conceal it. And then she realized that she should have guessed immediately, for the features confronting her were the delightful, flawless features of the woman in the photograph Aunt Letty insisted should remain on the top of the piano in the drawing-room. And all the time the brief exchange of conversation had been going on she had been worried by a feeling of familiarity . . . and now she knew why there was a feeling of familiarity!

  Mrs. Loring smiled a little tightly, but nevertheless with a hint of amusement.

  “Will you hurry, please, Nurse,” she requested. “I haven't a great deal of time to spare.”

  Dazedly Dallas led the way to the library, and when they reached it she opened the door somewhat cautiously, and would have prepared the occupant of the large, luxurious room for his visitor, only Mrs. Loring put her aside and decided to announce herself.

  “Hello, darling,” she said, casually, smiling radiantly at the back of the man who was bending over his desk. He flung down his pen and swung round and stared at her. She advanced, still smiling, into the room, “Why, Martin,” she declared, “you're an absolute fraud! I expected to find a fragile invalid nibbling at a few grapes and lying stretched out on a couch! Instead of which you look as if you've just come back from the South of France! Is that what having a pretty nurse to look after you has done for you?”

  Dallas backed out of the room. Neither of the other two were interested in her. Martin was hardly aware of her, Mrs. Loring couldn't have been bothered to remain aware of her. Martin had risen from his desk and was standing holding on to the back of a chair, his color fading from surprise and shock, his eyes deep, dark and incredulous.

  Just before she closed the door on them Dallas heard the visitor say softly:

  “Darling, aren't you glad to see me?”

  Dallas flew down the corridor that led her away from the library as if she was escaping—or attempting to escape—from a nightmare that threatened her whole future happiness. In the hall, near the foot of the handsome carved oak staircase, she practically collided with Aunt Letty, who looked her astonishment at the sight of the extraordinary perturbation in Nurse Drew's face. She was still clutching her dahlias, but she was clutching them helplessly, as if she didn’t know what to do with them.

  “Is anything wrong, Nurse?” she asked, prepared at the very least to hear that her nephew had suffered a sudden and serious relapse. Quite unlooked for, since he was basically sound as a bell.

  Dallas shook her head.

  “Oh, no, no.” Then she explained about the visitor. The elderly Mrs. Loring looked not so much amazed as unbelieving.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “I suppose that means we’ll have to ask her to stay to lunch.”

  Dallas spoke hurriedly, agitatedly.

  “I was going into Oldthorpe this morning to match your pink wool,” she said. “I was also going to do some urgent shopping for myself. Do you think, as there’ll be an extra one for lunch, I could stay in Oldthorpe and have my lunch there? It’s going to be an awful rush, otherwise, and there’s a bus back about three o’clock. . .

  “But of course, Nurse,” Mrs. Loring returned, continuing to look surprised, however, at her unusual agitation. “And there’s no need at all for you to bother about the bus. If you’ll say when you want to return I’ll send the car for you.”

  “No, no, I’d rather catch the bus.”

  “Just as you please, of course. But I think Dr. Loring would prefer it if you went by car.”

  “Dr. Loring is very much preoccupied at the moment, and he may want the car himself, to send Mrs. Loring back to the station.”

  “There is that, of course.” Aunt Letty sounded more complacent, but doubtful. “However, she usually stays at the Bull whe
n she’s in the village, and it’s only a short walk from here to the Bull. If she’s remaining overnight she won’t go back until evening.”

  “If there’s any question of getting her old rooms ready for her, I—I could stay and give a hand,” Dallas suggested, diffidently.

  Aunt Letty’s eyebrows fairly flew up.

  “My dear, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said. For a moment she looked utterly perplexed. “Her old rooms? But her room is ready for her, if she wants it.”

  Dallas flew up the stairs to change into something more suitable for Oldthorpe, and on the pretext of catching the bus—for which she had to wait at least a quarter of an hour when she reached the bus stop— she simply tore out of the house and down the drive, terrified lest she should be intercepted by Dr. and Mrs. Loring on a leisurely tour of the grounds; and when she finally reached

  Oldthorpe she felt so dazed by her sudden frenzied decision to get away from Loring Court and its owner’s lovely, neglectful wife that she couldn’t think what she was supposed to do there, or what she ought to do now that she was actually there.

  She wandered about in the sunshine, had a lunch which she scarcely tasted at the Royal George, bought stockings and a wool dress which she didn’t really need, remembered Aunt Letty’s pink wool belatedly, and was saved from being run down by a passing car by Brent Rutherford, who had just parked his own car in the market place, and saw her crossing the street erratically.

  “Here, here! ” he said, when he stood with his hand firmly grasping her arm on an island in the middle of the square. “What are you trying to do, Nurse Drew? Commit suicide? Don’t tell me life has suddenly lost all its savor for you?”

  He stood looking down at her, smiling, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. She flushed brilliantly under the mild accusation of his eyes, and admitted that her thoughts had been far away.

  “I—I was thinking,” she said.

  “A bad thing to do,” he commented, shaking his head solemnly. “A very bad thing to do on a market day in Oldthorpe! I never think myself, unless I’m on my way to see my bank manager . . . and then I have to think up some sound explanation of the reason why I haven’t even started to pay off my overdraft!”