by Jane Arbor
For a moment Jess hoped she was Muir Forester’s daughter, for that would make it impossible that he could be the same man who had purchased the dresser, who had been only in his middle thirties.
But the girl had called him “Muir” and she was already dispelling Jess’s hope by announcing, “My name is Hart—Liane Hart. I’m staying with Muir, you know.”
Jess smiled. “I remember now—Mrs. Seacombe mentioned you.”
“Did she?” The girl paused before adding in a burst of confidence, “I think I’m scared of Mrs. Seacombe. She seems such a dragon in her own right of acting as hostess for Muir, but her insistence on ‘knowing her place’ depresses me hideously.”
“I like her,” admitted Jess, “though she does seem a bit overconscious of her position, perhaps.”
“You must have managed her better than I do. But I suppose you would—you look awfully capable. Nicely capable, I mean—not just hard and efficient. You’re quite young, too. How did you manage all this—” sketching a gesture toward Jess’s uniform “—in the time? By being terribly clever, I suppose.”
“Not terribly—no more than medium,” laughed Jess. “After all, we can’t all be as decorative as you are. You mustn’t grudge the rest of us our compensations!”
“You don’t need compensations. Don’t you realize how attractive you look in those clothes? As for my being merely decorative without any other good qualities, that’s the impression of me that Mrs. Seacombe manages to convey, though oh, so respectfully! And I’d like to make a friend of her, if only to learn how English houses are run. But so far in England, Muir is the only friend I have.”
“You’ve come from abroad then?”
“Yes, from Kenya.” The girl’s face clouded. “Daddy had a farm not far from Nairobi. He was murdered three months ago.”
“My dear, I’m so sorry—” said Jess with an impulse of pity.
“Afterward Muir brought me to England because that was what daddy had wanted. He must have had some premonition, because Muir told me that he had asked him to do that if anything happened to him. Earlier daddy had lived in northern Rhodesia and had known Muir as a boy. Muir was staying with us at the time, though he and I were at a dance in Nairobi when it—happened.” Liane shivered and raised ravaged blue eyes toward Jess. “Muir doesn’t want me to talk about it anymore. He says it’s a memory that it’s my duty to bury, however hard that is. But to me, talking about it is never as bad as having it churning endlessly in my mind—why and how and if only!”
“I know,” agreed Jess warmly. “Talking can help if the other person understands. And I do. You see, I lost my own father less than two months ago, though of course my tragedy wasn’t anything like yours.”
“To you I daresay it was,” said Liane softly, adding, “I wish we could talk sometimes, you and I. Are you coming to see Mrs. Seacombe again?”
“Yes, on Thursday.”
“Well, couldn’t you stay and have coffee with me afterward?”
“I’d like to if I haven’t another patient to see at once.”
“Then that’s settled. Now I’ll go and remind Muir that you are here, in case he has forgotten. But it’s more likely that he has been stopped by somebody, for he doesn’t usually forget anything.” At the door Liane paused. “I hope you’ll like Muir,” she said. “He is rather difficult to know, and I’ve always thought that if—well, supposing a person fell short of his estimation he mightn’t be very understanding about it. But he’s been wonderful to me—” She broke off quickly, standing aside as the door opened to admit the man of whom she was speaking.
He smiled down at her. “Ready?” he queried.
“I’ve got to put my clubs in the car.”
“All right. Wait for me then, will you? I won’t be long.” He closed the door behind her and turned toward Jess’s uniformed figure with the beginning of an apology on his lips.
“I’m sorry I had to keep you, Nurse Mawney—” The formal words froze there as he realized the thing that Jess had already known for seconds. His puzzled glance traveled from her face to the dresser and back again as he strove to fit association and memory into a coherent pattern.
When he had met this girl before she had antagonized him by her assumption of an attitude with which he had no sympathy. On the contrary, his sympathies were with another girl, the bare facts of whose story had caught at his imagination. But that girl had been a nurse ... And this girl was a nurse—
He shook his head in a rueful bewilderment that served to disarm some of Jess’s newly bristling hostility.
In a small voice that recalled her first approach to him she said, “Perhaps I’d better explain—”
Muir Forester smiled. “Perhaps,” he agreed, “we’d both better do some explaining.”
CHAPTER TWO
Jess was strangely warmed by that smile. It helped to put her at her ease, so that she was able to smile back and to accept the offer of a chair with the quiet poise that was natural to her.
Muir Forester did not sit down himself but crossed the room to the dresser where he stood leaning lightly back against it with his arms folded. “Well,” he invited dryly, “who begins?”
“Perhaps I’d better,” murmured Jess. “You see, it—” she nodded at the dresser “—had belonged to me.”
“To you?”
“Well, to my father—to my old home. He died suddenly from thrombosis, and his will had directed that without exception all his effects were to be sold at auction for my benefit. I had to take my chances on being able to buy in anything I wished to keep. I decided that the dresser was the only piece I really wanted, not because I thought it was valuable but just because it seemed to spell home for me. I never thought I should have any difficulty in getting it until I saw it being knocked down to you. Then I felt that I must have it. And that was why I—well, you know the rest.” Jess paused, wondering now why pride had forbidden her to make her admission to this man earlier.
He nodded thoughtfully. “And your father—could he be loosely described as ‘one of these scientific professors,’ would you say?”
Puzzled, Jess replied, “I suppose he could. He retired from a chair of science at one of the northern universities some years ago. But he was still doing a certain amount of research work when he died.”
Again Muir Forester nodded. “The pattern begins to emerge, I think. I had been down to Maidstone on business, and when I was forced to wait for a car repair I looked in at the sale on the advice of the garage owner—”
“Oh—Sid Maddon?” put in Jess.
“Was that his name? All I learned was that he appeared to have known the professor well, and he managed in a few words to enlist my whole sympathy for the professor’s daughter who, apart from her earnings as a nurse, was likely to find herself with no nest egg of security except the proceeds of that sale.” Muir Forester subjected Jess to an obliquely challenging glance before he continued, “Somehow I liked the sound of that daughter. I shouldn’t have expected her to misunderstand the motives of my charity!” Jess flushed deeply, the color creeping up from her throat to stain each cheek and to recede slowly like an ebbing tide. She longed to control it but could not.
And the man went on. “You didn’t help me or yourself, did you, by not telling me the truth of why you really approached me about the dresser—because it had a close sentimental value for you and you had had to let it go only because I had driven the price too high for you?”
Jess swallowed hard. “You—you didn’t make it easy for me to tell you.”
He looked surprised. “Since when has sincerity needed a path made easy for it? You need only have said what you have just told me, and the hard things that passed between us later needn’t have been said at all.”
“But you had prejudged me from the first. You thought I had held back from the bidding for reasons of my own and that I hoped to strike some private bargain with you. You didn’t disguise the fact that you found that—rather despicable.”
Jess looked at him frankly. “Somehow it was easier just now than it seemed then.”
“Only because you’ve stopped allowing pride to dictate to you,” he retorted. “May I say that I consider your attitude to have been far more absurd than despicable? And if you found mine uncompromising, you should remember that I had a preconceived notion of the professor’s daughter, which, that afternoon, you did not fit at all. So I suppose our unlooked-for meeting here, with the dresser as evidence against us, did make things easier all around.” He turned around as he spoke and spread his hands upon its surface. “How do you think it looks here, by the way?”
“Very attractive,” said Jess spontaneously. She was wondering how she had differed from his conception of “the professor’s daughter.” But it seemed that he did not mean to tell her.
“Not as well, though, as you remember it to have looked in your own home?” he challenged quickly.
“Just as well, I think. There it stood facing the sun as you have it here. The oak is so dark that it needs plenty of light.” Jess hesitated before adding rather shyly, “But at home it always had some old willow-pattern plates on its shelves.”
“Blue willow?” Muir Forester stood back, considering the dresser with his head at an angle. “Yes, of course—why didn’t I realize that color—blue for preference—is the one thing lacking?” He turned to Jess. “Your willow pattern wasn’t for sale?”
She shook her head. “It was the only casualty of the removal. There were only half a dozen or so pieces, and one of the van men put them into a case with some books—and then dropped the lot.”
“What a tragedy. And of course no modern willowware could take its place. It isn’t sufficiently mellow. You must watch the antique shops or go to some sales yourself. In time you will probably pick up just what you need, even if it is only a piece or two at a time. In the meanwhile—let’s see, you are staying with Mrs. Boss in the village, aren’t you—I’ll arrange to have the dresser sent down there for you.”
Jess looked her utter bewilderment. “You mean you are offering to sell it back to me after all?”
“Not at all. I am restoring it to you, as I would have restored it to the professor’s daughter if I had been permitted to learn the whole of her story in time.”
Again the flush crept up Jess’s throat. “I can’t possibly take it,” she said.
“Nonsense. That is your foolish pride intruding again. I wish to give it back to you.” His voice was crisply imperious, and the set of his mouth emphasized the stubborn line of his jaw.
“And I hope you won’t insist,” returned Jess quietly. “I really can’t accept it.”
Their eyes met across the space between them, and Jess did not allow hers to flinch until, with a little shrug of his shoulders, he lowered his own.
“Obviously I can’t force it upon you,” he said. “But it would have given me pleasure for you to have it. It shall stay here. Meanwhile, if you’ll come over, I’ll show you the points about it that gave me its date to within a year or so and which amounted almost to a signature by its maker.”
Jess joined him, glad that he had accepted her refusal without further persuasion but regretting the necessity for it with all her heart. She could not let him give her the dresser, but how ungracious had her refusal sounded? And how could she temper it now?
He was saying, “So you see, to anyone familiar with it, its message was fairly easy to read.”
“I do see,” smiled Jess. “Thank you so much for telling me about it. At home we had never thought it was worth much—in money, I mean.” She paused before adding impulsively, “You know, as soon as I saw Mrs. Boss’s furniture I knew that it would never have fitted in, and I was almost glad I hadn’t been able to keep it.”
“Mrs. Boss’s choice being very much post-World War II, I gather?”
“Very, though she keeps it beautifully. But I know she wouldn’t appreciate the dresser.”
“You convince me that she wouldn’t. But you won’t always be living with Mrs. Boss. I shall give it to you as a wedding present!”
Jess caught her breath quickly, then saw that he was smiling and read the remark as a light dismissal of the whole subject. “I’ll give it to you as a wedding present.” It was an alternative catch phrase to “I’ll leave it to you in my will.” Both meant nothing at all, implied no promise intended to be taken seriously. And when Muir Forester moved away across the room without waiting for any response from her it was clear that he considered the matter closed. She returned to her chair and sat down, waiting for him to open the real issue between them.
He lost no time in doing so. He said, “I haven’t welcomed you formally to the Cranes as our district nurse, but I want you to believe that I hope you will be happy here and that you won’t find the work too much for you.”
“Thank you,” murmured Jess. “I don’t think I shall find it too much. After all, the Queen’s-Institute training that I’ve taken is specially designed to equip us for district work.”
Muir glanced at her quickly, as if sensing that she resented doubts of her capabilities. He said, “You misunderstand me. I meant that I hoped you wouldn’t find the extent of your work too much for you physically. But since you have brought up the matter of your equipment for your job, would you say, for instance, that Mrs. Seacombe’s case comes well within your skill?”
“My skill isn’t really involved, Mr. Forester. All Mrs. Seacombe needs is patience to do the exercises I have shown her. She is very appreciative of what is wanted, so that she may put you to as little more inconvenience as possible. She is very anxious about that.”
“I know she is, but if it is only time she needs she can have all there is. But she worries, and it was my anxiety to reassure her that prompted me to look for the highest skill available to her. However, I am willing to leave her in your care. You’ll be coming to see her again?”
“Yes, on Thursday.”
“Good.” Then, as if he were still aware of her slight hostility, he added, “I hope you won’t resent the rather watchful interest in your work, which you may encounter as you go about the villages. East-Anglian people are conservative and don’t take kindly to change, and there is bound to be some criticism of your youth and lack of experience.”
“I was engaged on my qualifications, surely?” protested Jess.
“Exactly. But prejudice dies hard, and though you’ll be judged ultimately by your achievements, that may take time.”
“But shouldn’t even my achievements be judged only by Dr. Gilder, my chief?”
Muir Forester smiled. “My dear girl, you know that won’t be so! Your own home was in a small place, not so very much bigger than Crane-by-Sea. So you should be able to realize how, in small communities, any public servant like yourself must always run the gauntlet of public opinion! I am only warning you—”
Jess stood up. “Thank you,” she said a little stiffly. “You are kind.”
He held out his hand in parting. “I felt you should know where you stand. Have you another patient to see now?”
“Yes—Mrs. Tempton-Burney in Cranemouth.”
“Ah—well, Miss Hart and I are making for the golf club at Crane. Otherwise, we might have offered you a lift.” "
But Jess assured him that she would be collecting her own car as she had later journeys farther afield and they parted at the front door, Muir going to join Liane, Jess setting out on the short walk down the hill.
She had only gone a few yards when Muir’s car, open to the sun, shot past her and Liane waved back as if in promise that she was looking forward to their next meeting. Jess walked on, her thoughts turning about the encounter that had just ended, the bewildering unexpectedness of it, the give-and-take of its conversation—an exchange, which at moments had been as barbed as her first with the man, at others strangely shot through with warmth, yet which still left them stran
gers to each other.
Then suddenly her mind took the full significance of a remark of Muir Forester’s, which at the time she had dismissed as meaning nothing. “I shall give it to you as a wedding present.” Now she saw that for him those hadn’t been so many empty words.
Muir Forester believed that she was going to marry Michael. As if the thought had been written for her in black and white, Jess tried to look dispassionately at it and did not know why she should find it distasteful. Why should it matter that Mr. Forester should not be under that illusion about her? She only knew that she was already casting about in her mind for some way of correcting his mistake, caused by that bold claim of Michael’s that had really meant nothing at all.
But she could hardly approach Muir Forester with a bald correction, for the subject could have no lasting interest for him. Yet it was not likely that he and she would achieve any degree of intimacy that would allow her to mention it lightly and naturally. No, she supposed reluctantly that she must ignore the whole incident, however rankling and annoying the memory was.
Liane said in playful reproach, “You were a long time, Muir. But I daresay you found you liked Nurse Mawney as much as I did at sight. She’s nice, isn’t she?”
“As a matter of fact, we found we had met before. Her fiancé was bidding against me for the dresser in the morning room—the one I bought while I was away last week, you know.”
“Yes. What an amazing coincidence!”