“You are wrong.” Harriet spoke with sincerity. “Duncan works at hospital all hours of the day, and some hours of the night, too; in his leisure time he is compiling a book on children’s diseases. He has worked unsparingly all his life—he hasn’t had money behind him, and has had to struggle all the way. He could relax now, he has succeeded, and its time he reaped some benefit. Underneath that hard exterior he is considerate, almost gentle, and I envy the girl he chooses to share his life.”
“Goodness! You’re serious.” Jill laughed lightheartedly. “He may be all you say, and admittedly he does show you a certain amount of respect and consideration, but I believe that women as such don’t exist for him. As a sex, I’m sure he regards us nurses as a uniformed race, necessary components to the running of a hospital, and divided into two groups, the efficient and the fools. Obviously he has no time for the latter group, in which category he has placed me.” There was a hint of bitterness in Jill’s tone. “Now you are trying to tell me that there are hidden depths to his nature which I haven’t yet discovered!”
“I know there are.” Harriet spoke with deep conviction, then deliberately changed the conversation. “Dick is late, he’ll miss the last train if he isn’t careful.”
For the next ten minutes the conversation took a more conventional turn, and Harriet encouraged Jill to speak of her own affairs. She was interested to hear of her home life, and how her mother’s remarriage to Sir Trevor Hallard had turned out.
“They are very happy,” Jill assured her. “Trevor is really a dear; in fact, they are an ideal couple with lots of tastes in common. You know I have a step-brother now.” Jill’s eyes filled with affection as she spoke. “Terry is an adorable child, full of mischief and a real sport; he loves being in the country, so they spend most of their time at Brent Towers and rarely use the town flat. Nana, of course, is in her element at having the old nurseries in use again.”
“Does Lady Hallard still object to your nursing?” Harriet asked. “She was very much against it, wasn’t she?”
“She’ll always hate the idea. I shall never make her understand that I really love it, she is most emphatic on the subject, and can’t imagine why I don’t live a life of leisure,” Jill laughed.
“It seems silly to worry about it, you’ll give up one day—when the right man comes along.’ Harriet’s eyes twinkled. “I presume he hasn’t turned up yet, but you know I feel that marriage should be every girl’s real ambition.”
“You are a nice one to talk!” Jill scoffed. “I can’t see you giving up medicine for any man. Why, it’s your whole life.”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you one day,” Harriet spoke with a hint of underlying meaning. “No woman is entirely invulnerable.”
“I suppose you’d be clever enough to combine marriage and a career. You’d just have to. I can’t believe that you’d ever entirely give up your work.”
Richard Fahr’s arrival turned Jill’s thoughts from her speculations, and interrupted their discussion, and she was glad of the distraction. In spite of his unconcealed anxiety not to miss his train, Jill was again aware of his pleasing and cosy manner. His whole attitude was so utterly different from Duncan McRey’s, that again she found herself wishing that she was working for him. He on his side showed unmistakeable pleasure at being with Harriet and herself, and although he watched the time carefully he kept the conversational ball rolling smoothly, and somehow managed to infuse Jill with a newly-gained self-confidence.
“I must be moving—if I miss the nine-twenty-five I’ll have a two-hour wait.” Richard Fahr rose to his feet. “Settle the bill for me, Harriet, I’ll square with you in the morning.” He turned to Jill. “Sorry I have to rush off. Perhaps we can all dine together some other time.”
Harriet rose too. “I’ll run you up the hill to the station.” She turned apologetically to Jill. “You don’t mind, do you? I shall only be about ten minutes.”
As Harriet and Richard Fahr crossed the dining-room their laughter drifted back to Jill. She withdrew her slender gold cigarette case from her bag, then hunted for her lighter. She must have left it on her dressing-table. A smoke was just what she needed to round off a pleasant meal, she mused, still searching vainly, in the pockets of her bag. “Can I give you a light?”
Jill looked up startled to see Duncan McRey’s tall lean figure stooping above her, the cigarette lighter in his hand jerked into a flame. ‘Thank you.” She hoped that her expression did not reveal the amazement she felt at his unexpected appearance. She was even more surprised to see him settle down in the chair which Harriet had vacated.
“What s happened to Harriet and Fahr, they were dining with you, weren’t they?”
“Harriet will be back soon. She is just taking Mr. Fahr to the station, he is catching the train for town.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Thanks for the light.” Jill repeated in an attempt to make conversation. “I put my cigarette case in my bag but must have forgotten my lighter.”
“Is a bad memory one of your failings?”
The underlying meaning was all too clear, and Jill could have kicked herself for giving him such an opening. With an effort to cover her annoyance, she lifted her head to meet his steel-blue eyes unflinchingly. “I may at times forget irrelevant details, but I have an excellent memory as far as my work is, concerned.”
“I see.” His expression was inscrutable, but Jill was sure a hint of amusement showed in the eyes which returned her gaze. Easing back in his chair he beckoned the hovering waiter. “More coffee, please, and a liqueur brandy—two,” he added as an afterthought, then, as the waiter turned away, Duncan McRey again addressed Jill. “You’ll have a liqueur, won’t you?”
“Since you have made up my mind for me, thank you, I will,” Jill smiled faintly. She felt she ought to be grateful for that much consideration, but it was surely the most ungracious way in which she had ever been offered a drink! While they awaited the waiter’s return, the conversation was impersonal and desultory, but for some inexplicable reason Duncan McRey managed to make her feel uncomfortably self-conscious, a weakness from which she never normally suffered in masculine company. That he could be attractive she had realized at their very first meeting and, she had to concede, when he wasn’t being overbearing and critical, there was something compelling in his all-too-rare smile, while the soft burr in his voice was curiously pleasing. Without conscious volition she found herself wondering how he would act if he really cared for any girl, and instinctively she recalled his expression as he had leaned over Mary Miles, lying obviously in pain in her tumbled bed; that tender smile, those gentle hands with their reassuring touch; she saw again the sudden look of confidence in the child’s expression, the relief in her tremulous smile...
“Ah ... here comes Harriet.” Duncan McRey rose to his feet and pulled forward a chair. “Fahr catch his train all right?”
“Yes.” Harriet sat down and began to pull off her driving gloves. “You two having coffee—and a drink?” She laughed. “You seem to be making the most of my absence.” She shook her head as he beckoned the waiter. “No, Duncan, not for me—really not. Don’t forget I’ve got a longish drive and a couple of visits on the way.” She turned to Jill. “You don’t mind if I get the bill now, do you?”
“No, of course not, but I think I’d like to walk back, the exercise will do me good—that is, if it isn’t raining again.”
“It’s cold, but it’s a lovely night.” Harriet reached in her bag as the waiter handed her the bill neatly folded on a plate. “Goodness! what a fool I am, I must have left my money at home.”
Jill couldn’t resist a malicious smile in Duncan McRey’s direction. “Surely a bad memory isn’t one of Harriet’s failings?” She spoke softly so that Harriet, still searching in her bag, scarcely heard the remark, but it was obviously not lost on him. Quickly drawing out her notecase, Jill paid the waiter, forestalling Duncan McRey’s intention as he withdrew his wallet from an inner pocket.
“Thanks Jill. I’ll settle with you tomorrow. Coming?” Harriet had risen to her feet and was again pulling on her fur-lined gauntlets. “Sure you want to walk?” she asked Jill as, emerging through the swing doors, a cold wind whipped their faces.
“Yes, really ... good night, Harriet, see you some time tomorrow.”
Harriet, already half-seated in her car, turned to address Duncan. “So long—I’ll be in early in the morning and we can get those bronchograms done before the clinic.” Easing herself back into the driving seat, she slammed the door. “You can escort Jill back to hospital,” she called through the open window as she waved good-bye. As the car disappeared into the darkness Jill found herself standing with Duncan McRey by her side on the wet pavement outside the Marine Hotel. When she’d offered to walk back it hadn’t even entered her mind that Duncan McRey would be her companion. After a day in a centrally heated atmosphere she had longed to feel the salt wind in her face and hear the even beat of the waves on the dark, lonely shore. All she had wanted had been fresh air—and solitude.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jill rolled up the collar of her coat, then dug her chin into the soft fur as she leaned forward against the wind. It was certainly cold, but there was an exhilarating quality about its salty tang as it blew against her face and lifted the soft tendrils of her hair, blowing it in curling wisps across her forehead. She should have brought a hat or a scarf, but then she hadn’t considered the possibility of walking. Still, she didn’t regret her decision, and even Duncan McRey, striding at her side, could not detract from the pleasure this welcome exercise was affording her. Brought up as a child in the country, she had never lost her joy in walking and riding; every form of exercise appealed to her and, Jill had to admit, Sunsand Bay with all its faults had far more to offer in that respect than the restricting limits of town.
“Shall we cut up through the back, it will be more sheltered there?” Duncan McRey suggested as, turning along the front they were met by the full force of the gale blowing across the wide stretch of ocean.
“Oh, no, I love this,” Jill protested. “That is if you don’t mind,” she amended hastily.
“No. I like it.” He belted his mackintosh more firmly at the waist, then, following Jill’s lead, crossed over the road until they walked the wide, paved promenade. “Sure you are warm enough?”
His question was barely audible as his words were carried away by a fresh gust of wind, and certainly not sufficiently clear for Jill to perceive whether they were prompted by consideration for her welfare or whether they might not have carried some note of criticism. Either way she found herself suddenly unduly conscious of her sheer silk stockings and the smart tailored coat which moulded the slim lines of her figure; admittedly they had been well chosen for dinner in an hotel, but scarcely the ideal garments for an evening’s tramp on a windswept promenade.
“I’m very warm, thanks.” Jill lifted her head that her words might reach her companion, and beneath the glow of a lamp the shadowed violet of her eyes was emphasized against the pink glow of her cheeks. She pushed back the tangled curls of her hair from her forehead before continuing. “I’m just loving this—the wind is invigorating, heady like wine.”
“You aren’t suitably dressed, you’ll get cold. Haven’t you a scarf or something?”
Jill shook her head. “I forgot...” She broke off and her laugh was carried away by the wind, but a provocative dimple still showed in her cheeks. “I mean I didn’t know I’d be walking back. I only made up my mind at the last moment, the idea of fresh air and exercise was irresistible.”
Placing an arm firmly beneath Jill’s elbow, he led her towards one of the small glass enclosed shelters along the sea front. “Come in here for a moment and fix this over your head.” Before Jill could stop him he had pulled a spotted silk handkerchief from his neck. “At least this will keep your head protected,” he announced, handing it to her.
“But what about you?” Jill demurred, making no move to accept the proffered scarf.
“I don’t need it.” As Jill still made no move to accept, he placed it in her hand, and she knew further protest would be useless. “Thanks, that will certainly be much more comfortable.” The sudden shelter from the wind made speech easier, and taking advantage of the temporary lull, Jill added: “I feel that I am being a nuisance—just because Harriet suggested you take me back. You don’t have to, you know. I don’t mind one bit walking alone; in fact, I’m enjoying it so much that I’d like to venture a little further along the front before returning, so please don’t bother with me. You get straight back and I’ll find my own way home.”
“I’ll come along just the same. You see I, too, feel like exercise.” He leaned forward and retied the knotted scarf at Jill’s chin. “The bow you made is most becoming, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t hold a moment in this gale.”
Jill was uncomfortably conscious of his hands as they brushed against her chin. His face, as he stooped, was almost level with hers, and the kindly expression of concern in his blue eyes caught her entirely unaware. It was so unexpected, as indeed had been the gentle touch of his fingers at her throat, that she was filled with a momentary sense or embarrassment. “Thanks, I’m sure that’s firmer.” She turned her head away as she spoke and busied herself quite unnecessarily with the fastening of her bag.
“Let me put that in my pocket, it will be easier walking with your hands free.” Without awaiting a reply he took the bag from Jill’s hand and slipped it in the capacious pocket of his mackintosh. “Ready?” Again he placed his hand beneath her arm as they emerged from the shelter. “Would you like to try and get as far as the jetty? It won’t take long, then we can strike back, inland, over the fields.”
“I’d love to.” Jill found herself shouting again to make her voice heard above the wind. Her escort had now dropped his hand from her arm and, freed of her hand bag, she thrust both hands in her pockets and stepped forward readily at his side. Above the wind she could hear the steady beat of the waves as they broke over the shingle; that and the ring of their own footsteps on the hard stone were the only sounds in the covering darkness. Neither of them spoke; even had Jill felt inclined she was too busy battling with the elements and trying to match her steps to her companion’s long strides, to make further efforts.
Jill felt the wind was like wine. Like wine it seemed to have gone to her head; she was aware of a feeling of happiness akin to exultation as she bent her body to its force, feeling it whip round her, almost lifting her from her feet. Her thoughts were in turmoil and held a quality of unreality even as the encompassing night and the silent man at her side. He was surely as enigmatic as the dark vaulted heavens and the spangle of stars. Harriet had tried to give her some more intimate picture of this man, yet she didn’t feel she knew him better; perhaps loneliness and the determined struggle to success had given him that shell of hardness ... surely it could be no more than a veneer since although she had suffered his scathing remarks and that satirical smile, she had also glimpsed the kindliness which he seemed almost at pains to conceal. Suddenly it easy to understand Harriet’s words; she usually was right, her judgment sound and clear-headed, a woman who could pierce his armour would probably find all her heart could desire.
As they rounded the jetty the high wall broke the force or the wind. The sudden lull was strange after their recent buffeting, and even the sea, a few feet below them, beat almost gently against the rocky boulders. Throwing back her head, Jill took a deep breath. She could taste the salt on her lips and her body glowed with the recent exercise.
“That was lovely—how sheltered it is here.” She walked to the edge and peered over the foam-flecked rocks.
“The wind is from the south; this corner is sheltered.” He paused, then added, “The waves are breaking the other side—hear them?” As he spoke a wave broke high against the wall with thundering impact, sending a fine spray of salt water clear over the jetty. Duncan McRey took Jill’s arm and pulled her back. “Better
not stand there, you’ll get soaked.” He wiped a green-painted seat with his handkerchief. “Like to sit for a moment before starting back?” Jill sank gratefully down on to the hard seat; she felt reluctant as yet to turn homeward. It was strange to hear the crashing waves at her back and yet to remain scarcely touched by the wind. The spray, rising high above the wall, did not reach them, and the wind had become no more than a hissing whisper.
“It’s good here. I often come in the evenings.”
Jill turned to her companion with surprise. “Do you? I’ve scarcely explored at all except for one tramp over the cliffs.” Jill gave a short laugh. “This is such an ugly place. Maybe it’s better to walk at night, one can’t see it.”
“The sea front should only be walked after dark “ He smiled. “During the day it’s easier to go further afield, the Downs beyond Stene are beautiful. There are dozens of wonderful tramps towards the North, too. You must try them.”
Jill remained silent, unwilling to express the thoughts his words had provoked. Had he forgotten that he had himself expressed the opinion that her stay at Sunsand would prove brief and, since then, nothing had happened to suggest that he had revised his opinion. On the contrary, he had shown quite clearly that as a Sister she fell far short of his standards.
“You are very silent. Are you wondering whether you’ll be here long enough to take advantage of my suggestions?” The fact that her companion had so readily guessed her train of thought filled Jill with embarrassment; she was certainly glad of the covering darkness as she sought her reply, but yet would have given much had it only been light enough to read the expression behind the inscrutable smile which had accompanied his words. “I don’t know...” Jill broke off, irritated with her own faltering words. Then, with a sudden burst of confidence, she added, “I believe that you could answer that question far better than I.”
To Please the Doctor Page 6