by Anne Mather
Julie wondered as she said this what Samantha would say, and then she thought that probably Samantha would be pleased that she had found something so entirely removed from Manuel Cortez with which to pass the time.
The sister smiled. “You are English, aren’t you? Yes, I thought you were. Whatever are you doing exploring the back streets of San Francisco? Surely there is plenty to interest you amongst the tourist attractions.”
Julie shrugged. “I’m afraid I wasn’t much in the mood for tourist attractions,” she confessed. “So I’ll come back tomorrow, yes?”
“Very well. I shall look forward to seeing you, Miss… Miss. …”
“Kennedy, Julie Kennedy.”
“Very well, Miss Kennedy. My name is Sister Moran. Ask for me here in the vestibule if I am not around when you arrive.”
“All right.” Julie said her good-byes and left. She walked back along the street thinking of the Polish seaman. It was good to feel needed again.
But going back to Santa Marta in the taxi her doubts returned. What if Samantha needed her to take care of Tony in the morning? What if she objected to Julie’s arranging something like this without discussing it with them? Of course the sister did not know her address, and would not be able to trace her should she fail to return. But she knew somehow that she would find the way to go back there. Something seemed to be compelling her to go back, and she had no will to resist.
Samantha was not so much angry as concerned for Julie’s welfare.
“Julie!” she exclaimed, when Julie related the incident to her. “Whatever possessed you to say you would go back again? Heavens, the man is having the operation, isn’t he? There’s nothing else for you to do.”
“But he can’t speak to them. He has to make signals for everything he wants from them. Surely I was only acting naturally to agree to help them.”
“And do you mean to tell me that there is no one else in San Francisco who speaks German?”
“Of course not. But they’re terribly busy there. The wards are filled with men, and they’re obviously understaffed. They simply don’t have the time to go put looking for an interpreter. Anyway, so long as I’m not upsetting any plans of yours, I will go. It will be something for me to do. As you said yesterday, I should occupy my time.”
Samantha conceded defeat. “All right, darling, you go. But don’t blame me if this Sister Moran ropes you in for chores like emptying bedpans and dishing out the meals. From your attitude, I should think she’ll think you’re desperately in need of an occupation.”
Julie laughed a little. “Occupational therapy,” she remarked, and Samantha nodded.
“By the way,” she said, lighting a cigarette, “how are you proposing to get to San Francisco in the morning? Ben won’t be able to take you. He… he’s going out to Monterey, actually.”
Julie’s mouth went dry. “To Manuel’s?”
“Yes. It was all fixed up today. Manuel apparently has some free time, and he and Claude Christian… have you heard of him? The lyric writer?…Well, anyway, he and this Claude Christian are collaborating on the writing of a musical, Manuel composing the music, and the other chap writing the words. Get the picture?”
“Clearly,” murmured Julie softly. “So?”
“Oh, yes, Ben is invited out to spend a little time with them. He can take his sketches while they’re working. It’s an ideal arrangement.”
“Ideal,” echoed Julie.
Samantha sighed. “So how are you getting to town?”
“Well, I’ll ring for a cab. If I leave about eight I should be back about twelve.”
“Relax,” said Samantha, drawing on her cigarette. “Don’t come rushing back here on Tony’s account. I shall be here all day with nothing to do except look after him. Have a meal in ‘Frisco, and then come back. At your leisure.”
Julie hugged her. “Oh, Sam, you are good to me!”
“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” remarked Sam dryly, and then returned the hug.
During dinner that evening it was inevitable that Ben should accidentally mention the following day, and Julie, seeing Samantha’s annoyed stare at her husband, said:
“Please, don’t treat me like a piece of glass. I won’t break. For goodness’ sake, Ben, be natural. Talk about Manuel Cortez if you want to. Obviously it’s very exciting for you, and I don’t expect you to bottle it all up. You wouldn’t if I wasn’t here, so do go on. I’m interested. Really!”
Ben grunted and then said: “Well, I leave in the morning and I should be back before dinner. The house shouldn’t be too difficult to find. The peninsula drive runs round to Carmel and the houses on this drive sound to be quite something. His house is called Cyprus Lake.”
“Charming,” said Samantha, and Julie could not tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.
Julie left them after dinner still discussing Ben’s ideas for his new exhibition which he hoped to have in the autumn. It was to be on the theme of the corrida, the bullfight, and it was Manuel’s dark, Spanish-style appearance which had triggered off his imagination.
Julie went to bed early, but not to sleep. Once again an image of Manuel had imprinted itself on her mind, and she was loath to let it go.
The next morning she dressed in navy slacks and a white over-blouse for her visit to the hospital. She slung a dark cardigan over her shoulders and was ready when the taxi came.
The Seamen’s Mission Hospital looked cold and stark in the clear morning light, while a faint mist from the harbour chilled the air. Julie went inside without giving herself time to change her mind, but found the hall deserted. She was looking about her, wondering where she ought to go, when a man came walking down the hall towards her. He was dressed in a white coat, signifying that he was a doctor of some sort, but in the gloomy hallway his features were strangely familiar. Julie’s stomach started to churn wildly, and she thought for a second she was going a little mad. The man who had stopped in front of her was incredibly like Manuel Cortez, and except that he was not so lean, and a little shorter, at first glance he could be taken for the singer.
Julie gathered her scattered senses. This man was not Manuel, and she was behaving like an idiot.
“Can I help you?” he asked politely, his eyes grave.
“I… oh, yes! I’m Julie Kennedy. I was here yesterday. I’ve come to see the Polish seaman who had difficulty in making himself understood.”
The man smiled. “Ah, yes, Mr. Voletski, the appendectomy. He has had his operation, and I’m happy to say is much better.”
“Oh, good.” Julie smiled now, completely in control of herself again. “Wh… where is he? May I see him?”
“By all means.” He led the way back along the corridor, studying her curiously as they went. Possibly he was wondering why she had paled at his approach earlier, and why she was so nervous.
“My name is Cortez,” he said easily. “Felipe Cortez. I am the resident doctor here.”
Felipe Cortez, Julie stared at him. Was this the man who had introduced Ben to Manuel? It could not be such a coincidence that there were two Felipe Cortez’ in San Francisco. Besides, this man was obviously Manuel’s brother. That explained the resemblance. Her heart leapt uncomfortably into her throat. Was this why she had been drawn to the hospital? Was this why she had felt the compulsion to return? Because unconsciously she had sensed this man’s presence, and his closeness to Manuel?
A familiar figure met them at the door to the ward. It was Sister Moran. She smiled.
“So, Miss Kennedy, you have come back! I am very glad. I wondered if perhaps, after you had left the hospital, the urge to return would desert you.”
Julie shook her head. “I wanted to come,” she said simply, and then seated herself beside the patient’s bedside.
Igor Voletski looked much better this morning. He had been shaved and his hair had been combed, and he looked a different proposition from the rather wild man of the previous afternoon.
Julie talked to him for a little while,
concious all the time of Felipe Cortez in the ward, of his gentle handling of the other patients, and of their obvious liking of him. Like Manuel he possessed charm, and used his to gain the confidence of men who in many cases had grown remote from the companionship of other seamen like themselves.
When she left the ward, she encountered Sister Moran, who invited her into her office for some coffee. Here she was introduced to Sisters Donahue and Jameson, and later they were joined by Felipe himself.
It was companionable, sitting in the tiny office, drinking delicious coffee, and listening to the nuns talking about their patients. They good-humouredly glossed over the unpleasant tasks they had to undertake, the incurable cases of cancer they found, sometimes quite by accident, and the hard, tiring work of running the wards for men who did not always appreciate what was being done for them, and who tried to break the rules at every opportunity.
It was only a little after nine when, coffee break over, the sisters returned to their duties. Julie felt uncomfortably aware of her own empty day stretching ahead of her, and said impulsively:
“Is there anything I could do? I mean, while I’m here, surely I could help.”
Sister Moran shook her head in amazement. “Are you serious, child?”
“Of course I’m serious. I… I’d like to help. If I could.”
Sister Moran did not offer any unnecessary objections, but instead provided Julie with an overall, a mop and a bucket, and asked her to begin by mopping out the wards.
Julie set to work with a will. At last she felt she was doing something useful, and she found she could ignore the ribald comments of the men if she put her mind to it.
In a side ward she came upon a young girl of about twelve or thirteen, who was lying reading comics and eating chocolates, and grinned cheekily at Julie and offered her a chocolate. Julie disguised her curiosity, deciding it was not her business to pry, and accepted the chocolate with a smiling “thanks”.
After her mopping spree there were beds to tidy, bedpans to distribute and then clear away, and thermometers to be popped into mouths to await the checking of the sisters.
Apart from the three sisters and Dr. Cortez there were only two orderlies doing work of the kind she was doing, and a cook in the kitchen who provided the meals. Considering there were three wards, not counting the side ward, all filled with patients, the place was badly understaffed.
By lunchtime, after serving one of the wards with stew and meat balls, sponge pudding and tea, Julie felt exhausted. Sister Moran noticed her pale face, and said firmly:
“It is time you were leaving, Miss Kennedy. You have helped us enormously, but there is no point in tiring yourself unnecessarily. Thank you for everything. Goodbye.”
Julie took off her overall. “W… would you mind if I came again?” she asked. “I mean, I’ve quite enjoyed it, actually.”
Sister Moran laughed. “My dear,” she exclaimed, “come whenever you like. We never turn help away here. Do we, Felipe?” as the doctor came in.
Felipe looked kindly at Julie. “You are coming again?”
“If I may.”
He shook his head. “But why?”
Sister Moran patted his shoulder. “Don’t ask questions, Felipe. The child wants to come; let her come. She has been a great help to me.”
Felipe looked at Julie thoughtfully. Then he shrugged, and drew off his white coat.
“Come, I will take you to your hotel.”
Julie flushed. “Oh, really, but that’s not at all necessary. I… I don’t live… I mean, I’m staying in Santa Marta.”
“Good. I shall enjoy the drive.” Felipe was firm.
Julie sighed. She certainly did not want Felipe Cortez to learn of her address. If he connected her with Benedict Barlow, Manuel would be bound to find out eventually.
Sister Moran smiled. “Take it easy, Felipe. The child is not used to your Latin ways.” She was openly amused.
Felipe buttoned the jacket of his faultlessly tailored grey suit. Without the coat he looked even more like Manuel; dark skin, dark eyes, white even teeth.
“Come,” he said, his eyes laughing.
“All right,” Julie shrugged, and preceded him out of the building.
At the rear of the hospital was a small parking area, and here they found Felipe’s cream Cadillac, a super-luxurious limousine, typically American in style and comfort. Julie relaxed on the deep leather upholstery, feeling tiny aches and pains disappear with the superb springing. It was wonderful to lie back and know someone else was in control.
But that would never do. She sat up nervously. They had left the car-park now and were gliding up the hill away from the harbour.
“Have you eaten?” he asked. “I mean, did you have any lunch there?”
Julie shook her head. “No. Have you?”
“No. Shall we lunch together?”
She smiled. “Ought I to? On such a short acquaintance?”
“I’m trustworthy,” he remarked, and turned off the main thoroughfare.
They ate at a restaurant high above the harbour, where the food was good and rather different from Julie’s usual menu. They ate Olympia oysters and stone crab, together with a salad so crisp and juicy it made Julie’s mouth water. Fresh fruit and whipped cream completed the meal, while American coffee made a pleasant accompaniment to their cigarettes afterwards.
“Now,” said Felipe, “tell me about yourself. What brings you here – to the States, and particularly to the west coast?”
Julie was flummoxed. She didn’t know how to reply, so she said:
“I… well…actually I’m a nanny to a baby boy, but as his mother enjoys looking after him herself, I’m afraid I’m rather superfluous at the moment.”
Felipe frowned. “An English couple?” he asked.
“Well… yes.”
He nodded. “There are several English families in Santa Marta.”
Julie breathed a sigh of relief. For once she had been lucky. Was that all he would ask? But no, Felipe asked about Ben, or rather her employer, and what his work might be.
She decided to make up an occupation, and chose writer. Felipe seemed to accept this, and after asking what kind of writing, to which Julie replied travelogues, he gave up the catechism, and began talking about the hospital.
Julie questioned him about the girl she seen in the side ward.
“Who is she?” she asked. “I mean, it seems so unusual to see a young girl in a hospital composed entirely of men.”
Felipe smiled. “Yes, I suppose it does seem strange,” he agreed. “However, in that particular child’s case it was the best thing that could ever happen to her. Her name is Teresa, and she is of Italian extraction, but unfortunately with parents who cared not a jot for her. She had a permanent limp, caused by a malformation of the hip which would obviously be improved by surgery, but her parents never had the kind of money necessary to pay for such treatment, even had they wanted to do so, which I doubt. A man, someone I know, saw the child, and because he recognized in Teresa something of the misery which he himself had known he agreed to make himself responsible for her treatment.”
“How marvellous!” Julie was fascinated. “And now?”
“Now she is awaiting treatment. We have taken tests, and X-rays, and it will be necessary to slightly shorten the bone of her left thigh. We hope the operation will considerably better her manner of walking, and with luck her limp will be barely noticeable.”
“I think that’s marvellous,” said Julie, repeating herself.
Felipe smiled indulgently. “Good. So now you have enjoyed our lunch?” At her enthusiastic nod, he looked pleased. “We must repeat the experience quite soon.”
“I’d like that,” said Julie, forgetting momentarily who he was. Then, remembering, she said quickly: “And now I must go.”
“Yes. I will take you home.”
“No! That is… I’d rather you didn’t, thank you. I… er… I’ve got a little shopping to do first, and I can easil
y take a cab later. But thank you, all the same.”
Felipe was a little reluctant to agree, but he did so, and Julie was relieved. It resolved her immediate problems, at least.
Back at the house Samantha was horrified when Julie told her what she had been doing.
“What did I say?” she stormed angrily. “You were a fool to go back. Heavens, Julie, you must have been mad to agree to do that kind of work!”
Julie laughed a little at this. “Oh, Sam, honestly! I wanted to help. It’s wonderful feeling that you’re actually doing something useful.”
“You can be useful to me here,” pointed out Samantha.
“Well, I know. But, Samantha, really you didn’t need me, and they did.”
“Oh, very well. At least it’s over now.”
Julie looked uncomfortable. “But I did say I might go back again.” She hastened on: “I mean, if I have any free time, I may as well be doing something that takes my mind off… things.” She twisted her hands together. “By the way, the doctor’s name is Cortez. Felipe Cortez!”
“No!” Samantha stared at her. “Manuel’s brother?”
“Well, I don’t know that for sure, but he’s the image of him, so unless Manuel has a cousin with the same name, I guess that’s who he is.”
“So! Now we have it.” Samantha looked sardonic. “Is this Felipe very like Manuel?”
“Not in ways, really, although there are some similarities, but in looks, yes. He’s shorter and broader, but like him enough to be taken for him at a distance.”
“Oh, Julie!”
“Oh, Julie, nothing,” exclaimed Julie hotly. “It’s nothing to do with Felipe, honestly. I like the work. Anyway, as you say, my work is here. I may never go again.”
“You will,” remarked Samantha dryly. “Darling,” she went on exasperatedly, “we only want your happiness, you know that, but isn’t it foolish agreeing to work with a man who on your own admission is Manuel’s double?”
“Maybe. But, Samantha, he doesn’t know who I am, and I certainly shall never mention Manuel, so where’s the harm?”
Samantha shrugged. “Have it your own way, darling. Come on, Ben will be home soon, and we must have a meal ready for him. By the way, you’d better not mention Felipe’s name to Ben. He’ll be bound to spill the beans if you do. You know how careless he can be. He just can’t keep secrets. Let’s hope he doesn’t connect your hospital with this Felipe, seeing that he knows him now.”