“That’s almost funny,” Sally said with a smile. “Dane will marry whom and when he wants to. Nothing but his own inclinations will influence him. When do you leave Shiran, mademoiselle?”
“I have been here four weeks; there are still five weeks of my contract at Le Perroquet, and then I go to Casablanca for a month.” She paused. “You are thinking, no doubt, that as yet I have no need to concern myself about you?”
“You need never concern yourself about me,” said Sally disarmingly.
“But I take no risks.” Cécile’s expression was bland. “I am sorry for poor Mike, but I feel he would be safer in the hands of an older, uglier nurse. Also, it seems only fair that someone old and more experienced, someone who is ready for retirement on the bounty of Dane Ryland, should be chosen to give Mike the help he needs.”
Sally looked at the woman, found her oddly inscrutable. “I’m a little dense tonight,” she said. “Do you mind speaking more plainly?”
Cécile, obviously, would have preferred to go on dealing in innuendo and suggestion. But once she had set herself a chore, apparently, she saw it through. Gently, she stretched her legs and flicked a speck from her skirt; then she looked across at Sally, who still stood near the carved dining table.
“I think you understand me very well, Miss Yorke. Against you personally, I have nothing at all. Also, I was in favor of Dane’s advertising for a physiotherapist in England. Please believe those two facts.”
“Very well. I believe them.”
“Bien. It happens that you are young, you have a good English complexion and pretty hair. You are too slim for beauty and if you were a visitor here, a tourist, Dane would smile at you and forget you; that is his habit with young female guests of the hotel. But your situation is at once more intimate and more subtle. If you fail with Mike, Dane will dislike you; if you succeed, he will think there is more in you than really exists. It is human nature.”
“It’s a chance one is taking all the time, whatever one’s profession.”
“That is true, and if my home were here in Shiran, I would not count you important. However, I should prefer that you leave Shiran before I leave myself.”
“Good heavens, why?”
“I have already explained. You are probably as trustworthy as any other woman, but then I do not trust women any more than I would expect them to trust me. Here in the Mirador you are in the peculiar position of being as close to Dane as you might wish, and how am I to know whether you may not desire greater closeness as the days pass?”
Cécile was breathtakingly logical; she bewildered Sally. “You’re not to know, of course,” she said. “I can only assure you that I’m here to work.”
“Your assurance is not enough,” Cécile replied sweetly. “But I would not wish you to suffer in any way. That is why I have suggested that I would introduce you to the Caid at Nezam. He has tremendous wealth and would pay you a fabulous sum even if you could improve his son’s physique only a little.”
“You’re actually urging me to walk out on Mike?”
“There will be someone else for him.”
“But I happen to be interested in his case, and anyway, I couldn’t just back out. Mr. Ryland would have a terrible opinion of me.”
“You care about his opinion?” Cécile demanded.
“Yes, I do,” Sally said bluntly. “He brought me over from England—paid my expenses and gave me one of the best suites in the hotel...”
“Which is another reason,” Cécile broke in sharply, “why you should give up this job with him. He has treated you wrongly from the beginning, and you have naturally exaggerated in your mind your own importance. Anyone with your kind of training could help Mike!”
“Perhaps, but I happen to be the one who was engaged.”
“You can tell Dane that you feel it is impossible for you to succeed with Mike.”
“No. I wouldn’t do it—not for all the money in Morocco! Quite apart from a personal pride in my job, I feel that now I’ve begun to help Mike I can’t let up. I’d like to see the little boy you spoke about and I’d be very willing to do what I could for him, without payment, but I was engaged for Michael Ritchie and for the present he has to come first.”
“So!” Patently, Cécile was astonished and displeased “You are the first girl I have ever met who is not interested in collecting a dowry. Yet your parents cannot be rich or you would not do such exhausting work.”
Unwittingly, Sally made a fatal mistake. The idea of an English girl not daring to think about marriage till she had a dowry was comic, and she laughed slightly. Cécile gave her a long penetrating glance from the dark eyes which were an unmistakable indication of her true coloring, and stood up. She had tightened like a steel spring and there was a tigerishness in her expression.
“So our customs amuse you, Miss Yorke. That is good, for you will not find much else that is funny while you are here. I was prepared to arrange this thing on a friendly basis, so that you would actually gain a good deal of money even if you lost a little of your treasured pride. But you are merely amused, and from such as you it is something I will not tolerate!”
By now, of course, Sally was distressed. “I’m terribly sorry, mademoiselle. I didn’t mean to offend you. Surely you’ve smiled occasionally at English customs? We’re a very odd race.”
But Cécile was not to be mollified. “Will you do as I ask—give up this task with Michael Ritchie in favor of far better financial prospects with the Caid?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
Sally waited uneasily for an ultimatum that did not come. Cécile’s curved lips became a thin line, the thick dark lashes came down over glittering eyes and the Frenchwoman turned and walked, with grace and without haste, from the suite.
Sally let out a long breath which must have been imprisoned for some time. Puzzled and apprehensive, she slipped the catch across on the outer door and went through to her bedroom, where she undressed, automatically and full of thought.
On the face of things, Cécile’s reasoning was fantastic. She had gone along with Dane for two or three years, meeting no competition or at least well able to handle any that came her way. She knew herself beautiful and desirable, could probably have married well a dozen times in the past few years, and yet only a few minutes ago she had spoken as if she regarded Sally Yorke as a rival!
Sally got up from the chair where she had been peeling off her stockings and took a look at her features. Fairly regular but small-boned, a pleasant whole, but that was all. And her figure hadn’t a fraction of the allure of Cécile’s—-too gangling and countrified. What had got into the woman?
Sally analyzed and reflected, shook her head. Innocently, she had overlooked one important detail. Cécile was thirty-one—ten years older than the girl from England who might do quite a lot to earn Dane’s gratitude.
* * *
For a few days Sally’s life was quiet, her visits to Mike Ritchie just a little rewarding. Mike had tied himself into such tight knots that loosening off was a slow and painful process, but there came a morning when he smiled at Sally in spite of himself, and the following morning he agreed to see Tony de Chalain; the first meeting between the two young men was rather strained, but that particular fence had been surmounted.
Then, only the day after that, Sally came upon Mike sitting in his bougainvillaea-entwined veranda, and he was wearing khaki shorts and a silk shirt. This was a departure indeed. It meant that Mike was at last willing to have Sally look at his leg.
But she sat beside him without glancing at it, dropped her white straw hat on the floor at her side and breathed in the scents of almond trees and mimosa, of Damascus roses and ginger blossom.
“Mmmm. This is a sweet place, Mike. I like it better than any other part of Shiran.”
“Then you haven’t the soul of a tourist,” he stated. “They all flock to the medina and the souks, and drive out to the marabout tombs. Have you ever wondered why Morocco should have had so many holy
men?”
“The country certainly abounds with their tombs. Were they extra specially good Moslems?”
“No, most of them were family men who showed extreme wisdom in some direction. They became venerated by their own generation and when they died they were buried and topped off with stone, to form a shrine.”
“It’s not a bad thing to venerate wisdom.” She paused. “I’d like to drive through the medina, but I understand it’s better to do it with an escort. How about going with me?”
If he was startled, it showed only in the few seconds he allowed to elapse before replying, “Tomorrow, maybe. Don’t bring anyone else.”
“All right, it’s a date.” Sally cloaked her jubilation with a request. “May I have some lemonade?”
“Of course. I told Yussef to bring out the cool drinks the moment you arrived, but he seems to have sloped off.”
“I’ll get them.”
He was suddenly bad-tempered, and gave the cane table a shove. “No, stay where you are.” Then he yelled, “Yussef!” There was no answer and he thrust himself up on to his good leg and reached for the bell on the wall.
But before his thumb could press, he began to slide on the tiled floor, and there was nothing to hold on to. Sally slipped under his raised arm to support him, smiled into his angry face.
“Lesson One,” she said. “Don’t do anything swiftly, or when you’re in a temper. Keep your stick handy and make sure that the rubber tip is always in new condition.”
He sank back into his chair, breathing heavily. “Damn everything,” he said bitterly. “You don’t know how tired of myself I am!”
“I think I do,” she said softly and cheerfully. “It’s just something to live through, Mike—not so bad as losing someone you love. Do you ever think of that girl?”
“No, never.”
“Good: you couldn’t have cared for her very much.” She smiled. “I think you must have been a very impatient little boy.”
He answered, low-voiced, “You never seem to realize how ... terrible it is to be without the use of a limb. I’ve no job, no future...”
“Don’t be absurd. You have your hands and a typewriter, and if you’ll go to England and get treatment...”
“That’s out. I’m staying here.”
“Don’t snap my head off. It seems such a waste, that’s all.” She looked at the fleshless leg in its neat khaki stocking, saw the stark kneecap. “Do you still get pins and needles?”
“Sometimes.”
“How does it feel when you’re in bed?”
“It doesn’t, but I get an ache in the thigh.”
“That’s a good sign. I’d like to give you half an hour’s massage twice a day, and get you into the swimming pool every afternoon.”
“Not the pool,” he said abruptly.
“We could find that lagoon Dane told me about.”
“I know it quite well.” He shoved back the usual untidy lock of reddish hair, and asked offhandedly, “What sort of treatments do you have at your Orthopaedic Home?”
“We have hydrotherapy tanks—they’re just large enough for children to splash about in, wearing an inflated tube. Then we have the jet pulsator bath—a controlled mixture of air and water played at pressure on to the affected parts. There are walking chairs for toddlers, a gym room fixed up with all kinds of gadgets. Some patients need mud baths and electro-therapy; others need to be kept happy and well while their legs are in irons and growing strong. There are steel bars everywhere, to encourage patients to us their limbs. You see, when a limb doesn’t work, the rest of the body has to be extra fit, so that plenty of good blood is pumped around. I had a little girl with a spinal injury...”
“All right,” he said brusquely.
She was silent for a moment. Then: “You know, Mike, your attitude makes everything more difficult for yourself and for me. Before your accident you were such an aboundingly healthy creature that now you find yourself growing ashamed, which is a natural reaction, but awfully silly.”
“If it had been a war injury or the result of a plane crash,” he said jerkily, “I wouldn’t care. I just went mad in a new oar and smashed myself up. It was puerile!”
“Very well, so it was, but it’s over. You’d soon forget it if you could walk.”
His chin went stubborn. “Can you promise me Fil walk normally again?”
“No. As a matter of fact I don’t think you will, and your leg won’t put on much flesh, either. After treatment, you’ll probably have a thinnish leg and a limp, but you’ll be able to drive a car and do your job.” She smiled at him mischievously. “And you’ll have the girls all over you. They’re sunk when they meet a handsome red-haired male with a limp.”
Mike didn’t smile. He sighed. “You can try massage, if you like, but it won’t work any wonders.”
Sally dropped a cushion on die tiles and sat on it; she rolled down his sock. The leg was pale, except where a purple scar ran behind the knee, but Sally had seen worse. This leg might have looked almost normal on a thin man. Her sensitive fingers held the calf muscle, squeezed here and there, and discovered by faint movement that he felt it slightly.
Yussef came hurrying out with the tray of drinks. Mike caught Sally’s eye and forbore to shout at the servant, and when they were alone again Sally sat back and held out a hand for her glass. With her feet tucked in, her hands about the ice-cold drink and her face raised, she looked young and gay and appealing. Mike sipped, and looked at her, then put down his glass.
In a voice quite different from his usual one, he asked, “Are you my kind of girl, Sally? Or am I just The Leg to you?”
Sally gave these queries the interest they deserved. “I don’t think I’m your kind of girl—not quite. And you’re not The Leg to me. I haven’t really thought much about your leg till this morning; there seemed to be so much else to think about first. I hope that now you’ve forgiven me for coming, we’re going to be friends.”
“If I refuse to go to England for treatment but am willing to do whatever you want right here in Shiran, will you stick by me till I can walk a little?”
“I think I can promise that, Mike—unless Dane sends me away.”
“He can’t do that!”
He stopped speaking and watched the road. The car he had glimpsed turned on to the drive and purred round to the foot of the steps. It halted and the door opened. “Speak of the omnipotent,” said Mike under his breath. Sally stayed very still, watching Dane as he took the steps in one stride and came lazily along to where they sat. Then she stopped watching him, because she was still seated on the cushion and he was a mile above her.
“Hallo, there,” he said nonchalantly. “Mind my joining you?”
“Not at all,” Mike replied, in the guarded tones he reserved for his cousin. “Grab a drink and take a seat.”
“Thanks.” Dane poured, fished melting ice from the jug and clunked it into his glass. “I’m on my way to look at a proposition and thought I’d call in. You two look cozy.”
“Sally’s just taken her first sight of my leg. She wasn’t horrified.”
“Nothing in the least unpleasant about it,” commented Sally. She put down her glass and touched Mike’s knee lightly with her forefinger. “There’s probably a fibrous stiffening of the joint that needs ordinary massage, but otherwise the prescription will be regulated exercise of different kinds. I’ll have to take Mike’s X-rays along to Dr. Demaire and get his instructions.”
“Demaire!” exclaimed Mike. “He’s a g.p.”
“I don’t suppose you have a local medical man who’s qualified in physiotherapy, have you?”
“Demaire’s pretty good and he’s studied Mike’s case,” said Dane. “See him by all means, Sally, You might get him out here to see Mike, as well.”
“Oh, no. No more doctors!” Mike pushed his glass well away and rested an arm on the table. “I’ll have what Sally can give or nothing at all.”
“I’m not supposed to work without a doctor,
” she said lightly.
“All right. See Demaire, but don’t bring him here.” Dane drained his glass, said decisively, “You’re being a fool, Mike. Let’s wade into this business and get your leg as near right as we can, without delay. You’ve messed about long enough.”
Mike’s chin stuck out, obstinately. “I’m not going to be pushed around. I’ve said I’ll let Sally have a go at it, and I will, but I won’t have you and Demaire bossing me while she’s about it I know I owe you more than I can ever repay...”
“Shut up. The really big debt you owe is to yourself. Get up on your legs and use them. If you need someone to lean on, I’m right here in Shiran, and you can call me at any time. For Pete’s sake stop pitying yourself and get cracking!”
Sally said hurriedly, but pacifically, “There’s no need for heat. Mike, tell me where I can find your hospital file and I’ll fetch it now.”
“I’ll get it,” said Dane, and he stalked into the house. Mike glanced down at Sally’s bronze hair and said a little breathily, “If Dane weren’t so darned healthy himself, he might understand. I believe he’s beginning to wish he’d never brought you here.”
Sally considered this for an instant. “You may be right, but it doesn’t make any difference. I’m here for as long as you need me. But promise me something. Don’t quarrel with Dane. He wants to see you debonair and taking your pick of the girls again. Please don’t quarrel with him.” There was no time for more. Dane appeared, carrying a fibre-board file which seemed to be full of X-ray films and papers. He reached a negligent hand down to Sally, pulled her to her feet, and said pleasantly, “I think Sally might as well see Demaire today, if it can be arranged. Either she or I will let you know the result this evening, Mike. We’ll push off now.”
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