The Flying Nurse (1960s Medical Romance Book 3)

by Sheila Burns

  ‘What a lovely island it is,’ she said involuntarily.

  ‘Of course I think it the loveliest place in all the world. You must see some of the treasures too, in your brief weekend. I shall take you to your stepfather now, and when night comes, call back and drive you round my island, if you will allow it. By night it is utterly beautiful.’

  ‘I may not be able to leave Cam.’

  ‘We must discover what the trouble is. His doctor?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  He handed her a card. ‘My telephone number is here if you want help. I know everything about Malta and will always do what I can. If you want to fly him home, I have some influence at the airport and could be of assistance. It would be a pleasure to do it.’

  Mandy knew that she would have felt to be dismally alone if she had not met this dark-eyed man on the trip out. She ought to be grateful to him for it.

  They drove into Valletta itself, and she saw the old buildings and the glitteringly white new ones. It would seem that they had everything here. They turned away from the main street, the Kingsway, into a side one, and the road narrowed.

  ‘Is this where the flat is?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, they are nice flats; quieter than you would think when out here in the street.’

  The car stopped.

  Mandy got out of it and the man brought in her luggage. In the last few hours so much had happened that she felt that she herself had changed. One grows up when one travels, she thought, and the memory of yesterday was far off. A Maltese woman answered the door, fat and charming, for she smiled so amiably. When Mandy gave her stepfather’s name she nodded. ‘This way, signorina.’

  From the outside one would have thought that the flat was cramped, poor, and small, but inside the thin alley of a passage left a small paved patio, with wistaria hanging about it in clustering bunches, and the strong perfume of freesias from the corner bed.

  ‘How lovely!’ she gasped.

  The woman smiled. ‘It is so nice,’ she said haltingly. ‘It smell much,’ and then led on.

  They entered what Mandy supposed would be the sitting-room of the flat, a big arched room with a mosaic floor, no carpet and green curtains screening long windows. This led through to a bedroom where she knew Cam would be lying. It was a big room too, with a mosquito net bunched above the bed, the fans whirling, and instantly she saw that a very sick man lay there.

  She went to him. ‘Mother sent me to you, Cam.’

  ‘I have her cable.’ He had lost weight, she could see, and was running a high fever. She put down coat and bag and went to the bedside, instinctively becoming all nurse as her finger closed on his pulse.

  ‘One moment, please.’

  ‘I’ve got to get out of this, Mandy, and damned quickly. It’s important.’

  ‘What’s your temperature?’

  ‘I don’t really know. A hundred and three, or something. I don’t know.’

  She re-arranged the pillows and laid him back. She saw that he was thirsty, and lifted a drink to his mouth. ‘I’ll sponge you down; that will make you feel better. How do I get your doctor?’

  ‘He’s due here any moment.’

  She began re-arranging the rumpled clothes, bringing a basin from the side to sponge his head. His appearance had alarmed her, for he was far worse than she had anticipated, yet his one anxiety seemed to be only to get home. She would very much dislike the thought of travelling back with a man as ill as this.

  ‘I don’t think your doc will let you come home with me at once. What does he say this is?’

  ‘A bug. People pick up bugs by the gross out here; it is a virus, or something, and it has played the devil with me. I want to go home, Mandy, home as soon as ever I can, and whatever the doctor says, this is vitally important to me. Remember what I say, I have got to get home.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  If she had hoped that she could make him better with cool bed linen and a cool sponge, she was wrong. He was restless and agog. Doctor was late. He wanted to see another man, by name of Giuseppe, and was worrying himself about it. Cam’s temperature was higher than Mandy would have expected, and she realized that here was a man who was dangerously ill.

  Carmina returned. ‘Giuseppe is here, signor.’

  ‘Show him in.’ Panting, Cam rose on one elbow and the sweat was pouring down his brow.

  ‘You should not see him,’ Mandy murmured.

  ‘I’ve got to see him; it’s vital. Wait in the next room. We’ll argue later, but not now. Get anywhere, but not here.’

  She went into the next room with the beautiful leaf-like curtains, all of them quivering from the working of the fans, though at this moment the island was dead still, but the fans did the job. She saw the man Giuseppe bustled through by the woman Carmina. He was very dark, someone who badly needed a shave, and he wore blue cotton jeans, worn thready, and a scanty striped cotton vest. He smirked at her as he went past, and she saw that he was carrying a plump packet in his hand.

  ‘So nice day, signorina,’ he purred. She was to learn that all the Maltese were ecstatic about weather and always friendly.

  The door into the bedroom opened, and she heard that hoarse voice which she would never have recognized as being Cam’s.

  ‘Have you got it?’

  The door shut very sharply.

  Carmina came in; her bare feet were shuffling along in flat shoes which did not fit her.

  ‘I get something, signorina? You tired?’

  ‘How long has the signor been ill like this?’

  The dark eyes rolled heavenwards, and she clasped her hands on a profuse bosom. ‘The signor go out to party and eat somethings. He so sick that night! He would not have doctor, for him so busy. Him always so busy.’ She laid a finger to her lips. ‘The import,’ was what she said.

  Mandy had not a clue what she meant by this. She nodded, but it meant nothing to her. ‘When did he have the doctor?’

  ‘On the Wednesday. Sick all night, most dreadfuls. Then I say send for my doctor. Him very nice doctor; love the English very much.’

  As she spoke, there came the sound of argument from the bedroom. The two men were having a row, and the echo of it came out into the sitting-room. It set Mandy’s nerves on edge. ‘He ‒ he mustn’t excite himself; that could make him much worse. At all costs he must not excite himself,’ and she went to the door. The woman put a finger to her lips, warning her with caution.

  ‘Pste. Pste.’ Her eyes goggled with dismay, but Mandy went on.

  Inside the room she saw the large packet lying on the bed, and Cam’s hand on it. The hand had, in a single week, become little more than a claw, she thought, and shivered for it. Giuseppe, the amiable and the friendly, was menacing him.

  ‘I take him back, signor. I always sell ’im myself. I have the means,’ and he rolled his eyes to heaven.

  Cam let out a foul word.

  Neither of them had thought that Mandy would come right in and across to the side of the bed opposite the man. She laid her own hand on the packet, surprised that it was not heavier.

  ‘This has got to stop; Giuseppe must go.’ And she lied deliberately. ‘The doctor is here.’

  ‘I want the parcels,’ Giuseppe said.

  ‘Don’t give it him.’ Cam stared at her with glittering eyes which had sunk into caverns, and she could see that he had no right to be using up his energy like this.

  ‘I will take care of it myself.’

  She knew that the man would have snatched it, and side-stepped. It was at that moment that she heard the voice of the man, whom she believed would be the doctor, in the outer room. Cam had sunk back exhausted. Giuseppe possibly smelling out trouble (with which, she imagined, he was not unacquainted) disappeared. In one moment he was there, and the next he had gone. Through the patio, she imagined, not caring how he upset the lilies of-the-Nile and that abundant wistaria.

  She turned with the package in her arms, and she saw the doctor coming in. He woul
d be in the mid-thirties, she would have thought, older than she had anticipated, very dark and swarthy, smally-made which seemed to run with this nation. He carried the very old-fashioned doctor’s bag, and she eyed it.

  He looked at her. ‘You are the stepdaughter who is the nurse?’ he asked, but he sounded kind.

  ‘I have just arrived. I found a man in here with my stepfather and the woman told me that you had said there were to be no visitors.’

  ‘No visitors.’ He set down the bag, flinging an alpaca coat on the back of a chair, then went to the bedside. Mandy could not answer the torrent of questions that he hurled at her, for she hardly knew a thing. This heart attack had come suddenly, when he was suffering from a virus prevalent in the land. Marina, a Maltese nurse, had done her best, but found it night and day work.

  ‘My mother wants me to fly him home,’ Mandy said.

  ‘He could easily die with another attack. It is not permit.’ The little doctor was almost abrupt.

  ‘I ‒ I cannot stay here too long.’

  ‘He will not go to hospital. He have much business. Private business,’ and he eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘I ‒ I believe he had private business, but do not know what it is,’ she admitted. ‘He is my stepfather, not my father, and has not long been married to my mother.’

  She got the idea that Dr Mallea’s eyes were like two little daggers piercing through her. ‘But he must tell?’

  ‘No. I know nothing. He travels about. I have only met him about four times in my life, and flew here to take the place of my mother. She had sprained her ankle and could not come.’

  ‘You are qualified as nurse?’

  ‘I qualified before I left England.’

  ‘St Jeremy’s Hospital. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You realize that the patient is very ill. He had a coronary on Monday, a small one, but a coronary.’

  ‘I realized there was more here than I guessed.’

  ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘This is Saturday. I am supposed to return next Tuesday.’

  ‘Your mother ought to come out here. I do tell you that anything could happen.’

  Her own knowledge told Mandy that this was possible, but the last thing she would like to suggest was that her mother came out here, though she could hardly tell the Maltese doctor what an awful nuisance her mother could be.

  ‘Her ankle is very bad. I would have thought she would be laid low for all of ten days.’

  ‘By then he will have turned the corner, or …’ and he shrugged slight shoulders. ‘You can stay the ten days?’ She stared at him. The strange thing was that she wanted to stay the ten days; she wanted it far more than she had ever thought, because Luis had already made a great impression on her. But this very sick patient would need every moment of her time. She explained that this was her holiday, and she needed a rest. The doctor was most agreeable. So far, there had only been one nurse on duty, a very nice Maltese girl, but he had an older friend, a retired Sister, who could perhaps take on the night work. She came from England and had settled in Malta because of the income tax, which was some considerable assistance to her.

  ‘Then,’ he explained, ‘you would have the holiday, too. The others would do the big works, and you give the order, yes?’

  Fear told her to escape now whilst she could. She did not know why she should be suspicious of that queer-looking packet in the next room, but she had a foreboding about it. All her life she had been one of those girls who have forebodings, and the dreadful thing was that usually they were right. She could, of course, ask her stepfather, and find that it was merely some tiny finery, false pearls, imitation beads for tourist sales in the shops, something of that kind. Privately she had thought that the parcel looked to be medical.

  I’m going mad, she thought.

  ‘Very well, I’ll stay,’ she said.

  ‘I am grateful to you. He refuses hospital where I would like to get him. Money seems to be no big worry.’

  ‘My mother is very rich,’ she told him.

  ‘You are the lucky girl!’

  He was a nice man who wished to help her, and she could feel this. He would arrange with the Maltese nurse, and by what he had heard in the next room, the other girl was back here on duty. At all costs the patient must not see people. Giuseppe was not to approach him again until he was considerably better.

  ‘I do insist,’ he said.

  ‘You shall be obeyed.’

  ‘Your stepfather is the very obstinate man.’

  ‘I know. I do know.’

  ‘If he goes on this way, then he will kill himself. He will get the other coronary. You know this?’

  She did know it.

  She said, ‘Frighten him as much as you can, but he is not easily frightened, as I have found.’

  ‘I find so, too!’

  She handed him over to the amiable woman to be shown out, and then had trouble with Giuseppe, who had waited in the patio. He seemed to think that he had every right to come back into the picture again, and Mandy barred the way.

  ‘You can’t see him. He is too ill.’

  ‘He must see me. It is the importance. The goods. The goods I bring?’ He tried to smile amiably, but under it all she felt that he was dismayed.

  ‘I have locked the parcel away. When he is better I will let him know.’

  ‘I not go.’

  ‘You will have to go,’ she said firmly.

  For a moment Giuseppe would have argued, then she saw him shrink from her. Maybe he had another idea, and he went without a word, also without the package.

  The young Maltese nurse appeared. She was a charming girl, very dark, and made darker by her white uniform. ‘I am glad you come,’ she said. ‘He has been most ill, and we need someone here with him.’

  ‘The doctor is getting a nurse for the night. I have only just qualified and wanted a holiday, but then I found that my stepfather was so ill.’

  The girl patted her hand affectionately. ‘We make him the holiday here, si? Good food, only watching, and no work. We make him better.’

  Mandy’s mind was moving on ahead with suspicion. ‘Who is this man Giuseppe?’

  The girl instantly flushed and drew back. ‘He work for the patient. He is not good. Giuseppe is hard, and he live by the island not on the island. He make much money out of the dirty ways, you understand?’

  ‘I understand exactly.’

  Mandy had thought that when she talked to her stepfather that he was busily covering up something. Perhaps that was how she had felt from the first moment that her mother had brought him home. He was the man for ever covering up. He toured the world, never very long in the same place, and earned money nobody knew how. Mother said that he sold things, but that was not entirely right. Could it be that he worked for some unknown society, she wondered. She thought this possible, and that brought Giuseppe into the picture. Undoubtedly he worried her stepfather. Undoubtedly he did not intend to go away for very long, and she was dubious about the parcel which was locked away.

  She tidied herself, and rested. It was Carmina who brought her a cup of tea which was refreshing. Later she went to her stepfather and found him less on edge. He had reconciled himself to the fact that she was here, and that at least was something. She went over to him.

  ‘I shall get through to Mother tonight,’ she said, ‘and tell her that you cannot fly home this weekend. I have seen the doctor, and perhaps we can fix up something for mid-week.’

  ‘I know, but I have to finish something first, and it is urgent. My job is important.’

  She knew this was the moment. She said a little uncertainly, ‘I don’t even know what your job is.’

  He moistened the peeling lips, and whispered, ‘A dead secret. For God’s sake never tell a soul, but I am an agent. Secret Service.’

  She had never thought of that, and would not have associated him with it, for he seemed underhand, almost untrustworthy, something of which she was half asha
med. She wondered if he should have told her, had he really been an agent, for she thought they never disclosed their job, but she hid her doubts. ‘I did not know.’

  ‘Neither does Mother. Never tell.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Then rather gently, ‘But they must know that you have been seriously ill, and they’ll be nice about it.’

  ‘You are not very used to the S.S.’

  He put out a hand and took hers. He had gone pitifully thin, she saw; there were cavities between the bones, deep ruts which should not have been there. She realized that he was hiding the truth behind a barrier, pretending that he sold goods as the Maltese doctor said, and nobody save herself knew what he did. For a moment Mandy felt ashamed that she had doubted him.

  ‘Cam?’ she said and hoped that her voice was kind. ‘For now you must do what I tell you, and I’ll get you well the moment that I can, and home again.’

  ‘I had a coronary, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not going to die?’

  ‘You could if you took risks, so be sensible and leave yourself in my hands, doing what I tell you. We want you to rest as much as possible. Try to sleep again.’

  ‘The package …?’

  ‘It’s locked away.’ She indicated the bureau with the double secret drawer in the far end of the room. ‘You can watch it and it is safe; there’s no need to worry.’

  ‘They are private ‒ very dangerous papers.’

  ‘I know.’ She changed the subject. ‘As I flew out I met a charming young Maltese man. His name is Luis Vella.’ For a moment she thought that she saw Cam’s face change, a swift expression passing over it, then went again.

  ‘He is known as the Baron here.’

  ‘Is he a Baron?’

  ‘Perhaps a Maltese one, for what that counts,’ and he laughed. She resented the feeling that he was sneering a little, that in one way he laughed at the island which she already adored, and that he was despising it.

  ‘He asked me to go for a car ride round the island after the night came. He would show me St Paul’s Bay. I wondered if …’

  ‘If he was safe? Quite safe! The Maltese aristocracy would tell you that they are aristocrats. Luis Vella would not let you down, but don’t be too late.’