Brittle Bondage (15 page)

It was only Natalie thought Venetia with gratitude, who knew of the grim undercurrents in the Bondolo homestead; and even she could not know everything. Margery, bless her homely heart, was blindly fond of the Garrards; Cedric’s aversion from the complex in human nature made him a staunch believer in surface values. And Natalie would be leaving tomorrow.

The evening passed quickly. The Clarkes went home. Natalie had her wrist attended to, said a crisp “Good night” to Venetia, used a softer inflection for Blake, and made ready for bed.

Blake guided the trolley into the kitchen and switched off most of the lights. He came back down the corridor and stopped in the hall.

“Venetia,” he called quietly. “Where are you?”

She was in the blackness of the lounge, terrified, all at once, of the frightful harshness which rose in her against
him
.
She couldn’t go to him. Savage and irrational came the thought that she would stay here all night rather than look at him again.

He repeated her name and pushed wide the door, unconscious that she pressed close to the wall behind it. Then his footsteps receded, and her released breathing became painfully loud.

She stole into the hall, paused in the comparative brilliance and was transfixed by the sight of Blake locking the
main
door. He made a startled sound, took an involuntary pace which brought them within a foot of each other.

“My dear,” he whispered, and grasped her shoulder. “My dear, are you ill?”

Oh yes, he’d remember to whisper, she told herself wildly. Wouldn’t do to bring Natalie from her room. With the remnants of her strength she dragged away from him. “Leave me alone!” she choked. “Leave me alone!” Then she turned and fled
down the corridor.

They were all together for breakfast. Natalie in turquoise linen with a necklace of carved brown wooden beads, a business-like adhesive dressing covering the wound, and her wrist-watch fastened below it; Blake tight-jawed, speaking only when necessary; and Venetia, dark
-
eyed, pale and wordless, and totally without appetite.

As soon as the meal ended Blake had to give instructions to the foreman and get out the car. Mosi brought Natalie’s bag from the bedroom to the veranda where the two women waited, and began to dust and polish the hall. Leaning against a pillar, Venetia watched
him,
while Natalie lounged on the wall and smoked with ease.

The car slid out of the garage and round to the front of the house. Natalie flipped away her cigarette and smiled down at Blake.

She got up and addressed Venetia in a drawl: “It’s been a lovely week-end—put me on my feet again. Blake has promised to give today to my troublesome farm. I hope you’ve no objection?”

“Not one,” she replied with low-voiced calm.

“Well, thanks a lot.
Au revoir
.”

Blake put Natalie into the seat next his own, threw a crisp “So long” towards the veranda, and drove off.

Venetia stepped down into the garden. The sun smote her like a blow, and automatically she made for the shade of a tree.

Desperately she regretted her behaviour of last night. The coming ordeal with Blake would have been hard enough without having plunged
him
into a mood of icy dislike beforehand. How was she ever going to summon the courage to confront him?

As it happened, her anxieties as to how to begin the interview were unnecessary. Blake himself took care of the preliminaries.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PAUL RIVERS came out of Ward Three and continued along the private corridor to the Sister’s small office. He entered and paused by the desk, regarding with some distaste the cup of pale, cold tea beside the blotter.

Of the young nurse at the filing cabinet he asked, “How long has this been here?”

“About twenty minutes, Doctor. I did tell Sister it was waiting.”

“Can you get her some fresh?”

“Yes, but sister never lets us.”

“Do you mean she drinks it like that?”

“Sometimes—or else she has a glass of water.”

“Give her a treat this morning,” he suggested. “A whole pot of fresh tea, all to herself.”

The nurse grinned and went out. Paul sat at the desk and wrote a couple of prescriptions. His presence here might appear irregular, but there was no other means of seeing Thea alone, and he thought it time she gave some attention to her civilian life. In fact, he’d be damned if he’d shift before she gave some indication of how she intended to spend the rest of her days.

The nurse brought the tea-tray, looked nonplussed at
finding
him still there, and picked up the cup of cold tea.

For convention’s sake, Paul said, “You might tell Sister Garrard that I wish to see her about the Cartwright child.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Five minutes later Thea came in and swung the door shut behind her. Wryly he had to admit that her personality fitted the crisp white veil and apron. He pointed to the chair he had just left.

“Sit down and have your tea.”

She stared at the tray, then, unsmilingly, at him. “Paul, did you order this?”

“I did. Have I strained another of your regulations?”

“It looks bad.”

“Who cares?” A little wearily he rested in the only other chair in the room, a repellent, cane-seated affair under the window. “Surely a hard-working Sister is entitled to decent refreshment when she comes off the round.”

“About the Cartwright girl,” she reminded him.

“She’s doing nicely,” he said. “We agreed on that in the ward. I used her as a blind. Is the tea all right?”

“Delicious. Will you have some? I can send for another cup.”

“And let the whole female staff in on a toothsome morsel of gossip? ‘Sister’s entertaining a doctor to morning tea?’ ” He let a second or two tick away. “But perhaps they wouldn’t be so amazed. I’ll bet Dennis never says no.”

Thea shrugged. “You sound hard and cantankerous. Is it Monday morning blues?”

“Call it overwork. Lately, it’s difficult to recognize one day from another, though things should improve now the fever is on the wane. I’m not the only one—we’ve all been putting in long hours. You don’t look jaded, though.”

“I don’t feel it.” Thoughtfully, Thea poured a second cup. “You won’t have had time to run out to Bondolo, I suppose? Venetia’s written to me twice, but her letters were uninformative.”

“I was there on Friday evening,” he answered, and gave her details about Natalie’s accident and Blake’s decision that she should spend the week-end at Bondolo. “I’ve heard nothing, so the poison will have abated. Natalie will probably go home to Vrede Rust this morning.”

“How is Venetia?”

Paul noted her swift and very deep concern; she could suffer for those she loved.

“Not too jubilant,” he said. “She lives in a perpetual state of nervous apprehension—I don’t get the hang of it at all. I wonder if you’re right about Blake not caring enough? Yet he does everything for her good.”

“Blake would, but loading her with luxuries and watching her health isn’t enough. She wants a lot more than that from him.” Thea sounded almost vicious. “It’s downright wicked to marry a person you don’t love.”

She was roused, albeit over someone else’s heartache. No doubt she wouldn’t believe that Paul Rivers could contract such a malady. He leaned forward, an elbow on the desk.

“Possibly you don’t know your brother so well after all. Can’t you talk to Venetia?”

“I keep assuring myself that next time we meet she’ll have become adjusted.” She thrust away the tray and locked her fingers in front of her. “He’s there, alone with her. You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” he said, rather heavily. “I know what you mean.”

Not looking his way, she said: “Blake’s insufferable. If he would only let himself, he could adore Venetia.”

“Unless,” said Paul, his tone flat, “his affections happen to be drawn elsewhere.”

“Oh no, Paul! I’d never believe that.”

“Nor would I,” he said quickly, instinctively staving off pain for her. “Don’t worry about it—these upsets smooth themselves out. Venetia’s been here less than four months. She’s had to acclimatize herself to more than the temperature and a strange land. Maybe she was frightened of the intimate side of marriage.”

“Any man but Blake would have foreseen that and been gentle.”

“You’re being too hard on him, and you may be entirely wrong. Something will slip into focus—I’m sure of it—and you’ll be able to have a private laugh at your own
fears.”

“I do hope so.”

Thea sighed, extracted a sheaf of reports from a drawer and spread them over the desk.

“Are you broadly hinting that the session is at an end?” he enquired.

“Of course not.” She hesitated, and kept her glance on the papers. “There’s
...
something else. Dr. Dennis just passed on to me a disturbing rumour—about a position as surgeon-specialist in Maritzburg. He said that you’d been asked to take it
...
and hadn’t refused.”

He straightened in the uncomfortable chair, and then stood up and looked out of the high window, his hands in his pockets, his back erect.

“I’m primarily a surgeon, you know.”

“You’ve said several times that you prefer general practice and taking your rota at the native clinic. Besides, Ellisburg needs a good surgeon on the spot. You get plenty of your own type of work here, among the native and white populations.”

“The Maritzburg proposition has its attractions. I’ve often considered specialising.”

“But you did intend to settle here, Paul. You even bought a house!” With more restraint she went on: “It does seem a pity. Everyone likes you and the people have so much confidence in your skill.”

“I might
earn a similar reputation in Maritzburg.” He half-turned, and his eyes rested upon the brief, dark wave which showed between veil and forehead. “Dennis was right. I haven’t refused the offer—but neither have I accepted it.”

“So you’re
...
still undecided?”

He twisted right round and leaned back on the window-ledge. More bluntly than his wont he queried: “What about helping me to decide? Don’t go stiff and stare like that. I’m not proposing an illicit week-end in Durban. I’m not even asking that you commit yourself in any way. Just say you don’t want me to go, and I won’t.”

“I
...
can’t do that
.
It wouldn’t be fair to allow your whole future to depend on my verdict.”

“Are you afraid of the consequences?”

“Afraid? Good lord, no!” Her head took a regal tilt. “You’re the first person who’s ever accused me of cowardice.”

“Yet you are a coward, Thea—a coward in the emotions. And if you’re honest, you won’t deny it. That’s why you’d rather have Dennis’s friendship than mine. He doesn’t probe under the shellac exterior.”

“Paul!” She sprang up, her cheeks firing. “You’re being horrible. I don’t care a damn about Dr. Dennis.”

“I’ve never heard you take exception to the tattle which couples you with
him
.”

The narrowed darkness of her eyes was disconcertingly reminiscent of her brother.

“Since you’re bent on carrying this inquisition to its conclusion, let me enlighten you,” she said firmly, and with anger. “When I was transferred to Ward Three you had no patients in this section, but you and I seemed to collide pretty often and the nurses started talking.”

“Good heavens, was it like that?” he said swiftly. “I didn’t realise it
.
”

“Well, I did, from contact with the others. Dr. Dennis became attentive and I openly jested with him in their hearing as I never had with you, so that the gossip would be diverted.”

Paul’s expression, though a trifle bewildered, had acquired a sudden gleam. “That’s very interesting. Tell me why, Thea.”

She gave the characteristic shrug. “Dennis is the type of
man who will always be the subject of mild scandal. You aren’t.”

“You must have known,” he returned with quiet emphasis, “that anything which publicly connected your name with mine would give me the profoundest pleasure. I wouldn’t have regarded it as scandal.”

She moved away, putting the wide desk between them. Paul, keyed up for her answer, felt a spurt of annoyance as the telephone rang. Her relief was so obvious that he could have strangled her.

“Yes, this is Sister Garrard,” she said into the mouthpiece. “Dr. Rivers is here, but he’s just leaving. Yes, I will.” The telephone dropped into place. “Dr. Schafer is in Ward Five. He wants your opinion on a case.”

“I must go, then.” A couple of paces brought him to him to her side. “The ban on nurses leaving will be lifted from six o’clock this evening. How soon can you manage a day’s leave?”

“I’m hoping for a few hours on Wednesday.”

“For a trip to Bondolo?”

“Naturally.”

“If I possibly can, I’ll take you. Let me know tomorrow what time you’ll be free and maybe we can fit in a meal together first.” His mouth and eyes were softened and amused as he added: “You’ve made my decision, Thea. Someone else can have the job at Maritzburg. Thanks a lot.”

She cast him a fleeting, upward glance, and the distant remark her brain had framed remained unspoken. She felt an instant’s pressure of his hand over her forearm, the gentle and humorous tug which slightly disarranged her veil.

“Don’t!” she exclaimed, shocked. “Supposing a nurse were to burst in!”

He laughed. “Too bad. You’d never live it down.” Peremptorily the telephone repeated its summons. Paul swore below his breath, murmured that he would try to look in this afternoon, and hastened away.

Thea looked at her watch. Unbelievable that only a quarter of an hour ago she had been making the tour of the ward with Dr. Dennis, and inwardly wincing from his complacent supposition that Paul would soon be leaving Ellisburg for Maritzburg.

Paul had called her a coward in the emotions, but wasn’t it more self-preservation than cowardice to make one’s heart free and keep it so? Except that the heart, for all one’s efforts, could never be free; it was always in bondage to some being or some cause, straining for perfection in all kinds of relationships.

She really must concentrate on her work. For a start there were injections and medicines to give, two beds must be prepared for new patients, the reports had to be made up, and Nurse Williams to receive a reprimand for forgetfulness. Thea was in no mood for scolding a girl who had just got herself engaged, but it had to be done.

When she opened the refrigerator to choose the drugs and hypodermic, her thoughts, shying away from the dangerous Paul, shifted to Bondolo. It was imperative that she see Venetia soon and try once more to win her confidence.