Doctor's Assistant (21 page)

Ben, who never debated the emotions, felt faint electric twinges over his skin. Irene was as small as Laurette and rather more pathetic. Not so long ago she had had a serious illness, yet in a moment of what must have been intense fear she had forgotten her weakness ... for his sake. He wasn’t conceited enough to make the obvious inference, but the knowledge did uplift him, queerly.

“I do love Laurette,” he said, “and at one time I hoped she’d marry me. A good many things have happened since then and the quality of what I feel for her has changed. I know now that I could never make her happy; I wouldn’t even care to try. But I’d give a lot to meet the man who’d value that valiant little heart of hers. Which means, I suppose, that I’ve come to feel for her much as her father did.”

Irene laughed shakily. “Not
father
, Ben. You’re not that ancient!”

He smiled faintly. “Elder brother, then.” He snapped shut his case. “This is very unusual for me—this kind of discussion.”

“For that reason it’s probably good for you. As a matter of fact,” she admitted in some surprise, “I’ve always found men unapproachable.”

“That’s as it should be—but you should certainly allow them to approach you. You’re young, Irene, and it would do you all the good in the world to settle down with someone pleasant and understanding. Wasn’t there a schoolmaster in the Free State whom you worshipped from afar?”

“No, not one.”

“Maybe you’ll react differently when you go back.”

To her further complete astonishment she said, “I don’t very much want to go back. I feel so much more alive at the coast. I wish it were possible to start a school in Port Quentin.”

“It is possible, but you wouldn’t earn much at it. I shouldn’t make any decisions yet, if I were you. Just be yourself and get thoroughly well. You’re an appealing woman.”

Which was a compliment so unexpected that she gave him a wholehearted, if somewhat unsteady, smile. Fleetingly, Ben wondered what it would be like to come in from the mission or his surgery to find her dark head bent over a book in his lounge, to see it lift, the brown eyes welcoming. Mentally, he shook himself; that kind of reflection could be awfully disturbing.

He took the handle of his case and went to the door. “Have a rest,” he said. “I’ll come back later this evening.”

Irene did not watch him go. She stood against the wall, the backs of her hands pressed to her hot cheeks while she reminded herself that she was twenty-seven. It seemed now that it must have been someone else who had found the courage to tell Ben that he was in love with Laurette; but it was certainly herself who had heard him confess that he no longer wished to marry her. Thankfulness flooded through Irene like a warm summer tide. She would get her chance to love him; she knew it! She would make him happy, enliven that grim old house of his, give him something ... someone to work and live for. If only Laurette...

She stiffened suddenly. A car door had slammed, firm footsteps sounded on the path and she saw a tall figure at the door, the figure of Charles Heron. He had missed Ben by only five minutes.

“Good evening,” she managed, moving as in a trance towards him. “Have you been home?”

“I came straight here,” he said, and looked around him at the chintzy lounge. “Where’s Laurette?”

“She’s in her room.”

It was only then that he really looked at Irene. “What have you been up to?” he asked. “You’re filthy.”

“Yes, I know. We ... we did get rather dirty.”

He was tired—she could see that. He’d probably been travelling throughout the heat of the day without stopping for food. She ought to offer him coffee and sandwiches, and ask him to rest while she and Laurette washed and changed. It was Laurette’s duty to tell him about the fire, but it seemed so unfair, his arriving so soon after the catastrophe. He was a week early, but if he had put off coming only till tomorrow it would have mattered less. That he should come upon them now, still grimy from the charred remnants of his carpet, was too bad. She couldn’t allow Laurette to face him yet.

“Will you sit down,” she said, pronouncing the syllables with much care. “I’ve some rather grisly news for you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHARLES interrupted only once. “Damn the carpet!” he exclaimed violently. “Was she hurt?”

Irene felt somewhat better after that. She assured Charles that Laurette was all right, but terribly fed up with herself. “I do wish you’d seen her clawing the furniture out of danger; she literally had the strength of an ox. And, afterwards she was so wretched about it all, because you’d trusted her and she’d let you down. Actually, it was neither Laurette’s nor the boy’s fault. It was mine. You see, it was I who recommended the paraffin stoves, and I ought to have known better, because I’ve lived with African servants all my life, and Laurette hasn’t. If you’re angry,” she finished in some trepidation, “you’d better be angry with ... me.”

“Laurette is now in her bedroom?”

“That’s right.”

“Tell her I’m here. No”—at once he rescinded the command. “I’ll tell her myself.”

Apprehensively Irene called after him, “Her door is locked!”

She heard his loud rap at the panel, stood still and frightened for a second, then ran out of the house and up the road away from the town. She looked too much of a fright to risk meeting people, but she felt so free and happy that a walk was just what she needed. She would stop at a stream and bathe her face, and perhaps she would sit there a while, and dream. Guiltily, she was glad the fire had occurred in Charles’ library; but for that Ben would never have had to dress a burn on her arm.

Laurette, meanwhile, had creamed most of the marks from her face, taken off her frock and got into a dressing-gown. She had sat on the stool and stared unseeing at her bruised-looking eyes, and wondered how she was going to live through the coming week. She kept seeing the off-white carpet with the huge jagged hole in the centre, and her imagination soot-blackened the walls and ceiling of the library. The floor, too, seemed in her memory to have sustained tremendous damage. Wildly, she saw herself emptying the library and cream-washing the walls, sand-papering the great scorch mark from the parquet and touching it up and polishing it to match the rest. It could be done, she was sure. It wouldn’t be so bad if the library was normal, but carpetless. That beautiful carpet.

She was still on the stool in front of the dressing-table when Charles knocked at the door. The sound of his voice was like a death-blow to her hopes.

“Laurette,” he said peremptorily, “open the door.”

She had no reason to deny him, but her knees were so weak that before she had crossed the room he banged again.

“Laurette! Open the door, or I’ll smash it.”

This was beyond everything. What a mood in which to have to confront him! She snicked the key and stepped back. The door opened sharply, and he stood there, breathing a little heavily, the green eyes leaping. He came into the room and swung the door closed behind him. For fully half a minute they measured each other, like old opponents, then she made a
small helpless gesture and turned aside.

She asked the question Irene had put. “Have you been home?”

“No, but I’ve just heard about the fire in the library from Irene. It isn’t important, Laurette. You should have let the boy do what he could, and left it.” He came nearer. “You’ve singed your pretty hair.”

The cream had left her face shiny and her hair was dark and clinging with sweat, but she was too sickened to care. “I’ll never forgive myself for ruining that lovely carpet. If I could promise to replace it, I would...”

“Shut up, do you hear me! The fire doesn’t matter, so long as you got out of it without injury. For Pete’s sake get the right perspective on this. Almost every fire in the world is caused by an accident of some kind, and this was no exception. If it’ll comfort you, the place is insured up to the hilt.” He put out a hand but she backed, quivering. “You’ve upset yourself terribly, and all for nothing. I couldn’t be angry with you over a thing like that. It isn’t worth it.”

But during the last hour or so, Laurette had borne just a scrap too much. “Please leave me alone, Charles,” she implored. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’ll see me tonight as well,” he told her a trifle grimly. “Would you like me to wait in the lounge while you dress?”

“I want you to go away—leave me alone till tomorrow.”

“I’m staying,” he said firmly.

Then, Laurette, who thought she would have died rather than collapse in front of Charles, felt something snap within her. She drooped on to the side of her bed, crumpled and turned over, pushing her face into the pillow. The next moment he was beside her, holding her shoulders and pressing his cheek to the back of her head.

“Darling, you musn’t,” he said gently. “You’ve worked yourself up for nothing at all. And you know why it is, don’t you? It’s simply because you wouldn’t let yourself grieve properly for your father. Things just add themselves on till the weight become insupportable, and when you do give way it’s pretty devastating. I somehow knew you were putting yourself through a private hell, and that’s why I moved heaven and earth to come this week, instead of next. You can’t go on alone like this, my sweet. I won’t let you. I know you’re young, and that you haven’t much notion of what it is to love a man, but you’ll come to it, in time.”

Her quivering ceased, as if she were straining every nerve to listen. She was terribly aware of those firm hands on her silk-clad shoulders, the apparently unconscious movement of his thumbs over the fine bones; his breath was warm against the side of her neck.

“I’ve never done so much thinking in my whole life as I have during the past three weeks,” he was saying. “While your father was here there was not a lot I could do except come to Port Quentin for a break whenever I could manage one. To me, that didn’t seem very satisfactory, because I knew you were bound to take a long time to ... well, awaken. In many ways you’re such a strong and wise little person that I was fairly sure that seeing you often wouldn’t help much; when you did fall in love, you’d know it. What I’m trying to say is this: I love you, Laurette. I hadn’t known you a week when I decided to marry you, but I realized it was no use staying anything about it then. I had to try to be patient, wait for you to come alive.” Rather thickly, he added, “Not putting this too well, am I?”

She moved, and he saw that the hand on which she lay had clenched into a fist. “No,” she said against the pillow, “you’re not.”

“I’d better speak plainer, then. Laurette, we’ll have to get married. I know you’re not ready for it, and I’ll assure you straight away that I won’t demand anything of you till you are. But I’ll be able to look after you without the frightful worry of all that distance between us.”

Gently, but firmly, he turned her, so that she lay facing up at him, her eyes wide in the pallor of her face.

“You’re just being ... accommodating,” she whispered.

He gave her the shadow of a smile. “Hardly. A man seldom marries for that reason. You will marry me, won’t you, Laurette?”

“No,” she said, “I won’t. I don’t want you to lie out of pity for me, Charles. If you loved me you wouldn’t suggest a farcical half-marriage...”

“It’s only through loving you that I can,” he broke in savagely. “You’ve only to let yourself fall in love with me, and I’ll do the rest. I won’t leave you down here and I can’t arrange for you to live in Mohpeng indefinitely. Once the Seymours have gone there’ll be no one you can stay with. Besides, it would look too silly if I were to have a fiancée there when there’s nothing at all to prevent my being married.”

“As you say, too silly,” she echoed, husky with pain. “What am I supposed to answer? ‘Thank you very much, Charles. I’d love to live in your house and pretend to be your wife. And if we ever fall in love with each other we’ll drop each other a postcard.” Her tones grew hard and reckless. “What sort of person do you think I am—apart from the wisdom and strength! Do you think I’d marry a man who cares a thousand times more for his job than he’d ever care for me. And what makes you so sure that I’m incapable of loving you now?...”

His mouth stopped whatever she had been going to add. He had bent over her, blazing, had slipped arms under her and hauled her close. The kiss was long-lasting, and merciless. It bent back her head over his arm, numbed her lips and blocked her throat. He let her go suddenly, twisted up on to his feet and went to the window.

Indistinctly, he said, “If you hadn’t accused me of caring more for my job than for you, that wouldn’t have happened. I’m
not going
to apologize. If you ask for it, you’ll get it again.”

She got up and moved his way. Gingerly, she fingered her throat. “I won’t take that chance,” she said unsteadily. “Do I now have to believe that I do mean more to you than Mohpeng?”

Deliberately, vibrantly, he said, “You mean more to me than anything or anyone.” He looked down, at her in a brief fury of impatience. “Of course I love you! I loved you when I found you all brave and worn out that morning in the native reserve. I loved you at ‘Tumbling Waters’, and when I kissed you good-bye at the end of my leave. And more than ever I loved you at Mohpeng.”

“But you were such a beast,” she acclaimed incredulously.

“I hated you as well—hated what you were doing to me. I’d have given everything to hold you and kiss you and tell you I couldn’t wait for you to grow older.”

“Oh, Charles—if only you had! I was so despondent after that first night.”

He was grasping her elbows and searching her face. His eyes cleared, and glinted. “You’re not so young,” he said softly. “In spite of yourself you’re beginning to love me.”

“I began to love you months ago,” she said tremendously. “Charles, kiss me again, but not so cruelly.”

He complied. He kissed her mouth and her neck, and he pushed aside the collar of her dressing-gown so that he could kiss her shoulder. “You have such deliciously smooth skin,” he murmured, “and your lips are just as soft and clinging as I used to dream them.” Then, on an odd note, “You’re not banking on a half-marriage after this, are you? Flesh and blood couldn’t stand it.”

She gave a breathy little laugh. “It was unspeakably rash of you even to suggest it. Not a bit like you.”

“I just had to have you, on any terms.” The old crispness returned to his voice. “God knows how long it could have lasted, but I’d have made the attempt.” He drew down her arms and held her wrists, looking at her. “You mean it—you do love me as much as you can?”

“I do—and it’s considerable,” she said, a cautious heaven lighting up her eyes.

“Will you prove it, and marry me by licence before next weekend?”

“Oh, dear.” She was a little aghast. “Isn’t that horribly soon?”

“Beautifully soon,” he corrected. “If we marry at once we’ll be able to manage a few days’ honeymoon up in the mountains. It all seems very swift and sketchy, but it’s the best I can do just now. In any case, it will ensure that we’re not parted again. I feel I’d put up with anything, for that.”

Leaning against him, aware of his strength and undoubted if incredible love, Laurette gazed through the window at the dying day. The sky was hyacinthine, as she liked it best, and the orange flush of sunset slid calmly down behind the trees. The breeze off the sea was less humid, more bracing. There would be no storm tonight.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I was remembering that we’d left the paraffin heaters burning in your lounge and bedroom. I was so afraid your mattress would get damp.”

“Shall I tell you something?” he said teasingly. “The best way to keep mildew from books is to give them plenty of space in the shelves so that air can circulate about them. And by far the most sensible procedure with unused mattresses and cushions is to place them across wicker chairs in the midday sun. Irene comes from a too-dry climate, so she might not think of that.”

“What an idiot I’ve been,” she said soberly. “Charles, I’m so dreadfully sorry about the carpet.”

“Mention it again,” he said, “and you’ll be even more sorry. By the way, have you any ideas about what we might do with the house?”

She lifted her glance to his face. “I don’t think so. Have you?”

He shrugged. “My uncle’s will sets aside a sum to be used for charity, at my discretion. I was wondering whether Vaughan would be able to turn the house into a kind of nursing home or cottage hospital—if I let him have the money to do it with.”

“Charles!” She shone up at him. “He’d love that. It would make everything so worthwhile for him. Maybe he’d be able to attract a partner—he’s always bemoaning the fact that he can’t operate here because he has no assistant. On the whole, it’s a healthy climate and good for certain types of disease...”

“Steady. Let Ben do the enthusing. I don’t know that I take to your being so thrilled for him.”

“I’m fond of Ben,” she said. “I’ll always be fond of him. But I do hope he’ll buck up his ideas and marry Irene.”

“Good Lord. You women! Why shouldn’t the fellow remain a bachelor, if that’s what he wants?”

“It isn’t what he wants. He wants Irene, or someone like her, but I’m afraid he hasn’t realized it yet. I wonder if I dare suggest anything during the next week?”

“You’ll mind your own business,” he told her emphatically. “Ben can work out his own romance. You’ll have your hands more than full with me.” He paused. “Are you quite sure that you’ve never been a little in love with Ben?”

“Of course I’m sure. I don’t believe he was really in love with me, either. Do you think doctors do fall in love?”

“Seeing that most of those over thirty-five are married,” he replied dryly, “it’s within the bounds of possibility that they do.” He held her away from him. “That’s enough about Ben. I’ll give you just ten minutes to dress. If we can’t find a meal at the house we’ll go to the hotel.”

Half an hour later they were taking a drink in the Kelsey lounge. Charles had flung out the heaters and opened the windows to the sea breeze, and now he stood with Laurette, touching glasses. Her frock was of blue silk and for the first time in weeks she had taken care with her make-up; she wore a tiny pearl at each ear.

“To us,” he said, sipping his drink.

She hesitated. “Won’t they be surprised in Mohpeng when you take back a bride?”

“I suppose so, but they’ll fall over themselves to welcome you. It rounds off things when the District Commissioner has a wife.”

Intent upon the topaz liquid in her glass, she said, “Charles, about Maris.”

“Yes—What about her?”

“Were you ... did you encourage her to stay on in Mohpeng?”

“Why in the world should I do that?” he demanded, startled. Then he got a glimmer of what she was getting at, and laughed, as if enjoying a private joke. “Been jealous, darling? I hope so, because that evens things up. Did you tell yourself that I was falling for Maris?”

“You did pick her up at Maseru and drive her through to Mohpeng.”

“Her visit coincided with my return, that’s all. Maris is a jolly girl and I’ll admit that it was through me she came to Mohpeng. We met in London and again in Paris, and I asked her if she had ever thought of coming out to Kevin for a month or two. I hadn’t come across you then, remember. When I saw her again in Maseru it was difficult to analyze just what it had been that I’d found attractive about her. Her
eyes were the wrong color, she didn’t laugh the right way—and she didn’t defy me!
One month of you and there was no chance of my ever
looking speculatively at another woman.”

“That’s dear of you. But Kevin wrote that you and Maris had an understanding with each other.”

“Did he?” There were points of danger in his eyes. “Then he must have manufactured it in that fertile imagination of his. Maris would hardly have told him so blatant an untruth.”

Laurette was not so sure; a woman who has set herself to the task of winning a man might easily try the accomplished fact as a last resort. However, just now Laurette would have been inclined to charity towards her worst enemy. Hastily shedding the topic, she said, “If we’re leaving Port Quentin, what are we going to do with Irene and the bungalow?”

“The bungalow is not really worth much, is it? You and your father loved it because it was home and you’d more or less built it up from a shell. The market value is fairly low. Don’t you agree that it would be rather nice to hand it over to that couple who live with Vaughan?”

“The Lockleys!” she cried. “Then Irene could remain there. Charles, you have the sweetest brainwaves, and I always thought you so ruthless.”

“I am ruthless, dear heart. You’ll find out! You’ve gone suddenly grave. What is it now—that brother of yours?”

She nodded. “How did you guess?”

“It wasn’t hard.” His mouth took the curve of sarcasm. “I take it you’d made up your mind to send him half the proceeds on the house and plantation. Believe me, Laurette, at his stage of development nothing would be more harmful than easy money. We’ll keep in touch with him to see how he goes, and if he has to rough it a bit, so much the better. Seeing that he was dismissed from West Africa, I can’t very well pull strings to get him into Basutoland.”

She laughed suddenly. “Poor Peter. He’s going to have a big shock when he hears you’re to be his brother-in-law. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive you for that letter you wrote him.”

“I could have twisted his neck for piling his troubles on to you.”

She put her hands to his shoulders, reached and pressed her mouth to the corner of his. “You’re violent and charming, and sarcastic and generous ... and I love you.”

He took a fistful of her hair and drew back her head. “You’re nearly my wife,” he said, and kissed her.

The climbers on the veranda rustled, a night bird gave a thin, piercingly-sweet call to its mate, and in the Kelsey lounge two hearts beat close together, as one.