Heart Specialist (7 page)

And she felt herself blushing, swiftly, delicately, in a way that made her feel her whole body was doing the same thing, and she had no idea how utterly enchanting such a young revealing blush made her look.

CHAPTER SIX

But
when she saw him
again she felt much more able to behave as a young woman of twenty-three, who for a year at least would not be penniless, should behave. That is to say, naturally and with a touch of something in her manner that suggested she was bestowing a favor, not receiving any benefits.

She was able to feel like this because the day before she had spent so much time in the company of Peter Fairfield that he had done her a great deal of good. There was no doubt about it, she thought when the day was over, Englishmen were a relief after foreigners, and with someone like Peter it was possible to relax. He might catch her eyes occasionally, and there might be something very meaningful in his blue gaze, and when they were walking shoulder to shoulder their hands might touch, and she might feel a queer little thrill; but on the whole it was peaceful being with Peter. He was quite unlikely to seize her hand and kiss it after saying something provocative; he had no real knowledge—as yet—of women and he wasn
’
t the sort of man women would ever chase after.

He was nice and pleasant, good-looking and charming, and he knew her own native land just as she knew it herself. He could talk of Hampstead Heath and Wimbledon, ice hockey at Wembley, Sadler
’
s Wells and Drury Lane, Stratford-on-Avon and the Edinburgh Festival. All subjects that interested her. And if he also liked
to talk a lot about the Greek islands, that was all right, because she liked to hear about the Greek islands, and particularly his book about them.

They enjoyed their lunch at the same open-air restaurant; and afterward they sat in the gardens of the Luxembourg Palace and wandered in the quiet of Notre-Dame. They looked at art and antique shops on the Quai Voltaire, and watched the Seine slipping sleepily beneath its bridges.

In the Luxembourg Gardens the children were enjoying donkey rides and sailing model yachts on the round pond, so much like the round pond in Kensington Gardens; and De Brosse
’
s formal Italian style of laying out avenues and flower beds was at its best in the sunshine of another fine spring day. Valentine always felt at home in the Luxembourg Gardens, although the atmosphere was so typically French, and she and her escort were so unlike the Latin types who lounged on the benches and read books in the sunshine.

Notre-Dame always filled her with admiration for its size, although the details of it depressed her a little. Peter, however, was able to arouse her admiration for the rose window in the north transept, which is a superb example of thirteenth-century glass, unlike the modern reproduction glass in most of the other windows. And the quais of Paris always enchanted her; and could one ever, she wondered, grow tired of watching the Seine?

Peter suggested that they should climb to the heights of Montmartre the following day, and he would show her the view from the terraces of Sacre Coeur, which she had not so far seen. And he would give her a meal in a picturesque haunt of artists, which was the sort of thing one should do at least once, even if it was never repeated. But she had to explain that she would not be free the
following day, and he immediately looked a little dashed. Then he said,
“
Well, the day after then?
”

But she had hesitated for a reason she was not quite clear about. Unless it was that she realized that if she continued to accept his invitations day after day it would look rather obvious that she enjoyed his company, and so far in her life she had not permitted any man to believe that. It was rather like committing oneself, she thought.

But Peter had urged,
“
Give me your telephone number then, and I can ring you. Perhaps one evening you
’
ll be feeling a little bored, and I
’
ll persuade you to come out to dinner.
”

“
Perhaps.
”

She had smiled at him and given him her number, and he had then asked curiously,
“
Who is this chap you
’
re lunching with tomorrow? It is a man, of course?
”

“
It is a friend of Miss Constantia
’
s,
”
she had replied, thinking his question had a faintly familiar ring.
“
A very old friend, her doctor, in fact, and also a beneficiary under the will.
”

“
I see.
”
But he had looked doubtful.
“
If it was her solicitor I could understand. He
’
d probably want to discuss the whole thing with you.
”

And now, after a day that had left her with some pleasing memories and a curious feeling of having been refreshed and cast in a slightly new mold, she was having lunch with Dr. Daudet, and from the outset it looked as if it was going to be an enjoyable lunch.

Not in the least like the day before, of course. No check cloth and vine leaves flickering across the table, and no bottle of
vin ordinaire
beside the menu.

Dr. Daudet
’
s choice of a restaurant was entirely in keeping with Dr. Daudet himself, elegant after a restrained fashion, like his impeccable appearance and, of course, expensive. The waiters were all soft voiced and deferential, and the flowers on each table were different. Vases of white lilacs and freesias filled the air with a delicate perfume, and some glorious wine-dark carnations on the table Dr. Daudet had obviously booked because he was familiar with it and approved its position, gave off an exciting spicy odor as Valentine bent over them and sniffed them appreciatively before she sat down.

She was wearing a corded silk suit of palest gray, with a white blouse beneath it that had a round puritan collar, and she looked like an unusually attractive puritan herself. All her accessories were neat and gray, and only her hair and her young smooth skin provided a touch of color.

Dr. Daudet snapped off one of the carnations and bent forward to tuck it into the front of her suit. He exclaimed approvingly,
“
That was all that was needed to complete a picture.
”

Valentine didn
’
t blush. She looked at him with faintly surprised eyes, and there was also a tiny glimmering of amusement in her expression.

“
Do you remember, doctor,
”
she asked reflectively,
“
that when you first saw me you ordered me out of Miss Constantia
’
s room?
”

“
Yes, because I thought you were far too ornamental to have around at that juncture,
”
he returned.
“
Far too ornamental to be a secretary-companion!
”

“
Yet I have reason to believe that I was a very efficient secretary,
”
she told him,
“
and
I
hope
I
was a good companion. Miss Constantia said I was, and—that very last morning—she wanted me to stay with her! She asked me to stay with her!
”

“
I can understand that,
”
he replied, and for several seconds their glances held, hers clear blue and a trifle questioning, his dark and, just then, more than a trifle enigmatic.

“
I
’
d like you to know that in the short time I knew Miss Constantia I grew to be very, very devoted to her,
”
Valentine said as she dropped her eyes to the gleaming damask of the tablecloth.
“
She was that very rare type of person who is easy to know and easy to
...
love! I
’
d never met anyone like her before, and I was looking forward to a long, long time of working for her. Answering her letters to her nieces and nephews, taking Fifi for walks; playing cribbage with her in the evenings
...
And then it all ended when it had hardly begun!
”
She swallowed suddenly, remembering Miss Constantia and her gentle ways.
“
I don
’
t think I fully realize that it
’
s all over!
”

He looked at her with eyes that were not so much enigmatic as suddenly interested and searching.

“
You would rather work for Miss Constantia than be a beneficiary under the terms of her will?
”

“
Oh, yes, yes, of course!
”
She looked at him as if she was am
a
zed he should ask such a question.
“
Being a beneficiary, as you put it, is, well, it
’
s lonely, and naturally all sorts of people are going to get the wrong idea about me. Just as you did!
”

“
I have already apologized for my wrong ideas,
”
he reminded her,
“
after I drove you back from Chaumont, if you remember?
”

But her eyes were grave as she studied him.

“
You apologized, but it is impossible for you to feel sure that your ideas were wrong. They might very easily be right.
”
She lowered her eyes, and her long eyelashes fluttered as she studied the wine that had just been poured into her glass.
“
But whether you believe me or not, when Miss Constantia was alive I felt safe and anchored somehow. I had a good salary, plenty of free time and her companionship. She never treated me like an employee, you know, and if you
’
d ever worked as
I
have
in a big general office, or even for an employer to whom you were simply part of the office furniture, you would know what it means to find y
o
urself suddenly in the employ of someone who prefers to look upon you as a member of her family!
”

“
But you have a family of your own?
”
he suggested.
“
You can
’
t be without relatives.
”

“
I have no close relatives, one or two cousins scattered around here and there, but we don
’
t really know one another.
”

“
Your father and mother?
”

“
Both dead,
”
she told him. The main course had arrived—chicken breast immersed in a succulent sauce and garnished with mushrooms—but she didn
’
t seem to have any appetite for it.
“
My father was a doctor—a general practitioner—and he died because he overworked himself in an epidemic. My mother, who left him three or four years before that, died in a hotel fire. It wasn
’
t in England—she was abroad at the time.
”

“
And you?
”
Dr. Daudet asked quietly.

“
Oh,
I
was in a boarding school on the south coast of England.
”
She tried to make a start on the chicken breast.
“
You see, I hadn
’
t any brothers or sisters,
and
my father was never any good at keeping a housekeeper, or keeping a home together for any length of time, the sort of home where I could have lived, anyway!
I
was better off in a school in the care of a housemother who knew when my clothes were in danger of coming apart and had to be renewed.
”
She smiled slightly, rather tenderly.
“
My father was a darling, but the poor pet would have been happiest of all in a leper colony—somewhere where he could have really sacrificed himself! He was
not
the sort of man to marry and have children. But I loved him,
”
she added.

“
I
’
m sure you did,
”
Dr. Daudet said with very little real expression in his voice.

She peeped at him a trifle uncertainly.

“
I don
’
t know why I
’
m telling you all this. I
’
m afraid I
’
m boring you.
”