Nurse in Waiting (11 page)

“Don’t worry, please,” said Joanna. “I’m not very hungry. Now which of these do you think you’d wear if you were me?”

Mrs. Carnehill looked at the frock and the suit which Joanna had brought out for her inspection. The dress was boldly patterned in crimson and cream, while the suit, pencil-slim, of fine black wool, was one which Joanna loved and in which she felt at her best.

More than once Mrs. Carnehill’s eyes strayed wistfully towards the flamboyance of the frock, but in the end she said half-reluctantly: “The black would be more suitable, surely.”

And as Joanna changed into the suit, set un
acc
ustomed ear-rings in her ears and their matching clasp upon her lapel, she thought gratefully: “She is a dear. She has the most hopeless taste in clothes and she was absolutely hankering to see me disport myself in that dress, which, by the way, I can’t imagine why I ever bought! But she sensed I should feel more comfortable in this suit and she wanted me to have my way, even if she didn’t understand it at all.”

When she reached the Dower House she found that there were several cars drawn up outside it, and the room which had been closed when she had previously gone there was already more than half-full of people.

The room itself seemed to express Justin McKiley well enough. The furnishings were ultra-modern, from the fluorescent lighting of the off-white carpet, from the oddly angled chairs to the black glass panels which formed a large part of the wall-surface.

Joanna thought with amusement: “A far cry, this from the castor-oil plant and the bamboo across the hall!” But she knew that she felt the old house had not been better graced here than there. She remembered that
René
had said Justin worked here, but except for a modern-looking bureau which was closed there were no signs of this. No wonder Roger had complained that he never saw an account-book. It did not appear as if Justin were over-concerned with such things either, if he did indeed conduct the estate’s affairs from this room.

Justin McKiley came over, apologized for not having seen her as soon as she arrived. Then his sweeping glance surveyed her from the shining gold of her hair to her silken-clad ankles. He said:

“You wear uniform like a devotee. But you wear clothes like
—
a woman!”

The words were a compliment, but the look and tone which accompanied them were an enigma. Joanna flushed, wondering how it had come about that the man supposed he could say such things to her. But without waiting for a reply he took her informally by the wrist and drew her among the other guests in order to introduce her.

The introductions were of the usual kind at such parties
—
the unheard names, the exchange of a few polite words, and the relieved return to intimate, allusive conversation as soon as the newcomer had been taken on to the next group. Joanna had begun to hope she would meet someone to whom she wanted to talk or who would want to talk to her. She was glad when
René
Menden stepped forward to claim her attention and after a moment’s hesitation McKiley left her to him and to his companion, a girl dressed in red.

She too glanced appraisingly at Joanna from beneath the astonishingly long lashes which shaded her dark, almond-shaped eyes. In a quick glance of her own Joanna saw that all the accessories to
her scarlet gown were black—she wore black earrings, was smoking a cigarette in a black holder, and carried an enormous black handbag. She had an air of extreme sophistication and Joanna’s single brief thought before the other girl spoke was: “How well she fits in with
—
all this!”

“My name is Magda.” The lazy voice that matched the lazy almond eyes made its own introduction before
René
had time to speak. “What’s yours?”

“Joanna. Joanna Merivale.” She paused, hoping that the girl named Magda would see fit to add her own surname. But she said only: “Oh. Joanna is enough. I should never remember the Merivale part, anyway.” She turned to
René
. “I don’t know that I’ve ever even heard yours?”

René
smiled. “It does not matter. You would not remember it either.”

Magda blew a smoke-ring in his direction. “He’s sweet, isn’t he?” she inquired of Joanna.

Joanna did not reply, thinking how inapt the adjective was for describing
René
, who was intelligent and well-mannered and certainly nothing so inadequate as “sweet.”

While they talked she noticed that frequently only half of the other girl’s attention seemed to be with her companions; the other part was with her eyes which, veiled though they were, followed Justin McKiley everywhere he moved about the room. But when at last he came across to rejoin them she half-turned her back upon him, feigning an indifference which Joanna was sure she did not feel.

She said carelessly over her shoulder: “A
lovely
party, Justin.
All
the old familiar faces! Don’t you ever invite anyone new?”

Again he took Joanna’s wrist lightly between his finger and thumb. “You’re meeting Joanna,” he said. “She’s new!”

“I mean men, of course!” she retorted, and Joanna was startled at the look of contempt which crossed her face.

Justin dropped Joanna’s wrist and leaned towards the other girl as he took a light from her cigarette. He said intently: “But Magda does not need new men
—
or does she?”

“Every woman,” put in
René
sententiously, “needs new men! For the development of her character it is of the most essential!”

Justin ignored the interruption as he repeated, his eyes still holding Magda’s own: “Or
does she
?”

She shrugged. “One gets bored,” she said. “Especially when it is obvious that your parties are business affairs as much as social. Lately you don’t invite anyone who isn’t likely to be of use to you
—”

A look, the meaning of which Joanna did not understand, passed between them then. But when Justin spoke again his tone was as light and mocking as ever. He said: “Come, that’s unjust of you! Not even you, Magda dear, could suggest that Joanna here is merely utilitarian! Of the most decorative, surely?” His mimicry was very sure, and
René
took in good part the laughter against himself,
i
n which, however, Magda did not share.

Justin contemplated the dark storminess of her face for a minute or two. Then he turned deliberately to Joanna. “On the contrary, it is you who must be getting bored!” he said easily. “May I find you
s
omeone else to talk to?”

The rebuff to Magda was patent, and Jo
a
nna felt embarrassed for her. But her manner asked no one’s pity, least of all Joanna’s, as she was stung to action by the snub.

She made an imperious gesture to
René
and with his help shrugged her shoulders into a wide-panniered coat. “You too,” she said pointedly to him,
“
must find someone else to talk to, for I am leaving now!”

Justin made a sudden movement towards her. “Surely not?” he asked. “I meant to drive you back myself.”

She glanced at him, her eyelashes fluttering lazily. “Thanks,” she drawled. “But I came with the Salmonds and they’ll take me back. How could I, drag you away from the novelty of which you seem so proud?” This time her glance included Joanna and her meaning was plain.

She moved across the room to speak to a man and woman in another group, waited for them as they came over to Justin McKiley in order to take their leave, and presently left with them.

Justin looked down at Joanna and said reflectively: “There was a time when I once thought Magda was unique. Now I’m inclined to believe that she’s merely—human!”

He was offering Joanna another drink now, but she indicated the glass of sherry which
René
had brought to her and which she had not yet finished. Then he said, watching
René
as he moved away:

“I suppose I should have invited Shuan for him. But she treats him so abominably that it doesn’t make things easier for him
—
harder, in fact.”

Joanna sipped her sherry thoughtfully. “I wonder why she finds it necessary to hurt him as she does? Do you think”—she paused as she sought to express the rather nebulous theory which had just occurred to her—
“
that it could be because like doesn’t normally take to like, and Shuan recognizes in
René
’s feeling for her something of the strength of what she herself feels for Ro—, For Mr. Carnehill, and—and she resents it?”

Justin looked at her quizzically. “That’s shrewd of you,” he commented. “You mean—she would like to think that single-mindedness of hers was unique?”

“Yes, perhaps
—”

“Maybe you’re right. In that case, it’s certainly a kindness to
René
to keep them apart. But what, I wonder, do you know about the strength of young Shuan’s feeling for Roger—or his for her?”

Joanna ignored the last part of the question. She said slowly, feeling that perhaps she had already gone too far in betraying Shuan’s confidence:

“She is very transparent. She finds it difficult to conceal anything that she feels
—”

“—And I dare say hasn’t made any secret of the fact that she regards
you
as an interloper?” Again his glance appraised her. “You know, I must admit that she has some justification!”

“That’s absurd!” retorted Joanna hotly. “All I meant was that from the beginning she has resented the amount of service I’m able to give to Mr. Carnehill.
Personally,
I haven’t any significance between them, and Shuan knows it. It’s simply that she longs to feel he needs her as, I suppose,
René
wants to know that she needs him!”

McKiley raised his eyebrows. “I wonder how sure of that you are? That Shuan hasn’t any personal Jealousy of you, I mean? You know, Joanna Merivale, you tend to belittle your own power! I admit I hadn’t realized that Shuan was actually falling in love with Roger, though, of course, I knew what a fetish she made of devoting most of her time to him. But if she is, I think you might have a
very
painful ‘significance’ for her. Don’t tell me you hadn’t realized that!”

“I hadn’t. I’ve told you before—I’m merely Mr. Carnehill’s nurse,” said Joanna stiffly.

“That, of course. But also a woman with, while he’s ill, the sort of invested power over him which poor Shuan can’t challenge. And a woman, besides, with a degree of character and poise and beauty which the child can’t approach! Do you
s
till claim that that uniform of yours will shelter you from
everything?
What about Magda, for instance? Didn’t
her
reaction to you teach you anything at all?”

“Magda—I’m afraid she didn’t tell me her other name—struck me as being rather bored with her
s
urroundings and without any interest whatsoever
i
n me,” said Joanna calmly. “Whatever resentment she showed was because you—you
flaunted
me at her. But that she was
jealous
of me as you suggest Shuan might be—that’s absurd!”

“
Is
it?” asked Justin McKiley. “I wonder!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Roger was brought back from Dublin he looked white and shaken from the rigors of the “new treatment” which he had undergone.

M
rs. Carnehill hovered at his bedside, her longing to suffer for him written in every line of her face.

“You’re in pain, Roger
—
!”

He managed a rueful smile for her. “No—that’s the devil of it. At least, though the top half of me is harried and wracked by every ache that was ever invented, none of it is in the right places. In my back, where I’m assured I ought to feel something, there’s nothing
—
nothing at all. But Carnehills always were contrary, weren’t they?”

“But the feeling will come back, Roger. It must!” The conviction in her voice was buoyed by hope alone.

“It will. About by the time the humidity of our darling climate has me twisted into a gnarled knot with arthritis in my seventies! Wasn’t I reading somewhere that certain ailments take immediate hook at the mere suggestion of old man arthritis
—
or was it the other way about—he hops it at sight of them? Joanna, do you know?”

Joanna turned about from the table where she had been measuring his medicine. Her lip twitched as she said gravely:

“I believe in America they’ve discovered that arthritis doesn’t live alongside yellow jaundice,
pregnancy, or starvation. If you think you’re likely to qualify, I hope you’ll let me know
.
”

He laughed, and Mrs. Carnehill joined in before she left the room. But when she had gone his face darkened again, and he said morosely: “Mother destroys herself with worry about me. I wish she wouldn’t. What good does it do? And, as soon as she gets back from Naas, it’ll be Shuan next.
‘
Darling
Roger
—’
No, Joanna, I can’t stand much
more. You must keep her away, or make her pipe
down or something
—”

“They—they care too much,” Joanna said slowly. “It’s understandable. And you don’t always bear with them as you might. Just now you were cleverer
—
you made Mrs. Carnehill laugh. You might try that more often.”

“But why must they get so—so emotional about it? Why can’t they accept the dreary inevitability of it all and not let themselves get so worked up? You don’t!”

“For me
—
it’s rather different, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Yes, I suppose it is. You know, I thought about you a lot while I was in the nursing home
—”

“Did you?” Even to Joanna her voice sounded as if it came from a long way off.

“Yes. Don’t appear too interested, will you? Though I admit I’d have been tempted to have you strangled if you’d said: ‘Flattered, I’m sure,’ or ‘Did you? How nice!’ Anyway, don’t you want to know at
all
what I thought?”

“Yes, go on
—”