Plantation Doctor (20 page)

“Supposing you fell genuinely in love?”

“I won’t, for a long, long time. I’m in love with my work, and when I’m ready I’ll meet a man in the same profession and with the same interests, someone who’ll understand.” She helped herself to another biscuit. “Let’s have our coffee in here. It reminds me of the way I used to eat at our cottage. I trooped around with a piece of toast in one hand and a script in the other, declaiming into a spotty kitchen mirror. How wild I am to get back to it!”

In the ensuing pause Lyn caught the chanting of the native boys, the boom of their small skin drum. She pictured them as she had many times seen them, squatting around a leaping fire, their bodies swaying eerily from the hips, their hands making rhythmic passes. Fantastic that Hazel could eliminate them so thoroughly from her visions; she saw the old round of fun and hard work, of shop-talk that held infinite possibilities, of friends who were part of the heady world of the theatre. But to Lyn the insistence of the drum, the shrill noise of cicadas, the sensation of being enclosed by brooding jungle were inescapable; it all depended, she reflected soberly, where one’s heart was imprisoned.

Hazel drank some of her coffee and looked over the t
op
of her cup at Lyn. “Claud would be piqued if he could see us all now. Adrian’s forgotten him and I wouldn’t mind betting that even Mrs. Denton is either asleep or absorbed in a novel; she’s a great novel-reader. By the way, I haven’t yet told you why I was watchi
n
g for you to come from the Baird’s. You’ll be interested.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, then.”

Hazel gave a short, carefree laugh. “I’m pleased about it. You see, I didn’t get a chance of a private word with Mrs. Denton till after dinner. When the meal was over she said she was going to bed, so I asked if I might go with her to her room. When we were alone I harked back to Claud and Marceline, but she was tired of the topic—said they must take care of themselves. She was very decent, though, and wanted to hear about my work. I told her I was going back to England and what do you think she proposed?”

“Tell me.”

“She would like us both—you and me—to travel with her in the yacht!”

The pink receded from Lyn’s cheeks. “You mean
...
next Wednesday?”

“Thursday at the latest, she says. I accepted most enthusiastically and promised to put it to you.” Hazel paused. “She had an idea you might not be overjoyed, but you are, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Lyn poured more coffee and automatically snapped shut the biscuit tin. “Melia will be disappointed if I miss her wedding.”

“But, Lyn, that’s no real excuse. You can’t pass up such an opportunity. A lazy journey home on a luxury yacht! It isn’t as if Melia were an old family servant, or a close friend. She’s only been with you a few months.”

“
She is a close friend,” Lyn answered, with an unusual touch of obstinacy, “but I dare say I could make her see that I must submit to circumstances.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“It isn’t. There are other things
...
” Lyn stopped. “Don’t give Mrs. Denton any reply from me. I’ll give it myself, tomorrow.”

“You’ll be an idiot if you turn it down. She
h
as loads of money and a corresponding interest in the arts. I shall go aboard next week with ecstasy in my veins and my fingers crossed, and I advise you to do the same. Who knows, with her assistance you might one day own a little antique shop right in the heart of London!”

How empty and unreal it sounded. As if a shop full of old treasures and a bank balance could be measured against the substance of being loved and sharing a home. But would she, Lyn, ever be happy anywhere, now that she had known Adrian? It seemed impossible.

They finished their coffee and wandered back to the living-room. Hazel gave economical descriptions of parts she had played and, without conceit, she reeled off press notices from which her own name and its accompanying compliment stood out in relief. She was the trim, boyish actress, graceful, silken-voiced, oblivious of relationships.

When at last she was ready to go, she stood poised familiarly in the porch.

“I’m glad I unburdened all that about Rex,” she said. “It’s good to see so clearly how thin and small our love really was. I believe love is like that; there always comes a time when it can no longer excite or hurt.”

Which, in Lyn’s opinion, was a somewhat juvenile reflection from a woman who had already had close contact with the true stories of great passions and tragedies of the ages. Yet she would have liked to think there was truth in Hazel’s assertion. The trouble was that the living, yearning person could not be logical and sane, stand apart and objectively contemplate herself as one mite in the vast eternity of time. Everything was vital, here and now.

Hazel and Rex Harper. In the light of knowledge, Lyn was beset by recollections. Rex sophisticated and proprietary, Hazel’s eyes glinting, betraying her calm. They had danced together, vanished together, reappeared together with Hazel in exalted mood. Yes, she remembered many such occasions, now.

And where, exactly, did Adrian come in? The friend who had seen trouble ahead and tried to keep her clear of it—as he had tried to warn Lyn about Claud? But he had not been savage and sarcastic with Hazel. Brutally unromantic, she had implied—but not cruel, not malicious and wounding. He was fond of Hazel, might have become fonder but for Rex. And now Hazel was cured, and going home with Mrs. Denton, with whom, with an eye to her career, she would determinedly keep in touch. And what more natural than that she and Adrian, who had West African experiences in common, should one day meet at Mrs. Denton’s house in London, take in a theatre, or a country ride with Wideacres as the destination?

Melia was in the kitchen, quietly washing up the cups. It was too late to embark on a discussion with her; besides, Lyn felt that morning might lift the oppressiveness from her thoughts, make her judgments clearer. Tonight, she shrank from seeing Melia downcast by her imminent departure; nor did she feel capable of making the decision. It must wait.

So she called, “Good night, Melia,” and went to her bedroom.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Her
first waking sensation in the opal flush of dawn was of impending disaster. But presently Melia brought tea and adjusted the mana blinds so that blue sky was visible between wreaths of milky mist, and the pressure of nameless dread lifted.

“Good morning, Melia. Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?” Lyn queried.

“It was very good. First we had tea with a man and his wife in their house—they were very kind—and in the evening we put up new curtains which Rollins bought from a man who is leaving this country. Nice curtains with yellow flowers which Rollins calls daffodils.”

“They’re an English spring flower, Melia. You see banks of them blowing in the wind.”

“Pretty,” she conceded, unimpressed. “The yellow is cool. I get your breakfast now, Miss Lyn?”

“Please—and tell the boy to fill the bath. It’s a sticky morning.”

She chose a white sleeveless frock with powder-blue buttons and belt, ate some fruit in the living-room and carried an old newspaper to the verandah. A boy crossed the compound from the house among the trees, bowed and gave her a long envelope. Her pulses thudded, and steadied. From the envelope she extracted a typed foolscap sheet with a line pencilled at the top by Adrian. “You might wish to read through these notes about Mrs
.
Latimer before we get down to padding them out. I shall be free from ten o’clock onwards.”

He had sent this over deliberately, intimating that yesterday was past and nothing changed. He was tired of upheavals, and so, Lyn admitted to herself with sudden vehemence, was she. She had borne enough. She would be strong, test Melia’s reactions and give Mrs. Denton her answer.

She began reading the notes, set out like sharp, vivid milestones, and soon she could build up the strange life which Mrs. Latimer had lived in Akasi. A woman of many talents, she had not only written about the tribes of the neighbourhood but she had painted and photographed them, taught them the first principles of health and persuaded whole families to evacuate their huts and make for places less disease-ridden. A comment in parenthesis stated that although Mrs. Latimer had undoubtedly been an eccentric, she had saved many lives and instilled valuable knowledge where it was most needed.

It seemed to Lyn that the fact that she had asked her brother-in-law to send out a companion was the initial sign of cracking-up, but her physical disintegration must have started long before, for she had died slowly, from one of those obscure fevers for which there is, as yet, no remedy.

Lyn folded away the notes. Mr. Latimer would be so sad and proud. She felt that way herself. She did not seek out Melia, after all, but went to her room to find the old man’s last letter. After going over it, and packing away a few things she was unlikely to need again, she looked at her watch. Ten-twenty. Time to approach Adrian in businesslike manner. If possible she would keep him out on the verandah. The nearness of him within the walls of the bright, enthralling library might prove too painful.

She walked diagonally towards the heavy thatched roof in its nest of green. Someone waved from the other end of the compound and she waved back, but went on walking. The path widened, became hard and dry as it rounded between the nut-trees and palms to the big, rambling white house.

Adrian was at the top of the steps talking to a tall young man. He had a hand on the fellow’s shoulder, was smiling with that degree of kindness which characterised all his dealings with the employees. He permitted the smile to include Lyn.

The other man was pale and thin, but he, too, was smiling with gratitude and a kind of hero-worshipping affection.

“I’ll go now, sir,” he said, “and thank you very much.”

“Thank that healthy physique of yours—”

Adrian broke off abruptly, lowered his hand and looked first at Lyn and then at the queer brill
i
ance of the eyes in that colourless tense, young face as they rested upon her.

“It was you!” said Dick.

A deep hollow formed at the base of Lyn’s chest. “I?” She moistened lips that would not smile. “What have I been doing?”

“It was you in the hospital, I’m certain of it. I knew it was a real person, but Johanna said I’d been delirious and must have imagined it. You were there, weren’t you? You spoke to me
...
”
He laughed almost exultantly at Adrian but swiftly brought his gaze back to Lyn’s silently pleading eyes. “Blue eyes, red lights in your hair
...
there isn’t anyone else here like that. It was you—Lyn Russell.”

In a voice that was iron-hard, Adrian said, “Let’s have the details, shall we?”

“There aren’t any
...
”
Lyn stammered.

But Dick Wilton could provide some. “It was while you were in Freetown, those three or four days when I was sick and no one knew how to tackle it. They gave me a sedative each night so that I slept for a good many hours, but during fee day I became conscious a
nd
rational every hour or two, and each time Miss Russell was there.” He turned to her, thrilled and keyed up. “You said, ‘You’re getting better, Dick. Dr. Sinclair will be here soon.’ Something like that. Said it over and over till I believed it. My memory’s hazy, but I do recall trusting you, and connecting you with the doctor. I suppose I continually thought that next time I awakened the doctor would be there, in your place.”

“And was I?” enquired Adrian, with a metallic intonation that Lynn recognized and quailed at.

“Yes, sir. That’s just what happened.”

“In that case you are in Miss Russell’s debt.”

“To a hopeless extent,” Dick said. He held out a hand,
g
rasped Lyn’s. “To you it’s probably silly and sen
t
imental, but having you there gave me courage and incentive. I’ve had fever, but I’ve never been so desperately ill away from home before.”

“I ... I understand.”

“I’d like to think you do.” He noticed that Adrian’s fingers had contracted round Lyn’s arm above the elbow and gave a constrained and youthful tug at his collar.
“I
hope I haven’t annoyed you Dr. Sinclair.”

“Don’t give it a thought, Dick,” said Adrian, with
a
cordiality that Lyn knew was edged. “It’s comforting for you to have the matter cleared up. Now you cut across to the hospital, and if I find that coming here this morning has pushed up your temperature I’ll have you back in bed for another week.”

It was then, to avoid any further embarrassing thanks from Dick, that Lyn turned and cast a glance along the verandah. Her heart sank lower, her joints positively wobbled. Mrs. Denton was seated about five yards away. She was leaning forward on to the table, her expression lively and speculative and wholly absorbed. With fatal certainty, Lyn knew that not one detail nor one spoken word had escaped her.

Dick murmured awkwardly, “Well, thank you again,” and made his way out to the path which ran beside the swimming pool to the hospital.

Lyn was aware of the excruciating bite of the vice about her arm, of Adrian saying, crisp as frost,
“Take a seat, Lynden. There’s a matter which appea
r
s to need sifting. We’ll call Hazel from the pool and make a round-table conference of it.”

“No! Please don’t bring Hazel into it,” she begged.

Mrs. Denton reached to pat Lyn’s wrist. “Sit here
,
near me.” When Lyn had complied, she said quietly, “This concerns Hazel. She’s been deceiving us, lying about you, but we must be fair to her.”

Poor Hazel. Lyn could see the others girl’s dreams splintering; the yacht trip withdrawn, the patronage of the wealthy Mrs. Denton bestowed elsewhere. Hazel transferring herself and her belongings to the spare room of a friend in Palmas—maybe today. She didn’t deserve such bad luck.

Resolutely calling up all her forces, Lyn faced them both. “May I explain first? After that you can decide about Hazel.”

Adrian, peculiarly white about the nostrils, nodded impatiently. “Don’t be too long about it,” he said. “I feel like bruising someone.”

Lyn took in a long breath. She found it easier to address Mrs. Denton than to meet the rather unnerving quality in Adrian’s glance.

“About Dick,” she said, flat-toned in her anxiety to convince. “The morning after Adrian had left for Freetown I went with Hazel to the hospital, to cheer up the three men in the ward. They weren’t too sick and we thought it couldn’t do any harm. While we were there Dick came in. He was very ill, and as Johanna had gone off duty I ran and called the native medical assistant and helped to get Dick to bed. When Johanna turned up Hazel begged me to come away from the hospital—you must believe that.”

“She should never have taken you there at all,” said Adrian. “I’d forbidden it.”

At this Lyn bridled. “You gave her permission to enter the hospital. Where did you get the impression that Hazel’s more of a nurse than I am?”

“There was the risk of infection, and I didn’t want you to take chances. Get on with this tale
.”

“It’s the truth! Eventually, Hazel left me in the war
d
. The native doctor was frightfully nervous; he’d made a diagnosis but daren’t do more than try to alleviate the symptoms. Dick was in a frightening condition, and I,” she said haltingly, “I just couldn’t leave him.”

“Johanna was available—a skilled nurse.”

“Perhaps I have silliness and sentimentality in common with Dick. I hadn’t so long thrown off my own dose of fever, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine how he felt during the lucid intervals—the loneliness and fear. He hadn’t a
w
hite doctor, but it helped to have a white person near
—
any white person.”

Mrs. Den
t
on smiled softly, encouragingly. “It was plucky of you, my dear. A little
foolhardy
, because you couldn’t be sure he hadn’t a contagious illness, but definitely plucky. I admire you for it. Were you with the man all day for four days?”

“More or less. It wasn’t tiring, and I mostly went to the house for meals.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us, Lyn?” she asked reasonably. “Surely you could have come to me at the start. I’m not unapproachable, am I?”

This was the tricky part of the explanation, and Lyn wished fervently that she had foreseen a meeting with Dick and prepared for it. She also wished that Adrian were a hundred miles away instead of just across the table, with features that were all angles and eyes with a steady blaze in them.

“Come on,” he said sharply. “Wriggle out of that!”

“I hate you, Adrian,” Lyn said simply.

“Lyn!” exclaimed Mrs. Denton, but not with censure. Plainly she did not believe the statement.

“Of course you hate me,” he said with a tight smile. “When you’re cornered you’re transparent as spring water. But you haven’t answered Aunt Evelyn. That’s where Hazel comes in, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but she’s not to blame. You’re to blame, Adrian, for treating women as if they were half-baked nitwits. I mustn’t go near the hospital, Mrs. Denton was not to be worried. You had Hazel worried, anyway. She had disobeyed one of your imperious commands, and
when Mr. Baird insisted that Mrs. Denton be kept ignorant of Dick’s collapse she was forced into a lie. All the rest couldn’t be helped—it just piled on to the first small fib.”

“ ‘All the rest,’ as you term it, constitutes a formidable array of headaches which you’d collected from overnight junketing with Claud. Did you and Hazel agree upon those stupid excuses for not coming here to see my aunt?”

“I do wish you’d try to understand without getting angry.”

“And I wish you’d give a direct answer once in a while? Did you see Claud during the week?”

Lyn hesitated. “No, not once.
”

The reply created a silence. Mrs. Denton audibly relaxed in her chair and Adrian let out a sharp breath. To Lyn, Hazel’s cause appeared perilously balanced, and she thought, miserably, that the other girl could probably have handled it herself with much more success.

Desperately she made a further bid. “Hazel told Mrs. Denton that I was with Claud, the first night because it was the first thing which occurred to her. Probably it was simpler to stick to the one fiction.”

Here, Mrs. Denton unexpectedly came to her aid. “I rather think,” she said slowly, “that when I questioned Hazel the second evening I was the one who mentioned that you might be with her brother; she merely concurred. After that I took it for granted that a more intimate friendship was developing between you and Claud Merrick.”

Her head lowered and her knees tensed hard under the table, Lyn said, “That wouldn’t have been catastrophic for anyone but me. I’m sorry you were hurt by what you thought were repeated refusals to come and see you, particularly as Melia told me that you were becoming worn out by the heat—but please don’t be stern with Hazel.” She gazed entreatingly at Mrs. Denton. “Hazel was convinced she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t to know that Claud and Marceline would go away as they did, that Dick would come here and blurt out everything
...
”

“And that reminds me,” interrupted Adrian in a dangerously quiet tone. “Why did Johanna write off
Dick’s
pretty white nurse as a figment of delirium? She must have seen you with him.”

“She may have misunderstood him.”

“Or possibly a little gift changed hands!”

“Why do you suspect everyone!” she cried. “You know as well as I that Hazel would never wittingly injure anyone; she was in a fix. Slipping up once doesn’t make her into a bad character.”

“Quite true,” allowed Mrs. Denton reflectively. “But, still, my dear, it’s only fitting that Hazel should give us her own version of this foolish business. You’ve defended her staunchly, and I promise you that once she has apologised nothing more will be said about it.”

Lyn slumped, like a child at length defeated. Adrian was watching her and at the same time taking a cigarette from his case. The white cylinder bent between brown fingers, broke and spilled ginger pieces. With controlled violence he threw it over the parapet. The same action in any other man would have denoted a vibrant condition of nerves.