Ship's Surgeon (12 page)

“Yes, of course I will.”

“Would you like to stay up a while longer?”

“Please.”

“I’ll come back in half an hour.” Pat caught Mrs. Lai’s eye and indicated that she wanted to speak to her outside. “Here’s a magazine, Deva. Mrs. Lai will get you the new ones which came on board at Aden.”

She paused outside in the corridor and was joined by the unsmiling Sinhalese woman. “Mrs. Lai, you must keep the door locked always while you’re out of the room, and even while you are in it if you’re resting. You still lock the door overnight, don’t you?”

“I do as I am told, Miss Fenley,” said the dignified Mrs. Lai.

“I know you do, but we’ve only nine days or so to go, and I’d hate anything to go wrong at this stage. Deva’s done so well.”

“I would protect her with my life.”

“Lock the door always. Say nothing to her, but do it. She’s a very precious burden, Mrs. Lai, and I want her parents to see her as she is now, or even better. Whenever you need a break let me know, and I’ll take over. Don’t ask the stewardess, as you have been doing. Ask me.”

“Very well, Miss Fenley.”

“I’ll send those magazines along. Thank you, Mrs. Lai.”

After the woman had re-entered the stateroom, Pat spoke to the stewardess about the magazines. Then she went along the wide corridor towards the staircase. At the end of it, Bill was talking to the first officer, but as he saw her he excused himself and joined her. Without speaking he walked at her side down the staircase, but when they reached B Deck he nodded downwards again. “Come to the surgery,” he said.

“What have I got to lose?” she said lightly. “Are you going to bawl me out?”

“Is there any reason why I should?”

“I’ve had the impression, lately, that you wouldn’t want to talk to me for any other reason. Sorry I butted in on your tea with Deva.”

“You weren’t unwelcome.”

“Sounds negative, and that’s not like you.”

By now they had reached the surgery and he had waved her in. He closed the door and got out cigarettes. When she shook her head he said, “Go on, take one. I’ve something to ask you and we may as well try being matey for a change.” He flicked his lighter and held it to her cigarette. “You’re not looking your best, Patsy. Feel liverish?”

“Thanks for the romantic approach. As far as I know my liver was never in better condition.”

He gave a hard grin, lighted his own cigarette and slipped the fighter back into his pocket. “To get to the point. There was a message waiting for me at Aden from a very old friend of mine who’s now in Karachi. As you may know, we arrive there at dawn and don’t leave till the following morning. I have an invitation to dine with this man and his wife, and to bring along a friend of the prettier sex. The ship will be linked to the land by telephone, so Sister Edwards can quickly get me if it’s necessary. Actually, it’s unlikely to be necessary in port. Like to go along?”

Pat knew, with a fast-beating heart, that there was nothing she would like better. An evening away from the ship, different faces, different jokes; it seemed so very long since she had been a private person, without a patient. And why not admit it—she longed to spend an evening with Bill as a man and not as a doctor. It wouldn’t matter that there was a girl he wanted in Sydney, just as Alan wouldn’t matter to him. They’d be together, paired up for perhaps the only time in her life.

“Yes, I’d...” Pat stopped precipitately. For a minute she had forgotten Deva! She looked down at her cigarette and said, “I’m sorry, Doctor. My job is here on board and I can’t leave it.”

“You can see the girl to bed and I’ll get you back to the ship in time for the next morning’s treatment. You never do see her during the evening or early morning.”

“I do, when I’m called.”

“But there can be no reason to call you. Deva’s faith has done wonders, and you’ve worked a miracle all on your own. In my opinion,” bluntly, “she’s in better fettle than you are in some ways. She’s certainly not so jumpy.”

“I do appreciate your asking me, but I’m afraid I must refuse. I don’t feel I dare leave Deva for more than an hour or two.”

“I’ll give Nurse Brodrick shore leave early in the day and put her on guard for the evening. How will that do?”

Pat shook her head and reached forward to stub out the scarcely smoked cigarette in his ashtray. “I’m not just Deva’s nurse, or physiotherapist. In a way I’m her guardian...”

“Rot. There’s Mrs. Lai in the same room with her, steward and stewardess at beck and call and a nurse available if she’s needed. You need a night off, and this is a good chance for it. You and I have never really been ashore together.”

Was he recalling, as she was, their meeting in Port Said? “I’d like it,” she said, head lowered, “but I can’t go with you. I wouldn’t enjoy it. I’d be ... worried.” He didn’t speak at once and she knew he was staring down at her. But she didn’t care how she looked; rather thinner than when she had boarded the
Walhara,
rather paler, her neat short bronze hair standing out a little from the deck breeze, her shoulders lightly tanned, the lines of her neck and jaw very young and vulnerable-looking.

He said abruptly, “That’s just an excuse, isn’t it? I’m telling you, as the girl’s temporary doctor, that if she’s given a very light sedative she won’t even wake up, and there certainly won’t be anything to worry about.”

Since speaking with Avis Markman, Pat had felt that her mind would never be at ease till Deva had been handed into her father’s care. She didn’t know what she feared and that rather made things worse. One thing she was certain of; Deva had to be watched by someone responsible, who
cared.

“It was good of you to ask me first,” she said, standing up, “but I’m afraid I’d be a poor companion. I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“In case you’ve never heard it,” he said tersely, “the name’s Bill. You make me tired—do you know that?”

“Yes, I know it.”

“Well, stop looking so damned reserved and pathetic! You’ll meet a thousand better chaps than your Alan in Australia, and any one of them would make a better husband. He’s the reason you don’t want to go into Karachi with me, isn’t he? It wouldn’t be right for you to forget him and enjoy yourself; you have to eat the rest of your heart out before you’ll be cured of that little rat who was only waiting for you to get well on your wav before he married someone else—someone he must have been seeing pretty often even while he was pawing round you! You know something?” with brutal directness. “Before you got that wire I’d have said you’d have far more pride than to wallow in a swamp of self-pity over the man you half despised because he wanted you to get rid of your brothers. I’m ashamed of you!”

White-faced, Pat said, “It’s hardly your business, but I’m not wallowing. I genuinely want to stay aboard, and even the glittering prospect of spending an evening with you away from the ship isn’t enough to make me change my mind. Ever since that night you gave me a drink in your cabin you’ve been wanting to get back at me. I don’t know why and I’m not sure that I even care. All I know is that I’d much rather be left alone. Please stand away from the door.”

“Not on your life. You listen to me, Patsy. You’re either carrying an outsize torch for that louse in London or there’s a load of trouble on your shoulders from some other quarter. I mean to do something about it, and that’s why you’re going ashore with me in Karachi.”

“I’m not! To make it more emphatic, now that I’ve thought it over I wouldn’t go ashore with you if there were no Deva to consider. I ... I just don’t want to be with you!”

His eyes narrowed, stared straight into her green ones. “You certainly said that with conviction,” he said curtly. “At last we seem to know where we stand. All right,” as he moved round the desk, “you may go.” But as she reached the door he added, with cool sarcasm, “If you’re not going ashore at Karachi you may have to commission some other friend to buy you a packet of view-cards. I believe Pickard has cottoned to a girl in the tourist.”

Pat took a breath that quivered in her throat, lifted her head and left the cabin.

CHAPTER SIX

So much seemed to have happened on that day that afterwards Pat could never remember how she had spent the evening or whether she had slept. But next morning she awoke clear-headed; she was still worried, but differently, because she had decided that the only way to handle any situation which might develop around Deva was to be always on the spot. Karachi, Bombay—she had particularly wanted to tour Bombay and its environs—would have to wait or even be forgone for ever. She would not leave the ship till she left it with Deva Wadia at Colombo.

Having come to this conclusion she thought back over that talk with Avis Markman in the library. It seemed that “a couple” were concerned in the threat to the Sinhalese girl, and by a process of elimination it might be possible to arrive at the names of these two people. Avis drifted from group to group, but she had not quite made the grade among the really exclusive people aboard. She had good taste in clothes but obviously could not afford the best, and possibly for that reason she had a complex. Her companions were in the middle-income group, and to begin with there were those at her dining table. Frank Thornton one could write off because he was patently a happily married man who sought nothing more than shipboard friendship with Avis or anyone else. The American woman was a loner, one of those hardboiled tourists who tour, purely and simply, driven by the cold ambition to visit a few more countries than anyone else. Then there was Van Pickard. It had been Van who had asked questions about Deva, about the jewels, too; but he had only been voicing the gossip on board, and besides, he had business connections in England and Australia.

No, the couple interested in the jewels would outwardly be normal cheery people on holiday or returning to Australia after a visit to England; there were several married couples in that category with whom Avis was friendly. She had said they had spent a packet on fares and implied that they weren’t likely to accept the loss philosophically. If they were jewel thieves, why didn’t they try for the diamonds of the richer passengers? Pat thought she knew the answer to that one. The women who owned diamonds wore them on their fingers day and night; while travelling, their necklaces and bracelets were fine paste. It was possible, of course, that one or two of them had deposited valuables with the purser, and wasn’t that where Deva’s jewels would be now, if she’d brought them? Had this couple planned a daring robbery of the ship’s safe? It could happen, in port.

Yet there was a fantastic angle to the whole business. Stealing jewels at sea was not like stealing jewels on land; there was no means of escaping from a ship except in port, and there the escapees would immediately be known by name, and a description circulated. Presumably, though, these two were cleverer than average; their plan would have been foolproof.

The question was, what would they do now—try some method of blackmail in order to recoup themselves? Pat hadn’t the least idea, nor even the imagination to work it out, but she did feel they could gain nothing by trying to get into personal touch with Deva. Which was a comforting thought. She, Pat Fenley, had precious little money; Deva was in a like condition. The crooks would have to fasten upon someone else. Some time before Karachi, Pat told herself, she would put the purser on guard. How it could be managed without giving Avis away she wasn’t sure, but she’d definitely plant suspicions in the man’s mind. After that, it would be the ship’s responsibility.

In the lull, as the
Walhara
steamed eastwards, Pat caught up on her correspondence, washed her hair, enjoyed a film in the company of one of the young officers, had a long shop talk with Sister Edwards and spent many hours in Deva’s stateroom. When she was sitting alone at a tea-table in the lounge one afternoon, Vernon Corey and Kristin joined her. It was Corey’s suggestion, of course, and Kristin could only have appeared grossly impolite had she refused.

The big man, in a pale green shirt of excellent cut and fine dark gabardine shorts, looked hot but genial. “Seen any more flying fish?” he queried, and turned to Kristin. “We saw shoals of them the other day—Miss Fenley and I. She stared at ’em like a kid seeing magic.”

After a quick look at Pat, Kristin was cool and slightly patronizing. “The first sight of anything beautiful is breathtaking, and I suppose Miss Fenley feels particularly lucky about every new experience on board. If it weren’t for the Sinhalese girl she wouldn’t be here.”

“Not travelling first-class, anyway,” said Pat evenly, “but I dare say the flying fish are as thrilling from the tourist deck.”

“Possibly,” Kristin conceded. She looked away, out of a window. “You do get tired of the eternal sea, and the ports are smelly and hot. I’m half inclined to fly from Colombo.”

Vernon Corey said flatly, “You can’t do that, Kristin—not easily, anyway. If you want to fly on and meet me in Sydney, you’ll have to leave the ship at Bombay.”

Kristin smiled proprietorially at him and patted his wrist; her long pink-tipped fingers lingered on the back of his thick hand. “Darling, I don’t want to leave you—you know that. The trouble is, I never feel really well on a ship.”

He laughed. “I feel like death in a plane!”

“But for such a short time. I do wish I could persuade you to travel on by air with me.”

“Look, honey,” he said seriously. “If you’d only relax and let the atmosphere get you, you’d enjoy this trip as much as I do. Everything’s all fixed up—we’re not expected out there for three weeks or more, and I mean to make the most of that time. There’ll be hectic days ahead from the moment we arrive and announce our engagement. There’ll be a thousand people at the wedding!”

“Don’t, darling. You frighten me.”

“Now, Kris,” he said tenderly. “They’re good people—the Australians. A few of them drink too much, some are loud, but you can depend on their liking you because you’ll belong to me. I’m something out there.”

“Oh, I know,” Kristin said, giving him another careful little smile which blended impulsiveness with love and worry. “I suppose I want to get it over—meeting your relations and friends for the first time. I thought that if I went ahead by air I could settle and rest a bit before the excitement begins.”

“You’d be alone,” he pointed out reasoningly, “and the ship is far more restful than an Australian city, believe me. I want you to stay with me, Kris.”

“We’ll talk about it again before we reach Colombo,” she said, as if reassuring a boy. And then to Pat: “Is your young patient getting excited?”

“A little. She says she can smell India. The trip has done her lots of good, particularly since she’s been coming on deck. She walks well.”

“So I reckon you’ll be going straight on,” said Vernon Corey. “That’s good. After Bombay there won’t be so many of us, so we’ll have to stick together. Say, do you play bridge?”

“Not often, but I know how to.”

“Kris has been teaching me, but there’s only been the two of us. She says she can’t foist a bad player on the experts who clutter the lounge each evening, but if you’d like to join us we might find one other sympathetic soul.”

Pat said quickly, “I’m afraid I’m too tied at the moment.”

“Miss Fenley is a working girl, Vernon,” put in Kristin.

“Well, after Colombo, then—there’ll still be quite some time. Say, Kris, did you hear about this girl?” he said admiringly. “She’s going to Melbourne to see an uncle about her brothers. He’s a crabby son-of-a-gun who won’t part with a penny towards their education unless they come out to Australia.”

Kristin slanted a swift dagger-like glance at Pat; her cheeks lost colour. “I didn’t know you and Miss Fenley were such good friends that she confided her problems to you, Vernon. Did you find all this out on the day you admired the flying fish together?”

“I guess we did chow a bit,” he said, with a smile that was oddly ingenuous for a man of his age. “I thought about it afterwards. You know, Miss Fenley, I can help you from the very beginning. Kris and I go on to Sydney, but we’ll have a few hours in Melbourne, and I’ll take you to wherever this uncle lives. He’ll have heard of me—I’ve often been in the Melbourne papers—and I’ll put in a few words of my own about these twin brothers of yours. I’ll also offer to have billets ready for them when they leave college. That should make the old joker more amenable.”

“Really, Mr. Corey...”

“Sure, I know you’d rather he paid for finishing their education in England, but when you see Australia you’ll change your mind—we’ve wonderful schools, the very best. That’s settled, then. I’ve been wondering if I could help you any, and I’m glad to think it’s going to be so easy.”

Kristin had withdrawn her hand from Corey’s and Pat saw her fist, bone-white, on the edge of the table; she took care not to look at the smooth, olive-skinned face. She also felt it advisable to say nothing more to Vernon Corey. But she did reflect, at that moment, that if she had been Kristin she would have seized the opportunity to confess to him. He was an honest man, and even if the confession were to wound him deeply he’d respect her for it. It was even possible he loved her enough to give wholehearted affection to the twins, Timothy and Keith.

But there was no chance of Kristin’s admitting that she was seven years older than he thought, and the mother of two boys. She had built up the fiction of a lone young widow and snared him with it, and nothing on earth would make her risk changing it. Pat thought, with a cold sort of pity, that perhaps Kristin was going through a private hell. Here was something she had always wanted—a very rich-man who loved her and wanted to marry her; but the thing had had to be tarnished with deception from the first. Even so hardened a woman as Kristin might feel the pain of it.

Pat said, “I’ve work to do, if you’ll excuse me.”

Corey got up and said gallantly, “It’s been pleasant, talking to you. See you again.”

Pat smiled politely. As she moved away she caught a glimpse of Kristin’s features. They were ash-pale, her lips a thin red gash. For the first time she looked somewhere near her age, and even gaunt and a little ill. But her eyes, as she shot a glance upward, were jet-black with sword-tips in their depths. Pat knew, suddenly and hollowly, that Kristin was icy with rage, and desperate.

Karachi. The
Walhara
anchored, disappointingly, close to the wharves of Kiamari, and except for the long Manora spit and the railway lines which joined Kiamari to the mainland, there was very little to be seen from the deck of the port of Pakistan. No sooner had the ship docked than the holds were opened to receive huge hessian-wrapped bales of cotton destined for Australia.

There were a few sellers of gaudy knickknacks and the ubiquitous conjuror of the East, but otherwise there was very little to interest the passengers who remained on board. Most of them took taxis into the town. Van Pickard had faithfully invited Pat, but when she explained that she was not going ashore at all, he accepted the fact and eventually turned up on the dockside with a thin sunburnt girl in slacks. You couldn’t blame him for that, thought Pat, but her heart ached a little. It was so good to roam an exotic town with a man, yes, even with Van. He might be empty-headed, but he did love sightseeing, and communicated that love.

It was hot in the sheltered harbour, but Deva begged to be allowed on deck, and Pat felt that with so few aboard it might be a good time to get Deva’s softened feet accustomed to harder walking.

Pat had tried very hard to warn the assistant purser that there were people aboard who would stop at nothing to make money. He hadn’t laughed, as she had thought he might, but had told her that the shipping company had its own measures for dealing with anything shady. She couldn’t accuse anyone, so had to leave the matter there.

With Deva, she moved twice round the sun deck, after which the girl sat down, mighty pleased with herself. Mrs. Lai brought tea and the inevitable very sweet cakes, and Pat ordered coffee. It was very peaceful, having the ship almost to themselves.

Sister Edwards appeared, looking strange in green flowered print. “Shore leave,” she grimaced. “I would get it here, where I’d just as soon stay on board. Still, I do need a few things. Anything I can get for you?”

“No, thanks. Aren’t you busy below?”

“Nothing Brodrick can’t handle. Always have to work harder at the beginning of the trip.” She smiled at Deva, lifted a brow in the direction of Mrs. Lai and made for the gangway. “So long.”

It was about half an hour later that a steward brought Pat a message. “The doctor would like you to go down to the sick bay,” he said.

“Is it urgent? I’d rather get Miss Wadia back to her cabin first.”

“I think it’s urgent. One of the cooks had a bad accident and the nurse is watching two children who have dysentery.”

“All right, I’ll go. But stay with Miss Wadia till I get back. Don’t leave her at all—for
any
reason.”

“Very well, miss.”

“You too, Mrs. Lai,” Pat said, feeling she was being panicky for no reason at all. “Stay with Deva.”

“Of course,” said the woman impassively.

Pat ran down stairs and echoing corridors, knocked at the surgery door and walked in, and finding no one there crossed and drew aside the curtain which shut off the ship’s hospital.

“Dr. Norton!” she called.

A couple of patients leaned from their beds to look at her and Nurse Brodrick came from a curtained cubicle to jerk a harassed thumb at the inner surgery which occasionally served as a theatre. Pat pushed open the swing door.

Bill Norton, his white coat blotched with blood, was bending over a swarthy little man whose natural colour was probably a milky tan; at the moment he was greyish and his face twitched horribly. Bill waved a hand.

“Scrub up, get into an overall and help me,” he commanded. “Look slippy!”

Two minutes later Pat came to his side and looked down at the patient; a coldness ran down her spine, for the man had lost all the fingers of one hand, probably in a slicing machine. Bill was fastening a tourniquet and asking for the trolley.