Ship's Surgeon (18 page)

They sat in the terrace, watching tourists and Sinhalese in the gardens. Pat drank a tall glass of iced lemon laced with gin, and Bill had whisky on the rocks. They sat at a small table near the low wall, could have looked straight into each other’s eyes, touched knees, held hands. But both sat withdrawn, heads turned towards the massed blood-red canna lilies, the yellow and black tiger flowers, the billows of white and pink bougainvillea, the stone paths where women in saris wearing bright jewels walked like gay birds with their white-clad men.

It wasn’t just indifference between them, thought Pat, suppressing a shaky sigh. It was enmity. If there had been no twins to consider, nothing to compel her on to Melbourne, she would have got up and left him, and taken a taxi back to Mount Lavinia. In time, she told herself, she could have forgotten Bill Norton; it was all a matter of will-power.

But when he called a taxi she got into the back seat with him. Slightly ahead of him, she walked up the gangway and on to the familiar deck of the
Walhara.

CHAPTER NINE

The
first couple of days after Ceylon were surprisingly flat; not for the other passengers, but for Pat. Perhaps in the East one is imbued to some extent with oriental fatalism, or maybe the heat blunts the edge of one’s emotions and senses. But after two days of travelling south it was cooler, the ocean lost its brilliant oily swell and became more crisp and turbulent. A few of the newer passengers went down with seasickness, and games on the dipping and rising deck provided surprising results.

It wasn’t stormy; the few clouds were patches of cirrus touched with flame at dawn and sunset. The nights were lovely; clear and cool and starlit and yet still softly reminiscent of the tropics. They were exhilarating.

Pat did almost nothing. She sat with a book she didn’t read, or talked with people whom somehow she hardly came to know. She learned about people’s business and home life in Australia, about Queensland farming and luxury living in the suburbs of Brisbane. She was invited to stay with at least three families, and was dogged for a while by a young man who told her he had decided never to marry unless he found a girl with green eyes who’d take the risk with him. Yet neither people nor atmosphere really got through to Pat. She felt withdrawn and burned out, neither hopeful nor apprehensive.

At intervals she re-read the cable she had roughed out, added or deleted a word, and slipped it out of sight again. Even after Fremantle there would be five or six days to Melbourne; there was no hurry, none at all. That was life just now. Deceptively smooth and unhurried, with something underneath that Pat had neither the energy nor the will to delve into; something disturbing and ominous.

As always in roughish seas, the doctor was kept busy; Bill was even dining alone, taking no more than fifteen minutes to refuel before he returned to the surgery. He didn’t go to the film show or even look in on the dancing the following night. Pat wondered, dully, how he was feeling about leaving the
Walhara
at Fremantle. No doubt already he was mentally on his way to Suva, where he’d practise and lecture on modern tropical medicine. The three trips on the
Walhara
had meant nothing more to him than a pleasant way of filling in the four or five months until he was due to report in the Fijis. He had relieved another doctor who had been happy to take the time off to get married and settled in England.

The third night, the young woman lawyer dined again with Bill, and the night after that it was Avis and an Australian couple. Not Avis alone, of course. Bill wanted no more private sessions with women who clung. He did enquire politely, at some time during each day, whether Pat were feeling fit; and she always gave him the same reply, “I’m fine, thanks, Doctor.” And smiled and walked on. It wasn’t a positive kind of pain that Pat felt when he spoke to her, just a deadly ache. She wished she could take a sleeping draught which would carry her right past Fremantle and Bill’s departure. After their first Australian call, she was sure, she would begin to get back her spirit.

When Vernon Corey came and sat beside her one afternoon, she felt the first stab of genuine fear. But he was alone and smiling genially.

“You’re a quiet one, I must say. We seem to see less of you since you lost that patient of yours. I expect you’re resting up.”

She nodded. “I miss Deva, and I’m not used to being entirely without a patient. Doing nothing for a change is probably good for me. Is ... is Mrs. Fenley all right?”

“She got insect bites in Ceylon that made her neck unsightly—that’s why she stays in her cabin so much. She says she would look an idiot walking about in a scarf, but I don’t see it. It worries me that she won’t come out for air. I believe she’s really unwell.”

“I’m sorry. Has she seen the doctor?”

“Yes. He gave her some lotion and a shot against toxins. I told him she seems out of sorts and he said she may have a pronounced allergy where certain insect poisons are concerned.” He frowned anxiously. “I feel responsible for it. Kristin wanted to travel by air, but she came along for my sake. I didn’t want us to be parted for so long.”

“I shouldn’t worry. If it were anything serious the doctor would have told you.”

“Yes, he would, wouldn’t he?” He seemed grateful for the trite reassurance. “I’m not a nervy type—far from it—but it does seem sometimes that I may have pushed my good luck rather far. You know, waiting so long and then finding a woman as beautiful and intelligent as Kristin.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “You probably think I’m crazy, talking to you like this.”

“Of course not. But I think Mrs. Fenley is lucky, too—in finding you. You might easily have been married ten years ago.”

He was quite shy with women; for that reason alone Pat could warm to him. Now, he made a brief gesture with his hand. “I didn’t even think about marriage till I met Kristin a few months ago. After we’d been out together a few times I couldn’t think of anything else. I can’t imagine life without a woman to share it now.”

“That’s as it should be, isn’t it? I hope you’ll be very happy.”

He looked down at the deck between his feet. “I hope I’ve enough about me to keep Kristin happy,” he said, without much expression. “She hasn’t been used to my sort of life, and socially she’s a cut above the Coreys. I hope she’ll get along with our friends.”

He was doubting it, now that he was nearer home. Or perhaps the new passengers who had embarked at Bombay had been received with adverse comments by Kristin. Pat was more tempted than at any time during the voyage to tell him the truth about Kristin; that she was no more well-bred than the Coreys, and that her heart would never match theirs in size and warmth. With a stab of pure compassion for him she wondered how he would feel if, one day, he were to hear the true facts about the woman he loved. What had Kristin said? That it wouldn’t matter so long as she’d been married to him for some time before he heard them? Something like that. But it
would
matter, to a man like Vernon Corey. He might be a big ox, red and clumsy, but there was an almost endearing ingenuousness about him, an innocence of deception and intrigue. He was smart at ranching and in business, but in the world of women he was a babe.

“I think you’re brooding too much,” she said. “Shall we find two others and play deck tennis?”

“I’d like to, but I think I’d better get back to Kristin. I said I’d just take the air for five minutes and come back. If I’m away for long she gets rattled.” He gave another self-conscious laugh as he straightened. “I’m only just learning how to handle her. I’ve gentled colts and calves, but you can’t go the same way about it with women. They’re complex.”

“Good luck,” she said, and watched him move heavily along the deck to a companion way. It was incredible that one could feel moved and deeply sorry for a man like Vernon Corey.

There was frog-racing on deck that night and Pat sat watching it with a group of the younger ship’s officers and unattached girls; it was better than passing the time in the lounge or her cabin. About two more days to Fremantle, she thought, as she made ready for bed at eleven-thirty.

She was just reaching up to snap off the light when someone knocked at the door. She called, “Who is it?”

“Kristin,” came the muffled reply. “Let me in ... at once!”

With a sudden access of calm, Pat swung her legs out of bed and unlocked the door. Kristin entered swiftly and closed the door behind her, leaned back against it breathing deeply. She was still wearing the tightly fitting dress and stole she had worn for her brief appearance in the dining-room four hours ago.

“I had to see you,” she said, and moistened her lips. “This is a terribly stuffy cabin. How do you bear it?”

“The porthole is open and the vent working. It feels quite cool to me.”

“I ... I feel as if I can’t breathe.” She stood opposite the porthole and drew a few breaths, then turned to face Pat.

She looked taut and off-colour; there were dark smudges under her eyes and the hollows beneath her cheekbones were more pronounced than usual. The stole had fallen back, to reveal the few red spots left by the insect bites; they weren’t very bad, and could easily have been disguised by cosmetics.

Involuntarily, Pat asked, “Are you still unwell?”

“I must talk to you, but I can’t stand being confined in this cabin. For heaven’s sake come out on deck, where we can get some air.”

“I can’t go like this.”

“Of course you can. There’s no one about. The foyer was empty, and night stewards are accustomed to women in pyjamas and wraps.” She put a hand to her throat. “I just can’t breathe!”

Hurriedly, Pat slipped into her dressing-gown. “Look here, I think you’d better go down to the surgery. There’ll be someone on duty who’ll give you a sleeping tablet. I’m sure this feeling of suffocation is nerves.”

Kristin swung about. “I’ve sleeping tablets of my own. I just have to speak to you, that’s all. It’s not much to ask—considering what you’ve done to me!”

“I’ve done nothing to you, and I don’t intend doing anything, either. We have eight or nine days aboard the
Walhara
and I can assure you that I’ll be no more of a threat to you than I have been so far; you may forget me.”

“Could
you
forget it if your whole future hinged upon the discretion of just one single woman? Well, I can’t, either! I don’t sleep or eat, and I wasn’t even aware I had a nervous system till now.” She closed her eyes and gasped. “I can’t stand this atmosphere. I’ve got to get some air.” She groped blindly towards the door, and Pat hurriedly opened it and took her arm. Kristin held a hand over her eyes and stumbled, and Pat slipped an arm about her and led her along the corridor and out on to the lower deck. There was no one about, or she would have sent for the doctor.

Kristin crossed her arms on the rail and bowed her head on them. She was taking in great lungfuls of air, and after a few moments seemed more in command. Almost automatically Pat had been massaging Kristin’s neck muscles, but as the other woman lifted her head, the disciplined fingers fell to her sides.

“Feel better?”

“A little.” Kristin put her own hand round the back of her neck, as if to ease a pain. “We’d better talk, and get it over. You must have been expecting me to come and see you.”

“No,” said Pat carefully. “I didn’t think we had anything more to say to each other.”

“I asked you to leave the ship at Ceylon.”

“You had no right to, ask it. I’m sorry, Kristin, but...”

“Don’t give me the generous treatment. We don’t have to pretend with each other. I can’t let you go to Melbourne, and you know why.”

“Having come so far, I’m not giving up now. I’ve promised I’ll say nothing to Uncle Dan about you. He’s never seen you, and if you ever cross his path as Mrs. Corey he won’t know you. You’ve nothing whatever to fear through me. Not a single thing.”

“You intend to bring or send the boys to Australia.
They
know me!”

Pat drew a trembling breath. “We’ve been through all this. If you’re so keen to keep the boys in England you’ve only to arrange payment for their upkeep until they’re earning a living. I can tell you this, Kristin. If you try, through a London solicitor, to put them into a home, I’ll see that Vernon Corey learns every little detail about you. I mean that!”

“You ...
creature
,” came hoarsely from Kristin’s throat. “I knew you had a vixen in you, somewhere under that not very convincing sweetness. You were always jealous of me with your father...”

“That’s not true. As a child I admired you.”

“I’m sure you did! I can imagine the cosy talks you two had together after I left him. The wicked Kristin, who had run out on her husband and children. But he was never my husband in the true sense of the word, and I didn’t want his children.
He
wanted them, and it was his duty to see that they’d be provided for. Those brats spoiled my figure for two years; I had to diet and exercise till I was dizzy before I could get a really good billet as a model. Your father had several years of my life and I gave him the boys—far more than I owed him!”

“He gave you love, and a home when you most needed one.”

“I repaid him a dozen times. I owe nothing to any of you Fenleys. There’s free education in England, and if you’re unable to have the boys living with you there are places to take care of that too. I’ve said I’ll send you money if I can, but that’s not enough, is it? You’re not only vindictive now that you’ve discovered I’m engaged to a rich man, but you want a big slice of cake for yourself.” She hardly paused to breathe before continuing, “I know the sort of person you are, Pat Fenley. On the surface you’re genuine gold, but deep down it’s gold you’re after. Knowing Vernon, you feel you’re on to a good thing; you’re on the make, and you think you’ve only to bide your time to get everything you want. Well, you’ll get nothing from me!”

Pat was cold and trembling. Physically, there could be little wrong with Kristin; the woman had got her out here because she had wanted to say all this without fear of being overheard. She was letting herself go, spilling all the poison which had been building up over the past days, since Pat had returned to the ship at Ceylon.

“I want nothing,” Pat said, “so long as you’ll leave me alone to act as I think best. Surely you believe that?”

“I don’t trust any woman, least of all one with your background,” said Kristin rapidly. “All I know is that with you in Australia my life isn’t going to be worth living. I’ll never know, from day to day, just what you’re planning, and every mail I’ll wonder if there’s some demand from you. Even if you went back to England from Fremantle, I’d never feel secure again. Because you know all about me now, and it’s something I can’t live with!”

“Kristin! You must be mad to talk like that. You weren’t like this when we met that first day out from England.”