Ship's Surgeon (19 page)

“Because I thought you were leaving the ship at Ceylon! I had no idea then that you intended to contact your uncle; I didn’t even remember that you had an uncle in Melbourne. I travelled with Vernon just so that I could be sure that you two were kept apart; but you got round that, didn’t you? You hung on to him when you found him alone and told him about your brothers, worked on that squelchy heart of his until he was almost willing to take them on. You tried to put me in a spot—Vernon chasing after those boys and confronting me with them—my own sons!” Her face looked ghastly now; pale and staring, with a red gash of a mouth and white teeth. In the darkness she looked like a frenzied witch. “Well, you failed—just as you’ve failed in other directions. Oh, yes, I knew you were after the doctor. I’ve seen you making up to one or two other men, too. But you’re not nearly so fascinating as you think you are, youth or no youth. In fact, you’re a pretty big failure all round, except in your work. You should have had the sense to stick to that and forget the rich uncle in Australia.”

Herself pale and shaken, Pat said, “You’re beside yourself, and you won’t see things from my viewpoint. I just can’t afford to take on the two boys, and I can’t let them depend on charity when they have an uncle who’ll be happy to have them. Even if you want never to see the twins again, surely it would be a relief to know they’re being properly educated and cared for? Uncle Dan doesn’t...”

“Don’t say another word about Uncle Dan ... or the boys ... or yourself! I’ve had all of you up to here. Between you, you’ve stripped my life of everything worth having. But chiefly it’s you! Uncle Dan is harmless enough in Melbourne; he’s hardly aware of my existence. The boys have each other, and they’d be happy enough in a home with other boys and plenty of discipline. But you...” she was breathing heavily now, and her fingers were dead white as they gripped the steel support which ran up from the rail to the deck overhead. “You had to enter my life just when things were coming my way. And you intend to hang around on the edge of it, ostensibly to get justice for the boys. You think you’ll make me squirm and pay up, but that’s because you don’t know me very well. I couldn’t live that way, scared and wondering what you might do next—my whole happiness and security in your hands. It would send me crazy!”

Now Pat was trembling almost uncontrollably. She could see the fanatical glare in Kristin’s eyes, the tensing of the white forearm as the woman gripped at the support as if to drag it from its sockets. Despairingly, she cast a glance along the dim deck. There was muted light in the lounge and caged bulbs near each companion-way, but just here there was nothing.

“Kristin, we can’t stay here,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to hurt you in any way, please believe that; you
can
trust me. You’ve been working yourself up over something that doesn’t exist. I do feel you should tell Mr. Corey the truth because you can’t base a marriage on lies, but it’s your business, not mine. So long as you don’t threaten the boys in any way, I’ll never say a word to Mr. Corey. I swear that.”

“
You
swear! You actually believe I’d consent to allow myself to be for ever at your mercy? No. There’s not room in the world for both of us. For me, there’s only one way out!”

She had taken a sudden spring on to the varnished oak of the rail, sat there with her arm about the support, her hair whipped back, her face stark with terror and torment as she gazed down into the black, white-flecked sea that raced past the ship. For one long paralysed moment Pat stared at her. Then she grabbed at the tight sheath dress and tugged.

“Kristin, no! Come down!”

But Kristin couldn’t even have heard; she was turning right round to face the sea. Pat didn’t think; her reflexes took over. She sprang as Kristin had done, to seat herself on the rail but at the other side of the support. She got an arm about the other woman, gave a tremendous push...

She never did know what happened during the next couple of seconds, not for sure. She remembered screaming with all the breath in her lungs, and falling ... falling, the sudden headlong contact with icy water, gulping, choking, flailing and automatically trying to swim. She remembered thinking that it wasn’t so cold after all and what would she do if a shark attacked her; in warm waters they became hungry and savage. And there was the ship speeding on, leaving her behind. Oh God, if only she could shout.

Then suddenly the ship blazed with light, a flare was thrown and then a searchlight raked the waters. Pat trod water, shook back the streaming hair from her eyes. She was too tired to think any more; even though she had lost her wrap it was almost too much effort to keep afloat.

Bill was reading in his cabin when the alarm was sounded. Fire? he wondered, and swiftly slipped on his robe. But as he opened the door the loudspeaker coughed. “Attention, please. There is a man overboard and the ship has stopped. A dinghy is being lowered and there is no need for panic. Calling Dr. Norton. Lower deck, port side, please, sir.”

Bill grabbed up his phone. “Nurse Brodrick? Call Sister Edwards and a couple of stewards. I want a stretcher and kit on the lower deck, port side. Quick!”

A minute later he was taking the last companionway to the lower deck, and pushing his way through the throng of passengers who were herding close to the opening in the rails. In dressing-gowns, men with hair on end and women hastily turbaned to hide setting pins, they looked white and staring in the brilliant light. Bill spoke to the seaman who guarded the opening from which a rope ladder floated.

“Know anything about it?”

“Not much, sir. It was on the lower promenade deck. A steward heard a woman’s scream and went running. He says he looked over the side and saw this woman come up.”

“A woman!”

“No knowing who she is, sir, till there’s a roll-call—unless we get her.” He sounded doubtful.

“Good heavens, man, do you only send out one boat?”

“It’s all that’s necessary if we pick up the ... the person in the beam. They’re trying.”

Bill saw that two beams were playing over the water and a luminous-painted buoy bounced about in the darkness. Would a woman know she could cling to it till rescued? Would she have the pluck to swim in such water? Too much depended on the kind of woman she happened to be, and whether she had fallen or jumped. Bill felt his hands clenching in the pockets of his robe, and deliberately he relaxed them; he’d never felt like this before in an emergency.

Sister Edwards, odd-looking in veil and dressing-gown, came panting ahead of the stretcher. In the same moment there came a shout from somewhere forward. “There she is!”

“Can’t we clear this deck, Doctor?” asked Sister Edwards anxiously. “If the poor girl’s alive she won’t want to be stared at.”

“Girl?” he took her up sharply. “Do you know who it is?”

“It’s Pat Fenley. The night steward on her corridor...” But she was talking to herself.

Bill Norton had dropped his robe and taken a header. He struck out for the moving beam which had picked up a bobbing head. The dinghy was way out at the tip of the beam, but that too was making for the same small object. Bill had never swum with such maniacal strength. He reached her and shoved an arm round her, felt her go instantly slack and was almost sick with relief. She’d fainted. He was nearer the buoy than the dinghy, and he made for it, slipped one wrist through the rope and kept her within his other arm, her head lying back over his shoulder. He remained there, tight-jawed but not thinking. He daren’t think.

The dinghy was made fast to the buoy, Pat was lifted from his hold and he grasped a helping hand. He sat bent, watching her white face, the pale body to which clung thin cotton pyjamas. As they reached the ladder someone shouted down to them through a megaphone. “There were two. They’ve sighted the other one.”

“I’ll take her up,” said Bill to the seaman. “You’ll have to go out again.”

Pat was wrapped in blankets on the stretcher and carried to the ship’s hospital. She knew where she was and that it was Bill’s hands that gently massaged her back and ribs, that it was he who dried and warmed her and forced a burning liquid between her clamped teeth. She began quietly to weep, and hazily she heard Sister Edwards say:

“It’s reaction. You don’t have to put up with this, Doctor. Leave her with me—when she gets over this she’ll sleep. You’d better get out of your own wet things.”

“I’ll look in during the night,” Bill said heavily, and he thrust open the curtains and left the cubicle.

CHAPTER TEN

It
was almost midday when Pat awoke. The curtains were still drawn round her bed, but she could see reflected sunshine dancing on the low ceiling which meant that the sun was high overhead and glittering on the waves below the sick bay portholes. For some minutes she lay staring at the pale blue paint, her mind peculiarly empty. Then, very gradually, it came back. The moments of horror, blank fright and water surging through her head, the mindless struggle to keep afloat, the sudden brilliance of the ship, the beams, that faraway luminous buoy. And then ... Bill.

She drew a long shuddering breath, rubbed a hand along her bare arm, found a quarter-inch strap over her shoulder. What in the world had she got on? she wondered dully. It felt like a nylon slip—probably the one she had left folded on a chair in her cabin last night. She ought to feel lucky that she hadn’t been wearing one of her good dresses.

She didn’t belong here in the sick bay; she was well enough. A sudden dip, a bit of a scare; maybe her fall had brought Kristin to her senses. Kristin ... no, not yet. First things first, the first thing in this case being, to get up and make herself presentable, remove herself from the hospital and resume her life on B Deck.

She sat up and let down her legs, pushed a hand over hair which would look a sight till she had given it a good brushing. Yes, it was a nylon slip; she must appear quite a sketch. And none of her clothes here, not even a wrap. She’d lost the paisley silk one, of course, but there was still the green. It must be somewhere.

A woman came in briskly, the stewardess who often took nursing assistant duty in the ward. “Well now,” she said with coy sarcasm, “we’re actually getting ourselves up without permission.” Then a change of tone. “You get right back till Doctor comes in. You’re a patient till you’re discharged.”

“I’m not a patient. I want a bath and my clothes. If you won’t get them for me I’ll get them myself.”

“You get right back in bed, or Doctor will skin me. He’s always telling me that I must be a thundering good stewardess because I’m a dead loss in here. I can’t get your clothes, or even give you a bath till he orders it. Now be a good girl ...”

“What’s all this?” Bill came in, looking himself but in some way a little different. “All right, Miss Dalton. I’ll handle it.”

The nursing assistant was happy to vanish. Pat’s instinct was to slide back under the blanket, but she ignored it.

“I’d like a dressing-gown, if you don’t mind, Doctor,” she said without a tremor. “I can’t walk back to my cabin like this.”

“No, you can’t, can you?” he said expressionlessly. “Before you leave the sick bay I must have your temperature and pulse. And I want you to tell me how you feel.”

“I’m a bit stiff—haven’t swum so far for a long time—but exercise will put that right.” She submitted to the thermometer and his fingers on her wrist, and afterwards said, “Now please may I go?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

Her head bent, she answered, “No, there’s more, but I want to look and feel normal before I say it.”

He studied her. “That’s fair enough. I’ll get you a gown and take you to your cabin. I don’t suppose you’re hungry, but you must have a light lunch—not in the dining-room.”

“I want to be normal,” she said tremulously. “You’re not helping me at all.”

“It certainly won’t help you to meet all the other passengers at one go. They know all about that surprise swim you took.”

She lifted dark-ringed eyes, met his glance and lowered her own. “Yes. I hadn’t thought of that.” A pause. “Thank you for coming in after me last night. I was almost exhausted.”

“ You’d have made it to the buoy,” he said offhandedly. “I’ll find the wrap.”

It was her green one; it must have been hanging nearby. She belted it with shaky fingers, wished to heaven he’d go away and leave her to find her way alone. He didn’t, of course. Without speaking he took her forearm in a firm grip and put his other arm round her. She did feel weak, but she didn’t lean on him; she also took care not to look at any of the passengers they met in the foyer and corridors. He went inside her cabin with her, took the dressing-gown from her shoulders and hung it up.

“You’ve got part of your own way,” he said, “but you’re not getting more. You’re going into bed and staying there for the rest of the day—and no visitors. Tomorrow we dock at Fremantle, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Till then, you’ll keep out of circulation. And you don’t need a bath right now; wait till tonight. Get into bed.”

“At least let me wash and tidy up,” she said dispiritedly.

“Very well. Go ahead.”

“I can’t do it while you’re here. What do you think I am?”

“I think you’re the most stubborn, uncomprehending patient I ever had,” he said curtly. “Go on—I’m not watching you.”

“If I promise to get into bed you don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not arguing. Have your damned wash or I’ll wash you myself.”

She began to fill the basin. “What’s the matter with you? I didn’t ask you to dive in after me last night. I’m thankful you did, but...”

“Will you shut up for a minute!” he barked at the porthole.

Startled into silence, Pat soaped her hands and face, rinsed them in cold water and tapped them dry. She combed back her sticky hair, took clean pyjamas from a drawer and placed them on the wall tray above the bed. She slipped between the sheets and was surprisingly grateful to find herself resting again. Last night’s experience had taken more out of her than she had thought.

He turned round. With the bright fight behind his head his face looked dark and intent. “That’s better,” he said. “I’ll send you some fish and a cold pudding with coffee. Read, write, do what you like, but don’t get up till I say you may.”

“You said no visitors, but there’s someone I must see. No, don’t shake your head—I have to see her.”

“Her?”

“This is in confidence—you won’t tell anyone?”

“I have to keep a good many secrets.”

“Yes, I know. Bill...” she stopped and bit her lip, started again. “Doctor Norton...”

“Well?” He sounded taut as a steel spring.

“I have to see Mrs. Fenley—you know, the millionaire’s fiancée. I can’t explain why, but I must see her. And I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

Bill seemed to be stopped in his tracks. It was quite some time before he replied, “It would be much better if you forgot the whole thing for a while. Have your lunch, then a nap, and tackle the business afterwards. You’ll feel more able to face things.”

A coolness feathered over Pat’s skin. “What is there to ... to face? Has she said anything about ... our talk?”

He threw out a hand. “What’s the use of trying to save you pain? You just won’t have it. I never knew anyone like you in my whole life. You make me sick, angry ... and pretty well everything else.”

“Is this leading up to something?” she asked fearfully. “What’s happened? Don’t try to break it gently. It’s so much worse to be uncertain...”

“Hold on, now,” he said roughly. “If you start getting excited I’ll pump something into you that will knock you out till tomorrow!”

“All right,” she said, holding herself in. “Tell me.”

He did, baldly and without emotion. “Mrs. Fenley’s dead. She went under before they could reach her.”

“
Drowned
?” Pat whispered, her eyes huge and unbelieving. “Did she ... fall too?” Her head sank right back into the pillow and she closed her eyes. “Kristin ... why did she? Nothing is that bad ... is it?”

Bill was close, bending over her and speaking urgently. “I didn’t want to start this talk now. I can see it’s terribly distressing and about the worst thing for you, till you feel quite fit. Yes, Mrs. Fenley fell too. If it was an accident, God knows how the two of you managed it, but we got you out and she wasn’t a good enough swimmer to make it. You don’t have to say any more—not yet.”

She looked at him, almost sightlessly. “But I want to.” She swallowed. “Kristin was upset; she was going to throw herself over the rail. I tried to stop her, but ... well, I think she must have been panicky and gripped on to me.” Panicky ... or evil? Pat shivered. “Poor Mr. Corey.”

Bill nodded. “He took it hard. He may want to speak to you about it later on. What will you tell him?”

“The truth.”

“And what is the truth?” he asked. “The woman had the same name as you have, you’re calling her Kristin, and your being out there on deck together at that time of night couldn’t have been coincidental.” His eyes narrowed. “What was that woman to you, Patsy? For the moment, it’s between you and me.”

“She was my ... stepmother.”

Bill straightened slowly. “The deuce she was! That explains a good deal. Corey didn’t know, of course, and she meant that he shouldn’t. The facts are beginning to fall into place.” He shook his head angrily. “It beats me how you’ve got through this trip at all. You must have had the hell of a time, and you’ve kept every single detail to yourself! You know something? I was never more glad than when we passed Deva Wadia into the keeping of her parents. I thought you were at last free of worry, and there could be no more escapades like that ghastly night we found you on your hands and knees in the stateroom! But oh, no. Deva only made way for something far more shattering. That woman wanted you out of the way, and you knew it. Yet you took the risk of being alone with her in conditions...” He had to break off.

She saw him above her, nostrils thinned, a muscle so tensed in his jaw that it distorted the line. She had never seen Bill so pale; it was frightening.

“The truth I shall tell Mr. Corey,” she said thinly, “isn’t what you think. I shall tell him that I saw her on deck, that she was leaning too far over the rail, that I urged her to get back, that she fell and I fell with her. That
is
the truth.”

“But it leaves out the essentials!”

“He’s a good man,” said Pat. “I’d hate him to know he’d been fooled; it might put him off other women. Besides myself, you’re the only one who knows that Kristin and I were ... connected. I’m telling no one else, and neither must you. Promise me!”

“I’ll promise if you’ll tell me the whole works. Not now, but some time later.”

She replied in lacklustre tones. “Yes, I’ll tell you. If you see Mr. Corey, be kind to him. It must be appalling to lose someone you love as he loved Kristin. You don’t have to remember the sort of person she really was—only what she was to Vernon Corey. And ... and Bill, if he wants to come and see me, let him. He and I sort of ... understand each other.”

Bill turned to the door. His voice was harsh and controlled. “You’ve sure got some explaining to do, but leave it. I’m still going to send you some lunch, and you must try to eat. I’ll tell Corey just what you want him to know. You’ve done all you can. Rest now.”

Vaguely, she had the feeling that Bill was badly hurt in some way. He didn’t even look back as he left the cabin. She closed her eyes again, felt the throbbing of the ship’s engine, heard the hiss of spray beyond the porthole, smelled the familiar ship’s smell and tasted tears in her throat. She didn’t want to cry; after last night she had hardly a tear left. Just once, she relived those seconds when she and Kristin were struggling on the rail; she had pushed at Kristin’s waist, had actually felt her begin slithering down towards the deck, but in that instant something else had happened. What was it?

Almost unconsciously, Pat moved her wrist, and with the sudden ache she knew. Kristin had cracked down with all the strength of her fist on that wrist, to make Pat leave go of the steel support. It must have happened not quite as planned because Kristin herself had been so unsafe that she had over-reached and hurtled downward in the narrow dress which, when wet, would have bound her long elegant legs together almost as securely as if they had been roped.

Pat sweated, and suffered. When the stewardess brought the luncheon tray she mistook the complete inertia for sleep, and carried it away again. At three o’clock she brought lemon tea and toast, shoved a couple of extra pillows behind Pat’s back and said cheerfully,

“Well, that little doze has done you the world of good. Eat your toast, dearie. I shouldn’t worry about pyjamas—much cooler like that, and who’s to see you, except the doctor? He won’t notice, anyway. Sister Edwards said he’s in a brute of a mood—probably because it’s his last day. Tomorrow night we have our old doctor back. He won’t be in a good mood, either, though he’s had the longest honeymoon I’ve ever heard of. That’s right, eat up. Shall I bring you some cakes or fruit?”

“No, thank you, but I’m grateful for the toast. I must be empty.”

“You frightened everyone to death.” She closed up, no doubt remembering that Pat had not been alone on the deck, but went chatty in another direction. “Pity you’re shut up in here for the day. They’ve got a children’s party on the sun deck and there’s a super film on tonight—a comedy. And then I suppose there’ll be a sort of midnight drink party as a farewell to Dr. Norton. One of the stewards is packing for him now, though we don’t dock till tomorrow afternoon—probably leave at noon the following day. Sure you wouldn’t like some more toast?”

“No, I’ve had plenty, thanks. You may take the tray.”

“Like anything special for supper?”

“I’ll think about it when the time comes. Don’t worry about me. I think I’ll read.”

After the stewardess had gone she did take her book from the tray and open it; but the print danced and she pushed the book away. She couldn’t even rouse herself to change into pyjamas. She was alone. No one cared how she looked, and it was very unlikely that Vernon Corey would come to see her.

Poor man. He hadn’t been in love with the real Kristin, but perhaps, in time, events would prove that she had done for him what no other woman had so far accomplished—made him want marriage. He would meet someone else, and because Kristin had roused a need in him he would fall in love again—and this time there would be no grief; life surely wouldn’t stab him in the same place twice?

If Pat hadn’t been forbidden to leave the cabin she would have got up and dressed and taken a walk. It was being confined here that made her feel slack and unwanted. She wouldn’t think about Kristin, and the dreadful justice of her end. Some time she would have to tell the twins, but it wouldn’t penetrate very deeply with them because their mother had always been a shadowy creature, even when she lived with them. No one but Pat would ever know the depths of Kristin’s character. Bill, of course, but he’d immerse himself in tropical medicine and forget.

Pat’s mouth twisted. You might say Bill Norton was already in transit from the
Walhara
to Suva in the Fijis. Mentally, anyway. Would that girl who lived with him in his cabin, who had “never let him down”—would she be at Fremantle to meet him? Probably. He’d no doubt cabled her days ago, and she’d be there to charm him out of the brute of a mood.

The sun had gone down but it was still light outside when Bill Norton knocked and walked straight into the cabin. “Glad to see you sitting up,” he said, but didn’t look at her closely. Seemed to avoid it, in fact. “People have been asking after you—sent their regards and good wishes.”

“Thank you. Did you see Mr. Corey?”

He nodded briefly. “It was grim, but I think he believed what you wanted him to. He’s leaving the ship tomorrow, too. Says he couldn’t bear another five or six days on board.”