Ship's Surgeon

by Celine Conway

  “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.

  She helped him silently, handing him everything as he needed it, until the man’s hand was a neat white package. Bill prepared a hypodermic and automatically she cleaned the man’s arm and held it while the needle plunged.

  “He’ll be out for a few hours and yelling murder when he comes to,” Bill said. “Call Nurse Brodrick.”

  “She’s still busy. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “I want someone to help me give him a wash down and put him into pyjamas. Call Brodrick!”

  “All right, don’t shout,” she said, and went out to fetch the nurse.

  “I can’t leave this baby,” Brodrick said worriedly. “The next time he vomits he’ll die, I’m certain of it—and the doctor will blame me.”

  “The doctor thinks I’m squeamish, so I’d better stay with the baby while you go. What do I do if he vomits?”

  “Just make sure he doesn’t choke himself. Oh, dear ... we’re nearly empty, Sister Edwards is off and that fool of a cook has to...”

  The words receded with the nurse. Pat stood gazing at the tiny brown baby who lay looking like a starved puppy in the middle of a full-sized bed. Mingling with the smell of antiseptic came the acid reek of wetness under him, and involuntarily Pat laid a thin blanket over her arm and lifted the small naked body, and wrapped it loosely. With one arm she held the whimpering child against her shoulder while deftly whipping away the soiled wet sheet and placing the top sheet over the waterproof. She sponged the baby, laid him back on the bed and covered him lightly with the flannelette blanket. She rolled the soiled things into a bundle and pushed them outside the cubicle, emptied the bowl of water, sluiced the bowl and automatically refilled it, adding the usual amount of Dettol. When she returned to the cubicle Bill was there, bending over the child. He looked round at Pat.

  “Will the baby live?” she asked.

  “Depends on his resistance. Gastro-enteritis carries off the weak infants and leaves the strong ones. Like to help us for an hour, Patsy?”

  She felt a tingling warmth; he actually needed her, if only as a nurse. But she felt bound to say, “I’ve got Deva out on deck.”

  “She won’t melt—this is her climate.”

  “May I come back when I’ve got her settled in her stateroom?”

  He straightened and looked at her. “For a good physiotherapist you’re an awful jitterer. It’ll do the girl good to remain on deck, and take a short walk every fifteen minutes.”

  “I’d rather get her back to her room.”

  “Why?” His glance raked her face, and a look of concern replaced the expression of tolerant enquiry. “You look haunted, Patsy. Come on, forget we had a spat, and tell me. What is it?”

  She managed an offhand smile. “I’ve never had nerves with a case before, but then I haven’t been so completely responsible for such an important person as Deva. I’d feel much better if I saw her back to her stateroom before I help out here.”

  A liquid gurgling sound came from the bed and Bill instantly turned his attention to the baby. “All right,” he said. “Get back as soon as you can.”

  Pat slipped off the overall and hurried up to the sun deck. She was calmed by the sight of Deva and Mrs. Lai standing close to the rail and watching the huge shapes of jellyfish mushrooming all along the side of the ship. The steward also was leaning against the rail and no doubt wishing he had shore leave. Pat chided herself, but decided not to change her mind. She thanked the steward and got Deva back to her room. Wordlessly, Mrs. Lai indicated that she would lock the door, and Pat left them, reflecting that one thing and another was probably sending her nuts.

  Till lunch time she worked in the sick bay with Nurse Brodrick. Then Sister Edwards turned up and said, with mingled amusement and displeasure, “Since when do we have to call in the muscle-punchers to do our job? On my ward, Fenley, the nurses wear veils and aprons. You’re free now.” And belatedly, “Thanks.”

  Bill was still in the crew’s quarters when Pat left the hospital. Even though it was nearly one, she took a quick shower and changed into a cream linen dress before going to the dining-room. Only a third of the tables were occupied, and as she made her way towards the one at which she usually sat, Bill Norton got up from his own table and made a sign for her to join him. Pat didn’t hesitate; Bill had needed her as a nurse for an hour or two, and she now needed him as an ally. Not as a man, she told herself quickly; just as someone strong and dependable and full of sense.

  He seated her, went back to his own chair and looked at her across the table. “I was afraid we’d worn you out and you’d decided to lunch in your cabin,” he said. “Thanks a lot for standing in this morning.”

  “I liked doing it,” she said. “It was tough on you, having a morning like that in port.”

  “It’s all in the job. I shall probably be almost free for the rest of the day, unless some of the passengers eat unwisely in Karachi.” He waited while she ordered a salad, and then leaned towards her, his arm on the edge of the table. “We’ve got ourselves into a peculiar state, haven’t we? You hate my hide for some of the things I’ve said, and I ... well, let’s leave that. What I’m getting at is this; that look in those green eyes of yours isn’t so much haunted as hunted, and I’ve been wondering what you’re afraid of. If you need assistance or advice I’m right here. I’ve told you that before.”

  Pat turned a cheese knife between her fingers. “You were angry with me when I refused to spend this evening ashore...”

  “I was furious,” he said calmly, “but it turns out that I can’t go ashore myself tonight. The Indian baby will have to be watched. So let’s put the high words behind us, shall we?”

  “I’m game.” She helped herself from the tray of salads, thanked the waiter with a smile. “I know you think I’m crazy to worry about Deva, but I do have reasons. I can’t tell you what the reasons are, but they definitely exist.”

  “Why can’t you tell me more?” he demanded. “A doctor can be told anything—you know that.”

  Carefully, Pat shook on salad dressing. “I’m not consulting you as a doctor ... Bill.”

  “I get it,” he said acidly. “I said we’d forget past differences, but you still make me tired. I don’t quite measure up as a friend—is that it? Would you prefer to appeal to the Pickard chap, or the big ox of an Australian?”

  “You’re so darned awkward about everything,” she said, a little crossly. “You’d better eat your steak; it’s getting cold.”

  “Damn the steak. Six friendly words and then we’re at each other’s throats again. Look here, young Patsy,” for emphasis he tapped heavily with his forefinger, “if you’re in a jam you’d better tell me about it or I’ll have you watched!”

  “I’m not in a jam.”

  “You’re wound up. I know part of it is the responsibility for t
he little Wadia, but there must be something else. I can help you where Deva’s concerned, but this other thing is beyond me unless you tell me about it.”

  “That’s not so important; it’s personal.” Pat stopped precipitately. She hadn’t meant to hint at her own problem; he’d stampeded her into a half admission which she had to cover up. She went on quickly, “I’ve a sort of feeling that Deva’s in danger. I know I sound like a mental case, but it’s a strong feeling, and that’s why I hate to leave her when she’s not in her room with Mrs. Lai.”

  She waited, thinking he would laugh and call her a fool. But he did neither. He cut a piece of steak and ate it, his glance keenly on her bent head and lowered eyelids with their fringe of dark lashes.

  He said, “Is that as far as you’re going?”

  “Deva herself has had a ... a presentiment.”

  “You’ve no time for patients’ presentiments; you deal in muscles and bones and nerves. Who told you Deva’s in danger?”

  She raised a fearful glance, spoke pleadingly. “Bill ... please, you’ve got to accept what I say without probing. I’ve heard a few things, and ... and I’m horribly afraid that either in Karachi or Bombay there’ll be an attempt to kidnap Deva.”

  Bill laid down his knife and fork and stared at her while his brain worked with clinical precision. “So that’s why you’re keyed up. Why in the world didn’t you mention it before? Anyway, thank heaven you’ve told me now. It couldn’t possibly happen; no one could get Deva off the ship at any time of the day or night. The decks and gangways are always guarded.” He paused before saying gently, “You poor child. Whoever put you in such a state ought to be whipped. Stop worrying right away and tell me all the details.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything; I promised. But I really am afraid.”

  “My dear girl,” said Bill forcibly, taking her hand in a grip that bruised, “you don’t keep promises to crooks; they certainly wouldn’t keep any promise they made you. Who was it?”

  Another despondent shake of the head. “I haven’t any idea at all who’s threatening Deva, and it wouldn’t be fair to give away the person who warned me.” Her voice cracked and she pushed away her plate. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Deva now. I’ve been wondering if it could be quickly arranged for her to go by air from Karachi to Colombo.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it, though she’d probably get through all right. But it isn’t necessary. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Tonight Deva can sleep in the sick bay. No one need know she’s been transferred there except Sister Edwards, who’ll be on duty. We sail tomorrow, and in Bombay we stay only the daylight hours. That should take care of everything.”

  Pat closed her eyes with relief, opened them to find him looking at her mockingly. “Why didn’t I think of asking you if that could be arranged?” she said. “I’ll tell Deva that we’re taking advantage of the night in port to spray the stateroom thoroughly; she never questions precautions I take. Oh, Bill, I’m so glad you thought of it!”

  “It didn’t take a super-brain,” he said drily. “If you hadn’t got yourself so tied up that you couldn’t think straight, you’d have come to it yourself. What about getting through that salad and then telling me the name of the kind creature who informed you that Deva might be kidnapped.”

  “She didn’t tell me that,” said Pat hastily. Then, realizing the slip, she went on rapidly, “It was one of the passengers who heard something and felt I ought to know. Kidnapping leapt to my mind because that’s the only way anyone could make money out of Deva. Her father would pay the earth to get her back unharmed.” Her fist clenched on the table. “Please don’t ask me to give anyone away. If I knew the names of the people who’ve been planning this horrible thing I’d tell you them. Don’t you think I want them punished? But I don’t know their names, and it wouldn’t be fair to divulge the name of the very person who put me on guard.”

  “If she’s genuine, she’ll be glad to attend a little private enquiry. The Captain’s ashore, meeting his sailor son for the first time in three years, so there’s not much we can do just now. We’ll get Deva to the sick bay in time to have supper there. Mrs. Lai can sleep there, too—we’ll find her a mattress if the beds are full tonight. So you don’t need to fret about that any more. All right?”

  Laconically, “leave your lunch and have some coffee. You’ll have to make a good tea. Come on, let’s move.” He took her to a nook in the lounge and ordered coffee, lighted cigarettes for them both. She smiled at him tremulously through the smoke.

  “You make me mad, but you’re good for me,” she acknowledged. “I suppose it’s because you’re so used to dealing with nurses.”

  “You don’t react like a nurse,” he told her. “With them, I can use authority and they daren’t be standoffish. You co-operate, but there’s something in you that never gives in. Well, it’s what’s kept you going since your boy-friend defected, I suppose. Think about it much?”

  “No.”

  “What about the future?”

  “I don’t think about that very much, either, but I shall be glad to get to Melbourne.”

  “Don’t start a fight with your uncle—give in to him.”

  “I won’t fight.” Pat felt she hadn’t a battle left in her. “But I may not give in to him, either. I want to do what’s best for the boys, but I’d hate them to be so far away that I couldn’t see them sometimes. The alternative would be for me to work in Australia ... but I don’t really want to.” She smiled self-consciously. “I’ve been thinking that if I did let the twins go to Uncle Dan I could be sure of seeing them regularly if I could get a job with a shipping company—on the Australia run.”

  He sounded brusque as he answered, “You’re not a nurse, and you’d need secretarial training for the purser’s office.”

  “A stewardess?”

  “You’re not the type. Forget it.” He tapped ash into the ashtray. “I’m leaving the ship at Fremantle, but I shan’t be staying there,” he said. “I’ll have just one week before flying to Suva.”

  “Where do you fly from—Sydney?”

  He nodded. “It’s all been fixed by cable.”

  A week in Sydney was as good as a month to a man in a hurry, thought Pat hollowly. She wondered if he’d also planned his marriage by cable.

  “So you’ll be starting your new job a month or so before time?” she said. “The Fiji Islands sound romantic, but I don’t suppose that’s your reason for going there!”

  “No, tropical medicine couldn’t be called romantic, but I do fancy working there. The first real discoverer of the Fijis was Bligh of the Bounty—did you know that? He found two or three hundred islands covered with coconuts, but the two main islands are well developed now. Suva has a medical training centre that’s very up-to-date, and I’ve undertaken to give a course of lectures there in my spare time. I’ll be swamped in work from the moment I land.”

  “You’ll like that. Do you have to live on the plantation?”

  “I get a house in the official residential area and stay in a flat near the medical centre when I’m in Suva. It’s all laid on.” He took a last pull at his cigarette and pressed it out. “I wish things were all laid on for you,” he ended abruptly.

  “For me?” She looked down. “I’ll be all right. I’m certain my uncle will help me in some way, and when I get back to England...”

  “Stop being noble. You were hoping to get married, and it’s right that you should; you’re the marrying kind. Well, it looks as if we’ve both had disappointments, you and I. You’ve lost your Alan, and I...” He stopped, and then said cynically, “Why don’t we enjoy each other till Fremantle? You need a boost and I’ve had about enough of being ship’s surgeon. We’re both tied, except in the evenings, but why shouldn’t we dine together each night and compare notes?”

  “I don’t ... make notes.”

  “You do—mental ones. You’re making them now. You’re thinking, ‘He’s in the mood for ph
ilandering, and I’m not sure I can rise to it though it might brighten me up no end. It would help me to forget Alan, but I don’t want to snarl up my emotions again, ever.’ Isn’t that what you thought?”

  She pinked slightly. “Something like that.”

  He smiled jadedly. “You’re innocent, even a little raw, but I’ll be candid with you. I want to get Avis Markman off my neck, and the only way to accomplish that is to show some interest in another girl. We’ll make a pact. I’ll make sure nothing happens to Deva and you’ll cling along so that I can shake off Avis.”

  A pain like glass splinters moving in her chest made Pat tremble slightly. This man was mercilessly cold and calculating; he spoke quietly, even casually, and you were almost lulled into imagining him a man who could be tender and full of compassion as well as commanding and dependable. And then he said something shattering, that hurt through and through. What was he thinking, behind that cool, cynical mask? That maybe the woman called Bonnie wouldn’t marry him at such short notice? That he might as well have a bit of a fling before taking off for the hot and humid grind of the Fijis?

  Pat heard herself saying, “Maybe I’ll dine with you tonight and try it out. And now, will you excuse me? I think I’ll rest for an hour.”

  “You do that,” he said negligently, as he stood with her. “But don’t think too much. At this stage it might spoil things.”

  She didn’t know what he meant by “this stage” and didn’t ask. She smiled perfunctorily and left him. But in her cabin she felt restless and unhappy. She lay on her bed with her face in the pillow and wondered if it could ever be easy to hide one’s emotions, pack them away beneath the conscious level and turn a hard bright smile upon the world.

  She loved Bill Norton. Bill Norton, she knew, loved no one. He had been attracted by that woman in the picture, had probably made love to her, or he wouldn’t be cherishing her photograph so close to his bed; he might seek her out and even marry her, but he didn’t love her. No man in love would have suggested what Bill had suggested to Pat; that she attach herself to him during his off hours so that Avis should be discouraged. He was heartless and cruel, even though the cruelty might be unintentional. He was also dangerous, because he could use his gentler mood to blunt the edge of her caution.