Ship's Surgeon

by Celine Conway

  “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.”

  “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 aft
er 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 st
aring 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 ...”