Consulting Surgeon

by Jane Arbor

  Ursula returned to the others with this news and was completely unprepared for Coralie’s passionate reception of it.

  From her favorite seat, the pouffe, she sprang up to face Ursula, her eyes bright with disappointment.

  “But why on earth didn’t you let this Dr. Contin come here to see Mummy?” she demanded. “Mr. Lingard might have brought him!”

  “I didn’t think we need take up the time of either of them unnecessarily,” said Ursula calmly. “Mr. Lingard happens to be on holiday. Don’t you agree that I was right?” she appealed to Mrs. Craig.

  Mrs. Craig closed her eyes and ran a finger across her brows. “It doesn’t signify, I dare say. I expect I shall feel well enough to keep the appointment.”

  But Coralie turned again upon Ursula. “It was your idea!” she accused. “Mr. Lingard would have brought him here if you hadn’t interfered. I suppose you issued your orders about it—just to try to assert yourself with him before he has the right to order you about when he gets to Sheremouth! I can just imagine your tone—‘We professional nurses can manage these things,’ ” mimicked Coralie cruelly. “Or was it simply—‘I-am-Sister-Craig-and-my-word-is-law?’ That is, if it wasn’t something else still,” she concluded darkly.

  Ursula stared at her. The quip about ‘Sister Craig’ had been a family joke, invented teasingly by Coralie at first sight of Ursula in a sister’s veil. It had gone into the archives of their sisterly exchanges, and never had Coralie flung it at her in anger as she was doing now. And after it had come that dark reference to something which Coralie had not expressed. What did she mean?

  But Coralie would not say what she meant. When she said she had only an instinct to hurt, and had not been quite clear herself what she meant to express. But a moment later she knew. Bear thought that, by keeping Mr. Lingard from coming to the flat, she could keep him for herself and away from her, Coralie. Bear didn’t want her to get to know him better. That was clear from her reluctance to talk about him. But—Coralie hugged the knowledge with a secret satisfaction—she knew just what he thought of Bear. And it hadn’t been particularly flattering either. Even the bit about her looking like some kind of an angel had really been critical...

  She flounced towards the door. “I’m going straight to the phone to tell Mr. Lingard that—that Mummy isn’t well enough to go to this doctor,” she announced.

  “Coralie—please don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, because it isn’t true.” How Coralie could stir up a tornado about nothing! But she was determined that Matthew Lingard should not be troubled twice.

  Coralie halted. “Well, don’t blame me if this Dr. Contin thinks we are brutal to Mummy, making her go to him when she is really ill,” she threatened. “But, of course, it’s all very well for you. I’m not likely to meet Mr. Lingard again without some opportunity like this. But at that silly hospital of yours you will be seeing him every day!”

  How romantically rewarding a prospect did Coralie imagine that to be, wondered Ursula wryly. When she and Matthew Lingard met on the ward, they would both be absorbed in their work, and that they had met before in two electrically charged encounters would not signify at all. But she was glad that Coralie had betrayed what had upset her, for that made it easier to reassure her.

  She went over and ruffled her stepsister’s curls affectionately. “Do you know, I’m going to be quite gratified if Mr. Lingard even remembers me?” she teased.

  “But he will. He told me that you reminded him of some kind of an angel—”

  “Botticelli, perhaps?” queried Ursula amusedly. “That wasn’t necessarily a compliment to any warm charm, you know!”

  “Yes, Botticelli, that was it. How did you know?” But, not waiting for an answer, Coralie pursued her theme; “When a man is on the spot you can make your opportunities with him if you want to. I know I could.”

  It was a hint that Ursula was to remember when, after Mrs. Craig’s visit to Dr. Contin, she discussed with Ursula his chief recommendation—that the London flat should be given up for the time being and Mrs. Craig should go down to the country or the sea for at least the rest of the summer.

  Mrs. Craig declared plaintively: “I told him that I couldn’t bear the thought of being out of London for so long—particularly of burying myself, not to mention Coralie, in the sort of place where there would be no prospect of being able to make up a bridge four and perhaps not even any decent shops. But he wouldn’t hear of my staying in town, so I had practically made up my mind to face the worst when Coralie had the bright idea that we should both come down to Sheremouth, to an hotel.”

  “To Sheremouth? But does that quite tally with Dr. Contin’s idea of complete rest and quiet for you? You know Sheremouth in the season is not so very different from London.”

  “I know. And that’s what makes it quite a good compromise. I couldn’t endure that other deadliness. Nor would it be fair on Coralie. So if we come to the Grand we shall be near you, which will be nice for your off-duty. And at least there’ll be some life for Coralie. Don’t you want us at Sheremouth, then?”

  “On the contrary, I think it would be lovely for all of us,” said. Ursula warmly. “Though I do feel it is not quite what the doctor had in mind for you.”

  Mrs. Craig lay back in her chair and closed her eyes. “But I am leaving it to you to explain the situation to him. In fact, now I’ve made up my mind, you’d better go and telephone him straight away. I told him I would let him know where I decided to go.”

  “And supposing he considers Sheremouth unsuitable?” asked Ursula bluntly.

  “If he does, then I shall defy him and stay where I am. But he won’t, if you use a grain or two of tact. Remember, I’m depending on you...”

  Mrs. Craig allowed her voice to trail away in a tone of complacent trust which Ursula supposed she ought to find flattering.

  But as she went to the telephone to use “a grain or two of tact” for the doctor’s persuasion she was aware of only one insistent thought.

  The move to Sheremouth had been Coralie’s idea! Certainly she had acted swiftly to make her own opportunities with Matthew Lingard! Everything pointed to the fact that she was building high hopes upon the prospect of seeing him again and, realizing this, Ursula was aware of a perplexity that was mingled with dismay.

  The man was years older than Coralie, and probably fully experienced with women. And Coralie might have found his provocative raillery attractive, so long as it was not used too tellingly against her. But what could she be promising herself on the strength of a single meeting with him? Was it possible that he had found it amusing to encourage her in a brief flirtation which meant nothing to him but which the girl had taken seriously?

  No. The thought had struck an ugly note, but Ursula rejected it immediately. For she judged that the man, intolerant, critical and confidently ambitious as he had seemed, still had a quality of character that would not stoop so far. If he had encouraged Coralie it was because he was attracted by her, for he would have brought the same sincerity to that as he had done to his outspoken criticisms of herself.

  Or was that letting herself believe that, in a different way, she had been briefly important to him?

  As she picked up the receiver to call Dr. Contin, a little sigh escaped her. The nearer truth, she thought, was almost certainly that Matthew Lingard was entirely indifferent to his future relations with either of them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IN THE END—and for the simple reason that, after all, Ned forgot to book seats in time—he and Ursula had to go to a matinee performance of Much Ado About Nothing.

  Afterwards, when they went for a late tea to the little Bloomsbury restaurant near his laboratory where he usually lunched, Ned began to worry: “I’m awfully sorry about the tickets. Did you really enjoy it as much as if we had gone in the evening?”

  “Of course, I did. As if it made any difference!” Ursula assured him loyally and quite sincerely. For the odd t
hing was that Ned’s vague ineptitude, which could have been irritating in another man, was simply endearing in him. That you had to take Ned as you found him was something she had learned long ago.

  Still worried, however, he went on: “Well, I don’t know. I might have realized you’d be sweet enough to say so, but a lot of girls would have been mad. I mean, the afternoon isn’t supposed to be very romantic, is it...?”

  “Romantic? Oh, Ned, you are sweet!” In a sudden impulse to comfort his wistfulness Ursula reached for his hand and squeezed it.

  “Ursula, my dear!” As her own clasp loosened his fingers tightened, holding her fast. For a moment of near-panic Ursula feared that she had unwittingly brought about the thing at which Coralie had hinted—a declaration of Ned’s love for her. But out of the corner of her eye she saw the waitress approaching with their tea-tray, and when it was dumped on the table beside them even Ned had to recognize that the moment of intimacy had passed.

  When he spoke next it was to tell her of some new experiments he was conducting, using the table silver for diagrammatic illustration and becoming completely engrossed in his subject as he went on.

  Ursula could have laughed aloud for sheer relief. This was the familiar Ned whom she knew well; she had only to listen and to throw in a reasonably intelligent question now and then, and he was happy in the belief that she found his maze of figures and formulas as wildly exciting as he did. Already she could convince herself that Coralie had alarmed her into looking for changes in his feeling for her which were not there at all. She did not want him to change. He was safe, predictable, even in his vagaries, and he was kind.

  They lingered talking for so long that Ned found he would have to go straight on to keep a lecture engagement and would not be able to see her home. But before they parted he told her that in a week or two he was to lecture at a convention of scientists to be held at Sheremouth, and it was easy to assure him that, of course, she would see him while he was there, and even that she would try to attend one of the convention’s open sessions at which he would be speaking.

  With a little chuckle she added: “Everybody seems to be converging upon Sheremouth this summer!”

  “Everybody?”

  “Well, you are, and Mama has got her doctor’s consent that she should come down there. That means Coralie will come too—”

  “But you said ‘everybody.’ That’s only just us—your family and me,” objected Ned, puzzled.

  “Yes, well—usually I’m alone there,” evaded Ursula. She knew that her thoughts had referred to Matthew Lingard as well as to Ned, Coralie and Mrs. Craig. And she was grateful for Ned’s preoccupation with a vain signalling of taxis which did not allow him to pursue the subject.

  When she reached the flat she was met in the hall by Coralie, bright-eyed with pleasure.

  “He’s here!” she whispered dramatically.

  “Who is?”

  “Mr. Lingard! He says he came to enquire how Mummy got on with Dr. Contin. But, Bear, do you think that might have been an excuse? That perhaps he really wanted to come...?”

  Ursula took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know why he should,” she said evenly.

  “Oh, Bear!” Coralie turned away, pouting. Beneath her breath she added: “He couldn’t have come just for that. There must have been some other reason.”

  In the lounge Matthew Lingard rose to greet Ursula just as the shrill insistence of the telephone sounded in the hall.

  “I’ll answer it...” she began, withdrawing her hand from the brief pressure of his fingers. But Coralie, who had already gone to do so, returned almost at once to announce that it was Matthew who was being called.

  He grimaced as he rose once more. “That’s what comes of having a professional conscience that insists on laying information as to one’s probable whereabouts at any given moment of any day or night! Not that this can be anything urgent, since I’m on holiday,” he added as he excused himself in order to take the call.

  “There! He meant to come here, because he must have left our telephone number behind him. That means he didn’t just drop in on the spur of the moment!” triumphed Coralie, when they were alone. Though how, she supposed this betrayed a deeper purpose on Matthew Lingard’s part Ursula had no chance to discover before he returned to the lounge looking preoccupied and worried.

  He went to Mrs. Craig, apologizing for having to leave at once.

  “Not bad news, I hope?” she asked conventionally.

  “It is, rather, I’m afraid.” He turned to Ursula. “I told you, didn’t I, about my aunt who lives at Sheremouth? Well, news has just come through that her son Foster has been killed in this latest flare-up in Egypt.”

  His hearers murmured their sympathy, and he went on: “It means I must get down to Sheremouth tonight, for Aunt Lucy adored Foster and she has no one else of her own to turn to. She has a weak heart, and, so far as I could gather from the message I got, she is already nearly prostrated. I left directions that her own doctor should be called in, but I must get down there too. Otherwise, until Foster’s widow, Averil, can come to her she will be completely alone. Now, if I might use your telephone again, I could save time by ordering my car to be ready as soon as possible?”

  “Of course. Or is there any other way in which we can help?” asked Mrs. Craig.

  “There’s nothing, I think, thank you.”

  “Then we mustn’t keep you. Ursula will see you out.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry about this. But perhaps you would dine with me one evening when you come down to Sheremouth?” His glance included them all.

  “That would be delightful.” Before Matthew had left the room with Ursula, Mrs. Craig was already in mental review of her wardrobe, deciding which gown would be suitable for such an occasion—a pleasurable exercise soon to be interrupted by Coralie’s clamour that she had utterly nothing to wear for dining out and oughtn’t they both to do a lot of shopping before they left town?

  Ursula waited while Matthew telephoned his garage and then made another call, putting off an appointment for the following day. Then he said: "Well, that’s that, and thank you very much. I’ll be getting along now, though I must say I wish I could feel I was taking more than a male sympathy and some degree of medical help to my aunt. There are some sorrows which are far better understood and comforted by another woman. But until Averil arrives she will have no one...”

  He broke off, frowning, and in the instant of pause which followed an idea came to Ursula. An idea which, because she must not delay him, had to be put into words almost before it had formed in her mind.

  Rather breathlessly she said: “I wonder whether I could be of some use, after all? You say that you would like Mrs. Damon to have a woman to call upon. Until her daughter-in-law reaches England, could I be of any help, do you suppose?”

  He looked at her, not comprehending. “You? You mean professionally?”

  “Not necessarily. I meant simply as someone of her own sex to be there with her while she takes the first awful shock. I could catch an early train in the morning and be in Sheremouth by lunch-time.”

  “But you are on leave?”

  “Only for a few days more,” she told him. “If it happened that I wasn’t needed at Shere Court I could still spend the rest of my leave in Sheremouth; and even if I were needed, I could sleep in hospital each night, so as not to upset Mrs. Damon’s household.”

  Matthew Lingard looked at her. This time she wondered whether he might be seeing her now for the person she had always sincerely hoped she was; whether at least for the moment, his intolerance had ceased to misjudge her.

  He said: “Thank you. Thank you very much. You couldn’t have suggested anything for which I could feel more grateful. You won’t want me to waste time claiming that I mustn’t impose on you by accepting. I am accepting; in fact, I’m going to suggest that you could make your gesture even more valuable, if you would.”

  “How could I?”


  “By going down with me tonight instead—”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. Tonight is when you may be most needed. Is that impossible for you?”

  “No. No, it’s not impossible. I could come—if you would give me a little while to get ready?”

  “Good. How long will you need?” It was characteristic of him that, having thanked her for her help, he now looked only for her efficiency in carrying it out.

  “I must explain to Mama, and throw a few things into a case.”

  He looked at his watch. “The distance is—what? Seventy—eighty miles? That means we should make it in about three hours from now. Late, but not too late, and a good deal better for our purpose than tomorrow.”

  He left then, saying that he would call back for her in his car in half an hour. And though Ursula had to leave Mrs. Craig not a little querulous and Coralie frankly envious, she was waiting for him when he returned to pick her up.

  The sun had not yet set, and at that time of evening the traffic was not congested. Matthew appeared to know the south London suburbs well, and within half an hour or so they were clear of them and on the open road for Sheremouth.

  Nodding his head back towards her case upon the seat behind, he commented: “Are you always able to travel so light? I thought women found it essential to hang themselves about with hatboxes and zipping holdalls as well as the more orthodox luggage?”

  “If they do, no doubt they need them,” retorted Ursula defensively. “But I had time to pack only enough for a night or two. Mama will send the rest straight to hospital. Which reminds me, when we get to Sheremouth, may I ring Matron to tell her that I shall be going in tonight but that I shall be late?”

  He glanced at her quickly. “You won’t be going into hospital tonight.”