Stormspell

by Anne Mather

  'But I can help.' she protested, only to come up against an implacable opposition.

  'Try to get some sleep,' her father told her firmly, and she had no choice but to do as he asked. Arguing would have proved time-wasting and futile, she knew that, and besides, her father could ill afford to waste his energies.

  In consequence, she spent the night pacing the floor of Professor Jason's bedroom, not knowing what was going on. unable to do anything but wait in fretful impatience for the morning. She knew Celeste and her father would do everything they could, but that didn't help her. and frustration drew dark circles around her eyes as the hours passed. Had they sent for Doctor Francis? Would he come in time? Had Dominic regained consciousness? Had they succeeded in lowering his temperature? Her mind buzzed with questions, and despite her weariness she could not relax.

  Nevertheless, towards morning exhaustion drove her to lie down on the bed. She would just rest for a while, she thought drowsily, and knew nothing more until the fingers of sunlight, creeping through the shutters, probed her heavy eyelids.

  She rose hurriedly, and opening the bedroom door, peered down the hall. All was quiet. Her bedroom door was closed, and there was no sign of either her father or Celeste.

  Feeling rather like the sole survivor of some awful disaster, she stole along the hall to the kitchen, then expelled her breath in some relief when she saw Celeste busy at the stove. The black woman was dressed now. her buxom form exaggerated by a dress with gaudy red and white flowers all over it, and Ruth felt guiltily aware that she had contributed nothing to the previous night's activities.

  'Hi.' she said, supporting herself in the doorway. 'Where's Daddy?'

  Celeste turned with a start, snorting impatiently when she saw Ruth's uneasy expression. 'So there you are at last.' she declared, placing her hands squarely on her hips. 'Some nurse you are. abandoning your patient!'

  'How is he?' Ruth asked eagerly. 'Did Daddy send for Doctor Francis? I was so worried, but nobody came to tell me what was going on.'

  'Mmm.' Celeste looked sceptical. 'You were worried all right. You were fast asleep when I looked in on you a couple of hours ago.'

  'I know.' Ruth sighed. 'I stayed awake for ages, but then I must have closed my eyes. I don't remember anything else.' She moved her shoulders helplessly. 'So what happened? Where is—Mr Howard? Is he better?'

  'Me. I don't get tired. I suppose.' Celeste grumbled. not answering her. 'I stay awake all night, but no one asks how I am.'

  'Oh. Celeste!' Ruth came into the kitchen, spreading her arms apologetically. 'I'm sorry. I did want to help, but Daddy said—'

  'I know what your daddy said.' declared Celeste, nodding vigorously. 'He say you too young, he say you not old enough to know about such things. You want I should disobey your daddy and tell you things he don't want you to know?'

  Ruth kept her temper with difficulty. 'Celeste, please, tell me what's happened. Did Daddy send for Doctor Francis? If you don't tell me soon, I'll scream!'

  'Don't do that.' Celeste glanced apprehensively towards the door. 'Why you so interested, anyway?'

  'Celeste!'

  'All right, all right.' The black woman hunched her shoulders resignedly and turned back to the stove. 'Mr Howard, he pretty sick man. His arm. it infected. Doctor say it could be matter of life and death.'

  Ruth blanched. 'Doctor Francis has been here?'

  'He here.' said Celeste nonchalantly, nodding towards the door of the dining room. 'What you think I doing? I making breakfast for your daddy and the doctor.'

  'But Mr Howard!' exclaimed Ruth, resting her trembling hands on the table. 'Celeste, what do you mean? A matter of life and death?'

  Celeste hesitated a moment, and then, as if feeling compassion for the girl's obvious distress, she added offhandedly: 'I didn't say it was a matter of life and death. I said doctor say it could be.'

  Ruth felt suddenly weak. 'Celeste, what are you talking about?'

  The black woman shrugged. 'If n we hadn't called Doctor Francis like we did. your Mr Howard might have died.'

  Ruth sank down slackly into a chair. 'But he's not going to?'

  'No.' Celeste broke eggs into a basin and began beating them up. 'Leastways, it ain't so likely.'

  Ruth licked her dry lips. 'You said he was a sick man.'

  'He is. Pretty sick.' Celeste agreed, pouring the eggs into a pan. 'That fever, it draining all the strength out of him.'

  Ruth stared at her. 'You mean he's still got the fever?'

  'Yes'm.' Celeste could be obtuse when she chose. 'You want breakfast, too? Go see your daddy. I'll fetch it in.'

  'I don't want any breakfast.' said Ruth impatiently. turning to stare over her shoulder for a moment, before looking back at Celeste. 'Are they going to take him to hospital?'

  'Not to my knowing.' replied Celeste indifferently. 'You want some coffee?'

  'I've told you. I don't want anything.' said Ruth shortly, and Celeste arched her eyebrows.

  'You mighty worried about that man, ain't you, honey?' she observed tormentingly. 'I wonder what your daddy think about that.'

  'It's none of your business.' retorted Ruth irritably. and then sighed. 'Celeste, don't taunt me. I told you last night how I felt.'

  'So you did. so you did.' Celeste's lips tightened. 'Only, seems to me you letting this man's trouble get to you.'

  :I found him. didn't I?'

  'So what that make you?'

  'Nothing. I'm worried about him. that's all.'

  'He your responsibility, is that it?'

  'No.' Ruth's pale cheeks suffused with colour. 'I just want to know what's happening. Where is he? Is he still unconscious?'

  Celeste considered her words, and then expanded. 'Seems like he's sleeping right now. Doctor given him some injection to cool his blood. Ain't nothing they can do but wait. Leastways, that's what I heard.'

  Ruth expelled her breath unsteadily. 'And his arm?'

  'All swollen, it was. Oozing that there pus, your daddy called it. Looked pretty ugly.'

  Celeste seemed to be enjoying relating this part of her story, and Ruth wondered how she could handle food without feeling sick. Ruth felt sick, physically sick, and she looked up rather apprehensively when the door opened to admit her father.

  'I thought I heard voices.' Professor Jason remarked heavily, weariness etched in every line of his face. 'Celeste, aren't those eggs almost ready? Doctor Francis doesn't have all day.'

  'And I don't have more'n one pair of hands,' mumbled the black woman resentfully. They're ready. Go sit yourself down, and I'll fetch them to you.'

  Professor Jason permitted his daughter a slight smile. 'Are you coming to join us. my dear?' he asked, gesturing behind him. and aware of Celeste standing impatiently with the tray in her hands, waiting for her reply. Ruth nodded and got to her feet. If she wanted information, why not from the horse's mouth? she thought wryly, ignoring the black woman's knowing stare, although the prospect of watching the two men devour the dish of eggs brought bile to the back of her throat.

  Doctor Francis was a man in his early fifties. A Scotsman, he had settled in Kingstown after the last war. and his family had grown up in the islands. He and Ruth's father were good friends, their professional relationship spilling over into a more personal one. At least once a month the medical practitioner came over to the island to play chess with Professor Jason, and even his professional visits lately had become social occasions. Ruth knew he was worried about her father, knew that he saw little hope for the older man, and knew, too. that he worried about her and what she would do after her father was dead.

  'Hello-there, lassie,' he greeted her now, his accent still as unmistakable as it had ever been. 'I hear you're responsible for finding our piece of human flotsam on the beach. I think your father wishes yon hadn't taken the trouble.'

  Ruth looked at her father, and he quickly demurred. 'I didn't say that. John.' he protested, waving his daughter into a chair. 'I merely said the man's been nothing bu
t trouble ever since he arrived.'

  'How is he. Doctor Francis?' asked Ruth eagerly, seating herself at the table. 'Is he going to get better? He's not in any danger, is he?'

  Doctor Francis pushed his horn-rimmed spectacles up his nose and surveyed her expectant face with humorous eyes. 'You sound very anxious. Ruth.' he remarked teasingly. 'Has this young man taken your fancy?'

  'Don't talk nonsense. John.' Professor Jason's lips thinned, and Celeste, serving the eggs, cast the girl a mocking look. 'Naturally, Ruth is interested. Aren't we all? There's nothing very unusual about that.'

  Doctor Francis pulled a wry face, if you say so. Curtis, if you say so.' He turned his attention back to Ruth, who was looking quite mortified now. and smiled encouragingly. 'Mr Howard will survive.' he assured her gently. 'I'd stake my life on it. But he owes his thanks to you for alerting your father as you did.'

  Ruth flushed. 'Oh, really—'

  'No. I mean it.' Doctor Francis was serious. 'Had he lain unconscious until morning. I doubt I could have saved him. The arm had become infected. If the poison had spread throughout his bloodstream . . .'

  'You mean you had to open his arm again?' Ruth's lips quivered.

  'It was unavoidable,' said her father shortly. 'Thank you. Celeste. You may leave us. I'll call if we need any more coffee.'

  'We had to relieve the pressure,' explained Doctor Francis patiently, as Celeste unwillingly left the room. 'The cavity had to be evacuated and sterilised. There was no other way we could reduce the fever.'

  'And now?'

  'Now he's sleeping. The fever has greatly subsided. but as you can imagine, some poison did succeed in escaping into his bloodstream. Until his system is free of the infection, he'll continue to run a low temperature. But it's under control.'

  Ruth nodded, watching dry-mouthed as Doctor Francis stopped speaking to fill his mouth with scrambled eggs. She wondered how he could eat after making such a statement, and her own stomach revolted at the fleshy food. But relief at hearing that Dominic was not going to lose either his arm. or his life, steadied her reeling senses.

  'A storm in a tea-cup.' declared Professor Jason, buttering a slice of toast. 'Get your breakfast, child. You've got work to do later.'

  Ruth shook her head. 'I'm not hungry.' she said, folding her hands in her lap. but her father's disapproving gaze was compelling.

  'Of course you're hungry,' he insisted, holding the toast rack towards her. 'Come along, eat up. One invalid on my hands is quite enough!'

  'Leave her alone. Curtis, there's a good fellow.'

  Doctor Francis's request was delivered in deceptively mild tones, but they both knew it was only slightly above a command, and Professor Jason's nostrils flared.

  'You handle your patients. John.' he advised brusquely. 'Leave me to handle my daughter, if you don't mind.'

  Doctor Francis laid down his knife and fork.

  'Can't you see the girl's upset? The last time I saw a face like that was in the operating theatre, just before one of my students keeled over. Believe me. I know what I'm talking about.'

  'Sentimental drivel!' exclaimed Professor Jason harshly. 'Ruth's not upset. Why should she be? Howard is a stranger to her.'

  Doctor Francis looked at Ruth, and she returned his stare unhappily. She knew he expected her to say something in her own defence, but she couldn't. Not after the conversation she and her father had had the night before.

  'Perhaps—perhaps I will have a slice of toast.' she murmured basely, and avoided Doctor Francis's eyes as she stuffed the dry bread into her mouth.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ruth had only a glimpse of Dominic that day. She was passing the bedroom later that morning when Doctor Francis came out, and he deliberately delayed in closing the door so that she might look into the room.

  Dominic's eyes were closed, his face pale where it rested on the pillows. Celeste had complained that she had had to change the sheets twice during the night, and the whiteness of the covering contrasted sharply with the darkness of his skin rising above it. The unhealthy glaze of the fever was much less pronounced now. but his hair was damp with sweat, heavy strands straying across his forehead. Ruth knew a quite overwhelming impulse to go in there and bathe his temples with a cool cloth, and smooth away those untidy strands of hair. But of course, that was not possible. Her father had forbidden her to enter the bedroom, and he himself had emptied the drawers of her clothes, removing the necessity for her- to have any contact with their visitor. He was quite fanatical when it came to her association with the man. and she could only assume that it was his own dislike of him that motivated his actions.

  Now Doctor Francis closed the door and looked down at her sympathetically. 'He's going to be all right. I promise you,' he told her gently, and Ruth made a helpless gesture.

  'I don't know why I was so worried,' she commented, running a nervous hand round the back of her neck. 'Like Daddy said, he's a stranger—a drifter, probably. Why should I care about him?'

  Doctor Francis's mouth softened. 'Don't you know?'

  Ruth coloured. 'What do you mean?'

  Doctor Francis shook his head. 'What are you. Ruth? Sixteen? Seventeen? Old enough to understand that one doesn't always need reasons for caring.' He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. 'You're growing up, Ruth. And I guess you've never encountered a man quite like Mr Howard before.'

  Ruth drew back. 'What are you saying?'

  'Oh. Ruth!' He gazed at her impatiently. 'I wish— oh. I wish—' He broke off abruptly, and turned away, saying as he did so: 'Didn't I hear your father telling you to finish some translation? I think you'd better go and get on with it.'

  He would have walked away then, but she caught his arm. releasing it at once when he turned to face her. 'Please,' she ventured, not quite knowing whether she was doing the right thing, 'won't you tell me what it is you wish? I mean. I got the feeling—is it something to do with me?'

  'Yes.' The doctor inclined his head.

  'Then—what?'

  'You really want to know?'

  Ruth nodded.

  'Well. . .'He hesitated. 'I wish Curtis didn't keep you imprisoned in this place. I wish he'd let you out into the real world. You're going to find it very hard after—well, after he's not here any more.'

  'Oh. I see.' Ruth didn't want to hear this. 'I— please, don't worry about me—'

  'But I do,' retorted Francis forcefully, aroused by her acceptance of the situation. 'Your father's keeping you in a cocoon here, Ruth. You haven't got room to breathe. It's not unreasonable that you should be interested in Howard. Don't let anyone tell you it is. He's an attractive man, it's perfectly natural that you should be curious about him.' He shook his head. 'Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying you should get involved with him. In fact. I'd argue strongly against it. He's too old for one thing, and he's probably known more women than—well! I doubt you're to his taste, anyway. But you must accept that you're an attractive girl, and men are unlikely to be indifferent to it.'

  'Me? Attractive?'

  Ruth stared at him disbelievingly, and Doctor Francis made a helpless gesture. 'Of course you're attractive,' he muttered huskily. 'That hair, those eyes—Ruth, you're going to be a beauty. And the sooner your father accepts that, the better.'

  'But I—'

  'I know what I'm talking about, my dear. And I know it's not easy for you to understand with the upbringing you've had, but you've got to learn not to be afraid of your emotions.'

  Ruth looked up at him bravely. 'I—I do know about love—'

  'Love?' Francis grunted frustratedly. 'I'm not talking about love. Ruth, I'm talking about sex! Good old-fashioned sex! That's why you're so tied up in knots over Howard. You haven't learned yet what it's like to want something you can't have.'

  Ruth moved her head helplessly from side to side. 'I don't understand—'

  i know it.' Doctor Francis pushed back his thinning hair with baffled fingers, if you had a mother, she'd explain it to you. As it is
—'

  He looked as if he would have liked to say more, but he couldn't. With an upraised movement of his hand he left her. striding down the hall as if impatient with her and himself, and Ruth was left with the uneasy feeling that once again she was to blame.

  On impulse, she went into the bathroom and closed the door, sliding home the bolt before examining her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin. For the first time she studied her image without shame, and felt the quickening beat of her heart as she searched the features Doctor Francis had said had the promise of beauty.

  Could he be right? Had he been telling the truth, or just reassuring her? She found it hard to see beauty in the vaguely slanted depths of her eyes, eyes that were disappointingly blue and susceptible to bright sunlight. She had always wished for brown eyes, strong brown eyes, like Celeste's, that were apparently immune to the glare of the sun.

  Her nose was unremarkable too, she decided, running a probing finger down its length, and her mouth was definitely too wide. She pushed her lips forward, as she had seen the models doing in the mail order catalogues, and grimaced at the result. She was no femme fatale, she assured herself firmly, remembering the term from her French grammar. Whatever Doctor Francis had seen in her must have been coloured by his affection for her, and she turned away disconsolately.

  As she did so her hair, unconfined for once, swung against her cheek, and she put up a tentative hand to stroke its silky length. Her hair must be her best feature, she decided, looping it behind her ears. It had been loose last night when Dominic had touched her, when he had pulled her close against his hard body, and said those outrageous things to her. Her face burned with the memory, but it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. He had made her feel excited and grown-up. and she wondered what he might have done if she had not made good her escape. Her lips parted in recollection of the disturbing curve of his. He had been going to kiss her—she had known that. And now she half regretted the panic which had denied her that experience. She was curious to know how a man kissed a woman. Not the circumspect peck that Doctor Francis had given her. but a meeting of the lips, as she had only read in Colette and Flaubert. She sighed. Doctor Francis was right. She did not understand the needs of her own body, and she left the bathroom quickly, before she was tempted to explore further.