She slid into a daydream seeing herself back again in her immaculate operating theatres, dealing with the many famous surgeons who worked there, crisply organizing a day’s operating lists; a far cry from the rather tedious minutiae of a summer resort hotel’s clinic filled with the sillinesses of greedy holiday makers or the minor problems of the staff. She saw herself at a London party with some of the extraordinary and exciting people Jay included among his friends, and couldn’t help comparing that scene with the rather dull parties Sebastian had taken her to, with their overpolite and such very well behaved guests, their careful protocol.
And she sighed softly and wondered whether perhaps she shouldn’t go home to the Royal and to hell with Jason-at which her thoughts swooped, tumbled and reshaped, for her own attitude towards Jason was one of the problems she hadn’t yet solved, and would undoubtedly have to solve - somehow - before she went back to the Royal.
“You are, I think, a little sad tonight, Isabel.”
She almost jumped and then reddened with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. How rude of me to be so - so abstracted. Put it down to fatigue at the end of a long day.”
He shook his head, watching her carefully under those heavy lids of his. “No, I do not think that this tristeza that I observe in you - this sadness - is in any way a part of your day of work. You are sitting there, and I watch the expressions change and move on your face, and I tell myself, she is not quite happy, Isabella. Not entirely herself. Matters have changed for her.”
She was startled, for his voice had a new quality about it, one that had never been there before, and she looked at him consideringly, trying to analyse it. And decided it was concern, real concern, and was grateful for it, for that was what she missed most about Biff, his care for her welfare. To find Sebastian showing it was very comforting. So she smiled as widely as she could, and put out a hand to touch his.
“You’re kind to be so concerned,” she said. “Thank you. And I’m not really sad. A little - homesick, perhaps; the Island is beautiful and I’m enjoying my job, really I am, but somehow I miss London and my old hospital - ”
“This I can understand,” he said gravely, and put his own hand over hers on the table. “But you are not being perfectly honest with me, Isabella. Since homesickness, were it all of your problem, would I think have shown itself before. But this is the first time I have noticed these moments of sadness in you. These past two weeks.”
Once again she felt her face crimson its tell-tale message, and she bit her lip. “You’re a very perceptive person, Sebastian!” she said as lightly as she could. “Maybe I have been a little - unhappy lately. I’ve - I’ve had a disagreement with Biff - Mr. Squires. And I’m a peaceable soul, and I dislike such things - ”
Suddenly, she felt she wanted to talk about what had happened, to seek some other person’s reassurance that she hadn’t behaved as badly as she really knew she had, someone who would say gently “It wasn’t your fault” and thus take the load of guilt she felt from her back. And Sebastian sat there, looking at her with that air of calm and correct yet very real concern, and there was no one else she could tell -
“I am rather sad about him,” she said now, looking down at the tablecloth, suddenly a little shy. “I treated him badly.”
“I find that difficult to accept. That you might inadvertently cause a person distress - this can happen to anyone. But that you should have cause to blame yourself for any deliberate unkindness - no, for me, this is not in your character.”
“You’re too kind,” she said, embarrassed again, and tried to pull her hand away, but he seemed unaware of the movement of her fingers, and his own hand remained heavily on hers. So she left it there.
“So, tell me of the manner in which you feel you have treated Mr. Squires in a bad way, and permit me perhaps to reassure you.”
“Perceptive isn’t the word, Sebastian,” she said, feeling a sudden warmth for him filling her. “That’s perhaps just what I do want. Well - oh, hell, this’ll sound so conceited - but I can’t help it. I - he fell in love with me, it seems. And I like a great daft fool, I thought he was just a friend, someone I could rely on, someone to like, but not - not ever - someone to love.”
She was looking at Sebastian, but not really seeing his impassive face, the light glinting on the silver wings of his beard, the stillness of those dark eyes; instead, she was seeing herself and Biff in that cave, was talking to Biff about it, explaining, apologizing, not talking to Sebastian at all.
“Anyway, we went out together, and it was fun, and relaxed and so comfortable. Until we went for that picnic. And me - there I was, trying to get another man out of my system, and I used Biff to - oh, how can I explain exactly what happened? Just that from my behaviour, Biff thought maybe that I - that I felt for him more than I do. And then I - back pedalled - I mean, I rejected him, and hurt him quite a lot, and I don’t like myself one little bit - ”
There was a short silence, and then Sebastian said quietly “You love another person, and it is for this reason that you have hurt your friend Mr. Squires. For this reason that you allowed him to believe you might respond to his lovemaking - and then could not - do not look so surprised that I understand that this is the root of your embarrassment! I am after all a man, and I am not entirely without an awareness of the world and its ways! But, as I say, you rejected Mr. Squires because of your affection for another person.” It was a statement rather than a question but she answered it.
“Yes. That’s the only reason. I told him, maybe if I weren’t already - but I am and that’s all about it. I’m no’ likely to get over it as easy as I thought I would - that’s pretty darned clear - ”
And now it was Jay she was talking to, and she shifted her gaze to stare down at the tablecloth, seeing Jay’s face etched against its whiteness, and felt herself filling with the old familiar misery and sense of loss. Familiar, but not quite the same, for there was still the letter he had written, full of his own confusion and unhappiness, and maybe -
“Then I believe you behaved exactly as a lady in such a situation should, and have no cause at all to blame yourself.” His voice cut sharply into her thoughts and she looked at him almost in bewilderment, for she had for one brief moment forgotten he was there.
“Thank you, Sebastian. You’re very kind. I’ve already said that, haven’t I? But it’s true. And I’ve no right to bother you with my tedious problems when you’ve taken me out and brought me to so nice a restaurant - forgive me.”
“There is, I assure you, nothing to forgive,” he moved his hand then and released her, and beckoned imperiously to the waiter, who hurried over and in response to Sebastian’s peremptory signals refilled their wine glasses.
“And now you have told me of your problem, and I have reassured you that you have behaved throughout completely as you should I hope your sadness will go, verdad?” and he lifted his glass towards her with a sudden spurt of gaiety that was so unusual in him that she felt her own cheeks crease into a smile, and let her spirits lift in response.
“I hope so too,” she said, and sipped her wine, and then, making a conscious effort, pushed the tensions and questionings that had so filled her mind right away and produced a very bright smile indeed.
“This has been a splendid dinner, Sebastian. I have enjoyed it and thank you very much. But I’ll tell you something - we’ll have to call an end to the evening, I’m thinking. Not because I’m not enjoying your company, but because of your guests.”
“My guests?”
“Indeed, yes! Three more babies showed signs of gastro-enteritis today, and I’d like to check on them before their parents settle for the night. I told them I’d be back before eleven so that I could see the babies, so I really think we ought to go. And you can hardly object now, can you? As I said, they are your guests!”
He beckoned the waiter for the bill, and smiled at her, his rare and warming smile.
“Tell me, why this concern for my guests? Is it becaus
e they are patients - ill people - or perhaps - a little - because they are guests of the Cadiz, and you have a concern for the good name and welfare of the hotel?”
“Oh, because of the hotel, of course!” she said gaily. “I’d feel very bad if because of my inefficiency half the hotel went down with a bug - very bad for business - but generally, to tell you the truth, I get really annoyed with the people themselves! They’re the first to blame the hotel if they get ill, but most of the time, it’s their own darned faults! Ah, well, I mustn’t be too severe, I suppose. I’ve been told about that before - ”
“I do not find you severe,” he said as the bill came, and he signed it, and they stood up to leave. “Indeed, I find you very decente - as the French say, comme il faut. It is an agreeable quality to find in so modern a young lady as yourself,” and she wanted to giggle at the quaint formality of his speech.
They strolled back to the Cadiz through the bustling streets, filled with holiday makers enjoying the cool of the summer evening, and he held her elbow in that now familiar secure grip, and she felt relaxed and comfortable with him; and then was a little annoyed with herself. “What sort of wet fish are you?” her secret little voice asked jeeringly “to always need some man to lean on? Grow up, girl, do - ”
But she ignored the little voice, glad to have the comfort of his grip on her arm.
He came with her to the clinic when they reached the hotel, to collect her bag so that she could start on her rounds of the sick babies she was worried about, and then accompanied her as far as the third floor, where her first patient was.
“It would be interesting for me to come with you, to see how you look after these young guests of mine, would it not?” he said, “But I feel it would perhaps not be decente for me to do so, since I am, after all, not a person of medical background.”
“Oh, indeed it wouldn’t,” she said and grinned at him. “And to tell you the truth, Sebastian, you would find it not so much interesting as unpleasant. A child with gastro-enteritis isn’t exactly aesthetic. Poor sick bairns! I’ll have all the details in my report in the morning, anyways, so you’ll see then what’s happening. I promise you, if I’m the least bit concerned, I’ll have the babes in hospital before you can turn round, for it’s not a disease I’d ever neglect. So, I’d best be away - and thanks again for a lovely evening, Sebastian - and for being so understanding when I was being very silly - ” and she held her hand out to him.
“Not silly,” he said, and raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Not silly, but very naturally feminine. It was a pleasure and a privilege to have your company and your confidence, Isabella. I thank you for it.”
Once again she knew her face was pink, and she bit her lip in embarrassment, and he smiled at her, and again kissed her hand before letting it go.
“Goodnight, Señorita Isabella. Goodnight, and thank you. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring me your clinic report at the end of the morning, if you have been able to prepare it by then, instead of giving it to Mendoza? I will by then have, I think, another matter to discuss with you.”
And he was gone, leaving her feeling not a little comforted by his ready understanding of her uneasiness about Biff, and more than a little grateful, for she felt better about it all than she had since it had happened. Somehow he had helped her to put it all into perspective, and she smiled to herself as she knocked on the door of her first infant patient’s room. Nice man, after all! Not a bit disagreeable as she had thought him on their first meeting. And with his care for the forms and styles of life, almost as amusing as funny little Jaime Mendoza. Nice people, the people of the Cadiz, to treat her as they did, she thought, and then went in to look at the baby sleeping in its cot by the window. Nice people, nice job. I do feel better!
15
They had gone through the clinic report together, in an atmosphere of professional yet relaxed camaraderie that was so very reminiscent of her working life at the Royal that her sense of contentment, still lingering from the previous evening, strengthened and thickened to make her feel even more sure that after all, the remainder of her summer at the Cadiz could be really enjoyable, and not just a stint to be worked through as she had begun to suspect might be the case.
And then, when she had finished telling him of the minor accidents involving the staff, and accounted for the drugs and medicines she had given the guests (all of which had to be paid for by them, since the hotel could not be expected to foot that bill) he walked across his office to bring from a wall cupboard a cut glass decanter of very pale amontillado sherry and a pair of beautifully etched glasses.
“I think perhaps we have el aperitivo, yes? This sherry is brought for me especially all the way from the cellar of a friend of mine in Barcelona where he matures and cares for the most remarkable wines. You will, I think, like it. Salud!”
They sipped their sherry in peaceful quietness for a while, and then he stirred in his big chair and put his glass down with very neat precision, and leaned forwards to fold his hands on the desk before him.
“You will recall that I said last night that this morning, I would perhaps have another matter to talk of with you, and this is now so,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows at him, for he sounded even more precise and formal than usual if that were possible.
“I wish to take you to visit Valldemosa with me on Sunday next, Isabella. This is a place, I think, you have not yet been to - ”
She shook her head. “Not yet - though I’ve heard a good deal about it. It’s the village where Chopin and George Sand lived for a while, isn’t it? Very romantic and beautiful, that story.”
He shrugged slightly. “Perhaps a little too romantic for good taste. For myself I find it all a little - sordid, is I think the word. All a matter of commercial exploitation. As a business man I am of course not opposed to good business matters, but the very commercial use of the Valldemosa legend is one I find a little unpleasant. However, our visit to Valldemosa is not concerned with the exploits of musicians or the later moneymaking that such exploits lead to - ”
She felt her lips quirk, and bent her head for fear he should see it, for she would not hurt his feelings for the world. But he was so very funny, sounding more like a character from a nineteenth century novel than a real person.
Clearly he had not noticed her glint of amusement, for he was still talking with the same somewhat stilted air. “ - Our visit is for more personal causes. Valldemosa is my family home, you understand. I of course live most of my time here at the Cadiz, now that I have to be so concerned with the running of the hotel, but always, for home, I think of Valldemosa.”
He stopped and she smiled encouragingly at him, and sipped her sherry, and felt herself warming to him even more, remembering with a sharp wave of nostalgia how she felt about Scotland; for although most of her adult life had been spent in London, still the soft greenish-blue hills and moors of her Scottish village home were very precious to her, and she knew what it was that Sebastian felt for his home in Valldemosa, and would always feel, however long he lived and worked in Palma.
“So,” he was saying. “On Sunday I would like to take you to see my home, and to meet my mother. She, of course, still lives there, and I visit her at regular intervals. Tell me, you are willing to come with me to meet her?”
He looked at her with his head on one side, watchful and expectant and she finished her sherry, and smiled again at him, and said warmly, “I’d like to very much. It’s most kind of you to ask me. Thank you.”
“It is, you understand a visit of some formality - my mother is an old lady of very definite - ah - ideas, you understand. She is the daughter of a family of great antiquity and honour, and as the wife of a son of a family of equal position, she has lived her long years according to many rules. To some people she seems particularly old fashioned. But I do not, for one, feel that being old fashioned is always so bad a thing.”
“Oh, I agree! And of course I understand!
I promise you I will be very what was that phrase? - I can’t remember - anyway, I’ll be as correct and polite as I know how to be. I’ll not let you down.”
She smiled again, a little wickedly this time. “And since it was your mother’s idea that I should be here at all - that the Cadiz should have its own clinic, then it’s only right and proper she should have a chance to have a look at me, don’t you think?”
“This is not, of course, the purpose of our visit. But since you understand the matter, I need say no more. Señorita Isabella, I look forward with some considerable pleasure to Sunday.” He came round the desk and she stood up, and he led the way to the office door. “And I hope the day will remain in our memories as - well, I say no more. Until Sunday morning then, when I return from Valldemosa to collect you - I must of course go this afternoon and stay there for a night or two at least - hasta la vista,” and he kissed her hand with his usual care, and she went off to lunch feeling both touched and amused. That he had been anxious about her response to his invitation was obvious; clearly he wanted to please his elderly mother, and had feared for a moment that she would not accept the suggestion that the old lady should be given the chance to look over the nurse she had been instrumental in employing. Equally clearly, he took a certain perverse pride in her old fashioned ways, and in warning her of them, had really been boasting a little of his more than ordinary aristocratic antecedents. And it was that that amused her, in a gentle unmalicious way, amused her because hitherto, he had shown none of the warm ordinary human faults that other people had. To find that the remote, the formal and the all-too-perfect Sebastian Garcia had so broad a streak of old fashioned snobbery in his makeup was really rather fun.
Nurse in the Sun Page 17
