For Ever and Ever

by Mary Burchell

“But—at the same table,” said Leonie rather helplessly.

  “It’s quite natural. We both happen to know Pembridge well.”

  “Do you?” The centre of interest shifted. “I—I know him too, a little. But I suppose it hardly counts,” she added rather humbly. “I was a nurse in one of the hospitals where he worked.”

  “St. Catherine’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know why it shouldn’t count,” Nicholas Edmonds said. “Pembridge very seldom forgets anyone.”

  “No,” agreed Leonie soberly. And she thought it would have been rather more comfortable in her own case if he had.

  An amused and speculative glance told her that her companion had sensed something of what she was thinking. But before he could comment or question, the subject of their conversation himself came up, and Nicholas Edmonds said, with a touch of rather malicious interest.

  “I have just been hearing that Miss Creighton worked under you once.”

  Mr. Pembridge gave Leonie a brief glance.

  “Yes. At St. Catherine’s.”

  “Not exactly a happy memory, I gather,” said the other man thoughtfully.

  “For me?” Mr. Pembridge looked a trifle haughty.

  “No, no. For her.”

  “Mr. Edmonds, how can you say such a thing!” exclaimed Leonie, greatly put out. “I never said anything of the sort. I never said a word about—”

  “Oh, no words, of course. But you cast down your lashes with an air of remembered disapproval there was no gainsaying.”

  “The remembered disapproval was mine, if I’m not mistaken,” said Mr. Pembridge drily, before Leonie could find her voice to say anything.

  “Then it’s time you forgot it,” replied the other man. “She’s a nice child and shouldn’t be unhappy on her first ocean voyage. Take her along now and settle your differences over the next waltz.”

  “But I don’t want—” began Leonie, petrified with dismay and astonishment at hearing her delicate relationship with Mr. Pembridge handled thus.

  “Nonsense! Of course you do. And, anyway, I’ve talked long enough.” Nicholas Edmonds made a slight gesture of weariness and impatience. “Go along, there’s a good girl. And remember that it’s easier for a nurse to apologize than for a surgeon to do so.”

  Even then Leonie would have stood her ground and refused. But, unexpectedly, Mr. Pembridge held out his hand to her and smiled.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Not if you’re asking me just because—”

  “I’m asking you because I want you to come and dance with me,” he said.

  And so Leonie put her hand into his and went away, aware that Nicholas Edmonds looked after them with an air of reflective amusement which she thought out of place.

  As Mr. Pembridge swung her on to the dance-floor, she thought she would have given anything—just anything—to be able to produce a casual and witty comment which would have put things in their right perspective. But she could think of nothing—not even the most conventional remark—until at last he said, softly and with a hint of amusement in his voice,

  “Yes—I see what Edmonds meant about the disapproving, downcast lashes.”

  “Oh—” Leonie’s long lashes swept upward and for a moment she looked the Senior Surgeon full in the face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—to express disapproval.” She looked down again then, but with a slightly softer expression. “It was only that I—I simply don’t know what to say after Mr. Edmonds’s embarrassing speech.”

  “Forget about it,” Mr. Pembridge advised her. “Edmonds leans to a slightly malicious type of teasing, but he really did think it a good idea that you and I should have a talk. And I’m not sure he wasn’t right.”

  “Oh, Mr. Pembridge—why?” Leonie was rather apprehensive.

  “Well, for one thing, I want to know why you think I’m overquick and inaccurate in my judgments. It’s a formidable thing for a surgeon to have said to his face, you know.”

  “But I didn’t mean it professionally!” cried Leonie, so eager in her denial that she did not even hear the laughter in his voice. “I meant—”

  “Yes?” he prompted, as she hesitated.

  “Mr. Pembridge, you know you really were very horrid to me all those years ago when you found me flirting in the corridor of St. Catherine’s. After all, it wasn’t such a crime—to be remembered against me. And I was rather—rather young, when all’s said and done.”

  “You were very young,” said Mr. Pembridge, in a tone that slightly surprised Leonie. “It was because you were so young that I was so emphatic, I suppose.”

  “I—don’t think I understand.”

  “Didn’t you ever realize, even later, what type Catterick was?” he inquired drily.

  “Catterick—Oh, of course, that was his name, wasn’t it? I’d forgotten it until this moment.”

  Mr. Pembridge laughed a good deal, for some reason or other.

  “Well, if you’ve forgotten his name, there’s no more to be said about him,” he told her gaily. “He wasn’t a type for any young nurse to be mixed up with. Leave it at that.”

  Leonie looked up again then and studied the strong, handsome face that was so near her own.

  “He never spoke to me again,” she said thoughtfully.

  “No. I don’t expect he did,” Mr. Pembridge agreed, rather gently.

  “You mean”—she looked wondering—”you can’t mean—that you arranged that?”

  “ ‘Arrange’ would be too positive a word,” Mr. Pembridge told her with a smile. “Let us say, rather, that it impinged on his consciousness that he had better leave you alone.”

  “Mr. Pembridge!” Leonie was thunderstruck. “Are you telling me that you—that, in a sense, you protected me?”

  “Again I find the word a little too positive,” he said, smiling still. “I discouraged you from putting your head into danger.”

  “And I used to turn off and go another way when I saw you coming,” she murmured, half to herself.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You knew?” Leonie looked impressed. “You—you know rather a lot about people altogether, don’t you?”

  “Not so much,” he assured her. “I still, for instance, don’t know why it agitates you to see your pretty companion and my Assistant Surgeon getting on so well together.”

  “Oh—that—” Leonie’s face darkened as she recalled her momentarily forgotten responsibilities. “That’s something else again.”

  “Something really worth worrying about?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She had a ridiculous and almost overwhelming impulse to confide her difficulties to Mr. Pembridge. But, recalling how many breaches of confidence this would involve, apart from anything else, she checked herself and did not elaborate on the one rather sombre reply.

  The music was drawing to a close now. But as they came to a stop at the side of the ballroom, he looked down at her and said teasingly,

  “Shall I tell you one more thing before I leave you, to go and do my social duty by the charming Madame Armand?”

  “If—you like.” She smiled doubtfully, for she still could not get used to the idea that Mr. Pembridge was no longer the cold and disapproving surgeon from St. Catherine’s.”

  “Don’t worry about the attractions of any other girls,” he told her, lightly and a trifle mockingly. “You carry some pretty powerful weapons of attack yourself.” And, with a not entirely kindly laugh, he left her—half pleased with the compliment, half vexed with the terms in which it had been cast.

  For a while Leonie sat watching the dancers, her mind still largely occupied with the extraordinary conversation which had just taken place.

  To think that, in his cool, astringent, sarcastic way, Mr. Pembridge had really acted out of concern for her silly young self, all those years ago! It put a very different complexion on the affair, even if memory told her that he could have been a little kinder to herself.

  This did not, of course, alte
r the fact that he still presumed to regard her with a critical eye, the eye of a surgeon who had once known her as a pro, and could not shed the last vestige of authority towards her. But it did make Leonie glad that they had had this revealing conversation, and made her decide that, at the first opportunity, she would also disabuse him of the notion that she had any personal interest in Kingsley Stour.

  Kingsley Stour’s interest in her, however—whether from pleasure or policy—showed every sign of flourishing. She had hardly been sitting there five minutes before he came up and invited her to come out and stroll on the sheltered part of the promenade deck.

  Leonie’s first impulse was to refuse—even curtly, if necessary. But then it came to her, with a flash of insight she could not afterwards explain, that it might not be a bad thing to have a talk with Kingsley Stour too. Not exactly with the gloves off, but in terms that would put an end to his using her as a peg on which to hang his more amusing bits of camouflage.

  She smiled, therefore, and came with him, to lean on the inside rail and look out through the great windows of the promenade deck and watch the long path of light from the ship gleam on the endlessly moving waters.

  When he began to flirt lightly with her, she smiled still, but she half turned her head away, so that he could only see the line of her cheek, and presently he asked reproachfully,

  “Why don’t you look at me?”

  “I was thinking,” Leonie said.

  “Of me?”

  “Of something you said. About my not needing to nurse or do any hard work. That’s not true, you know.”

  “Not true?” He gave her a quick, almost startled glance which secretly both amused and interested her.

  “No. Everyone needs to do some sort of hard work, unless they are satisfied to be utterly useless.”

  “Oh—that—” He dismissed this aspect with a laugh. “Well, I daresay you’re right. At least, the fact that you think so is part of the essential, delightful you. I meant it from the practical point of view only when I spoke of you.”

  She turned her head then and smiled full at him though she was really a little frightened at what she was going to do.

  “You do know a lot about me, don’t you?” she said rather mockingly.

  “Quite a bit,” he assured her. “I find the subject enthralling.”

  “Thank you.” Leonie drew in her breath slightly and felt rather like a duellist testing the point of his weapon. “Would it surprise you to hear that I know quite a lot about you too?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  For a moment Kingsley Stour made no reply to Leonie’s challenging question. She thought because sheer surprise held him silent. But when he did speak, his voice was perfectly calm and pleasant, though she noticed that his handsome eyes narrowed very slightly at the corners.

  “So you know quite a lot about me?” He spoke lightly, and smiled as he spoke. “I wonder what you think you know.”

  “For one thing, that you came on this trip for a very special purpose,” Leonie said coolly.

  “You are mistaken.” He was as cool as she. “I signed on as Assistant Surgeon because I wanted to go to Australia, and it was easier to work my passage than to pay for it.”

  “But it had to be on this ship and for this particular voyage, didn’t it?”

  He considered that, wondering, she felt sure, just what she did know and how far he had better be frank.

  “I had friends on this trip and was glad to make it this one,” he conceded after a moment. “I don’t know that I’d say more than that.”

  “Well,” Leonie said gently, “perhaps we need not say more than that. But it would be a mistake, Mr. Stour, to suppose that it is clever to pay exaggerated attention to me in the hope that I might not realize where your real interest lies.”

  She had to admire him reluctantly for the way he took what must have been a breathtaking and quite unexpected blow. He frowned for a moment, as though not quite following her meaning. Then he laughed on a note of good-tempered protest and said,

  “That I won’t let pass! Are you reproaching me with the suggestion that my regard for you isn’t genuine?”

  “I’m not reproaching you with anything to do with me,” Leonie told him dryly. “That would be absurd, when we met only a few hours ago. What concerns me is how you behave to someone you have known very much longer.”

  Again he considered this, and this time, she saw, he decided that she really had some claim to knowing a good deal.

  “You’re speaking of Claire, of course?” His coolness took her slightly aback.

  “Yes,” she said, with all the self-possession she could.

  “Has Claire confided in you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re a friend of her father, rather than of her?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” Leonie said, with strict truth, for, after all, one did not claim to be a friend of the head of the firm. “I am a friend of Claire’s, and I am a good deal interested to see that she comes to no harm.”

  “And you think she might with me?”

  “That I don’t know.” Leonie turned her head and looked him full in the face. “I’m just—wondering.”

  To her surprise, he did not break into protestations. Instead—and this impressed her—he said quietly,

  “I suppose it’s natural to assume that a man’s a bit of an adventurer if he falls in love with a girl much richer than himself. There isn’t any answer to it, you know, Miss Creighton. He just has to look pleasant about it and hope that time will prove him not unworthy. But sometimes, in his efforts to seem at ease, he over-plays the part and looks too pleasant. It’s stupid of him, of course, and gives the worst possible impression. I suppose that’s what I did. And now”— he smiled ruefully —”you think me a plausible scoundrel.”

  “No,” Leonie said, “I don’t. Quite frankly, I don’t know what to think. But I certainly disliked the way you seemed to elaborate the deception for the sheer pleasure of proving that you could do it.”

  “Making a sort of game of it, you mean?” “Something like that.”

  “Ye-es. I see now it must have looked rather bad.” His handsome face looked serious and more responsible suddenly. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know quite how to explain or excuse it. It was partly, I suppose, because I was so darned glad to see Claire again that I simply had to lark about. And partly—if you must know—I was nervous.”

  He looked candid and troubled as he gave the explanation, so that she felt her sympathies lean towards him. And it was natural that he should have been both nervous and high-spirited on the first evening of his reunion with Claire.

  But Sir James had not sent her on this journey—or paid her considerable expenses—to have her sympathize with Kingsley Stour. He had sent her to see that no harm came to his daughter.

  “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, “to appear to presume to judge you. And, believe me, I very much dislike the role of interfering friend. But I know that Claire’s father disapproved of her—friendship with you. And I naturally wonder with some anxiety why you and Claire arranged to be on this ship together.”

  “Simply because we longed to see each other.”

  “Rather an elaborate way of arranging it, wasn’t it?”

  “The arrangements for keeping us apart were also elaborate,” he countered drily, and she had to admit to herself that this was probably true.

  But she asked herself where all this could be leading, and on impulse she inquired.

  “Do you propose to stay in Australia?”

  “I, personally?—Yes, if I can land the very good job I am after there.” He was frank enough about that.

  “And what about Claire?”

  He frowned. And then he said quite simply, “I don’t know.”.

  “You don’t know? Aren’t you looking any further than the end of this voyage?”

  “My dear girl, how can I? I’m not going to hustle Claire into a decision. I know her material
interests are against her marrying me. On the other hand, I love her and I think she loves me. In London there was never a chance for us to meet in natural and unforced circumstances. Her father regarded me as a villain, and was pretty well prepared to put up iron bars between us. You must know that well enough if you know Sir James at all.”

  “I don’t know him very well,” Leonie said calmly. “But I have a great regard for him. I would hesitate to dismiss any view of his as completely unreasonable.”

  “Even where his daughter is concerned?”

  “Perhaps he has some exaggerated sense of anxiety there. He loves her very much, you must remember.”

  “Too much, in some ways.” The Assistant Surgeon sighed impatiently. “She was never free to think and act and feel for herself. You don’t really blame us, do you, for snatching this heaven-sent opportunity?”

  Leonie was silent for a moment, taken aback by this direct appeal.

  “Are you telling me,” she asked soberly, “that sheer coincidence brought you two together on this trip?”

  “Not entirely—no. But to a certain extent it was coincidence,” he declared. “I had already decided to try my luck in Australia, where, as I said, I had hopes of an excellent opening. Then Claire s father suggested a sea voyage for her.”

  “You were still in contact with each other in England?”

  “By letter—of course.”

  “I see,” said Leonie. So much for a father’s careful planning! “Please go on.”

  “I applied for the post of Assistant Surgeon, and was lucky enough to be appointed almost at once. Meanwhile, Claire persuaded her father to think he had chosen this particular trip for her. Everything might have fallen through, of course, at more than one point. But—it seems the gods love a lover, Miss Creighton. I hope you aren’t going to do less.”