by Jane Arbor
Mrs. Carnehill emitted a sound that was suspiciously near a snort.
“English, probably, every one of them!” she said. “And by that token, expecting sympathy from me only in the abstract, I dare say! Bless them all, and I’ll hope they get well quickly. But that’s not offering them Joanna! Will you do as I say now, and not be forcing me to think of an excuse for myself?”
“How long would you be wanting her?”
“Say a month? Maybe two. Does it matter to a day or so?” Mrs. Carnehill replied vaguely.
“All right. I’ll convince her—and her matron—that Roger still needs nursing. After all, whose concern is it but yours, since you’re prepared to go on paying her salary?”
“Whose indeed?”
“Except perhaps mine!” pursued the doctor with a relentless shrewdness. “Mine, as your old friend, Ena, to ask you whether it is really you who don’t want to see Nurse Merivale go? Or whether it’s Roger himself? Maybe it’s your fear that when she does go he is going to miss her beyond all seeming?”
Mrs. Carnehill’s eyes dropped before his shrewd face. “I think—he is going to miss her terribly,” she said slowly.
“As a nurse—or something more?”
She hesitated. “Just as—Joanna, I think. Right from the beginning she seemed to—to dovetail into some mood of his that I hadn’t understood. She gave him something which he got neither from Shuan nor from me—”
(“You mean,” the doctor was thinking, “that she helped him to keep his individuality as a man, which you and Shuan were wresting from him by sheer devotion!”) But aloud he said dryly: “That sounds as if he might be thinking of her In terms of the emotion which, so we are assured on the best authority, makes the world go round. D’you mean you’d be happy about that?”
Again she hesitated. “I don’t know. But even if he were thinking of her—like that—it wouldn’t be any good, because Joanna is engaged to a man in London.”
“Is she now? I didn’t know that. She doesn’t wear a ring.”
“No. Well, perhaps there isn’t actually an engagement, but she told Roger about him soon after she came, and he’s been over to Dublin since, and before he went back he came out here to see her.”
“What was he like? I hope he deserves her, for she’s a fine girl—”
“I didn’t see him. I thought he would stay for a meal, but Joanna came back on duty, bringing his apologies and saying he’d had to get back to Dublin in time for the night-mailboat out from Kingstown. She looked rather white and upset, I thought, so I didn’t question her. Besides, it was just when Roger was so ill and nobody could think of much else. Afterwards, he told me that she changed about then ... that until then he’d been able to tease her about her ‘hydrogen-bomb specialist’—this man is engaged in some sort of research, I gather—but that, after that, she didn’t seem to want to talk about him—rather as if the whole thing might have crystallized into something a good deal more serious, and that she was intimating to Roger that it was no longer any conceivable business of his. I think that was the impression he got.”
“And you still don’t know whether Roger has ever thought in that way about her?” queried Dr. Beltane thoughtfully.
“No, not really—”
“Then if you want to save him some heartache, wouldn’t it be better to let her go now—she being more or less engaged to this fellow in London?”
Mrs. Carnehill’s lips set stubbornly. “No. He may not need her physically any more, but his spirit still leans on her. I’ve seen him look at her...”
“And is it going to lean any less at the end of your ‘month—maybe two’?” inquired the doctor dryly.
“I don’t know. But at least he’ll be stronger, and he’ll be more wrapped up in the work of the estate—”
“—And possibly more in love, not less!”
“I must risk that. He still needs her and so do I!”
The doctor opened the door of his car resignedly. “All right, Ena. You win. You’re a headstrong woman, aren’t you?”
Her blue eyes smiled charmingly into his. “Headstrong? Not a bit of it,” she disclaimed. “Just—a tiger-cat with young!”
As the summer days drew on and the date of the Dublin Horse Show came nearer, Shuan and René Menden intensified their training of the mare, Lady of Belmont, which Shuan would ride in the chief Ladies’ Jumping Event, Roger was able to turn out to watch them at the early morning practice, and often Joanna would go along too.
That summer the weather afforded some specially thorough examples of the Irish “soft morning”—the fine, misting drizzle which drives up upon the southwest wind to blot out the horizon completely and to wet the unwary to the skin in a surprisingly short time. It was on one of these days that Joanna, deceived into thinking that the obscured sun would presently break through, had gone out without a coat.
She and Roger stood side by side, waiting for the other two to appear out of the mist for another round of the improvised course. Over his arm he was carrying Shuan’s hooded camel-hair coat which she had discarded upon mounting, but it was not until Joanna gave an involuntary shiver that he seemed to be aware of the rain.
“Here, put this on,” he said quickly. “What do you mean by invoking the elements in this way?”
“In England,” Joanna retorted, “a misted morning sun usually means a fine day!”
“And in Eire even the sun takes its orders from the west wind!” He held the coat open, making an imperious gesture commanding her to put her arms into its sleeves. Joanna obediently turned her back and felt the coat’s welcome warmth gradually drawn up on to her shoulders. But as she made to turn about, fumbling for the edge of the hood in order to draw it over her head, she found herself transfixed. Roger’s hands were still at her shoulders, holding her fast.
For a moment Joanna’s heart seemed to be throbbing in her very throat at the ecstasy of knowing: his touch which had no relation to the thousand and one impersonal contacts they had had with each other and which for a blessed self-deceiving instant, she could believe to be an unspoken tribute of service from a man to a beloved woman...
But the moment passed. His hold slackened and she drew away, feeling again for the hood with fingers which trembled.
He bent over her then, looking down into her face as his hands drew the hood’s cosiness about it.
Their eyes met in an instant’s unaswered question. Then he said lightly: “In that thing you look about ten years old!”
“Do I?” began Joanna, and then drew back quickly as Shuan and René on their mounts appeared suddenly from the veil of mist which was closing in upon them. Behind them, on foot, came Justin McKiley.
He and Roger greeted each other briefly. Then Roger turned to Shuan. “How was it?” he asked. “We couldn’t see for the rain.”
“Not good enough. René had to fault me four times.”
“Where?”
“At the ditch and again at the gate. Roger—will you come over there with us and I’ll try them again?”
“Of course.” He turned to Joanna. “Will you come?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll get back and see about organizing some hot coffee for you when come in.”
She turned away, expecting Justin to accompany the others. Instead, he watched them move off and then fell into step beside her.
“I was coming up to the house anyway,” he explained easily. “Shuan is a lovely little horsewoman, isn’t she? I shouldn’t be at all surprised to see her land a prize at Ballsbridge on the tenth.”
“If she does, it will be because she has worked for it, heart and soul,” declared Joanna.
“Yes, hasn’t she?” he agreed smoothly. “But of course I knew that’s how it would be when we had to sell the other mare. Shuan is sufficiently Irish to regard a lost cause as something to be fought for to the death. When Deirdre went, she didn’t believe Lady of Belmont had a chance of appearing at the Show, but that didn’t stop her from setting her teeth into
the idea of getting her there all the same. Haven’t you found Shuan is like that—that she’ll ride a conviction—however mistaken—to the last whiplash?”
“Yes, perhaps.” Joanna was not anxious to discuss Shuan’s character with Justin, but he went on relentlessly:
“That’s how I see it, and I know her pretty well, I think. Besides, I find her an attractive child, and that’s always an aid to the judging of character. Don’t you agree?”
Joanna did not reply, and he went on mockingly:
“Come! You should know that I like to have attractive women about me. And since you made it clear that you had—other plans to pursue, how can you blame me for cultivating Shuan who is infinitely more—malleable?”
Joanna moistened her dry lips. “Shuan says that you believe you can get her a job,” she said, finding it hard now to conceal her dislike of the man.
He looked surprised. “Oh, did she tell you that?”
“She told Mrs. Carnehill when I happened to be there. She said you knew some influential people in the antique trade—”
“In antiques?” He laughed. “Well—that was as good a story as any other—wasn’t it?”
Joanna stared at him. The blatant admission confirmed Shuan’s story. She said: “You mean you never promised her anything of the sort?”
“Never in this world,” he retorted airily.
“Not even,” she asked with an uncontrollable touch of malice, “the mysterious occupation which you once offered to me?”
The glance he gave her was a studied insolence. “Not even that,” he said. “On more sober thoughts I came to the conclusion that our friend Magda—for all her shortcomings—fulfils that particular role better than anyone else could. Besides—it suits her. A furnished flat in Merrion Square, clothes, money, good company—no, my sweet Magda would never forgive me if I offered her job to anyone else!”
“Then,” said Joanna breathlessly upon a sudden resolution, “if the story that you were going to get Shuan a job was a complete fabrication, why do you trouble with her at all? She is years younger than you are, and—and she is in love with Roger Carnehill!”
Too late Joanna realized that in deciding to appeal to him for Shuan’s sake she had betrayed to him—to him of all people!—the girl’s secret.
They had reached the house now. With the merest gesture of a bow Justin made as if to leave her.
“That, my dear Joanna,” he said mockingly, “would not surely be a consideration which you would expect to weigh with me?”
Then he turned away in the direction of the stables and Joanna watched him go, wishing with all her heart that she had not counselled Roger to keep him on at Carrieghmere for a day longer than was necessary. The man was evil, she was convinced. But how he was seeking to use Shuan for his own ends, that she did not know.
When Horse Show Week came Dr. Beltane advised Roger against trying to attend it.
“Next year, old chap, we’ll probably all be there to see you competing. This year I’d give it a miss, if I were you, though of course you’re not under my orders any longer.”
Joanna, who was present, glanced quickly at the doctor. She was wondering why, if she considered Roger to need no more doctoring, he had advised her matron that he would like her own services to continue for a while longer. Soon now, surely, he would wish her to go?
Roger accepted the advice with better grace than she had expected. But this was typical of the new, adult person he had become since his recovery had set in—his petulant self-pity was a thing of the past. Shuan, however, was deeply disappointed and showed it, as a child would have done, in her crestfallen face and trembling upper lip.
“Oh, Roger,” she said. “I was counting on your being there!”
He took her by the shoulder and shook her gently. “I’m sorry, poppet, but I know I couldn’t stand the crowds. You’ll have Mother and René to support you. Your event is bound to be on TV—Joanna and I will listen in and report back all the nice things the commentator says about you.”
Shuan turned to Joanna in surprise. “Oh—aren’t you coming either?”
“She’ll be staying with me,” put in Roger quickly. It was a crisp, decisive statement of fact with which there was obviously to be no argument. He went on: “How are you getting to Ballsbridge, by the way?”
“Major Petrie is letting me send Lady of Belmont over with his string,” Shuan told him. “Mother and René are going with Michael in the car, and—Justin has offered to take me.”
“And you’ve accepted the offer?”
“Yes, I—”
“Then I’d like you to tell him you’ve changed your plans, that you’ll be going with the others.” Again it was clear that Roger was giving an order which was not to be questioned.
Shuan protested: “But that’s ridiculous! We shall be such a crowd, and Justin’s car will be empty!”
“I’d still prefer that you didn’t help to fill it,” retorted Roger coldly.
For a moment Shuan stared at him as if wondering whether to continue the argument. Then she shrugged her shoulders and turned away. But before she reached the door Roger said: “Shuan!” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Shuan—supposing Lady of Belmont were placed—what about a party of celebration?”
Her face lighted up instantly. “Oh, Roger, how lovely! It would be the first since—well, for ages,” she substituted. “But ought you to—I mean, could you stand it?”
“I’d try,” he promised with a smile. “What form would you like it to take?”
“Oh, a dance—a fancy-dress affair with a band brought out from Dublin! Could—could we manage that, d’you think? Roger darling, could we?”
“That,” he teased, “is for Lady of Belmont to say!”
Her face fell slightly. “Yes, of course. She must get a place. If only I were riding Deirdre—!”
But she went off happily enough, and Roger turned to Joanna with a grimace. “Well—I’m committed!” he said.
“You made her very happy,” said Joanna quietly. “I do hope her mare is placed.”
He looked at her indulgently. “My dear Joanna, don’t you realize that, even if Lady of Belmont took it upon herself to refuse at every jump on the course. I’m still committed to the dubious delights of a ‘fancy-dress affair with a band brought out from Dublin.’ It was that sort of a promise.” He frowned suddenly. “In fact, it wasn’t so much of a promise as—a bribe! Though I haven’t an idea why I should stoop to bribing her to keep away from the fellow!”
“She would not need bribery if you treated her more as an equal and less as a child to be alternately scolded and indulged!” Joanna heard herself saying almost sharply. “She doesn’t take orders graciously!” (How could she tell him what she really thought—that Shuan, given only an inkling that her feeling for him was returned, would cease to be a petulant, rebellious child and would, in that instant, be—a woman?)
After a moment she tried to give him a hint. She went on: “I don’t think, you know, that Shuan is actually attracted by Mr. McKiley. In fact, I don’t know that she likes him at all.”
“Then why, in the name of goodness, does she cultivate his company? She hasn’t been doing it openly lately, but you can see for yourself that the association is still going on!”
“Yes, but—Well, from something Shuan said, I gathered that she had some reason of her own for it—a secret reason perhaps.”
Roger laughed a little cynically. “If she imagined that she had, that would be just like her, though in Justin’s case I can’t think what it could be. But ever since she was a kid she has had periodic pursuits of cock-eyed ideas that she tries to turn into crusades, to which, while they’re biting her, she is prepared to sacrifice herself and everyone else’s peace of mind. Once she was inspired by a broadcast talk about a dogs’ home, and she immediately took to the road meaning to walk to Dublin in order to press her total wealth—one-and-sevenpence, I think it was—into the hand of the astonished warden of one of those
places. She got there all right with the help of lifts, but did she care that we were nearly distracted with worry about her? That was one occasion; there were others, which went on longer and from which she took a good deal more extracting. Joanna”—his face creased into a smile—“you don’t think she has got some idea of—of levering Justin away from his Magda for what she sees as his own good?”
Joanna smiled back at him. But she said rather gravely: “No. If she has a reason at all, it’s—something more personal than that. Something that matters rather deeply to Shuan herself, I think.”
“But if she gave you a hint that she had this mysterious ‘reason,’ didn’t you ask her what it was?”
“In a way, yes. But though I gathered that it was something she wasn’t very happy about, all she said was that she ‘couldn’t hope anyone would understand.’ She told me nothing.”
“Well—she’ll tell me,” said Roger decisively. “I’ll not tax her until she’s free of this Horse Show business. But after that there’ll be no more nonsense with McKiley.”
Joanna longed to plead: “Be gentle with her! She loves you, and that should entitle her to kindness, if nothing more, at your hands!” But she said nothing, and Roger went on:
“In any case, the whole thing will stop automatically, for McKiley goes at the end of the month.”
“Goes? You’ve decided that?”
“Yes.” He looked beyond her to the open park. “He doesn’t know it yet. But this—this half-light between my illness and my beginning to manage my own affairs must come to an end sometime. And it seems to me that the measure of it is my affair now. McKiley will go. And so, Joanna, must you.”
He was still not looking at her as she replied in a low voice: “Yes. I am here still only under Dr. Beltane’s orders. But I agree that it’s for you to decide now. You don’t need me any more.”
