To Please the Doctor

by Marjorie Moore

  “I’ll get you one.” Jill was quite glad to escape from the room. She felt almost breathless, as if she had been running, and stood by the kitchen table to regain her breath before filling a bowl with water. After a futile hunt for a bandage or disinfectant, Jill gave it up; it was quite impossible to find anything in someone else’s house, he’d just have to make do with what she could find. It wasn’t much at that and she deeply resented being forced to tear one of her own linen handkerchiefs into strips. It hadn’t been worth even that small sacrifice either, she decided as she noted his disparaging look when she placed her makeshift preparations on the table.

  “No thanks, I’ll do it.” He waved Jill’s offer of assistance. “You don’t seem to realize what a scratch from a rusty nail can do. It’s that kind of ignorance which leads to endless trouble.”

  Jill turned away to hide the smile which had sprung to her lips. He really was an impossible person, yet his brusque manner still amused rather than annoyed her.

  “I’d better introduce myself—my name’s McRey, Duncan McRey.”

  So this was the man Harriet had been trying to tell her about, the man for whom she had committed herself to work! Tricky, Harriet had called him; that, Jill now decided, was something of an understatement. Using every effort to cover her astonishment and shock, Jill spoke. “I’m Jill Fernley. I am staying the night with Harriet.”

  It was obvious that the name conveyed nothing to her companion; it was hardly surprising. Although she would be starting work at St. Joseph’s in the morning it was unlikely that he would have heard her referred to in any more intimate form than that of Sister. Jill felt unreasonably glad of the temporary respite; it was easier to make his acquaintance on level terms. While she pondered the problems which appeared to lie ahead, she found her gaze wandering to his lean fingers fumbling awkwardly with the improvised bandage. It seemed to her an incredible fuss to make about a cut which in effect seemed little more than a scratch, but that, she had to admit, was a peculiarity of many men, not only Duncan McRey. “Sure I can’t help?” she ventured, concealing the smile which hovered round her red, curved lips.

  “Just tie it here.” He extended his hand with obvious reluctance, keeping the finger of his other hand firmly pressed to the centre of the knot.

  Jill gently but firmly removed the restricting hold, pushed his hand away and proceeded to wrap the strip of linen in her own fashion, tied it neatly, then deliberately avoiding his eyes turned away and picking up the bowl hurried from the room. She had known instinctively that her action had surprised her companion. She had felt him start to protest; then, thinking better of it, remain silent. She’d been tired of that stupid fumbling. Even an inexperienced person, as he no doubt thought her, could tie a bandage better with two hands than the most expert with one; if he didn’t approve then he could take the whole thing off and do it again himself. Jill emptied the wash-bowl into the sink, a smile hovering round her lips. By the time he’d finished messing about with it the thing would be healed!

  The distraction of the last ten minutes had thrust all thought of Harriet from her mind, but as she returned to the lounge the striking of the clock recalled her uneasiness. “I’m worried about Harriet.” She found herself speaking her thoughts aloud, but was curiously relieved to know she could now share her concern instead of bearing it, as previously, alone. “She should have been back long ago; she left here soon after six.”

  “Where has she gone?” Duncan McRey crossed to the window and, as Jill had done previously, tried to penetrate the outer darkness.

  “I think she said Stene. There was someone she had to see there.”

  “Yes, she does some private work in the districts around here.” He let the curtain drop back into place and returned to the fireside. “I don’t think you need be unduly concerned. Harriet will be all right.”

  “It’s the fog I’m worrying about. She should have been back half an hour ago.”

  “So should I, but I’m quite safe,” Duncan McRey remarked with complete unconcern as he drew a pipe from his pocket and began to fill it with meticulous care, pressing down the tobacco with his long, lean fingers. Applying a match, he drew slowly until it burned to his satisfaction, then, taking aim, threw the dead match into the fire. His movements were slow and unhurried, and Jill found herself watching him covertly. There was something calming about his presence although he had not instilled his words with either warmth or assurance.

  “You are all right, you are here out of the fog, but Harriet may be on the road,” she persisted.

  “So was I, that’s why I came in here. Harriet will do the same. If the mist gets too thick she’ll stop off somewhere and wait until it clears.”

  “That may be hours,” Jill exclaimed, becoming irritated with her companion’s unmovable air of confidence.

  “True enough.” Seating himself, he leaned back in the armchair, and crossed one long leg over the other. “Harriet isn’t like the average hysterical and incapable female, she can be trusted to behave sensibly and look after herself. You are a friend of hers, you must know that.”

  “Average females, as you call them, are neither hysterical nor are they incapable; I have a great admiration for Harriet, but that doesn’t make me stupid enough to damn every other woman who hasn’t quite her standard of ability.” There was a note of asperity in Jill’s voice which she made no effort to hide. If she ever managed to endure working for this man at all, she’d have to suffer in silence for perhaps months; she wasn’t going to miss this one opportunity of matching her words to his. “If Harriet is stranded somewhere, why doesn’t she telephone?”

  “You’ve answered the question yourself, because she probably isn’t stranded at all.” Duncan McRey applied another match to his pipe, then rose to his feet. “How about a drink? Do you deputize for our absent—or should I say stranded?—hostess or do I help myself?”

  Jill rose to her feet in some confusion. She was certain she had detected a gleam of laughter in those piercing eyes, and was grateful of the opportunity to busy herself with the tray of drinks. “What would you like—gin, whisky, sherry?” The strident ring of the telephone caused Jill to pause in her task, but before she could reach the instrument McRey had forestalled her.

  “Yes, hallo, so it’s you! Oh, I see, yes, we’ll fix a meal all right.” There was silence for a moment as he held the instrument to his ear, then he spoke again. “Won’t lift tonight? Well, I don’t know—yes, want to speak to her?” Duncan McRey turned to Jill where she stood waiting at his elbow. “It’s Harriet; she wants a word with you.

  “Harriet, dear, I was getting worried about you, Jill began eagerly, then stopped as her friend’s voice came clearly across the wire.

  “Sorry Jill, this has just ruined our evening, and I was so looking forward to it. Turned out to be an emergency. I had to rush the case into hospital and they are operating tonight. The fog is so thick round here; of course it may lift but please don’t worry. I’ll be back when I can.”

  “I won’t worry, but please don’t try to hurry back because of me. You stay put until it clears a bit.”

  “So you have company?” Apparently Harriet had unconsciously lowered her voice and it came more softly through the receiver. “Rather amusing; now you can have a chance of getting to know one another. There was the unmistakable hint of laughter in her voice.

  “I don’t see anything to laugh at!” Jill protested. “But maybe you are right. Still, it’s an opportunity I would quite willingly miss!”

  “Now you why I couldn’t really describe him. He really is indescribable, isn’t he?” Harriet had a distinct advantage over Jill. Duncan McRey was not standing within a few feet of her listening to every word she said. “He may seem difficult at first, but I have a distinct feeling that you will cope with him, you’ve got just what it takes.”

  Jill was uncomfortably conscious of Duncan McRey’s presence, and she could only hope that her tone sounded impersonal when she replied to Harrie
t. “I wish I knew exactly what you meant, but you can explain when I see you.” She laughed, then listened again as Harriet gave her instructions regarding the meal.

  “It seems dreadful to land you, but you’ll manage. The cutlets are on the larder shelf. You won’t mind giving Duncan a meal, will you? He’ll never get back here yet, it isn’t any use his trying. I’ve been an hour coming from Stene. I’ll ring you again after the ‘op’ and let you know how it is here. Tell Duncan to stay until I ring again.”

  After a few more instructions Harriet rang off and, cradling the receiver back on its holder, Jill turned again to her companion. “Well, I expect you gathered that Harriet won’t be back. She’ll phone later; meanwhile, she suggests we have a meal.”

  “Quite a good notion. Now how about that drink?”

  “You can see to it yourself while I go and hunt round the larder,” Jill remarked as she made her way to the kitchen. He could jolly well wait on himself tonight, tomorrow would be time enough for her to take his orders without argument.

  The meal, when Jill eventually did serve it up, was certainly not up to her customary standard of cooking. To start with, she’d found herself confronted with an electric cooker, a contrivance she’d never used before and didn’t feel she ever wanted to use again. No doubt there was a right and wrong way of tackling it, but it remained a complete enigma to her! If she turned to find any cooking utensil, she took so long locating it that by the time she’d returned to the stove the potatoes had boiled over or the cutlet had caught alight. Mrs. Sidons might be the greatest treasure, but how on earth was Jill to know that she kept sago in the tin clearly marked sugar!

  By the time Jill sat down at the dining table she felt hot and flushed with her exertions. Duncan McRey’s cool assumption that it might be the natural thing to cook and serve his dinner, did nothing to calm her irritation, and with deliberate intent she served him with the least appetising-looking cutlets and the soggiest part of the greens. For a few moments they both ate in silence, while Jill found herself tensed and ready with a retort should he dare to offer any criticism.

  “Harriet is a marvellous cook, it’s a real pleasure to come here for a meal.”

  The criticism, no doubt it had been intended as such, was couched in such unexpected terms that all the biting retorts which Jill had been carefully rehearsing were completely useless. With as much calm as she could muster she carefully set down her knife and fork and ‘faced her companion. “I’m sure she is as good at cooking as everything else; it fits in with her other attributes.” She paused, crumbling her bread on her plate. “But at least you’ll concede that even hysterical and incapable females are sometimes good cooks?” She asked the question with a warming smile which brought a dimple to the corners of her lips.

  “I really don’t know much about women. The words were terse and there was no answering smile as he pushed back his chair and commenced to refill his pipe.

  “I shouldn’t light up yet. Aren’t you going to help wash up? I can’t very well leave it for the maid to do when she gets back.”

  Jill did not miss the swift expression of astonishment which crossed his face at her words, but she had to admit he quickly concealed it, and rising to his feet began to follow her example, and piling the plates, carried them into the kitchen. If he harboured any resentment she didn’t know. He certainly proved a most efficient help, and the dishes were washed and quickly put away. She was rinsing down the sink when the telephone interrupted for the second time that evening, and Duncan McRey made a hurried—and Jill imagined a grateful—exit from the kitchen.

  She was smiling to herself as she wrung out the cloth and tidied everything to her satisfaction. There had been moments of desultory conversation between herself and Duncan McRey when their companionship had been almost pleasant, but he appeared happier behind a barrier of reserve. Oh, well, it didn’t really matter, she wasn’t easily intimidated. Harriet had said she had what it took—she couldn’t help wondering what exactly that was, but whatever it was, it was consoling to feel she possessed it.

  “Ah, there you are!” Duncan McRey remarked as she rejoined him.

  Jill sank contentedly into the armchair. She felt as exhausted as if she’d cooked a banquet instead of a few cutlets and greens. “Yes, I’ve finished. Thanks for the help.” She stretched out her hand for a cigarette and was astonished to see her companion step forward and, striking a light, hold it to the tip. The glow of the match set the firm lines of his features into sharp relief, and again Jill was struck with the undeniable attraction this man possessed. It would be almost too much to expect him to trouble to exert charm as well. With his looks he probably didn’t have to, and no doubt at times his off-hand manner was a very useful asset. She drew at her cigarette until the end glowed. “Was that Harriet?” she queried.

  “Yes, the fog is worse. She says it’s madness to attempt to make it.” He paused. “It must be bad if she says so. She insists that I remain here.” It was fortunate that turning away at that moment to settle again in his chair he missed the expression of deep consternation which crossed Jill’s face. Unaware of the shock his statement had provoked, he continued with complete calm. “Can you fix a bed for me? Anything will do.”

  “I suppose so—I really don’t know—I—I mean I hardly know the house—I expect there must be a spare room somewhere—unless of course I am using it.” Jill could have kicked herself for her lack of coherence, the hesitancy in her voice readily betraying her uneasiness.

  Her disquiet had not escaped those keen blue eyes and for the first time she detected a genuine glint of humour in their depth. It certainly added to his attraction, but as it was amusement at her expense Jill remained firmly indifferent. “Don’t look so perturbed, I am not suggesting you should give up your room.” This time there was an unmistakable smile playing round the corners of his lips. “Surely with feminine efficiency of which you boast you can make up a bed somewhere? Although your appearance leads me to believe that you are more decorative than practical.”

  A wave of anger swept over Jill, bringing a flood of hot colour to her cheeks; the insolence of the man, the unmitigated arrogance! His eyes, now obviously—and it seemed to Jill for the first time—appraised her slender figure as she sat upright gripping the arms of her chair. They seemed to be taking in every detail from the crown of her coppery hair to her slender silk-clad leg which emerged from the lose folds of the blue velvet. With an almost unconscious movement, Jill pulled the folds of her gown more closely across her knees and tucked her feet beneath the hem; she ardently wished she could bury her face too and hide from that searching gaze the tell-tale colour which she knew still stained her cheeks. With all the dignity she could command, she rose to her feet and, holding her head high, walked towards the stairs which led directly from the lounge in which they sat. One hand resting on the bannister, she paused and, pulling herself up to her full height, turned to face her companion. “I’m going up to bed. I’ll find some sheets for you. I’m sure you are quite capable of making a bed for yourself!” She was aware of his glance following her as she mounted the stairs, and was certain that, had she dared turn to look, she would have seen again that enigmatic smile reflected in the depth of his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It seemed to Jill that she had only just dropped off to sleep when she was rudely awakened by the clattering of a cup of tea on her bedside table. She was barely conscious when memory came flooding back, and she sat up in bed with a start of surprise to see Mrs. Sidons pulling back the curtains to disclose the weak sunlight of an early, wintry morning.

  “What is the time? Am I late?” Jill asked anxiously.

  “Only just seven, Miss,” Mrs. Sidons replied reassuringly as she knelt down before the burnt-out grate and began to clear the dead ashes. “No hurry, Miss, we won’t be having breakfast till eight, and Dr. Laine says I was to tell you she’ll be back to have it with you.”

  “She isn’t home then?” Relieved that she hadn’t
overslept, Jill picked up the cup of tea and began to drink it appreciatively.

  “No, Miss, but she just phoned through.” Mrs. Sidons began to lay fresh wood and paper in the grate and applied a match.

  “Chilly it is this morning, you’ll be glad of a bit of fire.”

  “Mrs. Sidons—tell me, Dr. McRey, is he still here? He had to stay last night, you know.” Jill asked the question with some diffidence and waited anxiously for a reply.

  “Oh, him!” Mrs. Sidons gave a significant sniff. It was obvious that she harboured no great love for Duncan McRey. “I saw him when I come down this morning, sleeping like a baby he was in the armchair by the fire. Said now the mist ‘ad cleared he’d get off home for his breakfast, and I never tried to stop him. I didn’t even notice him when I come in last night. What a night, too! I’m glad I never went further than me sister’s place down the road.”

  “I see.” Jill repressed a smile as she pictured Duncan McRey’s tall figure hunched all night in an inadequate armchair. She only hoped Harriet wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t think she had been deliberately inhospitable; the thought was sobering, but, she consoled herself, surely Harriet would understand.

  “There, Miss, burning up nicely.” Mrs. Sidons heaved her bulky figure upright and glanced with an air of righteous pride at the crackling wood. “Warm the room in no time. Now I’ll go and see about the breakfast.”

  As Jill dressed she was aware of a deepening sense of apprehension. Within an hour or two she’d be presenting herself at hospital. She was glad that she’d have Harriet’s support but all the same, facing a new job, new work, strange faces, was undoubtedly an ordeal. All the faces wouldn’t be strange, she recalled with some misgivings; it might be better if they were. What on earth would Duncan McRey have to say when she was introduced to him as his new Sister! The prospect was distinctly alarming, and she began to question her wisdom in not having immediately revealed her true identity. She folded her night things, then tucked her bedroom slippers into a corner of the case, shut it and snapped the clasp, then with a final look round left the room and descended to the lounge.