“You aren’t cold, are you?”
“No, I’m just frozen.” Jill felt more at her ease than at any other time in Duncan McRey’s presence. It was difficult to determine exactly why, but away from the background of hospital and his work he had suddenly become different. That feeling was only increased when he drew the car to a screeching standstill at the side of the road and turned an anxious face towards her.
“Are you serious—do you want a rug or something?”
“You really mean that there is a rug in the car?” Jill asked, turning round to scan the back seats where, sure enough, her suitcase rested on a neatly folded rug. “And to think I’ve been sitting here freezing all this time...” She broke off as he stretched out his arm for the rug, then tucked it carefully round her knees.
“Sorry, I forgot, I’m not used to passengers. I only keep it in the car to cover the bonnet when she’s standing.”
Jill could well believe that. Its condition suggested that such might be its primary use, but it was much too warm and comforting for her to worry unduly about details as to its cleanliness, and she sat back with a sigh of relief as the car shot forward again into the darkness.
“We’d better stop and fill up the radiator at the next village,” he suggested. “Maybe you’d like some refreshment too?”
“I’d love a hot drink,” Jill agreed, but she couldn’t help wondering whether he would have been in the least concerned for her needs if the engine’s requirements hadn’t necessitated a stop. “There’s a cosy little place where Philip and I stopped on the way out. It’s clean and pleasant, and I happened to notice that they were open Sundays’ until eight.”
It seemed strange to Jill to be back at the “Coffee Bean,” where such a short while ago she and, Philip had drunk coffee. They’d discussed Dr. McRey too ... yet how much more she knew of him now ... She had not known then that she would ever feel his arms round her, know the comforting strength of his presence; she had, at that time, been relieved to be free of his dominating personality for a while, then in her anxiety she had instinctively sought it ... How could she have dreamed that she would ever sit at this very same table with him, at ease in his company, barely speaking yet deeply conscious of companionship? Her eyes wandered to his strong hand as it stirred the coffee in his cup, to his face, the features clearly outlined against the leaping flame of the burning log fire, and with her growing understanding, she found an added attraction in the finely cut features and the strong yet gentle curve of the lips.
“This was a good idea of yours,” he admitted as he set his cup back in the saucer after taking a drink.
Had it been her idea? Jill hardly knew. “I think it was your suggestion,” she admitted with a provocative smile which brought the dimples to her cheeks.
“Your idea by suggestion. I should never have stopped if I’d been on my own.” With an abrupt change of subject, he continued: “Still harbouring any resentment that I wouldn’t let you stay to look after that brother of yours?”
“No. I think I knew you were right at the time—afterwards I was quite sure.”
“I’m usually right.” There was that note of complacency in his tone which had hitherto irritated Jill beyond words. Now, it left her entirely untouched by rancour. She let it pass unnoticed and busied herself refilling his empty cup.
“I told you that I had no regrets at not nursing Terry.” Jill began diffidently, then, gaining courage, lifted her face to her companion as she went on. “I expect you’ll be going down again in a day or so—possibly earlier if Dr. Sharland needs you.” She stopped for a moment to steady her voice. “If ... if anything happens ... then you’d understand my going back, wouldn’t you?”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
Again that note of calm assurance was in his tone, and this time it actually warmed Jill’s heart. “You mean that?” she almost whispered the words, then added, “His temperature, it hasn’t settled.”
“It will. A couple of days longer and he’ll begin to show improvement.” He beckoned the waitress and settled the bill, struggled into his heavy overcoat. Then, picking up his hat, held the door open for Jill.
Only a few words, yet, as she stepped out into the cold night, Jill felt she was walking on air. She felt no desire to ask more no anxiety to question his statement. She only knew that her faith in this man was as immovable as a mountain. There was little conversation between them during the latter half of the journey. Thoroughly warm now and cuddled down under the rug from which emanated the soporific smell of petrol, Jill gave herself up to her thoughts; the roads were smoother and she scarcely noticed the jolting. Steam blew back from the radiator to freeze on the windscreen, but, like her companion, she now found herself ignoring such trivialities.
“I have just remembered, I said I’d dine with Harriet!”
“Goodness! You’ll be late; we shouldn’t have stopped so long at the Coffee Bean.” Jill peered anxiously at her wrist-watch in the semi-darkness. “I don’t see how you can get there until after eight.”
“I think you’d better come along with me. We approach Sunsand from that end of the town, so it will save me quite a bit of time if I don’t go as far as St. Joseph’s first. Anyway, you’d better come,” he added as an afterthought. “It may serve to temper Harriet’s annoyance if you are there too.”
Jill couldn’t discern his expression, but she could picture the half smile which no doubt accompanied the words. “You sound almost scared of her,” she said with some amusement.
“I have an intense aversion to being nagged at if I’m late for a meal,” he admitted. “Women are apt to be bullies, you know!”
“Some men, too,” Jill retorted promptly, but there was an underlying edge to her tone which could hardly have escaped her companion, and although he made no reply Jill knew he turned his head for a moment in her direction; then, apparently thinking better of it, remained silent, concentrating again upon the winding road ahead.
The conversation was desultory until the car drew to a standstill at Harriet’s house. Duncan McRey had instinctively increased his speed, and Jill felt it as well to leave him free to give his full attention to the driving, and as the speedometer needle touched sixty she felt he needed it. Anyway, they had safely reached their destination, and she was glad to stretch her cramped limbs, but in spite of all its discomforts she knew that, curiously enough, the time had passed in a flash, and she had enjoyed every moment of the journey. She was conscious of an inward sense of pleasure too, that the day was not yet over; that, quite unexpectedly, a pleasant evening with Harriet lay ahead. Of course it was stupid, but somehow the idea of parting from him at the hospital gates with the prospect of a lonely supper in the nurses’ dining hall ahead of her, had seemed like an anti-climax. An anti-climax to what? She didn’t really know, but it was very much better the way things had turned out.
“I like your idea of a seven o’clock dinner!” Harriet exclaimed as she opened the door; then, perceiving Jill, added: “I’d no idea you’d be with Duncan, but I’m glad you came. Come along in both of you. I’ll tell Mrs. Sidons we’re one extra, while you two help yourselves to drinks—they are all ready on the table,” she called back as she disappeared towards the kitchen.
“See how the presence of one of her own sex tempered her anger?” Duncan McRey asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes as, having divested himself of his coat, he turned to help Jill with hers. “I should have been chivvied to death if you hadn’t been with me.”
“I can hardly believe that.” Jill advanced to the fire and held her chilled fingers to the blaze. In a moment he had joined her, a glass of sparkling liquid in his hand. “Here, drink this, it will warm you more quickly than anything else.” Jill took the proffered drink with a smile and set it down on the mantel while she continued to bring some life back to her numb fingers. “I can’t even hold it yet, my fingers are quite dead. I can’t imagine what yours must be like driving all those miles.”
“I wea
r proper gloves, not wisps of suede.” He took Jill’s hands in his. “Warm enough, aren’t they?”
“They certainly are.” She made an effort to withdraw her fingers from his warming grip; there seemed a familiarity about the gesture which she found strangely discomfiting, but when he commenced to massage her hands gently back to life she felt it might appear ungracious to make her reluctance too obvious. The ridiculous part was that she knew the attention pleased her. The contact was not only physically but mentally warming, and quite unconsciously she found herself recalling Philip’s efforts to warm her fingers at the “Coffee Bean” on their journey down; it had seemed so natural and had neither pleased nor embarrassed her.
“Warmer now?” The question brought Jill back to the moment, and with consternation she realized that although his intention was accomplished and her hands rested warm in his, she had made no effort whatever to withdraw them. Flushing with confusion, she dropped them quickly to her side, then, with a self-conscious laugh, turned her attention to the drink he had poured for her. “This is very nice,” she remarked with as much composure as she could muster. “What is it—whisky?”
“No, rum—the best thing when you’re cold.” He turned to Harriet as she re-entered the lounge. “Isn’t dinner ready yet?” The sly smile which accompanied the question brought an answering laugh to Harriet’s lips.
“You wretch! No wonder your housekeeper grumbles. I can’t think how she puts up with you at all.” The smile which accompanied her words entirely belied them. Harriet paused, then in more serious tones, addressed Jill. “I was desperately sorry to hear about Terry. What an anxious week-end it must have been for you. How is he?”
“Dr. McRey seems quite satisfied as to his progress, so you can just imagine what a load that is off my mind.” Jill paused, then went on: “It has been rather an upsetting time, but I’m not really worried now.”
Mrs. Sidons’ announcement that dinner was ready interrupted the conversation. Jill was glad, she felt that her personal problems had interfered enough already with Duncan McRey’s time without allowing them to intrude into his dinner at Harriet’s. Dinner was indeed a most pleasant meal, the food well cooked and served, and Jill couldn’t help hoping that he wasn’t comparing it with the meal which she had served him at that table on the occasion of their first meeting. She only prayed that unfortunate episode had by now been forgotten. Their relationship had undergone some subtle change. Jill was sure of that. She had perhaps, as Harriet had foreseen, managed to win this man’s grudging respect, and in spite of that unfortunate occasion, in spite of Brenda’s malicious pin-pricks, she really believed that on her side she was beginning not only to understand his complex nature, but actually to admire him. Looking back it seemed odd now that she had not immediately recognized his qualities beneath that grim exterior. Even Harriet’s repeated assurance had left her doubtful; it seemed strange that she could have been so blind to all that lay beneath his forbidding manner. Jill’s eyes wandered round the small dining-room. How attractive it looked, yet so homely. The table was so highly polished that it reflected the glass and silver, while lighted candles, each side of a low bowl of tawny chrysanthemums, were the only illumination. This was the sort of home Jill felt she wanted, the sort of home which she hoped would one day be hers, but not to have alone as Harriet, but to share with a man she loved ... Engrossed in the discussion of an article in the current Medical Journal, neither he nor Harriet seemed aware of her preoccupation, and she found herself covertly watching them as they argued together. How fair he was; she could imagine how, in summer, his hair would bleach, look almost white against the tan of his skin ... Harriet was attractive too, her features were too irregular for beauty, but there was a calm serenity about her face, and an extraordinary charm in her expression when she smiled. She had inferred that one day she might marry; Jill hoped she would. She might be brilliant in her work, but Jill knew what a wonderful companion Harriet would make, a wonderful wife and mother. Jill crumbled the bread on her plate, glad that the others had momentarily forgotten her presence. Her eyes strayed again to Duncan McRey as, anxious to press a point in his argument, he leaned forward, his expression animated, his eyes holding Harriet’s with their steely brilliance; it was in that moment that Jill knew the truth. With frightening, blinding clarity it came to her that deep in her heart she had been visualizing Duncan McRey sharing with her such a house as this—he at the head of a candle-lit table ... Now she knew without question that to win his love would be the most wonderful thing in the world ... For a brief second she lived again that moment when his arms had held her, dispassionately, only to offer consolation, yet her head had rested against his shoulder. She could still feel in her imagination the gentle touch of his hand on her hair and knew now that, although unrecognized, she had at that moment reached out and touched the stars.
“How about coffee in the lounge?” The prosaic question awakened Jill from her reverie, and almost mechanically she followed Harriet from the room. Harriet’s words ramp to her as if spoken from afar. “Have this chair, Jill.”
Jill took the chair Harriet had indicated ... surely this was the armchair in which Duncan McRey must have spent that night? It seemed so very long ago now, yet it was merely a matter of weeks; how she had disliked him at that first meeting. Later she had realized that one could only hate or love such a man. Now, she knew without doubt that no middle course could be possible. A sense of unreality persisted as she watched Harriet pour the coffee into Wedgewood cups, and her hand was unsteady as she took one from Duncan McRey’s hand, his tall figure stooping to hand it swam before her eyes, and it was a moment or two before she could regain her focus.
“Cigarette, Jill?”
“Thank you, yes.” Jill hoped the smoke would steady her, but somehow it tasted like dust in her mouth, and she was glad to throw it, half smoked, into the fire.
“You are very quiet to-night, Jill. I can guess why!”
At Harriet’s words the colour drained from Jill’s cheeks and her hands gripped the arms of the chair as if seeking support. What had Harriet said? What on earth could she mean?
“Don’t look so surprised, you must have known that I’d hear sooner or later.” Harriet forced a note of lightness into her tone, but it was obvious that it was only to cover her displeasure.
“I ... I don’t understand. What have you heard? What have I done?” Jill faltered miserably, conscious not only of Harriet’s attitude, but of Duncan McRey’s obvious interest.
“You told me that you wouldn’t resign from St. Joseph’s, for a few weeks at least. You promised me you’d give it another chance—in any case, you might at least have discussed your intention with me first. After all, I did recommend you for the post.” Harriet spoke with ill-concealed hurt. “I did think, after the talk we had together, that you’d carry on a bit longer.”
“Resign—from St. Joseph’s!” Jill echoed tonelessly. “But I haven’t resigned. I told you I’d give it a longer trial, and I am doing so.” There was a feeling of infinite relief in Jill’s tone, not only was she able to refute Harriet’s disclosure, but she was incredibly glad of something to distract the turmoil of her thoughts. “I can’t think where you got hold of such an idea. You know I’d never do anything like that behind your back.”
“I didn’t think you would, that’s why I was so disappointed.” Harriet’s tone was mollified, but suddenly her voice hardened again and she went on. “It all seems a bit strange. Matron showed me your letter this morning, saying you wished to terminate your appointment in a month.”
“Matron ... showed you a letter ... from me?” The words were spoken jerkily as if Jill tried to convey their meaning to herself. “I don’t understand. I haven’t written to Matron and I certainly haven’t resigned!” she ended emphatically.
“Well, there it is...” Harriet shrugged. “You’ll have to find an explanation. I’m sure I can’t—I saw your letter myself and that’s all I can say.”
“I thin
k I begin to understand!” Jill exclaimed, and there was an undercurrent, almost of fear in her voice. “There can only be one explanation ... You remember that letter I wrote to Matron originally? Naturally, after talking to you, I didn’t send it, but like a fool I didn’t destroy it. It quite slipped my mind; it must have been lying in my office ever since!”
“You mean that must have been the letter I saw?” Harriet looked puzzled, and as obviously struggling to understand. “But if it was in your desk, then how on earth did Matron get hold of it?”
“The answer seems obvious to me.” Jill spoke with bitterness. “Brenda must have done me the kind service of discovering it and seeing that it reached Matron just in case I omitted to do so myself!”
“But that’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t have taken such a liberty, unless of course she believed that you had intended to deliver it, and forgotten to do so before you went off,” Harriet ended thoughtfully.
“I hardly think so.” Jill’s lips curled ironically. “That sounds a little too considerate for Nurse Malling.”
“There is obviously only one thing to do. You’ll have to see Matron first thing to-morrow and explain the error,” Harriet spoke decisively.
“What—tell her I’ve changed my mind?” Jill asked in incredulous amazement. “How can I possibly do that? I can’t deny that I wrote the letter; the fact that I changed my mind before handing it in hardly matters. No, I won’t do it, the damage is done and can’t be undone.” It was only as Jill spoke the words that the full force of the truth broke over her with frightening clarity. It seemed impossible now that she could ever have contemplated leaving, but in the interim her whole outlook had changed, life itself had taken on a different meaning. The thought of leaving St. Joseph’s now meant but one thing. Duncan McRey would go out of her life. A wave of despair engulfed Jill at the thought; whatever their relationship was, however distant it were to remain, it would be like the end of the world if she were never to see him again. Something akin to panic seized Jill in its grasp, and for one mad moment she contemplated following Harriet’s advice. She’d tell Matron she wouldn’t leave! The thought died as it was born; it was even possible that Matron would hold her to her word, and Jill feared that an attempt to withdraw her notice might disclose to others the secret of her longing to remain.
To Please the Doctor Page 12
