The Flying Nurse (1960s Medical Romance Book 3)

by Sheila Burns

  ‘What lovely work!’ she said.

  ‘It’s an Italian temple.’

  ‘It is the most beautiful piece that I have ever seen. Has it always been here?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no, it hasn’t,’ and again there was that rather forbidding brusqueness about him, so that she asked:

  ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘Nothing at all, why should there be?’

  ‘I don’t know. I ‒ I didn’t know …’ and she felt ashamed to have asked.

  A man-servant appeared dressed in the cream silk livery of the house, and he brought them iced drinks on a crystal tray. Far away came the clanging sound of the bells in the heart of the island itself, that eternal jingle so closely connected with Malta, she had noticed. They made the most enchanting music of their own. The sun quivered on the pale pink marble of the temple, and as she drank her drink she became aware that the child had stopped crying.

  It was a radiantly lovely afternoon, an afternoon from which she had learnt a lot. When they had started here she had been dimly dubious about Luis, but somehow she knew that she could trust him. He was over-attractive. Perhaps she was already in love with him, yet did not want to admit it.

  A scream pierced the air with sharp suddenness. The child, she thought, in distress, and she gasped, ‘Who was that?’

  He shrugged his shoulders with an indifference that she would not have anticipated from him, and she thought that his eyes avoided hers. ‘I do not know. It often happens again. Maybe a car at the corner?’

  ‘If there has been an accident, could not I be of use?’

  ‘No, there is no accident.’

  ‘It sounded like it.’

  ‘I think they will tell us if anything has gone wrong,’ and he was almost horribly calm. Mandy got the idea that for no reason in the world the child’s scream had spoilt everything. They sat on talking, and now she was fidgety. Now she did not know what to do or say. He saw it; he was a man who was extraordinarily aware of detail. ‘Ought you to be getting back?’

  ‘Yes, I must not be late,’ and she drew on lace gloves. ‘Cam is really wretchedly ill, and I just don’t like leaving him. I’m so afraid of another attack; we have to be careful about that.’

  ‘Of course. Finish up your drink, then we’ll get back.’ He added wistfully, ‘I wanted you just to catch a glimpse of my own home.’

  ‘It’s lovely. Please let me come back here?’

  ‘Of course you will come back.’ He stood looking at her with those very dark eyes of his. ‘This is the beginning, Mandy. I know there is much ahead for both of us. This is a new world for you, an old one to me. I am so happy that you have come here!’

  She wished that she could think of something to say, but nothing came. She walked out to the waiting car, and she had the feeling that her shoes were soled with magic. A gardener waited by the door, a man wearing one of the very big straw hats which they make in Gozo, and he held in his arms a bouquet of flowers which had obviously been gathered for her. There were the pale pink roses and big lemon-scented lilies, blue irises, and real orange blossom. Orange blossom, she thought, and it thrilled her.

  Luis explained. ‘I wanted you to have some flowers from my garden to take back with you.’

  Mandy got into the waiting car with a song in her heart. The flowers smelt sweetly in her lap, and she had the feeling that perhaps this had been the most wonderful afternoon of her whole life.

  Chapter Six

  There was a block in the traffic outside the Porte de Reale, which kept them waiting for some time because they could not pass through the archway itself, and it worried Mandy that she was going to be late back. When she got there, she went straight to her stepfather’s room.

  The moment that she opened the door she was aware of something being wrong. She went to the bed and looked down at him, and was horrified. He was restlessly uneasy, tossing to and fro in the ruffled bed. Automatically she smoothed the sheets, as he opened his eyes and looked at her.

  ‘You’re back?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. What has happened? You ‒ you’ve been ill? Has something happened? Have you seen somebody? Giuseppe?’ she asked.

  He tried to speak and failed. Instantly she silenced him, warning him to make no effort but to lie still. She sponged him down, for the day had been unbelievably hot and she was hoping that this had caused the relapse, but she thought it unlikely. Cam was used to this heat; surely it would not have affected him too much, she felt. She gave him a sedative, knowing quite well that the restlessness was dangerous for him, and if he became too worked up anything could happen.

  She asked Marina what it had been.

  At first Marina did not want to tell her, then she said that Dr Mallea had paid an unexpected visit, and he had been quite pleased with the progress that the patient had made. After that Cam had said that he felt sleepy, and wanted to rest, so she had left him alone. It was whilst he was alone that this change had come to him.

  ‘Somebody must have got in here,’ Mandy said, and glanced at the long windows opening on to the verandah. It could have been Max Jefferies, she thought, and did not know why she immediately suspected a man whom she had rather felt her stepfather did not know.

  ‘Nobody could have got in,’ Marina said, and her voice was stubborn. ‘I should have heard about it, for I was sitting outside the door most of the time, in case he moaned and wanted me.’

  ‘But something must have happened.’

  ‘I heard nothing.’

  Mandy went across the room to the window itself. There was the patio before her, with the flowers faded from the heat of the afternoon, waiting for the sun to sink and the first of the coolness to come. A honeysuckle had withered on the white wall, and the pavement beneath it was scattered with sere pink petals which had dropped from it.

  It was then that she saw that the gate on to the street had been left open yet again. The street beyond was narrow, little more than an alleyway, and men in cotton trousers were sitting on the doorsteps fanning themselves, waiting for the heat of the day to pass. There were five or six of them talking there, and amongst them Giuseppe. He must have been here, she thought. He must have got in when nobody was looking. She sent Marina off duty and went back herself to Cam lying calmly on the bed. ‘Better now?’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Don’t distress yourself, but do remember that you are not to see people.’

  He opened a dreamy eye and said, ‘I know.’

  ‘Giuseppe came to see you, didn’t he?’

  She took him by surprise, and could feel it. He said, in a half-whisper, ‘I wanted to see him. I had to see him because I had a message for him.’

  ‘I could have delivered the message for you. You should trust me.’

  In spite of his weakness, the old angry Cam flared up at her. ‘You are in Luis Vella’s pay,’ he muttered.

  ‘You know that is a lie!’

  ‘I know nothing.’

  She said, ‘If you think I am in anybody’s pay against you, then I shall go straight home and leave you to die.’ Her voice was cold as ice.

  He muttered an apology, and she knew that she had taken him by surprise, for he had never supposed that she might leave him. He promised to do better, and turned over. The sedative would work soon, and he would sleep, she prayed. She sat very still for a while, then when she saw that he was unconscious, slipped away to change her dress. It was absurd that a clean dress did not last you five minutes in this island. One was changing clothes all the time. She had told Luis about how surprising it was when they had walked in his house, and he had laughed. She had flown out with just a single change of underlinen, she said, when really a girl needed four or five sets, that was if she was to endure long in the island of sunshine and romance.

  Soon after she had settled down, aware that now Cam was comfortably asleep, the woman Carmina came to her with a parcel. She was a kindly woman with the sweetest and most tender eyes. Instinctively Mandy knew
that she could trust her.

  ‘For you,’ was what she said.

  ‘For me? But why?’ for Mandy had not expected anything.

  The woman laid a cautious finger to her lips. ‘The Baron brought ’eem,’ she said, then went again.

  Mandy opened the packet which was wrapped in pale blue tissue paper, and with the name of an Indian shop stamped on it. The moment that she turned the paper back, it was to see the exquisite white silk lingerie in the parcel, all most beautifully embroidered. She stared at it, almost in dismay because it was so frail. Instantly she told herself that she could not take gifts from this man, and then had an amused picture of what Matron’s face would be like, if she ever knew of it.

  The lingerie was lovely. The lace was real, the flowers embroidered in soft colours were all done by hand.

  This is the most extraordinary visit in the world, she thought. Days and nights merged together in this place. She realized now that you panted through the day, praying for the cool of the evening to come, then when it did come, finding it almost too hot to sleep. She had never known before that a mosquito net could be stuffy.

  She had come here for a weekend which had drawn out already into a whole week (could it be that long? she asked herself, but it was!). She knew that quite soon her mother would come flying over; it was a miracle that she had not done it before this, probably because the ankle had hurt too much. Mother had got into the habit of crying ‘Wolf’ too often, and when she really was ill nobody believed a single thing that she said.

  Mandy went and had a bath in scented water, for here everyone used lovely perfumes and enjoyed them. It was whilst she was lolling back in the cool water that Carmina came to the door and told her that she was wanted on the telephone.

  ‘Take a message for me, do,’ Mandy called.

  Because Carmina did not return, she imagined that Luis must have rung off before she got there.

  She got out of the cold scented bath and she felt delicious. It was a pity that the effect did not last as long as she would have wished, she thought, and she dressed languidly. The place gave you a certain limpness which was difficult to fight, and she put on a thin white frock, sleeveless, with a jade-green belt. Then she went out into the hall to see what had happened.

  She had to admit that Carmina was not very good at taking messages, but what else could she have done? Pop-eyed with thrill, Carmina looked as if this was the great adventure. The Baron very much wanted to see her, and must speak to her. This was important. Could she meet him for a few moments in the Bona Melita hotel, which was just down the street? At ten, tonight? The Bona Melita was a smallish hotel, but it had very good food, as everybody knew.

  ‘You said I’d be there at ten?’

  ‘Si, si,’ but still she felt that there was something uneasy about Carmina at this moment.

  ‘What is the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘The Baron is very big man. Very proud man. Great gentleman,’ said Carmina.

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  Carmina put out a hand, so dark against Mandy’s own very white skin. ‘You trust him, signorina; he is trusty. Oh yes, he is very good gentleman!’ she told her.

  Mandy felt uneasy and did not know why. Her stepfather’s condition was rapidly improving, and if one could prevent him from doing too much, and by this running the risk of another attack, he would have taken the turn the right way. She telephoned the doctor as she always did at this hour, to say that he was far more restful, and sleeping peacefully. Dr Mallea was satisfied with him.

  Then she turned, for the mail had come in and there was a long letter from her mother. Apparently her delay in getting out to Malta had not been entirely due to the ankle. It had been almost impossible to book a flight, she explained, but at last she had done this. It meant a night flight, for this was the only one that she could manage, and at all costs she must be met, however difficult it was at the unearthly hour of four in the morning. But, thought Mandy, the island is cooler at four in the morning than at any other time. She did not really want her mother here, but knew that it was one of those things that she would have to tolerate. She laid the letter aside.

  I am getting used to this island, she thought as she glanced across the little patio where the flowers were reviving from the heat of the day. She wondered what Richard Tate would think of it, and she had written him a long letter all about it. It would be pleasant telling him all that had happened when she got home, she thought suddenly, for the two of them had shared all their troubles during the last year at St Jeremy’s. One misses a confidant, and she would have given much to have Richard’s good advice now.

  She wondered if this holiday had not taken her a long, long way farther into life than she had ever supposed it could do. And was it now ending? For when Mother came, it would be to take Cam back home with her, away from all this.

  He had awakened when she went to see him, just before she ran out to meet Luis.

  ‘I was going out to get a little air,’ she said.

  ‘That’s all right,’ and then she saw that he was worried. ‘That parcel Giuseppe brought me? Is it still there?’

  ‘It is indeed. I have guarded it with my life.’

  He nodded. ‘Give it to no one. No one, I tell you. The moment I am really better I will see to it, but until then no one else must touch it. No one, I’m telling you.’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself, for no one else shall touch it, I promise.’ She went closer. ‘It is very urgent to you, Cam, isn’t it? Very urgent indeed.’

  She saw the sweat coming out in beads on his brow. ‘Very urgent,’ he told her.

  ‘You would not like to tell me about it?’ She asked it gently.

  He looked at her. He whispered with dry lips. ‘I have told you the Secret Service is the Secret Service.’

  She admired him for the fact that he could conceal it, and she nodded. ‘I am going out with Luis now to the Bona Melita. I shan’t be long. You doze off to sleep,’ she suggested. ‘Marina will see after you.’

  He said no more. He was a curious and in some ways a most ungrateful man, who never seemed to be pleased with anything that was done for him. She stepped out into the purple and silver night, with the flower scent like an incense wafted about it. The moment the heat went, she knew that the flowers instantly smelt more sweetly, and the whole island was bathed in their fragrance. She went down the road, and into the main street.

  All the shops were open now, for this was the hour of marketing. The Indians were trying to entice people into their small shops, which always seemed to be in such a clutter. They beckoned with their skinny fingers, and their brightening black eyes. Outside the doors there hung lavish kimonos in exotic colours, dangling handbags, and such. The windows were stacked in what seemed to be one wild muddle, with tea and coffee services, with bottles of priceless perfumes, and tortoiseshell hairbrushes. There were pearls and jewels, all manner of exquisite ornaments.

  On the face of it these shops looked to be a veritable hodge-podge, but somehow one got used to them, as Mandy had found out. Staring into the muddled windows was always exciting, but she had already discovered that the moment you paused, one of the Indian salesmen sneaked out of the shop to invite you inside. It was a case of will-you-walk-into-my-parlour-said-the-spider-to-the-fly.

  She went on to the hotel standing just off the main street round the corner. As she crossed the threshold, the man at the door bowed low to her. He smiled pleasantly, for these were kind people; they always wanted to please.

  ‘The gentleman wait,’ he told her obsequiously.

  ‘Yes,’ and she walked inside.

  He escorted her to a small table in the corner of the restaurant, a table with a fan whirling above it (how one prayed for fans in this place!). There were flowers everywhere; she felt that this was the night of flowers somehow. She saw that a man had been waiting for her. He got up and moved towards her now, and she stared at him in dismay, for it was not Luis at all. It was Max Jefferies.

 
; For a moment she felt instant shock. She knew, of course, that he had done this deliberately. He had either bribed Carmina, she surmised (though somehow she did not think this) or he had pretended that he really was ‘the Baron’.

  ‘I’m afraid you are a bit surprised?’ he said.

  ‘I ‒ I expected someone else.’

  ‘Yes, of course. The Baron!’ He had laid a hand on her arm, guiding her to the seat beside his own, and she did not want to make a scene. She just did what he told her, realizing that inwardly she was extremely angry about this. It ought never to have happened, but there was nothing she could do.

  He said, ‘You must forgive me about this. We hardly know one another, and it is important that we should. Important for both of us.’

  ‘I don’t see why. I have my work to do, and I ought to be with my patient.’

  He smiled kindly. ‘You came because you thought I was somebody else, didn’t you? Someone whom you admire? Realize that I am English, I am a friend, and I wanted to help you. You are in some considerable danger though you may not realize this.’

  She tried to get up, then realized that he had a hand on her arm, and was restraining her. ‘Please let me go. I cannot possibly stay.’

  He ignored that. ‘After the heat of the day it is pleasant to take refreshment. I suggest it would be quicker if you agreed to this, we had our little talk, then you went back.’

  ‘My stepfather needs me.’

  ‘I daresay, but you also need food.’

  A waiter appeared with drinks ordered for them and set on a silver tray which he put down before them. Max Jefferies lifted a glistening cherry on the end of a cocktail stick, eating it slowly with a relish. The curious thing was that Mandy did not know what to do. She had the strange idea that this was some sort of a trap and the man entirely without any right to be here.

  ‘I must go,’ she said again.

  ‘You have to eat. We will be very quick.’ He was smiling at her, and she must admit that the smile was pleasant. He was large, too fat of course, and sweating profusely all the time, but this was usual in Malta. She thought that he had been to a good school by his perfect manners, and he also gave her the impression of being perhaps the naughty boy of a good family. She had been told that there were a lot of ‘naughty boys’ in Malta; the income tax brought them here.