A Case of Heart Trouble (3 page)

“Oh, no! ”

The usual argument took place, and in the end he was quite glad to allow her to assist him upstairs to his room. He protested when she assisted him to undress, and when at last he lay relaxed in his comfortable bed with the half tester he looked up at her with a curious darkness in his deep grey eyes, so that in the early sunset light they appeared more navy blue than grey.

„Why should a slip of a thing like you have to wait on me hand and foot?” he demanded. “It makes me feel depraved, somehow.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Doctor,” she returned gently. “It’s what I’ve been trained for, and the reason why I’m here.”

“But you're so inadequate, somehow ... I mean physically. There’s so little of you.” His eyes fastened on a honey-gold curl, that was bobbing against her cheek. “And I’m over six feet. A slab of incompetence at the moment.”

“We’ll soon put that right,” she reassured him, shaking up the pillows behind his dark head. “In this wonderful air, and with nothing to do all day but grow fit and well again, we’ll have you one hundred per cent fit in no time at all.”

“And what if I have to walk with a stick for the rest of my life?”

“You won’t. You know that.”

“But I might. There’s always a possibility that I might.” She realized, suddenly, that he was trying to arouse her sympathy, and she laughed softly.

“In that case we’ll have to make sure that you walk with a very elegant stick . . . ebony, with a gold top on it!”

He frowned at her.

“You’re unsympathetic, woman. All nurses are. I’d like to have someone around me who can be kind sometimes, and feel deep pity for me.”

“I do feel deep pity for you.”

But her green eyes were still laughing at him, and he caught her hand and held on to it tightly.

“What is your name, Nurse? Apart from Drew, I mean.” “Dallas,” she told him. “Dallas Drew.”

He considered it for a moment, and then nodded approval.

“I like it,” he said. “It’s unusual, and it suits you.”

His eyes were so dark, and they remained fixed so embarrassingly on her face, that she turned away and picked up a photograph that was standing on the table beside his bed. It was the photograph of an exceptionally lovely young woman with dark hair and eyes, who had scrawled her name in the corner of it, and added an effusive:

“Darling, I love you. Maureen.”

“Who—who is this?” she asked, realizing she had done the wrong thing, for she hadn’t mean to pick up that photograph, and she certainly hadn’t meant to enquire who it was.

He took it out of her hand and laid it face down on the table. His face was so dark she thought she had committed a crime.

“That’s Aunt Letty, of course,” he said, “putting photographs beside my bed. She knows that I loathe false sentiment. Here,” he picked up the photograph again and thrust it into her hand, “take it down to the library and put it away in a drawer of the desk, will you? You can leave the other one.”

The other one was so plainly a photograph of his daughter, Stephanie, that she didn’t need to ask any questions about her. And in any case, she wouldn’t have dared to do so.

He turned his face away from her, and shut his eyes.

“I think I shall go to sleep,” he said. “I don’t think I want any dinner.”

“But of course you must have your dinner, Doctor. You had hardly any lunch.” For the first time, as she looked down at him, her heart began to ache a little ... for him. She had felt sorry for him before, sympathized with him when he had his spasms of pain, and always she was aware of his intense masculine attraction. But now, for the first time, there was something else . . . something that tugged at her heartstrings.

His face was curiously vulnerable. The mouth was harsh at times, often cynical, but she knew it could soften magically for patients . . . and just now it had a queer, defeated look about it. His eyelashes, when he closed his eyes, looked ridiculously thick and dark resting on his hollow cheeks.

She murmured to him, because he wouldn’t open his eyes:

“I’ll bring up your tray myself, and I might even change into a dress, if—if it will divert you at all! ”

He opened his eyes at once, and they were bright and warm again.

“What kind of a dress?”

“Oh, nothing spectacular. A tailored silk.”

He shook his head.

“Not good enough.”

“A black cocktail dress?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “That would suit you. With your hair, and those extraordinary eyes! ”

But when she went down to dinner in the black cocktail dress she was not at all sure how she was going to be received by Mrs. Loring. But fortunately that good lady was herself wearing black velvet and pearls, and she seemed to think it quite natural that the nurse should change out of her uniform in the evenings.

“You look very nice,” she said. Then she looked at Nurse Drew again. “Very nice!” she repeated.

C H A P T E R T H R E E FOR the first few days after his return to his old home Martin Loring made no particular progress. He was moody, and difficult to cope with, and he constantly flouted Nurse Drew’s authority. When she tried to insist on hospital discipline he rebelled and declared that he was tired of discipline, and in any case he was tired of being an invalid. He wanted to get back to his normal routine, and to be

himself again.

This, Dallas pointed out, was unlikely, when the smallest setback cast him into the deeps of depression, and he was unwilling to co-operate with those who wanted to help him. Even his aunt was only thinking of relieving the tedium when she offered to play chess with him, but the very thought of playing chess put his teeth on edge. He had always been active, and he didn’t take kindly to lying about on drawing-room sofas, or chaises-lounges out of doors when the weather was fine.

But to Dallas, who had had so few opportunities in her life to experience the delights of the country, this was a wonderful opportunity to take long walks when she was off duty, and she regularly took them— at least one long walk every day—although her patient protested that, not being country bred, she might land herself in difficulties on one of these lonely marathons.

It seemed to Dallas that he disliked to see her come in, slightly muddied, with glowing cheeks and bright eyes, the odd burr or bramble sticking to her. And although she brought a breath of wholesome moorland air in with her, and as a result of it the slightly stuffy atmosphere of the library where he passed most of his time was temporarily sweetened, his expression seldom lightened on her return. And although he asked her politely enough whether she had enjoyed her walk, she could tell by the queer glint in his eyes that he hoped, perversely, that she hadn’t.

The afternoon when she arrived back in a car driven by a good looking young man who had claimed to be his second cousin, he developed more than a glint in his eye. The young man, who had introduced himself to Dallas as Brent Rutherford, explained that he had come upon Nurse Drew, while she was still several miles from home, sitting at the side of the road and nursing a slightly twisted ankle. She had climbed a five-barred gate, missed one of the cross pieces of the gate, and slid down into the ditch.

But she assured Dr. Loring that there was nothing in the least wrong with her ankle. The slight twinge had passed, and it was as good as new, but she was very grateful to Mr. Rutherford for giving her the lift.

“And I'm quite certain Mr. Rutherford is very grateful to you for providing him with the opportunity to offer you a lift,” Martin returned, the asperity of his tone so unmistakable, and causing her such profound surprise that she colored brilliantly.

Brent Rutherford sat down on the arm of a chair near him, and solemnly shook his head at him.

“You mustn't get yourself het up like this, old chap,” he warned. “Just because you can’t take exercise yourself, you mustn’t veto it for other people. And Nurse Drew assures me that she adores exercise.”

Martin Loring looked away from the two of them to the tea-trolley that had just been wheeled into the room, and something about the bleakness of the glance he cast at his housekeeper’s efforts to maintain his appetite caused Dallas to step forward hurriedly and enquire anxiously whether anything was wrong.

“You have been all right this afternoon, haven't you?” she asked. “You haven’t had any pain, or anything like that?”

“No, no, I haven’t had any pain,” he answered shortly. “And I’m perfectly all right.”

“That’s splendid,” Rutherford murmured, helping himself to a cucumber sandwich after offering the plate to Dallas. “I’ve been meaning to look in on

you for some time,” he explained to his cousin. “Once I heard you were back, that is. But Aunt Letty, when I met her in the village, said you weren’t up to receiving visitors. She seemed to think that even relatives would be more popular if they waited until they received some intimation that their presence was desired at Loring Court.”

And his handsome dark eyes seemed to develop an ironic sparkle, as if only he and Aunt Letty—and Martin—would have the least idea of what he meant by that.

Martin ignored his cup of tea when Dallas had poured it out— Aunt Letty was attending a meeting of the Women’s Institute, at the village hall, and she was deputizing for her—and he refused to have anything to eat. While his cousin polished off cucumber sandwich after cucumber sandwich, and then had two slices of chocolate cake, he seemed to be making an almost superhuman effort to appear as if he didn’t bitterly resent his intrusion; and, but for the fact that he was incapacitated, and very possibly hadn’t the strength, would have picked him up by the scuff of the neck and flung him out of the house.

Dallas was appalled because she seemed to have blundered badly when she gave this young man the opportunity to drive her home. And he looked such a very harmless young man—apart from the fact that he was almost devastatingly handsome, with the same arrogantly held head as the elder Loring, the same graceful, elegant figure, and casual, provocative speech. He was wearing well-cut tweeds, and he admitted that he had been buying a horse that afternoon. Apparently he ran a local riding stables, and in addition he had once practised as a veterinary surgeon.

“You look as if you could do with a month in the South of France,” he remarked to Martin. “Why on earth did you decide to come back here to Loring to recuperate? It’s dull enough at the best of times, but when you’re laid up . . .” He glanced sideways at Dallas, and smiled. “But of course, you have got a pretty nurse to look after you, haven’t you? That's some compensation! I wouldn't mind having an argument with a taxi myself if it meant that Nurse Drew would take charge of me!”

Dallas got up and moved nearer to the tea- trolley. Once more she attempted to coax her patient to eat.

“Have one of Mrs. Baxter's macaroons,” she almost pleaded. “Please leave me alone,” he requested. And then, to Rutherford: “I'm sure you have some very urgent business elsewhere, Brent. I wouldn't wish to interfere with it, so please don't let us detain you. And don't think it necessary to call here often in order to make enquiries after my health, will you?”

Brent smiled again—just a trifle less pleasantly this time.

“Okay, old boy, I get you perfectly,” he returned. “But there's no need to resent cousinly enquiries. And I wasn't on my way here this afternoon, you know, when I ran into Miss Drew! ”

He wiped his fingers on a large pocket handkerchief, asked with disarming sweetness if he could have a second cup of tea, drained it, glanced at the clock, and then said that he supposed he really would have to be going.

“Don't disturb yourself, Martin, old boy.” Martin had no intention of disturbing himself, and pretended not to see the hand that was held out to him. “I'm sure I hope you'll soon be getting about— even if it's only on crutches! And thank Mrs. Baxter for an excellent tea,” smiling at Dallas.

She wondered whether she ought to see him off the premises, and being in his debt to a certain extent for the drive home decided that the very least she could do was accompany him into the hall . . . even if her employer reproved her for it afterwards. And when Brent realized her intention he nodded approvingly.

“I'd like to have a word with you, Nurse, if you don't mind.” Outside, in the hall, with the front door standing wide and scraps of withered autumn leaves finding

their way into the house and lying like golden offerings on the polished boards of the hall, he looked down at the top of a suede shoe and asked suddenly: “How do you find your patient, Nurse? Is he really making progress? He looks a bit sickly to me” “Dr. Loring is making very good progress,” she replied, wishing that instead of a tweed skirt and a bright sweater she was wearing her crisp green and

white uniform to lend her dignity.

One side of his mouth quirked upwards.

“Well, you should know. Although you look a bit young to me to be in attendance on the august Dr. Loring . . . Harley Street, and all the rest! However, I’m delighted to have met you, Nurse, and I hope we meet again soon. Any time you feel like seeing something of the surrounding country, my car is at your disposal, just give me a ring! My number is in the book.”

He went running lightly down the front steps to the drive, and Mrs. Baxter, the housekeeper, emerged from the kitchen quarters that were shut off from the rest of the house by a green baize door, and looked at Dallas as if she had been expecting something in the nature of a minor explosion while the visitor was in the house.

“So Mr. Rutherford has just left, has he?” she said. “It’s a lucky thing for him that Mrs. Loring wasn’t at home.”

“Why?” Dallas asked curiously.

Mrs. Baxter looked at her with a world of meaning in her eyes, which, however, she was not at liberty to elaborate on.

“It’s not for me to say, Nurse,” she replied. “But I can tell you that Mr. Rutherford is far from welcome here at Loring Court. I don’t think I’d mention his visit to Mrs. Loring, if I were you.”

That night Martin insisted on staying up for dinner, and he also insisted on putting on a dinner jacket for the occasion. It was the first time Dallas had seen him wearing formal clothes for the evening, and she thought he looked almost painfully attractive with his dark hair well brushed, beautifully shaved and groomed, and at the same time unable to conceal the slight pallor of convalescence and the faint smudges under his eyes that were also an indication that he was not yet a well man.