Doctor's Assistant (7 page)

CHAPTER
SEVEN

CHARLES was standing in the hall, lighting a cigarette. He flicked out the match and placed it in an ashtray, stared enigmatically at Laurette as she stood framed in the doorway.

“Hello, there,” he said. “Didn’t you invite your escort in for a drink?”

“He has a couple of patients to see before dinner.” She shook back her hair. “I feel grubby and sleepy. I think I’ll take a shower.”

“Have a cocktail first.” He indicated an open door. “There’s no one in there yet.”

She passed in front of him, blinked a little in the bright light of the lounge. “Is my father still chirpy?”

“Quite. He and I did several hours’ work together this afternoon.” Charles filled glasses and handed one to Laurette. “He told me you’d gone to the mission.”

“It was my first visit—rather an education.”

“But very tiring. Need Ben have kept you there so long? It’s nearly seven.”

“He couldn’t get away, and then when we did leave the sun was setting so we watched the night come in over the river.”

“How romantic,” he said. “I hope you embraced at the appropriate moment.”

She tasted her drink and looked up at him. “Are you being nasty?”

“No, I’m merely interested. After all”—with a mocking twist to his lips—“you’re a member of the household—a junior, feminine one whose well-being we all have at heart. Is the drink all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

His glance narrowed. “You really are tired, aren’t you? No one can stop Ben flogging himself but he’s no right to do it to you. Relax for a few minutes.”

It was easy to obey. She lay back in the chair and met his eyes. “Have you ever been to the mission, Charles?”

“Not this one. We have one near Mohpeng but it’s run on different lines, by a religious group.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “As we were coming home I wondered if something couldn’t be done for the Lockleys. All the churches have missions and if those two could be persuaded to join up with one of them...”

“It isn’t your business,” he said brusquely. “The Lockleys have enough about them to know what they’re after. Let Ben Vaughan and the Lockleys manage the place in their own way. They’re a good bit older than you are, anyway, so they’re probably just as likely to see the other side of a question. Stay away from the mission.”

“Is that an order?” she enquired politely.

“Yes, it is,” he replied uncompromisingly. “You’ve only been in this country a matter of months and already you fancy yourself the district nurse of Port Quentin. Don’t be so damned naive!”

She laughed and cocked a brow. “What’s so naive about it?”

“The boundless zeal, the infinite capacity for good works, the strange notion that you’re the first person to think along certain lines.” He set down his glass with a thud. “Does Ben allow you to talk as if you had the wisdom of Solomon?”

“He doesn’t shout me down as you do. Sometimes—even when you’re nice—you’re a bit of a beast, Charles.”

“A nice beast,” he agreed with her, kindly. “How about a day out on Saturday?”

Her fingers tightened slightly about the glass she held and a glow came into her eyes. “I’d love it. On the boat?”

“The yacht,” he automatically corrected her, as Mr. Kelsey was apt to. “I’ll introduce you to the old chief I told you about.”

“Could we take my father?”

“We could”—non-committally—“but I haven’t asked him yet, so we needn’t. Please yourself.” When she made no comment he ended, “Very well, we’ll go alone.”

“What about the polo?”

“We’ll play deck-tennis instead. All right?”

“All right,” she said on a gently expelled breath.

Her heart beat faster but she did not question why. Nor could she any longer look straight at Charles. She knew that he was watching her satirically, and she had the uneasy conviction that he enjoyed his power over her. It was aggravating to know that her reactions were so apparent to him; had he been a different sort of man she wouldn’t have cared. But had he been a different sort of man he would probably have had little effect upon her pulses.

She emptied her glass and stood up. “I have to wash away the day’s dust, but I’ll slip in to see my father first.”

“He’s having a pipe with Uncle Gilbert in the library.”

“Is he?” She paused. “Then maybe I’d better change.”

“Wear the pink thing that stands out on the shoulders,” he said carelessly. “It suits your tan.”

That, thought Laurette as she marched along the corridor, was going somewhat too far, even for Charles. She would wear the green with long sleeves, and when he, grinned at her defiance, as he was bound to, she would grin back. There was fun, threaded with excitement, in defying Mr. Heron.

The following afternoon John Delaney displayed the pen-and-ink drawings he had done for Charles. There were eight of them so far, sketches of native huts with the inevitable black pot smoking outside over a fire of twigs, and people enjoying their leisure in lazy native fashion; of piccanins showing awed interest in a steel plough; of trek-oxen being led by a stalwart black farmer; of African women exchanging jokes while they gathered kaffir corn and mealies.

The truly humorous drawings had been left till last. One could not use the cartoon technique in a book which had a serious underlying purpose, and any other type of humor was difficult to convey.

“Charles has given me a few captions to work to. They’ll come out, in time,” he said confidently, “but I shan’t get them finished before he leaves for Basutoland. He’s suggested my going up there for a spell as soon as I can get around.”

“To Mohpeng?” Laurette was startled. “Did you tell him you would?”

“I said I might. As distance goes in fills country its not far, and by the time I can walk and drive I shall be glad of a change of scenery. However, that’s some weeks ahead. By the way, we had a new arrival in Port Quentin yesterday—a woman who says she’s Ben Vaughan’s cousin. She’s staying at the hotel. Did he mention her to you?”

“No. After the day at the mission he’s been up to his eyebrows in work. What sort of woman is she?”

The Captain shrugged. “The news came to me through old Palmer; he walked up to see me. According to him—and he’s an observant old chap—she’s thirtyish and well-off. She comes from England and she braved the roads from Durban in a newly-bought car to see Ben, who’s her only relative in South Africa.”

“He won’t like that.”

Her father regarded her carefully from under thick red brows for a long moment. “You sound as if you don’t like it, either. Is there something between you and Ben?”

“Of course not.” She began to pile the drawings neatly together. “I’m sorry for him, that’s all. The house is so drab that he can never bring himself to entertain, and he’ll hate having a rich relative snooping into the corners.”

“Why doesn’t he improve the place?”

“Because he hasn’t any incentive to do so.”

“Oh, come,” said her father. “He’s young, he’ll get married. You ought to shake him up.”

She smiled at him with a hint of exasperation. “Darling, a woman doesn’t interfere in a man’s house unless she has designs upon him. I’ve put in a few brightening touches but I daren’t do more.”

“I see. Quite a thickhead in these matters, aren’t I? It seems that Ben can’t be helped till he wishes to help himself. Perhaps this cousin of his will do the trick.”

As Laurette put away the drawings she thought the possibility unlikely. Ben would muddle through the woman’s visit as best he could and breathe a deep breath of thankfulness when she departed. As for inviting people to his house to meet her, the very idea would make Ben shudder.

It was in the middle of the following morning, while she was making up the list for the chemist from notes left by Ben, that Laurette first met Alix Brooke. She was in her own small room adjoining the surgery, and the French window was open, to admit both light and air. The wind rustled the weighted papers and blew tendrils of her hair about her forehead, but it was wonderfully pleasant and cool, and as usual, it carried all the familiar scents.

Laurette was half-way down her list when the room darkened. She raised her head, saw that it was the figure of a woman which shut out the light from the doorway, and dropped her pencil into the pocket of her white overall. This was no one she knew.

“Good morning,” she said. “Are you looking for Dr. Vaughan?”

“Yes, but not at this moment.” The woman came right into the room, turned so that Laurette had a view of a hard, strong profile and a head of thick dark curling hair. “You’re Miss Delaney, aren’t you? I’m Ben’s cousin, Alix Brooke.”

Laurette rose. “How do you do. Would you like me to tell him you’re here?”

“No, I can announce myself when I’m ready.” The woman’s sharp, vibrant tones broke off. Her gaze roved the scarred desk, the old-fashioned wooden filing cabinet, the small worn rug on the polished floor. “What is Ben doing in a place like this? Come to that, what are
you
doing here? You don’t appear to be the type to bury yourself in such a musty hole.”

“I work here.”

“I’ve gathered that.” Alix Brooke’s voice had a pointed quietness. “How long have you been with Ben?”

“Several months.”

Laurette could not have explained the contracting of her muscles, the steeling of her whole being against this woman. Alix did not look a menace; she had average good looks, was neatly dressed in tailored cream silk and she wore a pretty row of colored wooden beads. Even her manner was not particularly threatening, except that it took her own importance for granted. But instinctively Laurette felt she was in the presence of an enemy; felt it the more strongly, perhaps, because she had never before had an enemy.

“Are you trained nurse?” the woman asked.

“No. There isn’t one in Port Quentin.”

“What a terrible handicap for a doctor! Ben was a fool to come here. He’s fully qualified. He could have a rich practice in one of the big towns and lead a decent social life, too.”

“Someone has to treat the people in the native reserve,” Laurette reminded her. “To a doctor, his profession isn’t only a living. It’s much more than that.”

Before Alix could frame the retort which obviously hovered not far from the tip of her tongue, the inner door swung back and Ben came in.

“Laurette ...” He halted and his voice changed. “Oh, good morning, Alix. So you and Laurette have made friends. We’re awfully busy.”

“So I see.” She was sweet now, and smiling. “But I’ve come for medical attention. My neck is stiff and painful. I had fibrositis on the boat and it seems to have returned.”

“You’d better come in, then.” To Laurette, he said, “Add codeine to that order, will you—the same quantity as last time?”

Laurette did not spare many minutes in conjecture about Alix Brooke. Common sense assured her that enemies do not appear suddenly, from the blue, and in any case Alix had no home in Port Quentin. She would tire of the hotel and set out for wider fields.

Ben, however, as his fingers felt professionally down the side of his cousin’s neck, was less comfortable in his thoughts. A long time ago he and Alix had been sweethearts. He had been at the university, studying very hard because his uncle, Alix’s father, had put up the money for his board and fees. True, he later paid off the financial debt, but he could never repay the generous gesture which had enabled him to become a doctor.

His mild affair with Alix had petered out and he had returned to South Africa to work. Through his uncle he had learned from time to time that she had not married, that she lived a gay and expensive life, that she was more beautiful than ever, and so on. Since those three years in England he had never paused to think about Alix, and would have been incredulous had anyone hinted that she wasted thoughts on him.

It had jarred him considerably to come home from the mission the other evening to find his cousin smoking and drinking in his lounge. He’d greeted her warmly, of course, and said how very good it was of her to look him up, particularly as the roads in these parts were so hazardous.

It came out that her father had died and she was now a comparatively wealthy woman. She had decided to travel, had crossed Europe by plane and done the rest by sea. She might eventually go on to the Far East, but felt she ought to see something of Africa first. Would he advise her? After handing out a few tips he’d discovered it was flattery rather than advice that she was after, and having just left Laurette he was not in a mood to hand out flattery.

“Your touch is so soothing, Ben,” she said now. “Remember the time you massaged a headache away from me?”

“It wasn’t a bad one. Your neck is most painful when you turn your head to the left, isn’t it? I’ll give you an ointment to rub in at night. It should clear up in a day or two.” He went to his cupboard and got out a small green jar. “There you are.”

She dropped it into her handbag and slanted him a
dark glance. “No charge?”

“I wish there were more I could do for you.”

She pushed farther into the round back of her chair. “You mean for my father’s daughter, don’t you? You’re sweet to me out of gratitude to him. Yet you were once in love with me, Ben.”

“We weren’t much more than children.”

“I was as old as Miss Delaney. Would you call her a child?”

It is odd how one’s whole future may depend on a
chance remark. If Alix had not mentioned Laurette just then she might have persuaded herself during the next few hours that Port Quentin had nothing to offer, and Ben might have seen her no more. But she did mention Laurette, and she happened at the same time to have a
full view of Ben’s face, so that there was only one construction to put upon the rush of blood under his shirt; Ben ... flushing!

He turned away. “She’s too young to be seriously in love,” he said, “just as you were.”

“I don’t agree.” Her reply was metallic. “If one can rouse love one ought to be capable of loving.” Ben did not rise to this, and she made a tremendous effort to soften her voice. ‘”Occasionally I’ve wondered if you’re the reason I’ve never married. About four years ago I even became engaged, but I had to break it off. Now, I’ve left it too late.”

“Don’t be foolish. Thirty’s no age,” he said mechanically.

“I know that, but I have money, and I hadn’t much of my own before.” She made a forlorn little gesture. “It would be dreadful to find out one had been married for one’s worldly goods.”

“Your only solution,” he answered, not troubling to disguise his weariness, “is to pick someone who has more than you have.”

She gave a brief, deprecating laugh. “Or to marry someone for whom money has no allure.” Her gaze up at him was carefully frank. It added, “Someone like you.”

He went round to the back of his desk but remained standing, with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I can’t give a party for you, Alix, but my servants are not trained to deal with numbers, and I’m no good at that type of organizing. But if you’d like to meet some of the Port Quentin people before you leave...”

“Why, Ben!” Her mouth trembled with hurt. “Do you really want me to go so soon? I was hoping we’d have good times together. You need some fun, my dear, and we have such lots to talk about. My father always said you were an intelligent talker—he used to enjoy your letters, too. Ben”—with a hesitant smile—“will you come to dinner with me at the hotel tonight?”

The reference to her father was calculated and telling. What she hoped to gain was completely beyond Ben’s powers to fathom. He was only a struggling doctor, and from what he remembered of Alix, she had no time for people she considered failures.

What Ben did not fully appreciate was that Alix had grown into a vain and disillusioned woman. All her adult life she had known she would inherit her father’s thousands, and the anticipation had spoiled her for youthful romance. Young men might brim over with plans, but if they had no money there was no place for them in her world. She had been in love, but never selflessly, and the suggestion that some of her father’s cash should be used to put a prospective son-in-law on his feet had roused in her the utmost contempt. It had been a more girlish emotion of the same sort which had subdued her interest in Ben some years ago, though to be sure, her father had owed a duty to his dead sister’s son. She had not missed Ben when he left England, had scarcely thought about him till the first cheque had arrived and been shown off with pride by her father.

Ben’s honesty and gratitude had affected her deeply. The men of the circle in which she moved were not like that. They philandered, and it was never long before some reference was made to her “old man’s shekels”. In time, the absent Ben assumed for her a nostalgic importance. It was not that she thought of him often, but that almost subconsciously she used him as a yardstick to measure the men she met. And because she remembered only his young admiration for her charms and coupled with it the fact that he had repaid, without being asked, every penny her father had spent on his behalf, Ben always came off the winner in these comparisons. Inevitably, her travels had brought her first to Port Quentin.

It had been a shock to find him a dorp doctor with many more native patients than white ones. The house had made her shiver, and her previous conception of Ben himself, as opposed to the quiet, jaded-looking man who had confronted her in the unimpressive lounge, was laughable. What an idiot she had been! The bubble had burst with a vengeance.

But dreams cherished in one’s most impressionable years are hard to expunge. Alix had not realized how hard, until the dark color had spread across his cheekbones at the allusion to Laurette Delaney.

Ben answered her question. “Thanks, Alix. I’d like to have dinner with you. We’ll make it a joint effort and ask one or two others, if you’d prefer it.”

“Not this time, Ben,” she said. “Perhaps later we could arrange one of those big picnics for which this country is supposed to be famous.” She flicked an invisible speck from her skirt, stretched an elegant ankle and got to her feet. “I mustn’t keep you any longer. I’ll expect you at seven this evening.”

Ben saw her out as if she were a patient, and afterwards stood in the centre of his room, pondering. He had no wish to upset Alix. Property handled, she would stay only until she was bored, and in a place the size of Port Quentin that should not stretch into more than a week. Obviously, it would be best to exhaust the small excitements fairly soon. He crossed to open the door into Laurette’s sanctum. Because the thing disturbed him he came straight to the point.

“My cousin is keen to go picnicking. I’m thinking of inviting a few friends to go up the river with us on Saturday. I can count you in, can’t I?”

“I’m afraid not, Ben. I’ve already promised to go down the coast in the
Barracuda
.”

“A party?”

“No.” A short pause. “Just with Charles.”

For a few seconds Ben said nothing. Then he turned back to his own room. “I’ll leave you out, then, he told her. “You and Alix aren’t likely to mix, anyway.”