Nurse for the Doctor Read online

  She knew that he meant Michael, and she put back her head and looked up at him, and a feeling almost of vexation tore through her. Why would he persist in thinking such things at a moment like this, when every responsive fibre in her make-up was trembling with a kind of ecstasy at his nearness, and when all she wanted...

  Her face looked small and white in the gloom; her eyes were large and resentful—but to him they merely looked mournful. He bent his head until his lips were resting against her forehead, and as she uttered a tiny gasp and put back her head still more it was inevitable that they should close over her mouth.

  Time stood still. The Spanish stars rocked in the firmament and another wave broke with thunder on the beach below. For Josie the world ceased to exist, and the sweetness of that kiss, with its mounting passion, filled all the universe. When at last her lips were free she felt forlorn and bereft, as if the motivating power of her existence had been withdrawn from her, and she wanted to cry out against the cruelty. But she could only stand dumb, and numb, unable to make even a move.

  “Querida!” Carlos’s voice sounded agitated. “Querida, I—”

  And then she came to her senses, and like a swimmer breaking through to the surface and shaking off the downward drag of the ocean, she forced herself to withdraw from his arm, and say without any emotion whatsoever in her voice: “Shall we go back now? I’m not likely to miss the steps this time.”

  They walked back in absolute silence, and as the white walls of the villa, with its pastel-tinted roof, beckoned them beneath the stars, Josie felt as if she were walking on the final remnants of all her future happiness. Just before they reached the house she knew that she had to say something, however, and she said it. Whatever construction he might put upon the rapturous yielding of her lips—and without the need for consolation there could only be one construction—he had to be disabused of the false belief he had been harbouring.

  “Senor!” she said.

  He stopped. She came to a standstill beside him, and she looked up at him as if willing him not to make any answer when she had finished making her confession.

  “Senor, for some reason you have decided that I am in love with Dr. Duveen! I am not, and I never have been, in love with him, although he is very attractive. I think most women would find him attractive. Your sister obviously does ...”

  She broke off. Perhaps it wasn’t kind of her to have said that.

  “If, and when, she marries him—and I think he would be lucky if she did so—it will not hurt me at all. Not at all.”

  He said nothing for so long that it was clear he had taken heed of her appeal. Then, all at once, he said something that startled her.

  “But you have been unhappy! ... I know you have been unhappy!...”

  Footsteps came racing to them across the flagged floor of the terrace, and the voice of a maid sent to look for them came gaspingly: “Senorita, if you please, come at once! Senor Duveen—the senor medico—he sent me to find you! Dona Amelie”—she clutched at the marquis’s arm, as if for support—“my mistress has fallen on the stairs, and injured her ankle! It is a bad injury—the senor medico says it is broken! Oh, senorita, I implore you, come at once and do what you can for my mistress!”

  The poor woman, an elderly personal maid—possibly for a good many years—burst into tears with the words, and then covered her face with her apron. Josie didn’t hesitate. She was used to this sort of emergency. For the first time for weeks she was back, and really needed, on her own ground. She turned to the marquis who was surprised by the calmness of her expression.

  “I’ll go on ahead,” she said, “and you can follow me.” And she flew away on her silver-sandalled feet to be of assistance to the magnificent old lady who had promised to show her her treasures.

  CHAPTER XIII

  An hour later Dona Amelie was lying comfortably in her big bed, with the sombre curtains. From amongst piled-up pillows, looking rather pale but not in the least overcome by her misfortune, she smiled at Josie, who held her hand.

  “You will stay with me?” she said. “I should like it so much if you would stay with me!”

  “Of course I will stay with you,” Josie answered, without a moment’s hesitation. And then she looked for confirmation at Michael Duveen. Her eyes spoke for her. It might be some time before a nurse could be brought out from some local hospital—or it might even be necessary to get one all the way from Madrid—and in the meantime the old lady needed someone to be with her. She had fallen from half-way up the stairs to the bottom, and it was a miracle that she had not sustained worse injuries. As it was, there was no real indication that her ankle was broken, but it was undoubtedly badly sprained, and possibly a fracture might be discovered after an X-ray. Also she was badly shocked. She had looked like wax when Josie had reached her, lying on the floor of the hall, with Michael beside her.

  Michael answered Josie’s unspoken plea at once.

  “Of course you must stay! What an amazingly useful person a nurse is to have about one at times,” and he smiled at the girl in her white dress, with her delicate face so gentle and understanding, her great brown eyes such steady pools of reliance.

  “What an amazingly useful person a doctor is to have about one at a time like this!” Dona Amelie said distinctly from the bed. Her eyes approved of them both. “What would I have done if you had not both been my guests tonight?”

  “Sent for the local medico,” Michael returned, his white teeth flashing at her engagingly. “And in no time at all he would have procured you a nurse to watch over you. But with Josie here another nurse would be a trifle redundant, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me she couldn’t be more competent. You’ll simply love having her around.”

  “I’m sure I shall,” the old lady said quietly, as if she had already made up her mind about that.

  But, outside the door, while Carlotta, her maid, stayed with the patient, Josie looked for a moment rather anxiously at Michael.

  “You’re sure,” she said, “that your mother—that Mrs. Duveen—won’t mind?”

  “Would it interfere with your decision to remain here if she did?” he inquired, a mixture of whimsicality and curiosity on his face as he gazed at her.

  Josie shook her head.

  “No, I’m afraid it wouldn’t,” she admitted. “The old lady needs me rather badly, and you”—she smiled at him—“well, you’re not exactly an invalid any longer, are you?”

  “No.” He grinned in the way she liked best. “Spanish air, and Spanish sun, and Spanish moonlight”—here he gave her rather a wicked look—“have certainly worked miracles in my case.” And then his expression sobered a little. “But you, Josie. Do you think you feel up to taking on this case for a few days? You’ve barely got over that nasty bout of trouble you had, and as I told you you’re not really fit to be a nurse in any case. You lack the iron-hard constitution that is necessary, and I don’t want you to start knocking yourself up. Of course we’ll get a nurse as soon as we can—”

  “I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed,” she assured him, and at that moment they were joined by the marquis. Josie found herself looking at him—in spite of the anxieties of the past hour—a rush of excitement to her heart. He had kissed her. He had held her so close that she had felt the violent beating of his heart, and however much he might belong to Sylvia Petersen—however soon he might be planning to ask her to marry him—nothing that could happen from now on could rob her of the memory of that kiss. It was something that, when she was alone, and when she wanted to comfort herself, she would live over again in her memory, hugging the sweetness and the wonder of it to her heart.

  When Michael had kissed her she had been stirred. But this kiss had done more than that—it had shaken her. She would never forget the firm, sweet coolness of his lips that had pressed upon hers, until in the end it had seemed that his lips had flamed, and they had started to scorch her.

  It was then that he had withdrawn them. It was then that she had wante
d to cry out because he had done so.

  But now she was all at once a calm and efficient nurse, with no other thought in her head—to judge by her expression—than her patient. The marquis gave her rather a long look before he said: “But is it fair to ask you to stay here, Nurse Winter?” She was sure that the concern in his eyes was genuine. “You have recently been ill yourself, and this kind of nursing is likely to be a strain on you. It is possible, surely, for us to obtain a nurse from some other quarter—”

  “Not at such short notice,” Michael told him bluntly. “We will get someone as soon as we can, but in the meantime Josie is willing to stay.”

  The marquis studied him for a moment as if he were considering something. Josie wondered whether he were reflecting upon the ease with which Michael made use of her Christian name. It suggested a familiarity that had never really entered into their relationship.

  “Very well,” the Spaniard said, at last. He bowed, rather formally, to Josie. “You are very good, Nurse Winter—” and he seemed to emphasize the “Nurse Winter”—“Very good to step into the breach.”

  Then he went in to see his aunt, and sit with her. Downstairs the guests had mostly departed, profoundly disturbed because such an unlooked for disaster had overtaken their hostess. Only the marquis’s personal guests remained, and of these Mrs. Duveen was looking agitated, and also a little frustrated, until Josie appeared and announced that she would not be returning with them.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, to the woman who employed her. “But I can’t leave Dona Amelie without anyone sufficiently skilled to give her the attention she needs just now.”

  Mrs. Duveen looked for a moment rather taken aback, and then all at once she brightened.

  “You mean that you won’t be coming back with us to the villa? Not tonight, at any rate?”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to.”

  “Why, my dear, of course that’s all right!” Mrs. Duveen was actually inclined to gush. “If Dona Amelie needs you—and, after all, you are a trained nurse!—then of course you must remain with her. As long as she needs you. You and Michael have been wonderful tonight, and it was so fortunate you were both here, but of course it won’t be necessary for him to take any further active part in the matter, will it? I mean, he’ll be handing over to the local doctor. It’s not his affair...”

  “The local doctor is on his way now, I think,” Josie reassured her. “He was out at a confinement case, and unable to get here before; but apart from seeing him before he leaves it will hardly be necessary for Dr. Duveen to do anything more.”

  “Then that’s splendid.” Mrs. Duveen seemed to give vent to a sigh of relief. “And we’ll expect you back when—well, when you can be spared.”

  Dona Maria, who was looking a little pale and upset by the whole unhappy incident which, after all, affected one of her nearest relatives, stepped towards Josie.

  “If there is anything you specially require I will see that you receive it, Miss Winter,” she said. “Magdalena will pack you a case, and it will be sent along to you tonight. It is so good of you to be willing to look after my aunt.”

  “Not at all,” Josie replied, smiling at her. She liked Dona Maria, and she approved of the anxiety in her eyes—anxiety for her aunt, not because Michael might have to devote a little of his attention elsewhere—and she wished Michael could have his eyes opened wide for him and recognize where his possible happiness lay. This woman, no longer actually a girl, would make him such a stable, devoted wife, and that was what he really required. His profession was his real interest, and a woman who would not come between him and his work was all important to an ambitious medical man destined to go far.

  When they had all taken their departure Josie made her way upstairs to her patient, and found the old lady lying and looking very wakeful, although she had received a sedative. She put out her hand almost eagerly to Josie, and the latter took it, and sat down beside the bed.

  “I am glad you are here, my dear,” the old and rather tired voice told her. “I don’t feel a bit sleepy, although I’ve received all sorts of pricks and things, and I suppose I ought to be feeling drowsy. But on occasions like this one’s mind remains alert, in spite of the tendency of the body to drag one down into the depths. And mine is rather an old body,” with a faintly whimsical smile.

  “You are alert because you have received a shock,” Josie told her, pressing the old, but beautifully cared-for fingers she held. “But you will fall asleep before long. I shall stay here with you,” she added.

  “Until I fall asleep?”

  “Until long after you have fallen asleep, if that will give you confidence.”

  Dona Amelie shook her head.

  “There is a room prepared for you, dear child, and you need your rest. Carlotta is in the dressing-room next door, and she will be in at once to me if I require anything. But you, cara, must remove that pretty dress, and enjoy a good night’s rest. I insist.”

  “Then I won’t argue with you,” Josie smiled, but she had every intention of remaining where she was through the hours of darkness, only slipping away once the old lady had succumbed to the various narcotics that had been administered to change her dress.

  Dona Amelie sighed suddenly, while she lay looking at her.

  “That is a pretty dress,” she emphasized, “and it becomes you very well indeed. You have the English air of being rather like a flower, and you are gentle, too, and very feminine. In Spain we are a little suspicious of young women who are very—very modern, would you call it? Life alters slowly in this country, and we are not very used to modernity. It was because you lacked this modernity that I found myself noticing you—such a contrast to that very beautiful American girl!”

  Josie said nothing, and she was not offended because apparently she offered a striking contrast to the glamour of Sylvia Petersen.

  The old, tired voice was growing a little indistinct.

  “My nephew, Carlos, was concerned because you went out into the garden tonight without a wrap—he sent Carlotta to fetch one for you! I have never known Carlos concern himself with a lady’s wrap before—not to the extent of wishing to borrow one for her. And he was very concerned because you have been ill...”

  And then she was asleep.

  In the morning, it was Carlos de Palheiro—apart from the doctor—who was the first visitor to the casa. He came, driving himself in a sleek, silver-colored car, and it was the first time Josie had seen him controlling the wheel of a moving vehicle.

  She had just emerged from the sick-room, and was pacing up and down at the head of the drive, when he appeared. She was feeling a little sleepy but in need of air at the same time; the doctor had just ordered her off to bed. Carlotta was to take over while she was asleep, but Josie was not ready to go in yet.

  The marquis descended from the car with lightning speed, and came striding over to her. As she hardly dared to look up at him she could feel, rather than see, his eyes searching her face.

  “You are tired, querida,” he said quickly, and even then she did not dare to lift her eyes. And he continued more formally: “You must get some rest! How long is it since you were in bed? Not since the night before last?”

  “I had a siesta yesterday afternoon,” she replied. And then she added, feeling as if a magnet were drawing her eyes to his: “It won’t hurt me to miss a little sleep. I am used to it.”

  “You may be used to it,” he returned, rather shortly “but you are not the type who can afford to miss it.” And then as if he suddenly remembered the object of his very early morning call: “How is Tia Amelie?”

  “She had quite a good night, and the doctor is fairly satisfied with her this morning. But, of course, she is old, and any shock at her time of life is—well, it could be serious. Quite apart from the injury to her ankle, I mean.”

  “I understand.” He stared rather grimly at the flagged floor of the terrace. “Is it permitted that I see her as early as this?”

&n
bsp; “The doctor is with her now, and he may be some little time, but when he comes down perhaps you would like to have a word with him. After that you will almost certainly be able to see her.”

  He nodded. Then he looked at her again.

  “In the meantime I will wait here.”

  “I”—her voice sounded a little shy—“I was going to have some coffee before going upstairs to my room. I wonder whether you—whether you would like some, too, senor?”

  “I would love some.” His dark eyes were giving her that curious feeling as if the mystic darkness of them were reaching out and enfolding her, almost like a caress. “And the name is Carlos,” he added. “It is absurd that you should call me senor.”

  “But I could hardly call a marquis by his Christian name,” she returned, smiling for the first time that morning, and with rather whimsical amusement. “If I did so it would be even more absurd than senor, considering my position.”

  He uttered an exclamation that sounded like “Bah!” and was very impatient.

  “I shall call you Josie,” he told her, “considering that Michael Duveen does—and will you please not talk nonsense about your position. At the moment you are behaving like an angel in helping us out in this way, and neither I nor my aunt will forget it.” His eyes seemed to flame a little. “I shall certainly not forget how readily you overlooked the fact that you were all dressed up—and so enchantingly—for an evening’s entertainment and got down to the task of being of service to someone who is very dear to me.”

  What with the growing power of the sun, the confusion resulting from lack of sleep, and the warmth of his voice, Josie felt herself flushing uncontrollably, and feeling almost as warm as she looked.

  “It was nothing,” she assured him. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “It was a great deal. And I’m glad you told me about Duveen. Very glad.”

  For a moment she stared up at him. Did he mean that he was glad because in future he would cease to worry about any competition where his sister was concerned...?