Nurse for the Doctor Page 14

  And then the doctor came bustling out of the house, a little man with brilliant dark eyes and a rotund body, and when he caught sight of the marquis he greeted him with an expression of pleasure, and none of the subservience Josie might have expected from him.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed. “You are early abroad, senor! And the good lady, your aunt, is surprisingly better this morning. Surprisingly better! She is tough, is Dona Amelie, and it wouldn’t amaze me in the least if in a few weeks from now she was hobbling about with a stick.” The marquis looked grave.

  “Then it is likely to be quite a long job, Doctor?”

  The doctor made a little expressive movement with his plump shoulders.

  “But, my dear Marquis, I ask you! A lady of her age, and to tumble down a flight of stairs such as the one in this house. The shock alone could have killed her, and as it is we have to be thankful for a miracle. She will require very careful nursing for a while, and this young lady here has promised me that I can count upon her until it is possible to replace her. Not,” with a rather comical look at Josie, “that I would replace her at all if she would consent to remain altogether.”

  Carlos looked at Josie.

  “That is impossible, isn’t it?” he said. “You would not wish to take it on?”

  “I—” Josie hesitated. “It isn’t that I wouldn’t like to take it on, but I am not exactly a free agent.”

  “Dr. Duveen no longer requires a nurse.”

  “No.” And she looked him straight in the eyes.

  “Then, perhaps if we approached him—if we approached Mrs. Duveen—? And you feel that it would not be too great a strain—?”

  “It wouldn’t be a strain,” she answered. I would willingly stay,” and once again she lifted her eyes to his face so that he could see how unwavering was the expression in them.

  He was silent for a few seconds, and then he turned to the doctor.

  “We will see,” he said. “This is something that cannot be decided this morning, but we will see.”

  When the doctor had driven away in his car Josie looked a little uncertainly at the man she was once again left alone with.

  “Shall I ring for the coffee?” she said. “Unless you wish to go straight up to your aunt?”

  “No, I would like some coffee,” he replied, and walked with her through to the patio that is the heart and core of all Spanish houses of this type. There they relaxed in comfortable wicker chairs, with the warmth of the morning falling pleasantly about them, the glossy leaves of orange trees shining like satin in the sunlight, and the all-pervading perfume of roses filling the air like incense. Josie thought how good it was to be there alone with him like this, and although she was physically weary she was suddenly very light at heart. For when real love opens like a flower all around one there is a certain all-pervading peace in the mere presence of the beloved—or so she had recently discovered.

  The marquis did not offer her a cigarette because she so seldom accepted, but he stared at the tip of his own rather thoughtfully.

  “This is something I had not, as you might say, bargained for,” he said, frowning a little. “This accident to Tia Amelie. I have made plans to return to Madrid, and it was my intention that you should all accompany me there. That is to say, Mrs. Duveen and Michael, Miss Petersen, and, of course, Maria—and, naturally, yourself. But now you will have to be left behind.”

  Josie felt as if the sun were no longer shining on the leaves of the orange trees, and causing them to glitter like water, and she no longer knew a sensation of peace removing all the fret from her soul. She suddenly felt as if a cold hand clutched at her heart.

  Left behind...

  Carlos lifted his eyes and looked straight at her.

  “Can you endure it?” he asked.

  His choice of words, just then, should have struck her as odd; but it didn’t because she was still feeling almost shocked. She heard herself answering a little incoherently:

  “Endure it...? Why, I—why, yes, of course! If Dona Amelie wants me—and Mrs. Duveen is agreeable. And, in any case, I would have been going home to England, because, as you said, Dr. Duveen no longer requires a nurse, and there would have been very little point in my coming with you to Madrid. I mean”—as he stared at her oddly—“I mean I would have been rather superfluous...”

  “Would you?” Leaning forward with his cigarette burning away between his fingers.

  “Yes. At least, I—” His expression was so incomprehensible that she couldn’t go on, and she felt all at once completely confused. “That is...”

  “London is a long way from the Costa Brava,” he reminded her.

  Yes.”

  “A very long way!” And then he ground out his cigarette beneath the heel of his shoe. “But this is no time to talk to you like this ... You badly need sleep, and I must go upstairs and see Tia Amelie. But while you are marking time here on the coast with an invalid you might like to remember sometimes that virtue is not always its own reward. There are other rewards ... And they can be made sweeter by waiting.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  LESS than a week later the party at the marquis’s villa moved on to Madrid. Before they left Michael came to say goodbye to Josie.

  He looked at her a little ruefully as they shook hands.

  “You know, Josie,” he said, “I asked you to marry me, but you thought so little of my proposal that you didn’t even bother to say ‘Yes’, or ‘No’. Don’t you think I’m the sort of person to be taken seriously?”

  “Of course I do,” Josie assured him, but as she looked at him she wondered how she could make it clear to him that emotionally—even by comparison with herself—he was a little retarded. Before his accident he might have been in love with the girl who changed her mind about him—and whose name she had never learnt—but somehow she couldn’t be convinced about it. He had recovered so quickly. And she knew that it would have taken little encouragement for him to make love to her, but she did not wish a man to make love to her who had no real idea what he wanted out of life. No doubt he had more than once made love to Maria in the sensuous magic of Spanish moonlight; but moonlight is a thing of fantasy, of which dreams are spun, and love that endures has to face up to the sunlight as well, and be far more tenacious than gossamer. Love that goes on enduring has to put up with all sorts of atmospheric disturbances, and where mortals exist those disturbances are fairly certain.

  Somehow she couldn’t see Michael putting any woman first in his life—not even Dona Maria, when the time came. And for that very reason, even if her heart hadn’t been utterly secure, she could never have listened to him seriously.

  She was a serious person. Her life could only be lived happily with another who felt as she did about most things, not just the physical sufferings of humanity. And at least Michael had those at heart.

  She tried to smile and treat the matter lightly—without hurting him—as she said: “If I’d said ‘Yes’ I think you would have had a shock—when you thought about it afterwards. You would probably have found it hard to forgive me.”

  “Josie, how can you say such a thing?” he rebuked her, frowning. And then he laughed suddenly, a little regretfully, however. “You may be right, nevertheless! It wouldn’t have been a shock to find I’d got to marry you, Josie—but it mightn’t have worked out well for you! Enchanting though I find you, at times, I mightn’t have wanted to have you around all the time. Although, on the other hand—perhaps I’m missing something that would have made me very happy.”

  He took her hand and held it, looking at the delicate, and yet extraordinarily capable fingers.

  “You’re not—you haven’t lost your heart to Carlos, have you, Josie?” he asked, with sudden curtness. “Not so seriously that you can’t get it back again?”

  Josie let her fingers stay very quietly in his.

  “The important thing about giving anything as peculiarly personal as a heart away to anyone is that you should do so without any hopes of getting any
thing in return,” she said, her voice very low, although her eyes were clear as she gazed at him. “In some cases the mere act of giving is enough.”

  “But not in your case, Josie! You’re young, and lovely, and you deserve things—lots of things. You’ll have to find yourself a husband one day, but de Palheiro is not, I’m afraid, for you. I’ve watched him, and I believe he’s strongly attracted to you—perhaps there’s a sort of affinity, or something of the sort, between you—but there is also Sylvia Petersen. My dear, I hate to say this, but—she’ll get him in the end You must be prepared almost any day now for news of an engagement. And I wouldn’t say that if I hadn’t—well, inside information, as they say in racing circles.”

  “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Josie returned, in the same quiet voice, and very gently she drew her hand away from his. “But I’ve been expecting that announcement ever since we arrived here, so it won’t really be a shock, will it?”

  “It could be,” Michael replied, and bit his lip. “Why did I pick on you to nurse me, Josie? You’d have been happier left behind at Chessington House.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “It’s been wonderful—seeing Spain.”

  “And giving away your heart. I wish you could get it back, Josie.” He turned away. “I shan’t announce my engagement to anyone for some considerable while, so if you ever need me, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  And when he left her alone she felt as if someone who really had her interests at heart—even though he didn’t dwell upon them all the time—had gone away from her when she needed him most. For a short while she was dismayed by a sharp sensation of acute loss that actually brought her near to tears; tears because the future was going to be such an empty thing...

  When the marquis went away he did so without taking a particular farewell of her. One afternoon he called to see his aunt, announced, while Josie was still in the room, that it might be some time before he saw either of them again, and when he finally took his departure had no more than a smile for Josie, a warm pressure of the hand, and a recommendation that she looked after herself and his aunt.

  Then he was gone. His big car slid away down the drive, chauffeur-driven, and he lay back against the pearl-colored upholstery already lost in thought, as if many things pre-occupied him.

  One thing he had impressed upon Josie, however, and that was that if she needed him she was not to hesitate to let him know. Tia Amelie’s villa was one of the oldest on the coast, and there was no telephone, but a telegram would be answered immediately, and a letter reporting progress would be welcomed. So at the end of the first week following, his departure for Madrid, Josie wrote him rather a formal, and very careful, letter, giving him news of his aunt’s welfare, and when she received an equally formal letter of acknowledgement she half wished she hadn’t written at all. But it was part of her job to keep him posted with information concerning her patient’s progress, and after that the letters were dispatched to him regularly, at weekly intervals. The replies came back by return of post—the sort of replies she could have shown to anyone, and did show to Dona Amelie, who also received letters from Madrid, the contents of which she preferred to keep to herself.

  It was the end of November before the old lady was up and about again, able to hobble about her house with the aid of a stick, and apparently none the worse for her accident. But while she was progressing through early convalescence to the more active stage when recovery is assured, Josie found her life had become rather a lonely one, and she watched the summer flee away altogether from the Costa Brava coast, and autumn banish most of the splendour, with a feeling of sadness because what had gone before could never quite be recaptured.

  Not that there wasn’t still beauty. There were wonderful days, when the sun shone, and the sky and sea were as blue as they were when high summer made everything seem full of promise. But there were days when there was no blue about the sky at all, and the sea looked threatening and angry. There were days when it rained, and wind lashed the branches of the trees, and shook the windows of the casa, and the fallen rose petals that were everywhere were banished in cruel gusts right out to sea. Josie hated more than anything to see the last of the roses, although in sheltered corners of the garden they went on blooming as if they were determined to last until Christmas, at least.

  With the approach of Christmas Dona Amelie grew restless. Under normal circumstances, she explained, she would have returned to Madrid long before this; because there was nothing like Madrid in the autumn, when the evenings were still long and golden, and after the immensely trying heat of summer the Spanish capital drew breath, as it were, and came awake once more.

  “Spring and autumn are the seasons when you should see Madrid,” she told Josie, “and the winter can be very exhilarating. Ours is the highest capital in Europe, you know, and although a lot of people complain about the severity and extremes of our weather, at least we always know what we can expect. Which is more,” smiling at Josie, “than you, my dear, can say when you are in London.”

  “That is quite true,” Josie admitted.

  “In Madrid, too, I have a lot of friends, and life is never dull. There are excellent shops, and all the diversions that young people enjoy nowadays, and in a few weeks there will be fresh snow on the Guadarrama, and ski-ing will be possible. In addition to ski-ing there are other forms of exercise, if you are young enough to enjoy exercise—”

  “You sound as if you are trying to tempt me,” Josie interrupted her, and this time it was she who smiled.

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” the old lady announced placidly. “I have made up my mind that nothing could be nicer than that you should come with me to Madrid for Christmas—and after that to stay as long as you please! I should be enchanted if you would remain as my guest indefinitely, because, dear child,” patting her hand, “I have taken a great fancy to you, and I am very happy to have you with me.”

  “That—that is very nice of you. It is extremely nice of you to say anything of the sort,” Josie managed, with a certain amount of difficulty, however, because the very thought of visiting Madrid for the first time, and perhaps coming in contact again with Carlos de Palheiro, affected her with a sensation like breathlessness.

  Dona Amelie seemed to survey her rather shrewdly. “Not at all, my dear. It is you who have been exceedingly kind to me, and now that that fussy little doctor in the village can’t reasonably expect to keep me here any longer—”

  “But, won’t it be rather a long journey for you? Josie said, remembering the frailty of the old lady, in spite of her intrepid disposition.

  “My dear, my home is in Madrid, not here,” Dona Amelie replied, with finality, “and I’ve done the journey so many times in my life that it won’t hurt me to do it once more—perhaps many times more,” with a quick, rather quizzically hopeful smile. “We will go by car to Barcelona, and then take the train. There will be nothing exhausting about it.”

  “And you will let your—nephew know?” Josie suggested, realizing that it was really her job to let him know. But the old lady dismissed the suggestion.

  “All in good time,” she said, casually. “At the moment I know he is very preoccupied—the Duveens are still with him, you know, and Miss Petersen. And I’ve no doubt they’ve many social engagements, and he won’t want to be bothered with the whims of an old lady like myself, even if he is a devoted nephew, and I am extremely fond of him.”

  Josie felt her heart sink—in fact, it might have been a balloon that had received a prick. Many social engagements ... Miss Petersen ... and he hadn’t replied to her last letter.

  All at once she felt frightened of Madrid. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to go there. She wanted to stay where she was, on the emptying Costa Brava, where no one could get at her and hurt her, and no further disillusionment could lie in wait for her.

  CHAPTER XV

  NEVERTHELESS, Josie did arrive in Madrid, with Dona Amelie, whose chauffeur met them with
a somewhat old-fashioned make of car. He was a rather old-fashioned chauffeur too, in his dignified and precise uniform, and he seemed delighted to have his mistress back. He tucked her in at the rear of the car, with many soft plaid rugs to protect both her and Josie from the definite chill in the atmosphere.

  In fact, there seemed to be a faint flurry of snow in the air as they drove away from the station. A strong wind was carrying it from the peaks of the Guadarrama, and citizens of Madrid were hurrying along well wrapped up in a way that would have seemed impossible during their long hot summer.

  Josie peered from the window and saw modern buildings, and a great many shops and cafes, with women in furs and daintily high-heeled shoes tripping along on the crowded pavements. There were no mantillas, and no whirling skirts; nothing but excessive elegance. Dona Amelie pointed out the fashionable shopping streets ... the Alcala, San Jeronimo, and the Gran Via. She seemed quite excited to be back, and Josie watched her a little anxiously.

  But when, a little later, down a broad avenue, they came within sight of her house, she lay back as if at last she could relax. Carlotta, her maid, was on the front seat with the chauffeur, and in a matter of seconds she was out of the car, once it had stopped, and was assisting her mistress to alight. Dona Amelie’s house was of rather drab-colored stone, but it looked very impressive none the less. Inside it was even more impressive, with portraits lining the wall beside the staircase, graceful pillars supporting the gallery that ran around the hall, and an open patio in the very centre of the house that seemed a little unnecessary at this season of the year. But the rest of the house was beautifully warm, and almost lavish in its furnishings. Josie found that an entire suite of rooms was placed at her disposal, and once she was inside them she felt a little lost after the more homely atmosphere of the villa.

  Dona Amelie had to admit to being very exhausted that night, and Josie and Carlotta got her to bed between them, and then rang for the doctor who normally attended her. He said that there was nothing that a few days of rest wouldn’t put right, and being a fashionable Madrid physician reminded Josie much more of Michael Duveen than the plump little man on the Costa Brava had done.