For Ever and Ever (14 page)

“That’s another crazy idea of yours,” Claire interrupted impatiently. “Why should he, anyway?”

“Because I had told him I knew why he was on board,” said Leonie, looking straight at the other girl.

“O-oh—” For the first time Claire looked a trifle shaken. But she recovered again almost immediately and said angrily, “You told me you were satisfied that was all an accident, after all. You seemed to accept his explanation.”

“I only pretended to.”

“You’ve done rather a lot of pretending, it seems to me,” Claire said curtly.

“Yes,” Leonie agreed unhappily. “But you presented me with the best bit of pretence, you remember. The idea that I was a rich girl, travelling for pleasure. That was what really precipitated matters. When I found there was no way of
arguing
you into seeing Kingsley Stour as he was, I determined to make him show you himself.”

The other girl made an impatient little movement of her shoulders, but Leonie refused to be silenced.

“I embroidered your story about me. I let him think I was not only wealthy, but peculiarly without any hard-headed men-folk to interfere with my plans. I’m sorry, Claire—but from that day he began paying me quite extravagant court. It ended this evening, as I’ve told you, in his asking me to marry him.”

“But he denies it.”

“Then he is lying,” said Leonie coldly and flatly, and with such conviction that again Claire looked shaken.

There was a moment’s silence. Then she said, almost pleadingly.

“
One
of you is lying, Leonie. And—I’m sorry—but naturally I take the word of the man I love against yours.”

“Then you think I just built up a tissue of lies, because I want him myself?” Leonie looked incredulous. “You think I’m jealous and trying to make mischief? You
can
’
t
think that, Claire. You know me too well.”

“No, I don’t think that.” Claire spoke slowly, in a troubled tone. “I thought it for a moment, because I couldn’t imagine any other possible reason for your saying such things. But now you’ve told me about what Father said, I think I know what happened. I accept the fact that you genuinely felt you ought to do something. It was officious of you, and you were acting without knowing the truth about Kingsley, but—you felt you should. All right. But when you found your arguments didn’t affect me, you should have left it at that, Leonie. I think you’ve made up this tale this evening, in a last attempt to estrange me from Kingsley.”

“Oh, Claire!”

“And though I’m willing to believe you feel you’re acting from excellent motives, I think it’s pretty mean of you.”

Leonie gave an angry little laugh and pushed back her hair with the back of her hand, in a weary gesture, for it had been an exhausting evening.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” she said helplessly. “If you really suppose I should
invent
all that—”

“Why should Kingsley deny it? We always come back to that. If your story were true, Leonie, he would have regretfully admitted it. I gave him the opportunity to do so. If he really wanted to be free to marry you, why didn’t he say so?”

“I don’t know,” said Leonie unhappily.

“You see?”

“Unless—” Suddenly like a light in the darkness the explanation flashed into Leonie’s mind. “Claire, will you answer me something quite truthfully?”

“Ye-es.”

“Before you told Kingsley what I had said to you, did you tell him—did you even casually mention—that I was not at all what you had made me out to be? That I was just a girl in your father’s office?”

For perhaps half a minute there were signs of a struggle on Claire’s face. Then, true to her promise, she admitted reluctantly,

“Well, I—did, as a matter of fact. I suppose you think that was very mean?”

“Not necessarily. But—how did you put it?” asked Leonie curiously, because she simply could not imagine how this conversation could have gone.

“Why, you see—I couldn’t just rush up to him and tax him with proposing to you. At least, fortunately I didn’t make such a fool of myself. I said that I wanted to—to speak to him about you. And he said, ‘Oh? My friend Leonie?—the golden girl?’ and laughed.”

“Yes?” prompted Leonie, as Claire hesitated.

“I felt mad suddenly, particularly after what you had said, and—it
was
mean, as a matter of fact,” she added in objective parenthesis—”I instinctively tore away all the borrowed glamor and said, ‘She’s not a golden girl. She’s just a girl in my father’s office.’ I’m sorry, Leonie.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Leonie said gently. “It doesn’t matter a bit, as far as I am concerned. Only that was why he repudiated any proposal he had made.”

“Oh, Leonie, that’s not true!”

Claire’s denial was immediate and emphatic. But, for the first time, Leonie thought she detected a note of misgiving in the other girl’s voice, and wisely did not press her point. It was just possible, she supposed, that Claire’s own common sense and judgment might gradually accomplish what no further argument could do.

There was silence in the cabin for quite a long time. Then Leonie said,

“It’s been a horrible evening, hasn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever felt more exhausted or drained in my life. I’m going to bed, Claire.”

“But we haven’t—I mean, we can’t leave it like that. We haven’t
settled
anything.”

“We’ve arrived at an
impasse
,” Leonie replied. “As you said, either he or I must be lying. You prefer his word to mine, and you’re quite entitled to do so. That’s all there is to it.”

“But you—you won’t admit—” Claire hesitated.

“I’ve nothing to admit, Claire dear. Except that I interfered too enthusiastically, perhaps, in someone else’s affairs, and I’ve no one to blame but myself if I appear in a very unfavorable light.”

“And is that—all you have to say?” Claire sounded almost pathetically anxious to recapitulate her arguments to
someone.

“Yes, and I’m going to bed,” Leonie said. “Goodnight, Claire.” And, without more ado she went into her own room and shut the door after her.

But the moment she was alone, she dropped down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. It had been the most odious, the most shattering experience of her life, and now that she no longer needed to keep up appearances, she found that she was actually shaking.

Never before had she attempted to measure herself against someone unscrupulous and quick-witted. And the speed and completeness with which he had turned the tables on her, and made
her
seem the liar, gave her the same sort of shock as if he had slapped her face.

“I ought never to have put myself in such a position,” she thought, much too late. “My instinct was sound when it prompted me to withdraw. When I felt that—that Mr. Pembridge would have thought poorly of the whole thing.”

Only—the Assistant Surgeon had offered her such a splendid opportunity, as it seemed, that evening. She had felt so sure that the moment for rescuing Claire had come. It would have been cowardly to refuse it.

“And it would have worked,” thought Leonie, “if only Claire hadn’t innocently blurted out the truth first. That must have been a shock for him!”

There was some slight consolation in that thought, even though of a somewhat unworthy variety. And, very faintly cheered by it, Leonie undressed and went to bed.

Sheer weariness kept her from lying awake. But her troubles seemed to follow her into her sleep, and she woke, unrefreshed, to the unpleasant realization that she would have to face an angry, disillusioned Kingsley Stour at the first surgery.

Not that he was in a position to upbraid her, of course. But the whole situation had now become so utterly distasteful to her that she wished with all her heart that she need never set eyes on him again.

It did not, however, occur to her to try to get out of the duties she had voluntarily assumed. And so, promptly on time, she presented herself at the surgery, and had everything in readiness by the time the Assistant Surgeon entered—cool, handsome and completely self-possessed, in his white uniform.

“Good morning, Nurse,” he said, addressing her thus for the first time.

“Good morning.”

“Looks like a busy morning. I see there are several of the crew already waiting outside.”

“Y-yes. I thought I heard them talking.”

“Better let the first ones in, and we’ll get going right away.”

“Very well, sir,” said Leonie, and went to summon their first patient.

She supposed he could not very well have staged any sort of scene, with several of the crew already waiting to come into the surgery for attention. But that he should say
nothing
—give no indication in his manner that they had passed through the most profound crisis since last meeting—seemed almost unbelievable.

He was treating her as he might have treated Nurse Meech. With rather more pleasant formality, if anything. Very much the busy Assistant Surgeon who appreciated his nurse’s presence, but only in a purely professional way.

She was divided between indignation and amusement.

This was the man who had declared passionate love to her the previous evening—who had, in fact, begged her to marry him. He must know that she knew him now for exactly what he was, for he could not suppose that Claire had kept silent on their conversation. And yet—he was apparently not even abashed.

As she noted down treatments, changed dressings, bandaged minor injuries, Leonie was thinking,

“Then this is how he deals with awkward situations. He just ignores them—puts a line under them. If I don’t say anything, I don’t believe he will. He simply relies on his bare-faced effrontery and his persuasive tongue—Oh, what
shall
I do with Claire?”

Between the crew surgery and the hour for the cabin-class passengers there was a slight pause.

“You might take those prescriptions along to the dispensary, Nurse. I’m going to step outside for a smoke,” said the Assistant Surgeon, without even glancing at her.

“Very well, sir. I suppose that does get you out of the awkward possibility of having to stay and explain yourself,” Leonie replied coolly.

She thought for a moment that he was even going to turn his back on that challenge. Then he raised his head and regarded her with a sardonic little smile which made him look a much older and harder man than he usually looked.

“What about doing some explaining yourself? he inquired scornfully.

“Do you think it’s necessary? I’m quite willing to do so, if you would really like me to put into words — She stopped, because footsteps were heard coming along the narrow corridor, and she recognized them for Mr. Pembridge’s. At this point, however, Kingsley Stour did not seem to think silence was called for.

“Perhaps you don’t need to explain, after all, he said coolly and distinctly. “But remember in future that any girl who passes herself off as something she is not runs the risk of getting her fingers pretty badly burnt. Isn’t that so, sir?” He turned with a grin to Mr. Pembridge, who had come in in time to hear most of this speech

“As a general principle—yes,” replied the Senior Surgeon, not appearing to notice that Leonie turned scarlet and then white with mortification. “But as applied to Nurse Creighton, it’s simply a piece of damned impertinence. I imagine you will want apologize, now you’ve had a moment to think it through.”

“On the contrary, I see no reason to apologize.”

“My mistake,” said Mr. Pembridge coldly. “I had supposed you were a gentleman. You have the outward appearance of one. But I see I was wrong.”

“Look here, sir!—if you knew half that I do about Nurse Creighton—”

“I know a great deal more about Nurse Creighton than you, my dear fellow, and I don’t intend to have her insulted while she’s working for me. Now kindly go and cool your heels somewhere else while I take the passengers’ surgery,” said Mr. Pembridge.

“But I insist on—”

“Mr. Stour”—the older man’s voice was quiet, almost gentle—”I am your superior officer.”

“Very well, sir.”

Angrily, and with obvious reluctance, Kingsley Stour went out of the surgery, and for two minutes there was silence, while the Senior Surgeon sat down at the desk and began to rearrange some papers. Then, without looking up, he said.

“There’s no need to cry about it. But you were a very silly girl ever to put yourself in that position, and you really asked for what you got.”

“I’m n-not crying,” Leonie said, staring very hard out of the porthole and somehow controlling a desire to sob aloud.

“Then blow your nose and stop sniffing.”

Humbly Leonie complied with his direction, and after a moment she was able to say huskily,

“Thank you very much for—for defending me.”

“Well, I don’t know that it amounted to anything quite as grand as that.” Mr. Pembridge regarded her with some dry amusement. “But I certainly was not going to have him talk to you in that strain, whether you deserved it or not.”

“Mr. Pembridge—sir—I didn’t really deserve it,” Leonie declared pleadingly.

“No? Hadn’t you been passing yourself off as a well-endowed play-girl, instead of a nice, useful secretary?”

“In a way—yes. But—”

“In what sort of way?” inquired Mr. Pembridge, who had an exact mind. “Either you did so or you didn’t.”

“It’s all rather involved,” Leonie said with a sigh.

“I’m sure it is. That’s why I said you really asked for what you got. But I think I hear our first patient coming. Powder your nose and smile, or else they will think I’ve been bullying you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Leonie submissively. For the extraordinary thing was that Mr. Pembridge’s brisk and astringent manner had the effect of making her feel what a nice and worthwhile person he was. And if this seems altogether illogical, it can only be said that human nature
is
illogical.

They were busy that morning, and by the time the last patient had departed, Leonie felt sure that her own unimportant affairs had quite slipped from Mr. Pembridge’s mind. But, as he was leaving, he turned at the door and said,

“If it’s going to be embarrassing or unpleasant for you to work closely with Stour in future, I’ll arrange that you take surgery with me always, and Nurse Meech can assist him.”