Plantation Doctor (14 page)

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Being out of
bed was not so wonderful after all. To begin with, since Lyn had last walked, the floor had taken on a misleading slope. Then she saw herself from the waist upwards in the mirror of the square, white-enamelled dressing-table, and was stricken by her own thinness and pallor, the lankness of the coppery hair through sweating and tossing, the dullness of her eyes. She was a tropic
-
weary woman of twenty!

The handbag she had used at the picnic lay in the top drawer. Lyn extracted it, groped her way to the wicker easy chair and made light use of powder and lipstick. Her own tiny mirror told her it was hopeless: impossible to eradicate or disguise the effects of recent fever; they hung about like mist after a storm. Lyn drew her tartan silk dressing-gown closer about her and sat staring desolately at the patch of garden beyond the window.

Adrian had come in at nine, glanced at her briefly and said, “Since you’re fretting to get up, you can have a try. Johanna will give you a hand. I’ll call back around twelve to see how you’re doing.”

It was nearly twelve now and Lyn was debating whether to make an attempt to brave him out from the chair or to climb back between the sheets like the unhappy child she felt, and admit defeat. Not that Adrian would care either way. Since she had more or less recovered he had gone as cold as a glacier wind.

She was still undecided when a rap rounded at the open door and a woman came into the room. Lyn gazed up at her, instinctively made an effort to rise.

“No, you mustn’t do that. If Adrian thought I’d disturbed one of his patients he’d never forgive me. Just stay there quietly and I’ll sit in this chair.” A moment passed while she arranged herself to face Lyn at the comfortable distance of a yard or so. “I’m Evelyn Denton.”

“I ... I thought you might be.”

The woman was like her picture in Adrian’s library. Fine-boned, distinctive features, soft, greyish hair dressed above a serene forehead, eyes that were alert and interested, perhaps seeing more than one guessed. She wore a
n
avy, pin-striped silk suit with a ruffled white collar, and a heavy solitaire diamond above her wedding-ring. Mrs. Denton might be fifty-five, but no more. Lyn had thought she would be older.

“So you’re Lynden Russell,” she said. “The fever was a piece of bad luck, but you’re young—you’ll throw off the effects in less than a month. I had it twice, years ago. When you first stagger to your feet you take stock of yourself and wonder if you’ll ever be normal again, don’t you?”

Lyn smiled. “I’ve just been doing that.”

“I thought so. You’ve a chastened air, but don’t worry, you’ll soon be pretty again.” Mrs. Denton cast an appreciative glance round the room. “Quite good, for the tropics. Adrian told me about you. The settlement is full of surprises; last night there was Hazel Merrick, who’s very much like her handsome brother and an exceptionally likeable person into the bargain, and now you
—
who may not be quite so beautiful but possibly have a gentler appeal. I’m asking myself whether I need have bothered to bring Marceline.”

Because it appeared to be expected of her, Lyn said, “Who is Marceline?”

“A handful,” came the expressive answer. “She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine—I’ve known her since she
w
as a baby. She lost her mother last year, so I’ve taken on the task of finding her a husband. Not that she couldn’t have managed it quite as well herself—Marceline has lived on the Continent!—b
u
t I had an idea which was worth trying out.”

She did not explain at once, but asked questions about Lyn’s business in West Africa and the kind of life she had lived in England. At the mention of antiques she kindled.

“So you’re fond of the old and mellow,” she exclaimed. “So am I. Some day you
must
see
my
collection of Italian glass. I’ve spent years getting it together and it’s one o
f
the best you’ll find. I’ve some good tapestries too, but my paintings really belong to Adrian. He bought them and hung them in my rooms till he should settle in his own home. Has he told you about Wideacres?”

“No. Is it a house?”

“A small estate in Sussex.” She sighed, partly with exasperation. “I’m terrified that he’ll hang on here too long and pick up one of those horrible germs that you can never get out of your system. I’ve heard of it happening to other men. He’s done his bit for the company and
a
great deal for England too, one way and another. It’s time he handed over to a new man and put West Africa behind him. If he’s so keen on tropical medicine he can carry on with research work in Lond
o
n. He’d be just as valuable there.”

“You’ll have difficulty in convincing him of that.”

Mrs. Denton looked at Lyn more intently, as if to weigh up the wisdom of plain speaking. Evidently she came to a decision. “Alone, I’ll never persuade him,” she said. “That was where Mar
c
eline was supposed to come in. He ought to marry, but he’s given so much to medicine and the tropics that I doubt whether he’d let himself fall in love. The best one can hope, for is that he’ll marry from a sense of duty. If that were the best he could offer a woman Marceline would be an excellent choice. She’s capable of giving a man full measure if he should want it,
o
r having a gay time if he doesn’t. She’s not easily hurt.”

Lyn did not quite absorb the full meaning of this. Nor could she fathom Mrs. Denton’s purpose in coming so frankly to the point of her visit to the Coast. Perhaps her eyes reflected too clearly her thoughts, for the other woman smiled rather charmingly.

“Devastatingly candid, aren’t I?—that’s what you’re thinking. Unfortunately, I can only stay here a few weeks, and I’m desperately anxious to have Adrian’s promise that he’ll come home and settle very soon. I can’t see that anything other than marriage will force him to it.”

What Lyn would have replied to this was problematical, for Adrian appeared then, his preoccupied frown smoothing out as he saw his aunt.

“Hello, my dear,” she said. “You’re early. Didn’t you take the girls?”

“Yes, I did.” Where he had taken the girls did not emerge. “Who gave you permission to stroll around the clinic?”

“I came over purposely to see this child.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Several minutes. Are you going to turn me out?”

“I shall have to, soon. What have you two been gossiping about?”

“You, naturally. Can’t you sit down? I’m not in the habit of talking to a pacing man.”

He stopped then and leaned near the window, looking down at them both. “What did you find to say about me?”

“The things one does say about a bachelor.” She smiled at him with affection. “You know, Adrian, at the moment you’re an interesting subject for study. You’re a little tired from an
extra-long
spell in this abominable climate and perhaps ready to grasp at relaxation. You might even consider marriage. Right on the spot there are three enticing young women, each quite different from the other. Marceline is like a jolly raven, and Hazel has classic beauty and a still look, as though she might be waiting for someone—who could be you. Lynden, here, is the youngest and probably the most tender and romantic, but I’ve a notion there’s something about you which sends a chill down her spine.”

“It’s the doctor in me,” he said coolly. “Doesn’t it occur to you that all three of these young women may have bestowed their hearts elsewhere?”

“Marceline hasn’t—or hadn’t before we left England, though she’s likely to lose her head at any moment in the midst of such a surfeit of men. And Hazel wouldn’t have agreed to come as our guest if she were averse to your company.”

Lyn met Adrian’s eyes, saw that they were cold and read into them a glint of malice. Because his aunt was there she found the courage to ask, “Is Hazel staying with you now?
”

“She’s moving in today,
”
he responded with that same deadly calm. “The other house has only the one bedroom and you’ll rest better if you have it to yourself. You must be used to that room, anyway. Hazel was willing to have a bed put into the living-room over there, but when we talked it over last night my aunt suggested that she occupy one of our bedrooms.”

“We could fit in Lynden too,” inserted Mrs. Denton at once.

Lyn’s throat was beginning to ache, her pride to sting. “It’s good of you to offer it, but I’d rather be over there with Melia.”

“It’ll be quieter,” Adrian said without expression. “You can leave the hospital tomorrow.”

“As soon as you’re quite recovered you’ll be with us all day, of course,” Mrs. Denton stated. “A house full of women will do Adrian no end of good.”

“And if Lyn stays out of bed any longer,” he said, “she’ll come to no end of harm, and you wouldn’t care to be the cause of that. Get going, there’s a sweet.”

Mrs. Denton stroked Lyn’s shoulder and bade her a brisk good-bye. Adrian crossed to the bed and shook up the pillows, turned to find Lyn standing, but withdrawn and taut, as if daring him to touch her.

“You can lie down as you are,” he said, but offered no help till she sat on the side of the bed, when he knelt and pulled off her slippers. From that position he looked up and saw her whiteness and the dark-ringed, brimming eyes. His tone was curt. “You’ve done too much for the first day out of bed. I kept visitors away from you because I knew they’d work upon your emotions. If you’ve got to get strung up, for Pete’s sake wait till you can stand it.”

She eased down on to the bed and closed her eyes, felt the back of his hand press lightly over her brow and heard him go from the room.

There were no more callers while Lyn
w
as in the private ward. The following evening Adrian took her across in his car to the familiar bachelor dwelling where Melia, dressed for some reason in her best white cotton, hovered like an anxious hen.

But Melia had evidently been strictly schooled. She talked very little, prepared appetizing trays and rigidly kept all enquiries at bay. From her veranda Lyn often saw Hazel and the black-haired, gaily attired Marceline going off to town to enjoy themselves. Once they slowed down the car on the path and Hazel made an introduction. “Adrian’s put you out of bounds till next week-end,” she called. “You’re looking better, Lyn.”

And so was Hazel; she was losing the lines of strain, the weary droop at the corners of her mouth. It suited her to be under the same roof with Adrian, to meet him
at breakfast, to wish him good night knowing that he would be near and perhaps unavoidably turning closely acquainted with Marceline, Lyn knew that of the two girls, Hazel was the more likely to quicken Adrian’s pulses. He liked women to be intelligent and well-read, he admired sincerity and physical beauty, and about Hazel there was, besides, some of his own aloofness. She was no housewife, and like many gifted women she had a streak of selfishness, but Adrian would demand nothing more than her heartwhole love. And Hazel could give him that.

Wryly, Lyn reflected that maybe her own endeavour on Hazel’s behalf had awakened him to the girl’s desirableness, roused him to an awareness of his own masculine needs.

During that week it was cooler, and one night there came another short but furious storm. The long rains were still at least four weeks away, and Lyn had the feeling that she would be on the high seas before they got into their stride. She hoped so.

On Friday, Claud came to Denton. It was from Melia that Lyn learned he had spent an hour or more at Adrian’s house, that he had stopped his car on the path outside and said he wished to speak to Lyn. But Lyn had been resting after lunch, and not for Mr. Merrick would Melia cut short that sleep; it was through the swamp in Mr. Merrick’s garden that Lyn had fallen sick—Melia was not likely to forget that. She stuck to her instructions from the doctor as if several lives, including her own, depended on them. Claud had given her a message. She was to tell Miss Russell that he had been continually thinking about her and was longing to see her. He had been invited up for tennis tomorrow afternoon and hoped she would be there, if only as a spectator.

Claud at Denton, openly calling at Adrian’s house and making himself pleasant to the womenfolk! Lyn could not understand it. Adrian had never pretended to like Claud, and as for asking him into his house—at one time it had been unthinkable. Was he trying to put up with him for Hazel’s sake? Had she perhaps pleaded for her brother? Lyn knew that Adrian would not be proof against the pleading of a woman he cared for. A man who could be so gentle and sympathetic with patients who meant nothing to him personally must have a fund of inner tenderness.

Lyn sharply caught her breath. She still was not strong enough to think about him intimately.

She drank the tea Melia had brought and got out some sewing to keep her hands busy while she sat on the veranda. The men came home in their small, dusty cars. Rollins rode up on his motor-bike, greeted her and walked round to the back of the house. Last came Adrian, slowing down as usual to give her one of those swift, comprehensive glances and a conventional word.

This evening, though, he stopped, slid out of the car and took the three steps in one stride.

“The rest has acted as a tonic,” he said. “You’ve even regained some of your color. Feel all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Aren’t you going to invite me to take a seat?”

“Of course. She folded her needlework. “There’s some of your whisky in the cupboard. I’ll tell the boy to bring you a drink.”

“Don’t bother.” He had, in fact, so placed his chair that she would have had difficulty in passing into the house. “Have you been bored?”

“Not very.”

“Think you could bear to lunch with us tomorrow?” His voice had that curious flatness which Lyn had come to recognize as a mask for sarcasm. Her nerves tightened and her knees pressed hard together.

“Why put it that way? Is it likely to prove an ordeal?”

“It shouldn’t; the whole house just oozes friendliness. But I thought that might be an atmosphere you’d find hard to tolerate.” Without waiting for her comment, he nodded at the track and enquired. “Whose motor-bike is that?”

“Rollins’. He came to see Melia.”

“Are they friends?”

“They’re going to be married.”

If he had laughed she would have flared. Possibly he saw the glitter in her eyes, her unsteady hands. He spoke quietly, with a degree of warmth.

“The deuce they are! How soon?”

“In about a month, I think.”

“I must have a word with Rollins. The men will want to make him a gift. He’s quite popular, you know—an obliging sort of chap. I dare say we can spare him for a couple of weeks’ holiday and fix him up with a passage on a coastal vessel.”

“Melia would hate that.”

“I don’t think so,” he said evenly. “She may be getting near forty but she’s young at heart and never been married before—probably never imagined she would get married. Women always like to make the most of such things.”

“Melia’s different. She’d rather move into his house without any fuss.”

“If Rollins is anything of a man he’ll be able to persuade her otherwise.” His glance at her was narrow and mocking. “Why should he be deprived of his honeymoon?”

“Don’t you get tired of managing people?”

His expression altered, became hard and unsmiling. He rested back in his chair, contemplating the metallic sky carved with fire. “I get more tired of seeing others mishandle their affairs. It doesn’t take a lot of cleverness to get the best out of life, but honesty with oneself is indispensable. You should try it some time.”

A moment of silence widened between them. Then Adrian turned, half-facing her.

“I stopped here this evening to put you wise on a few matters before you plunge into the social excitement which seems to be brewing. I wouldn’t like you to have any shocks. You know already that the Merricks’ bungalow is empty, but not why. As a matter of fact it doesn’t belong to Merrick any longer. Nor does the plantation. He’s sold out to the Denton company.”

Lyn stared at him. “Sold out! When?”

“A day or two after you went down with fever. We made a temporary agreement then. The official papers had to be drawn up by an attorney in Freetown, and they came through today. Claud came here to sign them this afternoon. When the transfer is completed he’ll receive his cheque and take the next boat away from West Africa.”

“I can hardly believe it. He always said he’d never sell.”

“I know he did,” he said grimly, “but men like Merrick invariably have their price. In his case it was about ten times the value of his plantation. He’ll be comparatively well off.”

“Why did you pay so much?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Was it for
...
Hazel?”

He shrugged. “Would you care if it were?”

“Why should I?” The syllables came out hurriedly and a little high-pitched because her throat was dry. “I only asked because it seemed there ought to be a good reason for giving so much more than the property is worth.”

“There are several good reasons,” he said with deliberate cynicism, “and you are one of them. Claud was too poor to marry, but now he isn’t. He’s free to make you his wife, to take you away from the tropics to a place where there’s no fever, either of the body or the mind. From your point of view, it’s clear sailing. You can vow to honor and cherish the fascinating bounder till he isn’t a bounder any more and old age has depleted his fascination for other women. To put it briefly, you are now in a position to begin the heartbreaking task of reforming a confirmed rake. Do I make myself understood?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know, and it’s inexcusable straight after your illness. But as my aunt was misguided enough to tell Claud he would be welcome at the tennis courts tomorrow afternoon, I thought I’d better hand out a frank opinion before you two meet.” He paused, then finished crisply: “It must be a wrenching experience for a sensitive girl to love a man like Claud Merrick, but it would be pure hell if she were married to him. I shouldn’t do anything in a hurry, if I were you.”