Ship's Surgeon (14 page)

“You’ll like that. Do you have to live on the plantation?”

“I get a house in the official residential area and stay in a flat near the medical centre when I’m in Suva. It’s all laid on.” He took a last pull at his cigarette and pressed it out. “I wish things were all laid on for you,” he ended abruptly.

“For me?” She looked down. “I’ll be all right. I’m certain my uncle will help me in some way, and when I get back to England...”

“Stop being noble. You were hoping to get married, and it’s right that you should; you’re the marrying kind. Well, it looks as if we’ve both had disappointments, you and I. You’ve lost your Alan, and I...” He stopped, and then said cynically, “Why don’t we enjoy each other till Fremantle? You need a boost and I’ve had about enough of being ship’s surgeon. We’re both tied, except in the evenings, but why shouldn’t we dine together each night and compare notes?”

“I don’t ... make notes.”

“You do—mental ones. You’re making them now. You’re thinking, ‘He’s in the mood for philandering, and I’m not sure I can rise to it though it might brighten me up no end. It would help me to forget Alan, but I don’t want to snarl up my emotions again, ever.’ Isn’t that what you thought?”

She pinked slightly. “Something like that.”

He smiled jadedly. “You’re innocent, even a little raw, but I’ll be candid with you. I want to get Avis Markman off my neck, and the only way to accomplish that is to show some interest in another girl. We’ll make a pact. I’ll make sure nothing happens to Deva and you’ll cling along so that I can shake off Avis.”

A pain like glass splinters moving in her chest made Pat tremble slightly. This man was mercilessly cold and calculating; he spoke quietly, even casually, and you were almost lulled into imagining him a man who could be tender and full of compassion as well as commanding and dependable. And then he said something shattering, that hurt through and through. What was he thinking, behind that cool, cynical mask? That maybe the woman called Bonnie wouldn’t marry him at such short notice? That he might as well have a bit of a fling before taking off for the hot and humid grind of the Fijis?

Pat heard herself saying, “Maybe I’ll dine with you tonight and try it out. And now, will you excuse me? I think I’ll rest for an hour.”

“You do that,” he said negligently, as he stood with her. “But don’t think too much. At this stage it might spoil things.”

She didn’t know what he meant by “this stage” and didn’t ask. She smiled perfunctorily and left him. But in her cabin she felt restless and unhappy. She lay on her bed with her face in the pillow and wondered if it could ever be easy to hide one’s emotions, pack them away beneath the conscious level and turn a hard bright smile upon the world.

She loved Bill Norton. Bill Norton, she knew, loved no one. He had been attracted by that woman in the picture, had probably made love to her, or he wouldn’t be cherishing her photograph so close to his bed; he might seek her out and even marry her, but he didn’t love her. No man in love would have suggested what Bill had suggested to Pat; that she attach herself to him during his off hours so that Avis should be discouraged. He was heartless and cruel, even though the cruelty might be unintentional. He was also dangerous, because he could use his gentler mood to blunt the edge of her caution.

Anxiety and weariness made Pat feel bitter and defeated and the cheerless churning in her head brought an ache to her temples. It seemed as if she would never know peace.

She did dine with Bill that night, but as soon as she had eaten she left him; he lifted a brow and let her go. She went to the sick bay to make sure that Deva was happily settled, and then to her own cabin, to change her dress for pyjamas and dressing-gown. Resolutely, she sat down to read. It was after ten when it suddenly came to her that she should make good the tale she had told Deva; in any case, it would do no harm to spray the cabin tonight while in port; all sorts of flying things seemed to be invading the ship.

The stateroom steward was off duty, and it took some time to locate a spray and fill it with insecticide. However, she managed it, and entered the stateroom with the key Mrs. Lai had left with her. The small light above each bed had presumably been left on by the steward; perhaps he had thought Deva was being allowed up for part of the evening. Pat did not switch on any more lights; it was quite easy to see in the white-tiled bathroom, where she sprayed first. Coming back into the bedroom, she paused suddenly. There was someone at the door, trying the lock, not with a key but with something that needed a good deal of manoeuvring. The door opened and, panic in her throat, she stepped back into the choking atmosphere of the bathroom.

A man said, “It was unlocked ... the girl’s not here!”

Frank Thornton! Pat was paralysed. If they looked into the bathroom...

“She must be here,” said the second man uneasily, and Pat felt as if even her brain were disintegrating, though something made her cling hard to the spray in her hand in case it should clatter and give her away. Inevitably, the second voice had belonged to Van Pickard.

They were talking fast now.

“Don’t you see what it means? They’ve tumbled to us—that Fenley girl that you said you had in the bag. You let out something, you fool!”

“I didn’t.” Van was clearly terrified; his voice creaked. “She didn’t get a thing out of me. I was friendly with her as you told me to be, that’s all. I’m not staying in this place. We’ll have to send the boat away!”

“Be quiet. They’ve only changed her stateroom. We’ll just have to find out where she is.”

“Not me,” quavered Van. “I’ve had enough. Hooking a small fortune in jewels is one thing, but lifting the girl for ransom ... that wasn’t my idea. She’s sick, and if she died on our hands we’d be for it. I told you it’d be better to cut our losses...”

“Shut up,” said the family man through his teeth. “I’m trying to think.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” from a nearly hysterical Van. “Let’s get back to the deck. Honest to God, I’m scared!”

“You rat! It must have been you who let out something. I’ve never mentioned the girl’s name except to you and Avis. Wait a minute ... Avis! She got better very suddenly, didn’t she? All those nerves just dried up. She must have told the Fenley girl, to get it off her own conscience—beats me how she managed it, but that must have been what happened. Which just about wraps it up for us!”

“Frank, let’s go!”

“You’re right for once. We’re being watched. The door was open, the bed lights on ... maybe there’s someone right here!”

The main light flooded the stateroom. Pat jerked back, the spray hit the wall and the next moment Frank Thornton was grappling with her. He was fierce and purposeful and she had the sense not to struggle, but she kept her fingers tensed about the spray. If she could bring up an arm and use it, half suffocate them, she might slide past them and out of the room. But against two desperate men she stood no chance at all. Thornton wrenched the spray from her and flung it away, pressed her shoulders back against the wall, and spoke into her face. His own was convulsed with anger.

“You’ve cooked things for us, haven’t you? We had it all planned, down to the smallest detail. We’ve even managed to get most of our personal things down to the boat, and it wasn’t going to be difficult to take the girl down one of the private companionways; drugged, we’d have got her through fast. You wouldn’t have seen us again, and our bargaining wouldn’t have been done from Karachi. You couldn’t have traced us. You...”

He pushed her and she slipped to the floor. A cry escaped from her, and Van said, in agonized accents, “It’s not her fault—she’s just doing a job. It was Avis. Frank, for the love of heaven let’s go!”

“Can’t leave her to kick up a row. Damn everything. Give me the cloth, quick!”

Pat did struggle then, with all the strength of her trained muscles, but the man was stronger. She smelled a familiar sweetish smell, felt pressure over her nose and mouth. She heard a quick scuffle of feet, the click of the key in the lock, and lost consciousness.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was hushed up, of course. The passengers must not suspect that the two male passengers who had unexpectedly left the ship at Karachi although booked through to Sydney were not
bona fide
travellers like themselves. The Pakistani police were alerted, but the Captain gave it as his opinion that the two would hide out with friends until the incident was forgotten.

“I’m sure you understand, Miss Fenley, that there is nothing with which they can be charged,” he said. “True, you were given this warning by one of the lady passengers whom, for some reason, you will not name, but there’s nothing that can’t be refuted in a court of law. You’re not physically hurt and do not seem to be suffering mental strain. It’s your word against theirs, and in law that isn’t enough. I might also add that the shipping company would appreciate it very much if you made no mention of this matter to anyone else. You will be compensated for any inconvenience and worry you may have been caused.”

They were in the Captain’s cabin, seated round the dining table which was seldom used as such, with coffee and biscuits in front of them; the Captain, the doctor, the first officer and Pat. The Captain looked fatherly, the first officer a little blank, the doctor grim.

Bill said, “Look here, Skipper, there’s no compensation for being frightened silly, drugged and locked up. Miss Fenley had a terrifying experience, and I can’t help thinking that some of your men—either stewards or crew—are highly corruptible. How else could a boat have been brought alongside in the dark and loaded with luggage, and these men feel so confident that they could take Miss Wadia down to it without her being seen?”

“There’ll be a private enquiry into that, Bill, I assure you,” said the Captain. “But you’ll agree with me that nothing of this should reach the passengers. Several disembarked yesterday, and no one will give more than a passing shrug to the news that Thornton and Pickard decided to do the same. We must be most thankful that Miss Fenley was anxious enough to consult you about her suspicions. Between you, what might have become an international incident was avoided, quite apart from the fact that Miss Wadia’s health would undoubtedly have suffered. I feel we have been most fortunate.”

“You wouldn’t have felt so relieved,” said Bill, “if you’d been called from your cabin at four in the morning to attend to a girl who’d been knocked out by chloroform. Miss Fenley managed to call the night steward, but she felt very unwell for a while.”

“I know,” the Captain was full of genuine regret and compassion as he looked at Pat. “It’s no use saying I’m sorry—that would be foolish. We can be unutterably grateful that we’re rid of those men now. There’s still some way to go, and we must try to make up to you for the anxiety and distress. We can’t vet our passengers, you know. They seemed quite harmless, these two men; in fact I even invited Thornton to one of my cocktail parties and talked to him about his business—which apparently doesn’t exist.” He smiled at his own gullibility. “I run a ship, not a criminal investigation bureau.”

“I’m so glad we’re on our way with those two men left behind that I’d just as soon forget it all,” said Pat. “But I would like to have Miss Wadia’s stateroom changed. I believe there’s an empty one.”

“Arrange it with the purser, my dear. I’ll send him a chit. Will you have some more coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’ll go now, if you don’t mind.”

“You’ll have to excuse me too, Skipper,” said Bill. “When you start your enquiry among the crew, count me in.”

“It’s not usual, you know.”

“I’ll hold a watching brief for Miss Fenley. So long.”

He went first down the steep companionway to the officers’ deck, waited for Pat and slipped a hand under her elbow.

“All right?” he asked. “Head swaying with the ship?”

“Not now.
It’s
good to feel a breeze again.”

“Good to give up worrying too, I should think. You certainly signed up a load of trouble when you took on this trip with Deva. If that girl starts any more of her psychic nonsense, I’ll take her in hand myself—and go through the passengers with a fine rake. Come on, we’ll go straight to the purser about the change of stateroom.”

“I can manage it, thanks.”

“You depend on someone for a change. And take things quietly today.”

She smiled at him palely. “It’s nice to be pushed around sometimes. You’ve been sweet to me this morning, Bill.”

He smiled, but something smouldered in the depths of his eyes. “You’re easy to be sweet to, when you’re helpless,” he said carelessly. “Just don’t go tangling up with any more crooks, if you can help it; it disturbs the routine.”

After the change of stateroom had been arranged he had to get back to the surgery. Deva was installed in a room which was very like the one she had left, and she accepted the reasons given without demur; she was accustomed to having her life organized and suspected nothing.

To Pat, it seemed strange that no one else suspected anything, either. She felt that it must surely show on her; the aftermath of anxiety and stark fright, of struggling and being locked away unconscious, of coming to in the pungent dimness of the half lit stateroom and crawling to the bell-push, of waiting ... and waiting, till the night steward saw the flickering red light on his board and hurried along with his master key.

But when she looked at herself in her dressing-table mirror she saw that it didn’t show, except that her eyes appeared a little darker and her cheeks had less colour than usual. It was amazing what one could pass through without stirring interest in others.

She had a light lunch in her cabin and spent the afternoon sitting on deck with Deva. It was not till dinner time that she saw the passengers
en masse
and realized how completely and without question they had already accepted the absence of Thornton and Pickard. From where she sat Pat could not see Avis Markman, and because Bill was opposite and watching her appetite, she took care not to be too interested in others. But as she left the dining-room with him she did see Avis. The flossy silk head was bent towards a dark male one, the pale shining make-up which was queerly attractive created a muted brilliance about her profile. Avis had changed tables and looked more animated than Pat had ever seen her. Perhaps she, too, knew a sense of utter relief, even though she hadn’t cashed in. Essentially, Avis wasn’t dishonest; in order to preserve their own anonymity and not to rouse too much fear by the usual crude unsigned letter, those two men had used Avis’s flair for artistic italicized writing and promised her a rake-off in return. She had wanted money, but was scared about the means of procuring it; when the plan had been changed to one more desperate, she had had to unburden herself to Pat. Some time Pat would have a plain talk with Avis.

The weather was singularly calm and beautiful. Occasionally, for an hour or two, the coast was visible as a fuzzy green line on the horizon, but when, at dusk, it quite disappeared, the ship slowed to fifteen knots, because it was not much use reaching Bombay before daybreak.

That evening there was a dance on board, a rather feverish one because at least half the remaining passengers were leaving the ship at Bombay. As it was probably the last full-scale dance before Colombo, Deva had asked if she might watch for a while, and Bill had said why not, the four of them could sit together. They chose a table sheltered by glass screens from the humid night air, and Deva, looking small and beautiful in her pastel pink sari, sat gazing raptly at the perspiring dancers in strapless frocks and white dinner jackets.

“I wish,” she said in her small excited tones, “that you could see our dancers at Kandy. Doctor Bill, could you not ask the Captain to stay at Colombo a few days? Then we could go up to our house near Kandy and watch the dancers and the dawn. I would make tea for you myself and we would all be very happy.”

“Ships run to schedules, Deva,” he said. “The
Walhara
will pick up tea and passengers at Colombo, and that won’t take long. For the sake of the passengers the ship will stay there all day, but after that it’s south, to Australia.”

“But Pattie will stay,” Deva pleaded. “I’ll limp and say I am sick, then she will have to stay.”

“I don’t think you’ll need a physiotherapist for very much longer,” Pat said, “but I’ll see you again on my way home to England. I do want to get on to Melbourne.”

Deva nodded. “For the little brothers. I must not be selfish. Please dance now, Pattie.”

Bill said, “Feel up to it, Patsy? You still don’t look quite right to me.”

“I’d like to dance,” said Pat. “Just once, and then I’ll see Deva to bed.”

She wanted to dance with Bill. She was falling into a strange mood in which everything sweet and heady became another grain to be hoarded against the famine which was bound to come later on. She felt his arm close round her, his fingers grasp hers, smelled a sort of rose-water fragrance with a whiff of smoke in it. And after they had been gliding to waltz time for some moments she felt his chin against her temple, or could it possibly have been his lips? She could dream that it was his lips, anyway. There was heaven in the contact, a loveliness that bruised her heart as his fingers could bruise her flesh.

The music ended and she didn’t look at him as they broke apart. “That was grand,” she said, not too steadily. “I must get Deva away now.”

“Will you come back?” he asked in low tones.

“I ... don’t think so.”

“I’ll give you half an hour and come down for you.”

“No, don’t ... please. I’m going to bed.”

He didn’t insist, but walked with the two Singhalese women and Pat as far as A Deck, and left them.

As Pat saw Deva into bed and counted her pulse, she was conscious of her own pulse beats, faster and heavier than normal. And, after she had said goodnight and was walking to her own cabin, she felt almost sick with need and longing. With every nerve in her being she wanted to go back and dance again, to feel his arms, the strength of him close to her. Sheer will-power drove her into her cabin, but it was a long time before she could undress.

While Bill had been cool and uncaring she had got through easily, or so it seemed now. It was the change in him that had undermined her. Her experience with those two men had shaken him; his language, as he had tended her, had been alarming, but he had handled her as gently as if she had been a baby. She had thought that within a few hours he would return to his former cynical urbanity; but he hadn’t. And Pat, to her despair, knew why.

Avis Markman was not clinging to him so much as before, but she was watching him. She too was going on to Australia, and any contacts made now might have to be broken tomorrow at Bombay, or in a few days’ time at Colombo. Bill Norton, who was assuredly attracted to her even though his behaviour was necessarily circumspect, was still the man she most admired on the ship. And Avis was an optimist as well as an opportunist.

And then, of course, by being rather more than friendly with Pat, Bill was merely carrying out his own proposition that they should enjoy each other for the rest of the trip. He was single-minded enough to be able to wrest pleasure from a woman for a limited period, and relinquish her when the time came for parting.

But Pat wasn’t single-minded, about love or anything else. All her life there had been someone else to consider: her father and brothers, Alan, and more recently and briefly, Deva Wadia. Not to mention Kristin, whose smile, whenever Pat encountered it, held a silent,
tigerish
menace. In spite of Kristin, or anyone else, Pat would never free himself from the strain of personal relationships; they were part of her. The tormenting thing was that Bill threatened to become an even more important part of her, and because he had awakened in her a response beyond anything he himself could have imagined, she had to go along with it; she was powerless to do otherwise.

When the ship docked at Bombay next morning Pat felt too unsettled to join one of the arranged tours. She felt bound, anyway, to continue with Deva’s exercises, even though they were no longer quite necessary, and there was a certain amount of pleasure in being able to take a dip in the pool without her limbs becoming interlaced with those of others.

When someone else did splash into the pool beside her she felt affronted—till she discovered it was Bill. He raced her backwards and forwards, then gave her a hand out of the pool. He stood there dripping, shoving back his hair, a man with lean hips and wide shoulders in the pink of physical condition.

She dragged off her cap, shook out the short bronze hair. “That was good—worth staying aboard for. I love the ship when there’s no one on it!”

He laughed into her clear green eyes. “We’re going ashore, you and I. You’re going to see the Gateway of India and have lunch at a club on Malabar Hill. This afternoon we’ll tour the city.”

She sparkled at him. “I’d love that. Do you really think it’s safe to leave Deva?”

“Safer than it ever was, but I’ll post a guard or two myself. I’ll meet you at the gangway in ten minutes.”

For Pat, that was the most intoxicating day of the trip. She gasped at the oriental architecture of temples and the Gateway, ate a most fascinating curry with dozens of condiments and followed it with a miniature edifice in ice-cream, fruit and nuts, and drank sweet black coffee. They walked the streets, among masses of people in coloured cottons and silks. There were women in the traditional saris, girls in Punjabi pyjamas who carried school books, boys and men in dhotis and black turbans as well as a good number in Western dress. There were beggars and conjurors, sweetmeat hawkers and some urchins playing bamboo flutes.

And in a narrow lane near the bazaars Pat found a little lame bird that couldn’t fly high enough to escape from the alleyway between the peeling white walls. She cupped it tenderly in her hands.