Dear Tiberius; (aka Nurse Nolan) (24 page)

At lunch Lucy f
elt as if the excellent food that was placed in front of her was liable to choke her at any moment, and she left most of it on her various plates. Sir John, who was sitting opposite her, did not appear to notice that she had an extraordinarily poor appetite for one who had recently indulged in a very healthy form of exercise, and Dr. Wern had declined an invitation to lunch at their table and was sitting at his usual table near the window. Miranda—for some reason that Lucy felt was merely another coal of fire heaped upon her head—had decided that she would prefer to have her lunch upstairs on a tray because she was just a little bit too tired to make the descent of the stairs.

Lucy wondered whether it was because she was not yet accustomed to taking her meals with her father, and that for some reason she shrank from doing so, at least until she knew him better.

Which, thought Lucy, feeling a sudden, hot anger rising against Sir John, was proof that his treatment of his daughter in the past had been altogether wrong, and he might yet live to regret it seriously.

But despite her lack of appetite, and Sir John
’
s grim looks, the meal was not partaken of in absolute silence, for Sir John made a point of asking her certain direct questions concerning Miranda
’
s progress. And when it was over, to Lucy
’
s relief, he and Dr. Wern disappeared for a time, no doubt in order that Sir John would receive a first-hand report from the man who really knew what he was talking about. Lucy—so Lucy realized—was not in sufficient favor for her simple statements to be accepted without someone else vouching for them.

She devoted the whole of that afternoon to Miranda, and the two of them sat on the balcony outside Miranda
’
s room. At tea—the English afternoon tea that was always prepared for Lucy—Sir John did not appear, and Lucy went back to Miranda, who was happily drinking fruit juice and being entertained by Lise with folk stories of the region. Lise had a fund of these folk stories, and her attractive manner of passing them on to other people—especially young people of Miranda
’
s age who were naturally fascinated by such stories—always made her immensely popular.

But unhappily for Miranda her father appeared on the balcony in the very middle of one of these imaginative tales, and Lise hastily gathered up her wide skirts and made room for him beside his daughter, afterward disappearing into the house. Lucy, who was standing by the balcony rail, also turned and walked quietly into the bedroom behind her, and Miranda was left alone with Sir John.

When Lucy later assisted her to bed she bewailed the fact that Lise
’
s story had been interrupted, and she was inclined to feel resentful because Lucy had left her alone. Apparently Sir John, in one of his less approachable humors, had not even thawed in the presence of his daughter, and Miranda was by no means uplifted by the prospect of having her father with her for several days.

In fact, she made a face when Lucy told her that he would be staying at the hotel, and once again Lucy was more than a little shocked, because she felt this was a very unfair attitude toward the man who paid her own salary.

“
Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.
”

The words passed through her mind, and she knew that in a way they were applicable. But it did occur to her to wonder whether, if there had been no Lynette Harling in the case, Miranda might have felt more drawn toward her father. For at least she would have known then that she would not almost immediately be sharing him with someone, just when they could have got to know one another a great deal better than they had ever known one another in the past.

And if Sir John
had
to marry again—well, if he had chosen someone for whom Miranda could feel affection ...!

But Sir John
’
s marriage to anyone just then was a painful subject to Lucy, and she put it right out of her mind. She knew she could not bear to dwell upon it. But she did not
find it so easy to induce Sir John to drop this new, freezing manner toward her whenever they met. She was bewildered by it and she was also hurt to the very core of her being.

She could think of nothing—nothing that she had done that could justify this cold, censorious attitude, and the bleak hostility in his gray eyes whenever they looked at her.

At dinner that night he treated her in the same fashion as he had treated her at lunchtime, and although she wore the red dress—why she put it on instead of any other she did not quite know—it did not apparently recall for him another evening when they had been on very good terms together.

She saw his eyes flicker over her when she descended the stairs to the lounge before dinner, but his greeting was curtly formal. Even to Dr. Wern he was not quite the same. But Dr. Wern, apparently, was impervious to this form of treatment, and he was exactly as he always was, except that he was even more noticeably attentive to Lucy, and made efforts to include her in the conversation that took place before dinner and during dinner, when he accepted an invitation to dine at their table.

Lucy went to bed that night feeling utterly dejected, and without any ray of hope for the future. She felt that something had gone badly wrong with her world—something worse even than the news that Sir John was about to be married! That she could have
born
e, because nothing could alter it—but this unfair and almost brutal detachment—this air of silently condemning her for something she knew nothing about made her want to weep.

She did weep when she got into bed at last, because Sir John
’
s last words before he said good night were,
“
Tomorrow we will have to talk, Nurse Nolan—
”
his voice still seemed to hold the drip of ice
“
—a talk about the future! Especially Miranda
’
s future ...!
”

“
Especially Miranda
’
s future!

Was he
proposing to tell her that after thinking the matter over he had come to the conclusion that it was unnecessary to retain her as a companion-nurse for Miranda any longer? Or perhaps he had decided that Miranda was not making the kind of progress he expected under her, Lucy
’
s, care, and that it might be advisable if she was placed in other hands...? Or perhaps Lynette Harling was going to join them on that round-the-world cruise, and
she
, certainly, would wish to dispense with the services of Lucy Nolan!

She put out her light and lay down under her enormous feather eiderdown, and the whole house seemed very still and quiet, with that white wilderness of snow outside, and the great guardian mountains brooding above them. Lucy felt suddenly forlorn and alone. She was not really alone, she knew, or she need not be—not while Rupprecht
Wern
’
s eyes told her every tim
e
she looked full into them that if she would only give him just one sign her whole future would be taken care of!

For one instant she dallied with the idea. What a wonderful thing it would be to be taken care of by Dr. Wern—what absolute security! The two of them sharing the same interests, having the same attitude toward their fellow human beings—or very nearly the same. Lucy could never do as much—not a tithe as much—for them as Dr. Wern could. But in her heart she knew that it would have given her immeasurable satisfaction if she could. She would have felt that life could be really worthwhile under those circumstances. Even marriage to Dr. Wern.... But she turned her face into her pillow and shut out the thought of marriage to anyone. She was not in love with Rupprecht Wern—she
was
in love with someone else! That someone else was not in love with her!

The thought of the cold snow outside made her shiver even underneath her warm eiderdown.