Doctor Raoul's Romance (5 page)

But when she entered the cool tiled hall, it was dear old Dr. Lerouge who rose from the settle to greet her with his courtly bow and handshake.

“Bonjour, Monsieur le Docteur.
Dr. Dubois is not with you?”

He shook his head.

“Unfortunately not, mademoiselle. He has telephoned to say he cannot come. He has an urgent case.
Vous comprenez
?”

Adrien felt her color rise with anger. He had promised to come today. Gillian was expecting him, relying on him. He had no right to let his patient down. Especially a patient as seriously ill as Gillian.

But she controlled the expression of her feelings. She said evenly, if a trifle ironically, “I suppose Dr. Dubois is a very busy man.”

“Very busy and very clever, mademoiselle. You understand there was nothing, really, he could do here today. I know Raoul Dubois. When he is concentrating on a case, he will allow nothing to stand in his way. He will fight to the last inch. I say this to you, mademoiselle, though it may not be etiquette, because you are a friend of the family as well as a nurse,
n’est-ce pas
? And I would not wish you to be anxious. If anyone can save Madame Renton it is Raoul Dubois, believe me.”

“I don’t doubt it, Doctor,” said Adrien, but in her mind she added, “No, I don’t doubt it. Dr. Dubois will fight death to the last inch. Because that’s the way to fame, the way to success, and that’s all he thinks about, that young man!” Somehow, all her cynicism about Dr. Dubois had been revived by his non
-
appearance this afternoon. She was convinced he had no heart.

Dressing for her visit to the chateau that night, Adrien was conscious of a strong thrill of excitement. It was quite a long time since she’d had an opportunity to wear this dress in white lace over silver satin. She hoped it wasn’t too elaborate, but she had nothing between that and her ordinary summer dresses, which didn’t seem grand enough for a soiree at a chateau.

As requested, she went to show herself to Nicholas and Gillian. Nicholas whistled—a little flat. It wasn’t easy for him to assume a gay mood. It was easier for Gillian herself as her eyes sparkled and she said, “Adrien, you look like something out of
Vogue.
Even our fierce young Dr. Dubois would fall for you tonight. Wouldn’t he, Nicky?”

Adrien laughed.

“I can’t imagine it. He only likes nurses in uniform. I think it’s just as well I shan’t see him tonight.”

“Don’t be too sure of that!”

Blanche had entered the room, in her usual unceremonious way.

“Blanche!” cried Gillian. “You’re not going to wear those—those beach-pyjamas!”

Blanche looked down at the scarlet silk.

“They’re cocktail slacks, Gill. Don’t you think they look smart?”

“No, I do not. If ever those things were in fashion, they went out in the twenties! For heaven’s sake, put on something pretty!
”

Blanche seemed on the point of arguing. Adrien looked at her warningly. Then suddenly the girl gave way.

“All right, I’ll be a good little girl. I’ll put on my white jersey silk. Dr. Dubois will probably like that better. I seem to remember he looked somewhat shocked at my shorts.”

“Blanche,” said Gillian, “what is all this about Dr. Dubois? You don’t really mean he will be at the party this evening?”

“Yes, I do,” said Blanche excitedly. For the moment, she had evidently forgotten her despair of the afternoon. “I was talking about him to Madame de Neuf. It seems they're old friends. She said she was going to ask him tonight. But of course, he may be too busy to come.”

“Well, what of it?” Adrien asked herself, annoyed at a nervousness she hadn’t felt since her schooldays. “Why should I mind if he’s there? He won’t have any chance to criticize me today. He was casual himself about his patient.”

Nevertheless, she was conscious of her heart beating with apprehension when, with a meek, lily-white Blanche following her, she entered the salon of the chateau. While greeting Madame de Neuf, and thanking her for her kind invitation, she saw Raoul Dubois seated at the grand piano.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “this is a pleasure,” and raised her hand and kissed it on the back. “I hope you don’t mind music. When I see a piano it is hard to drag me away.” He sat down again and began to play. Adrien recognized the sweet, nostalgic melody of
Clair de Lune.

She was astonished by his excellent playing. Who would have expected this of him? Against her will, she found herself drawing nearer to the piano, until she was almost touching him.

The other guests had split up into couples and groups and were strolling about the large, beautiful room, gossiping, smoking, helping themselves from the little buffet. There was a relaxed and friendly air of gaiety. Adrien could understand why Blanche
had said that people nearly always enjoyed Madame de Neufs informal parties.

Blanche herself had wandered over to the window. Despite her protestations that she did not care for him a great deal, she was evidently watching for Pierre, who had not yet arrived.

“But what am I doing here?” Adrien asked herself, confused, and furious with herself because she was by no means accustomed to this sort of feeling. “Here, by the piano, with Dr. Dubois. Whatever will he think?”

She looked about the room, rather wildly, seeking a means of escape. But it was difficult. There was no one near to whom she could turn and speak casually. It would look terribly obvious just to turn and walk away; better to speak.

“What a beautiful piece that is! I love Debussy.”

“Do you, Nurse Grey?” He looked at her quizzically. She felt as if he had touched her physically, so sharp was his glance.

She felt herself go hot all over, and to her annoyance, knew that her cheeks were pink. Why did he affect her this way, making her blush like a schoolgirl? It was ridiculous.

His fingers were touching the notes, gently, modulating. “Do you like this? Schubert’s
Serenade
?”

She couldn’t help relaxing in the warm glow of the strangely stirring music. This music always made her think for some reason of a boat out at sea, and a mandoline, and a row of little twinkling lights shining from the shore.

The music died away and she started. “That was beautiful. Thank you, Dr. Dubois.” For the first time, she found she could speak to him naturally, without either antagonism or embarrassment.

He said quietly, “Nurse Grey—cannot we be friends, you and
I?”

“Why yes, of course. I don’t understand.”

“I think you do. I like you, Nurse Grey. We are going to work together, you and I, so I thought I would tell you that. I had a feeling that you thought I was unfriendly to you, prejudiced against you for some reason. I just wanted you to know that wasn’t so. I hope that now you will cease to feel antagonistic toward me.”

“Doctor, I—”

“Let’s leave it at that, shall we? And let’s forget our patient for one night, if that is possible.”

He smiled now, the little hollow deepening at the corner of his mouth. Adrien smiled back. She couldn’t help it. And after all, why not? He was right. It was better to be friendly with a doctor you worked with, especially in a case like this. And she couldn’t deny his charm.

“Will you have a glass of wine, mademoiselle? And then I have an idea that Madame de Neuf is going to make us dance to the phonogram. Will
you excuse my fumbling steps?”

Actually, he danced very well. Adrien was surprised to find herself waltzing dreamily in his arms.

But suddenly she noticed her hostess watching her very enigmatically. Surely that wasn’t jealousy in the dark eyes? She smiled inwardly, a little bitterly.

“You don’t need to worry, Denise de Neuf. He’s much nicer than I thought he was. I have to admit that. But he doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’m
in
love with Nicholas ... always
...
”

“Another glass of cognac? Do, Raoul.”

Raoul Dubois laughed up at his hostess, admiring the gleam of her auburn hair in the soft, shaded light, and her white shoulders shining against her black shealthlike dress. A diamond on a velvet band around her neck sparkled in a quick prism of colors as she flung herself quickly and gracefully on a cushion at his feet.

Raoul lounged back in his chair.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he asked. “Soon I shan’t be in a fit state for driving.”

“You’ve got a head for anything,
ch
é
ri.
I’ve never known you intoxicated.”

“Denise, my darling, how can you say that? You know I am always intoxicated in your presence.”

“Don’t tease!” She rose and perched on his knee, her face puckered like a child’s. She knew that, despite her thirty years, she was still able to pout charmingly. “Raoul, why can’t you ever be serious with me? Is it because we have known each other so long?”

“Life is serious enough, darling. Let us be happy, when we can.”

Her face brightened.

“
‘
Cuei
ll
ez
,
des aujourd’
h
ui, les roses de la vie!
’
Darling, why don’t we get married?”

He laughed.
“Cherie
—what will you say next?”

“I’m serious, Raoul.” She got up and stood, just out of his reach, swaying slightly, provocative and tantalizing. “We thought of it once—at least, our parents did.
”

“And you disobeyed them, and eloped with Georges de Neuf.”

She sighed, not without pleasure.

“So you still hold that against me? You are still jealous of poor Georges, although he is dead?”

“My darling, of course I don’t hold it against you. How can you blame a woman for following her heart?”

“But I didn’t follow my heart. Not really. But you were so exasperating. So immersed in your work. You took me so for granted, Raoul. I was there to be kissed when you felt like it. The rest of the time you forgot me. And Georges was ardent and eager and swore he loved me. And I thought I loved him. It was only after we were married that I realized my heart was yours.
He was unfaithful to me, Raoul, you know that. And now he has died and I have been a widow three years. A widow with three small children. It is lonely, Raoul.”

He got up from his chair, put his hands one on each side of her neck and looked down into her eyes.

“Denise ... Denise,
chérie
.
I—” He released her gently. “I must go now.”

“Have I offended you, Raoul?” she asked, outwardly wistful, inwardly gloating, sure she had him in her power.

He looked at her, poised and glamorous, very beautiful, very desirable, his for the taking.

Why did he hesitate? he wondered. Why not take her in his arms, tell her he loved her, and that he longed to be her husband?

Because it wasn’t true. He desired her, yes, loved her after a fashion. But he did not want to marry her. He did not want to marry anyone, unless
...

An image passed through his mind. The picture of a girl in white and silver, a girl with dark hair and violet eyes, lips slightly parted as though for a kiss, as she listened dreamily to a serenade.

He said, “Denise, you are all a man could desire in a wife.” He took her hand and kissed it. “But you know I don’t want to marry. I’ve told you that so often. I have my career to consider.”

“Now it is you who are being ridiculous!” They had been using the familiar
tu
of families and lovers, but cold now, she went back to the formal
vous.
“You know as well as I do that it is an advantage for a doctor to be married.”

“Yes, if he is in general practice, I agree. But it is different for me. For me there will be always much study, much research. I must go around the world, visit backward countries, compare the tempo of their people’s lives with ours, see how it affects their cardiac conditions. I must—”

“Yes,” she broke in bitterly, “a heart to you is a ‘cardiac condition.’ That’s all. You have no time for emotions. No time for love.”

“Don’t be angry, Denise, my dear.”

“You’re laughing again. But Raoul, my darling, who could be angry with you?
Toi, toi, mon amour!
Only you’d better go now before you break my heart. Even if you don’t believe in it. Except biologically.”

They kissed goodbye. A lover’s kiss.

But for the first time in many years Raoul Dubois, as he drove back to Paris, was not thinking of his patients. Not even about Mrs. Renton, or the little boy for whose life he had been striving that afternoon—a battle he had won. He was considering the condition of his own heart—an organ that, according to most women he’d known did not exist. And he was finding the condition of his heart very puzzling, not to say disquieting.