Doctor Raoul's Romance (6 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Two weeks passed, and Adrien began to feel herself part of the life at Val d’Argent.

Frances seemed to have taken a fancy to her. Whenever Adrien was free and Frances not at school, the little girl suggested they should go for another walk around the village where Adrien soon began to know all the shop people.

On Thursday—a holiday for all French schoolchildren—they went to the market, held every Thursday and Sunday.

The market fascinated Adrien most of all. She wandered delightedly from stall to stall, admiring the piles of fruit, the meat “tender as my heart” according to the label pinned to it by the jovial stallkeeper, the sandals, the skirts and blouses, the flowers, ridiculously cheap, the plates and cups and saucers, the cakes and many different kinds of bread. She would have liked to talk to the men and women behind the counters, asking them about their lives and whether they found their job very cold in winter, but her French wasn’t yet good enough for that.

Yes, Frances was friendly enough, but Adrien was still unable
to make any progress with little Geoffrey. Despite all her efforts, he still shouted, “I hate you!” and turned and ran, whenever he saw her. Exasperated, she was inclined to agree with Blanche that he really was a difficult child. But she was determined not to give up her attempts to win his confidence. She knew there must be some reason for his attitude, and she wished she could get to the root of the matter.

She believed Frances knew the cause and tried to question her, but the little girl was evasive. Adrien did not agree with Blanche that Frances was deceitful, but she certainly knew how to keep her own counsel extremely well for a seven-year-old.

For the time being Blanche seemed to have resigned herself to her fate. She flirted with Pierre, and kept the children tolerably quiet. And she made no more complaints to Adrien.

On Sunday afternoon, to Adrien’s surprise, Nicholas asked her to go with him for a drive in his car.

“It’s a lovely day. We could go to the forest and get some
muguets
.”

Adrien was beginning to realize that in France everyone went mad about lilies-of-the-valley, at the beginning of May. But this did not lessen her astonishment at Nicholas’s suggestion.

“But, Nicholas, don’t you want to be with Gillian? It’s awfully good of you to suggest this drive, but—”

“Gillian said you were going to give her a sedative.”

“Well, yes, I am. Dr. Dubois wants her to sleep as much as possible to get her strength up.”

“Jeanne can keep an eye on her. Gillian wants us to go, Adrien. She’s worried, because she says you aren’t getting out enough. According to her, you’re getting hollow-eyed and pale, though I can’t say I notice it myself. But she’s very keen on you having this break. And I want to talk to you badly. I don’t seem to have seen much of you, since you came.”

After that, Adrien felt it would be foolish to protest any more. She decided to make the most of this afternoon without any qualms of conscience. It would be bittersweet.

They set out, after
dejeuner.
It was a beautiful spring day. The cuckoo was singing. Adrien remembered how, as a wistful, romantic teenager, she used to ask the bird the age-old question,

‘“
Cuckoo, cuckoo, tell me clear

Shall I be married within the year?”’

And had counted the responses: “Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes!” “Yes,” the bird had answered, but it had lied, as she supposed might be expected of such a mocking bird. It was Nicholas, of course, she had had in mind as a husband, when she asked that question. In those days she had still had hope of the perfect romance. How long ago it seemed.

“Nicholas,” she asked suddenly, “do you remember that first little sports car of yours?”

Then she could have bitten her tongue. Whatever had impelled her to ask a question like that?

They had spent whole days together, with that little red sports car, she and Nicholas. Taking it down to quiet little coves, steering it precariously down dangerous cliff-paths, leaving it on the sand while they bathed, pushing it up again, heaving with all their strength, panting and laughing, when the slope was too steep for the engine.

Nicholas had kissed her often then, on the forehead or cheek as one would a child. She had tried hard to make him realize she was grown up. She had had her hair done a new grown-up way—she had longed for a perm, but the hairdresser said it would be ridiculous with hair that was so naturally curly. She put on lipstick and mascara and rouge—much too much—and made her fingernails red and long. She did exercises to improve her long, skinny, boyish figure. He noticed nothing. For him, she was still a child. He did not realize the change in her.

And then, one day, he had realized it.

They had taken the little red car out for an evening picnic and were driving home by moonlight. Suddenly she had cried.

“Stop the car, Nicholas, please! Just for a moment. It’s so beautiful here.”

So they had stopped and looked over the cliff at the sea in the moonlight. She had turned to him, and laid her head on his shoulder, and said, “Oh, Nicholas ... Nicholas
...
” And then, at last, he must have seen the new magic in her eyes.

For he had pushed her away, gently but firmly, and started the car again, and driven quickly home. And there had been no more moonlight picnics.

It was soon after that episode that Nicholas had met Gillian. But what, oh what—Adrien asked herself—had induced her to mention that little red sports car today?

But evidently the question meant nothing sentimental or embarrassing to Nicholas. He said, “It was fun, wasn’t it? Those were good old days.” But he did not sound as though he regretted their passing.

She asked again about the lilies-of-the-valley.

“Do all French people give them to their friends at the beginning of May?”

“It’s rather a pretty custom, don’t you think? They’re supposed to bring good luck. There are nice little cards on sale, too, rather like birthday cards. May the first is a holiday, of course, the ‘Feast of Workers.’ Anyone who likes can go and pick the
muguets
in the woods and sell them. That’s why Gillian thought it would be a good idea to dig up some roots today, before the rush starts.”

So there was a definite purpose behind this outing—to get roots for Gillian’s garden. Adrien tried hard not to feel disappointed.

They had brought sandwiches with them, and they sat on the
muguet-carpeted
turf and ate them, and drank lemonade out of one glass. That was painfully like the old days. There was nobody about. A little way back they had passed, in the car, whole groups of family picnickers. But here there was nobody.

When they had finished—neither of them had eaten much—Adrien had packed the remains of what Jeanne had provided back in the bag. Nicholas, who had been silent for some minutes, lost in thought, his face shadowed, asked quickly,

“Adrien, please, may I have your opinion as a nurse?”

“Of course,” Adrien answered steadily. All illusions that this was a picnic from the old days vanished in an instant. Her heart was ashamed and cold as ice. “What did you want to ask me, Nicholas?”

“What’s your opinion, your real, honest opinion, of this Dr. Dubois? Forget professional etiquette, won’t you, Adrien, and tell me as a friend, as well as a nurse.”

Her opinion of Dr. Dubois? It was extraordinarily difficult to answer that question, Adrien found.

“He’s a very clever doctor. I’m sure of that. You can trust him, Nicholas.”

“And as a man?”

“I like him. I like him very much.” Adrien was surprised to find herself saying that, still more surprised to realize it was the truth.

“Then you think there’s a chance, a faint chance, that this treatment may work? I can’t bear Gillian to suffer for nothing.”

Adrien shivered at the tremble in his voice he couldn’t control. She ached to comfort him.

She said earnestly, laying her hand on his, “Dr. Dubois thinks there is more than a faint chance, and I’m sure, I’m sure he is right.”

Nicholas sighed dispiritedly, leaning back against the moss. “If only he could be right... Oh, Adrien! Gillian has been ill so long, it seems. All these lovely spring days—she always loved the spring so. And she can’t enjoy them. She just lies there. Sometimes I think she would be better dead. But how could I live without her?”

“Oh, Nicholas!” Compassion swamped all Adrien’s other feelings. “You mustn’t say that. She has you, and your love.” And to herself she added, “That’s enough for anybody.”

Nicholas said brokenly, “There’s so little I can do for her. It seems I have to leave everything to you and Dubois. Not that I don’t appreciate all you do, but—” He stumbled awkwardly to his feet. “If you don’t mind, Adrien, I think I’d like to get home.”

They didn’t talk much on the journey home. They were held up by a bicycle race, and afterward they found themselves part of the procession of gaily decorated cars and vans following the competitors. Trade
s
men adverti
s
ed their wares through loudspeakers, and threw out pink, blue and yellow pamphlets from the vans. All the householders and their children had come out to watch. Everybody was happy and smiling.

Nicholas gritted his teeth, curbing his impatience.

They got home at last. They were surprised to see Dr. Dubois on the threshold, talking to Dr. Lerouge and Jeanne. He was not expected, because he had said he wouldn’t call today.

He looked at them ironically. Once again Adrien felt his disapproval.

“Now why?” she asked herself, irritated. “What have I done wrong now? We’ve got on quite well this week. Surely he knows me well enough by now to realize I wouldn’t leave my patient unless I was quite sure it was safe?”

She raised her chin and went to meet him. Really, in his own way, she thought, he was almost as difficult as little Geoffrey. He greeted them curtly.

“Good evening, Nurse Grey, Mr. Renton. I have decided to start Mrs. Renton’s special treatment tomorrow. Nurse, please have everything ready. I shall be here at eleven o’clock.”

Adrien could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned restlessly, hearing the clock strike hour after hour. Clocks, rather. First the solemn grandfather that had belonged to Gillian’s family and she had brought to France with her. Then the gay, frivolous French clock on the landing, and finally, faintly, Frances’s cuckoo clock.

She could not make out at all how the children could sleep with its constant half-hourly call. She had suggested to Blanche that the clock should be removed at night, but at the suggestion Frances had protested so vehemently that no more was said.

“I expect they find it company,” said Blanche, with unexpected understanding.

Adrien turned once again from her right side to her left. The mattress felt hard, the pillow wet.

Her thoughts went around and around; really, she told herself, a trained nurse should have more control. She should not lie awake at night imagining all the things that might go wrong with her patient. She should will herself to sleep so that she might be rested and prepared for all contingencies.

She wondered if Gillian was sleeping. Ought she to have given her a sedative? She had meant to, but when she peeped in on her, last thing, her patient had been sleeping peacefully, and Adrien had decided not to disturb her.

Actually, Gillian was dreaming of her wedding day,
o
f the light shining through the stained-glass window over the altar, covering Nicky’s face with a fiery glow, as he made his vows. She had had all sorts of random thoughts, “This dress is too tight for me, I ought to have taken off another pound or two. Nicky is sweet. So earnest and solemn. And tonight... tomorrow ... I’m glad we waited. He’s my husband now, till death us do part.” And she had felt the coolness of the ring on her finger. And they had smiled at each other, as though they were alone in the flower
-
filled church.

“Till death us do part
...
”

She awoke with a start. Surely it was dawn? No, two o’clock only.

“Till death us do part
...
” And after that? Death, which had seemed so far away that wedding morning, so near now. What would happen to Nicky if she died?

There was an answer for that question ready at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it tonight. And yet

No, not tonight. She must go back to sleep again. She must be strong for tomorrow.

Her will had always been firm and it had strengthened during those long months of illness. She could make herself lie quietly with her eyes closed, but no, she could not force herself to go to sleep.

Meanwhile, Nicholas, in dressing gown and slippers, worried about disturbing his wife by pacing up and down the room next door to hers, had gone into the garden and was striding up and down the lawn. He was smoking furiously, but his pipe tasted bitter.

Adrien got out of bed at last, and went to her window. It was a beautiful moonlit night. She thought something moved on the lawn behind the trees. No, she decided, it was only a shadow.

Somewhere a nightingale was singing. Adrien had a yearning to rush out into the night, to seek adventure, something wild and gay. Or else burst into tears.

She smiled, trying to laugh at herself.

“I must be hungry; thirsty too. I wonder if I would disturb everyone if I went down to the kitchen, and got myself something to eat and drink?
”

She decided to risk it. She must be at her best tomorrow, and this sleeplessness was no preparation for an arduous day.

She slipped into a light summer dressing gown, green with a pattern of yellow flowers, and tiptoed cautiously downstairs. But as she passed the nursery, she caught the sound of muffled crying.

Frances? No, it was Geoffrey.

She opened the nursery door, and peered inside. By the light of a small nightlight in the corner, she saw Frances stretched out on
her back, her sheets thrown on the floor, with one hand on the pillow above her head.

In the other bed, Geoffrey had his face buried deep in the pillow. His shoulders heaved, but his sobs were very quiet.

“Poor little chap,” thought Adrien. “He must have great self-control for so small a child!”

She tiptoed across the room, and put a hand on the trembling shoulder.

“Darling, what is it? Why are you crying so?”

He started violently. His head came up, with a jerk, and he looked at her with tear-filled, angry eyes.

“It’s no business of yours! I can cry if I like. We don’t want you here! Why don’t you go back to England?”

Once again he buried his face in the pillow.

Adrien said quietly, “I’m going down to get myself a glass of milk and a biscuit. Wouldn’t you like some too?”

He shook his head obstinately.

“Go away—leave me alone!”

“It’s impossible,” thought Adrien, “to believe he’s only five. There’s something terribly grown-up about him. Even when he’s crying.”

Frances had opened her eyes. She yawned, and said in a bored voice,

“Oh, Geoffrey—you’re not crying again? Can’t one get any sleep?”

“I wasn’t making a noise. It’s her!” Geoffrey pointed an accusing finger at Adrien.

Adrien said, “You’re worried about Mummy, aren’t you, Geoffrey? But, dear—Dr. Dubois is going to make her better, very soon.”

He looked at her suspiciously.

“Does he say so?”

“Yes. You can ask him yourself tomorrow if you like.”

“All right. I’ll ask him.”

“Now come along with me, and we’ll see if we can find some milk. You too, Frances.”

“No. I want to sleep.”

“As you like. Come along then, Geoffrey.” Adrien picked him up in her arms, very small in his blue-and-white striped pyjamas, and carried him quietly downstairs. He held himself rigid, refusing to nestle against her, but he made no further protest.

She put him down on a chair by the kitchen table. She fetched a cushion for him to sit on, opened the door of the fridge and found a bottle of orangeade.

“Would you rather have this than milk?”

“Yes.
”

She poured him out a glassful, and he drank it thirstily, watching her all the time with his wide blue eyes.

Suddenly he said, “Why did you come here?”

“To nurse Mummy. To try to make her well.”

“But—but Blanche said...
”

“Now we’re coming to it,” thought Adrien. “It’s something Blanche has said that’s put him against me. It’s a good thing I’m going to find out what it is.”