Doctor Raoul's Romance (7 page)

She put her hand gently on the ruffled fair hair.

“What did Blanche say, dear?”

“She said Mummy was going away to heaven. And you were going to be our second mummy. That’s why you’ve come. But I don’t want Mummy to go away. Go to heaven means die, doesn’t it? Di
e
, like the birds Minou catches. I don’t want Mummy to die. And I don’t want you
...
”

“Of all the fools,” Adrien thought, exasperated, “Blanche is the worst!” She said firmly, “It’s all nonsense, darling. Mummy isn’t going to die. Dr. Dubois and I are going to help her to get well.”

“But Blanche said you were in love with Daddy. What does that mean, ‘in
love’?”

He shouted the words, clearly furious, despite his tears.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It—”

Adrien broke off abruptly, feeling the color slowly draining from her cheeks.

The kitchen door had opened, and Nicholas was standing there watching them, his face twisted and strange.

“Geoffrey," he said curtly, “you must learn not to listen to gossip. Go to bed at once!”

The child gave him a startled look and disappeared. They heard his little bare feet scampering, like mice, up the stairs.

Nicholas and Adrien stood in the kitchen, under the garish glare of the unshaded electric bulb. They stared at each other, as though there had been a sudden revelation; as though a curtain had been lifted between them.

“Adrien,” said Nicholas, “I
.
..
”

Adrien turned away. Somehow she forced herself to speak in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. As though nothing had happened, nothing at all.

“I was going to get myself a glass of milk, Nicholas. Will you join me? We’re all on edge tonight, and milk should be soothing.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Nicholas, jerked violently from his absorption in his own worry, was aware that they had just passed through a dangerous and difficult situation. Adrien had covered it with her tact. But she could never cover in his mind the look on her face just now. The look of love he had never dreamed he would see there. Not for him.

How blind he had been!

Adrien loved him. Adrien, his kid sister. It was incredible. Why had he never suspected it? How long had she loved him? For years? Since the old days by the sea? Was that why she had not married?

She loved him. And he had never guessed it. And he had asked her to come here to nurse his wife.

Why had she come?

Why submit herself to suffering, for surely the situation must be very painful for her? Had she come for his sake?

Or had she come for other reasons? Selfish reasons of her own. Or perhaps one should not call them selfish. Did she believe that “all was fair in love and war?”

No, it was impossible, he thought with swift revulsion. Adrien wasn’t like that.

But what had made Blanche say that incredible thing? Surely something must have suggested it to her. There was no smoke without fire. He would have said the younger girl was just trying to make mischief if he had not seen that revealing look on Adrien’s face.

Could it be that Adrien had confided in Blanche? Did she
—
Could it be possible that she had been laying her plans carefully, that she hoped to marry him if Gillian died? Did she hope to make herself indispensable to him, to the children? Could he trust her any more as Gillian’s nurse?

If he could not trust her, could he trust anyone?

But what was he thinking of?

This girl standing beside him was Adrien, always steady and calm, always to be relied on. Adrien, his friend. How could he think these things of her? He must be mad. This was only another nightmare come to join those from which he had been suffering so long.

His brain whirled. He put a hand to his head. By the kitchen clock, only a minute had passed. But, in that time, the world had changed for both of them. Could it ever be the same again?

Adrien said gently, “Nicholas, you’re exhausted. I’m going to give you something to make you sleep.”

“No, I don’t want anything, thank you, I—”

“You’re going to have it,” she said, suddenly very much the nurse despite the formality of her flowered kimono. She had wrapped herself in a dignity that held her apart from him, which reassured him.

She put the milk and little white pills on the table before him.

“Drink it up, like a good boy!” she ordered.

Her manner slackened his tension so much that he actually managed a faint grin.

“How old do you think I am, Nanny? I happen to be grown up, you know.”

“All men are little boys sometimes. And little boys have funny ideas, don’t they, Nicholas?”

“I suppose big boys do too.”

He drawled out the words, comfortable, relaxed, now that the sedative in the pills was beginning to take effect. Suddenly he didn’t give a damn about anything. He just wanted to sit here and talk to Adrien, be soothed by her voice.

His eyes closed.

“Nicholas, you should go to bed.”

“In a few minutes.”

A little while ago he had been only too anxious to get away from her without further embarrassment for either of them. Now he only wanted to stay here with her. To rest in the peace of her presence—the peace and strength which, always even as a child, she had been able to give him.

Had she realized, he wondered, that in their relationship, their friendship, it was always she who had been the strong one?

Now the drug was relaxing his conscience, his inhibitions. What if she did love him? He was sorry for her, of course, but it did not make her less comforting to be with.

Adrien was saying, “Nicholas, I wonder if you’ve ever thought of sending the children to boarding-school, while Gillian is ill?”

“Yes, I have thought about it. We’ve talked about it, as a matter of fact. But Gillian couldn’t bear the thought of parting with them.”

“When she’s convalescent, she probably won’t mind so much. It would be good for them, I think. And it would free Blanche. I think that’s important, Nicholas.”

Nicholas was feeling muzzy. He had to force himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

“Blanche is a selfish little toad,” he said idly.

“Not really. She’s foolish, Nicholas. And she gets strange fancies. But I have an idea she’s really rather brilliant. I think she gets so frustrated here, when she’s longing to be out in the world, that she starts making up all sorts of silly little romances, to pass the time.”

“Oh, you’re clever, Adrien,” thought Nicholas, half asleep. “But it’s no good now trying to deny that you love me, trying to make me believe that all children have strange fancies and that Blanche loves to make up romances. All that may be true enough. But it’s too late now. I saw that look on your face, Adrien, and I know ... I know
...
”

But soothed as he was, with half his faculties dulled by the sedative, it was by no means disagreeable to him to think that this pretty girl, his old friend, loved him. On the contrary, it was pleasant. It is always flattering to be loved, if one will admit it.

He smiled at her, his eyes half closed.

“You’re sweet, Adrien,” he murmured.

He should have guessed the pain his words caused her.

She passed her hand over his forehead, but with a nurse’s, not a lover’s, touch.

“Go to bed, Nicholas, please. You’re half asleep already. You’re dreaming, I think. Here, take my arm. And don’t worry about tomorrow. Everything’s going to be all right. I know it, somehow. I know it.”

It was a good thing for Adrien that, next morning, she was too busy to think. The rest of the night had been terrible for her. She had sat at the window, watching the coming of the early dawn, asking herself, “Did I give myself away to Nicholas? Does he know I love him?”

The two questions repeated themselves ceaselessly, like the buzzing of mosquitoes on a hot summer night. She fell asleep, her head against the window frame.

She woke to the singing of birds, the cuckoo, brisk and mocking, dominating the rest. She felt stiff and unrefreshed.

She took a cold bath and dressed quickly in uniform. Then she went to prepare her patient.

She knew that she, the nurse, looked pale and hollow-eyed, and she knew, too, that Raoul Dubois noticed it. But he made no comment. Today there was only one point of concentration—the patient, Gillian Renton.

“Is everything ready, Nurse?”

“Yes, Doctor. Quite ready.”

“Good! Then we’ll set to work.”

That first day, the treatment itself did not take long. Dr. Dubois talked cheerfully, almost facetiously, in the way he knew by now Gillian preferred—he was always careful to adapt his manner to suit his patients’ characters, and could be solemn and portentous if he felt that gave more confidence. He prepared his syringe. Adrien drew back the loose blue sleeve of Gillian’s nightgown. The syringe pierced gently, firmly, into the vein. Dr. Dubois took the patient’s wrist and kept his finger on her pulse. His eyes were very intent.

Gillian heaved a sigh and leaned back with her eyes closed, half-conscious.

The minutes passed. An hour ... Two hours
...

Dr. Dubois still stayed there, motionless. Adrien had sat down on a little stool, the other side of the bed, and she, too, waited.

There was no sound but Gillian’s heavy breathing in the room. Through the open window came, occasionally, a train whistle, the faint distant rumble of traffic, a child’s laughter
...

Presently there came a change. The breathing became regular, peaceful. Gillian’s face, which had been fevered, had now a soft rose flush.

Dr. Dubois relaxed a little.

“
Ca va mieux
...” he breathed.
“
Dieu merci
.”

“
‘
Thank God’...” Somehow Adrien was surprised and touched to hear him say that.

He smiled at Adrien, all personal feelings put on one side, leaving only for the moment the professional intimacy of a doctor and nurse who had worked together on a difficult case, and worked well, and who feel that success is in sight, and are humble and grateful.

“Slip away and stretch your legs for a few minutes if you like, Nurse. You must be stiff, sitting there.”

Adrien did not really want to go now; she knew that in a few minutes Gillian would probably recover consciousness, and she wanted to be there. But she was concerned for Nicholas. What agonies must he be enduring; while he waited?

All embarrassments, all revelations of the night before forgotten in the stress of the morning, she had tried to persuade him to go to the office. She knew that Gillian had tried to make him go, as well. But he had refused all entreaties.

She found him in the garden, sprawling his long length under a tree. He was turning over the leaves of a newspaper, without reading a word. His pipe was gritted between his teeth. He had not noticed it had gone out.

He sprang to his feet, when he saw Adrien coming toward him through the trees. He wanted to ask, “How is she? How is she, Adrien?” But the words died on his lips. He could not speak. He felt himself trembling from head to foot.

“She’s doing very well so far, Nicholas. Her pulse is much stronger.”

The world swam around Nicholas. He leaned against a tree for support, despising himself for his own weakness. With dazzled eyes he saw Adrien as an angel with good tidings.

“I’m sorry. I ... I don’t really know what I’m saying. Is she—will she really be all right? Oh, Adrien, tell me the truth, please!”

“Yes,” said Adrien, certainty in her voice, though she knew very well that they were not out of the woods yet, that there would be many crises ahead. “Yes, she’ll be all right, Nicholas.”

“Can I see her?”

“In a little while. I’ll fetch you.”

“There won’t be ... there won’t be a ... relapse?”

“No, Nicholas.”

There might be, of course. It was, she knew, very possible. But she would not admit the doubt to Nicholas. Everything must go right now for Nicholas and Gillian. Things would go well; she was sure of it. Anything else would be too cruel.

On wings of elation, perilously poised, because she had seen Nicholas’s unbelieving happiness, Adrien went back to her patient.

Gillian had her eyes open now, and was looking about in a puzzled sort of way.

“Where am I? What’s happening? I feel a bit odd.”

Dr. Dubois smiled easily.

“You’re doing very well, Mrs. Renton. Just relax now. Everything is going excellently. We shall have you running around in no time.”

Her head jerked a little, enquiringly.

“Running around? Oh yes, I remember now, this is the special treatment, isn’t it? The treatment that’s going to kill me or cure me. Well, how am I doing? I’m still alive—at least I think I am, though I must say I feel strange. Am I being a good patient, Dr. Dubois?”

“Very good. You take first prize, Mrs. Renton.”

“Thank you, Doctor. May I choose it—the prize, I mean? Don’t look anxious. It’s nothing very difficult. I’d just like a cup of tea, please. May—?”

Dr. Dubois smiled acquiescence, and nodded to Adrien. She ran down to the kitchen and made the tea herself, despite Jeanne’s offended protests. Gillian should have a proper cup of tea today, Adrien determined, not attenuated French stuff.

She returned with the tray, to find Gillian chatting excitedly and ceaselessly. Raoul was nodding, soothing, but noncommittal, his hand was resting gently, unobtrusively, upon Gillian’s pulse.

“Thank you, Adrien. This is lovely.” Gillian was polite, as always. She drank the tea eagerly. Then she said, “Nicky—please may I see Nicky now?”

“You can see him for a few minutes,” said the doctor. “And then you must go to sleep, like a good girl.”

“I can’t sleep. I’m far too excited. I feel far too odd.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you something to calm you down. Tm sure you don’t want to miss your beauty sleep.”

“You know how to get your own way, Doctor. I don’t want to go to sleep at all. But I’ll do it to please you. But I must see Nicky first ... I like your
tie, Raoul. You don’t mind my calling you Raoul, do you? It’s a nice name. What do you think Nicky will say when he finds me flirting with you?”

“You are a beautiful woman, madame. And your husband is a lucky man.”

Still feeling her pulse, he raised her hand to his lips, humoring her. His eyes flashed a warning to Adrien.

“Fetch the husband, quickly!” they said. “We’re not out of danger yet.” Just for a moment they were anxious, unguarded. Adrien felt the swift sting of fear.

She ran downstairs. Nicky was hovering, eagerly, in the hall. “Can I see her now?” he demanded.

She noticed he had tidied himself up. He had shaved, and his hair was brushed.

“Yes, she’s asking for you. She’s doing well, Nicholas, there’s no need to be anxious. You’ll find her rather over-excited. Don’t worry about that. It’s a natural reaction to the stimulant.” “Please God, I’m right,” she thought.

Nicholas ran up the stairs, two at a time.

Gillian, her eyes unnaturally bright, held out her arms to him. “Darling, at last! I thought you were never coming. But it’s not your fault, I know. They wouldn’t let you. They are dragons, aren’t they?”

“Darling, how are you feeling?”

“Oh, not so bad. I’m through the first injection, and Raoul says I’m doing fine. I’ve been flirting with Raoul. You don’t mind, do you, darling Nicky? He is charming, isn’t he? And such a clever doctor.”

Nicholas held her gently.

“Darling, I’ve been so anxious,” he muttered.

“I know. Poor Nicky! But it’s all right, darling. It’s all right now you’re here.”

Her eyes closed. Nicholas looked up at Raoul Dubois, in sudden panic. But the doctor was smiling.

“She is asleep, Mr. Renton. The best thing possible. You have succeeded where we failed—to calm her.”

Nicholas asked, entreaty in his eyes,

“I may stay with her a little, mayn’t I?”

“But certainly. We will leave you together.”

Raoul opened the door for Adrien, and together they went downstairs. Jeanne was hovering, as usual, with refreshments—wine and biscuits. For once Raoul accepted a glass, and poured one for Adrien.

“You need it,” he said. “You have had an exhausting morning.” He smiled at her. “You are a good nurse, mademoiselle.”

Adrien did not know how to reply. She turned her glass in her hand, watching the sunlight sparkle on the red wine.

Raoul said thoughtfully,

“You know, Nurse Grey, if Mrs. Renton is cured it will be her husband as much as you or I who is responsible. He is the one who gives her the will to live. Without him I do not think she would have the strength to pull through.”

Adrien said carefully, “He is very devoted to her. They are very much in love.”

“Yes, one can see that.” He regarded Adrien thoughtfully, as though he was trying to read her thoughts. What right had he to do that? she asked herself, indignant, forgetting the communion of healing they had shared.

“You have known Mr. Renton a long time, haven’t you, Miss Grey?”

“We were brought up together,” she answered stiffly. “We are like brother and sister.”

“I see. May I ask if you know Mrs. Renton well?”

“Not so well. But I’m very fond of her.”

She felt ridiculously on the defensive. She could not understand her own meekness. Why did she not rebel? A doctor had no right to ask a nurse these questions. Not in England anyway. She supposed it might be different in France.

“I see. Well, Nurse Grey, I must be going now. I’ll arrange with Dr. Lerouge for a night nurse for Mrs. Renton, in case she is restless. I take it that will be all right with Mr. Renton?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure it will.”

“Well, I leave them both, husband and wife, in your care.” He shook her hand and was gone.

Adrien went into the garden for a few minutes’ fresh air, before returning upstairs. She was frowning.

She had a feeling there was some sort of double meaning underlying the doctor’s last words, but she could not interpret it.

“Surely,” she thought, in sudden panic, “he can’t have guessed that I love Nicholas. Oh, it isn’t possible. It can’t be as obvious as that.”

She buried her face in her hands.

“I always thought I was so self-controlled. Now everybody seems to know all my secrets. How I wish I could go back to England today, tonight! But it isn’t possible. I can’t leave Gillian now. I must carry on somehow.”

Pulling herself together with an effort, she started to walk back toward the house.

Suddenly she was aware that Blanche was approaching with Gillian’s little Corgi, Beauty, bounding around her yellow skirt. “Hello, Adrien,” she called.

“Hello, Blanche.”

Adrien couldn’t help speaking rather shortly. She hesitated, wondering whether it would be wise to tax Blanche immediately with what had happened last night. She was strung up and ready for combat with someone, and Blanche was the obvious person.

The younger girl was asking eagerly, her face, pale, “How is Gillian?”

“Much better.”

“Really, Adrien?” There were tears in Blanche’s eyes.

“Yes, she’s doing well.”

“You sound a bit funny, Adrien. Are you keeping something back from me? Is she worse? Is she—dying?” Blanche began to tremble violently. “Oh, Adrien!”

Adrien put her hand on the girl’s thin shoulder to calm her. She said coldly, “Don’t be silly, Blanche. Hysteria won’t help anyone. I’m telling you the truth. Gillian is doing as well as can be expected. Nicholas is with her now.”

The girl gulped down her rising emotion.

“I’m sorry. I’m not going to be a nuisance. It’s just—I ...”

“I understand how you feel.” But to herself, Adrien thought, “I don’t really. I don’t understand how she feels at all. Blanche is an enigma to me.”

“Blanche, you’re grown up now. You really must try to behave like an adult, not a silly schoolgirl.”

“Oh, I will, Adrien. It’s just that I really do love Gill, you know. I know I’m horrid to her sometimes. But I do love her.”

“Then why do you repeat
gossip that you must know would hurt her?”

“Gossip? What do you mean? I don’t understand.” Blanche was genuinely puzzled.

Adrien steadied her face.

“Why did you tell the children that I was in love with Nicholas? That, if Gillian died, I would marry him? That I had come here with that intention? How could you, Blanche? It was a terrible thing to do.”

Up till that moment she had doubted whether Blanche had really said anything of the kind. Surely, she had believed, not even she could be as tactless as that? It might have been that little Geoffrey had misunderstood. Though how a child could have made up a thing like that, Adrien could not think. But now, seeing the color flood into the younger girl’s face, she knew there had been no mistake.

“How could you, Blanche?” she said again.

“I don’t know,” Blanche said in a very small voice. “I don’t known, Adrien, honestly. I can’t really believe I said a thing like that, and yet I know I did. I suppose I lost my temper one day. I told them if they weren’t good, Gillian would die and they’d have a stepmother. I suppose it was terrible of me, but I get desperate with them sometimes. I suppose, when you arrived, they thought you were this future stepmother.”

“You didn’t tell them so?”

“Perhaps I did. I can’t remember, honestly. Oh, Adrien, do let me alone. I’m going crazy here, I think. I can’t stick it any longer. I can’t!”

“Blanche, control yourself.” Adrien’s voice was like ice. “Think of Gillian for once. She needs all our care. Think of Nicholas.”

“That’s all anyone says. ‘Think of Gillian, think of Nicholas.’ And the summer is passing and I’m stuck here. And I shall marry Pierre, I know I shall. I know I’m horrid, but I can’t help it, really I can’t. You’re not like me, Adrien. You don’t understand
...
” She broke away from Adrien’s restraining hand and, sobbing violently, rushed toward the house.

Adrien shrugged her shoulders. Really, it was too much to have Blanche to cope with on top of a morning of strain like this. She wished she hadn’t mentioned to her that subject of gossiping to the children. She suddenly felt very tired.