Doctor Raoul's Romance Page 4

  “I get so bored here,” sighed Blanche. “I’m no good with children. I do wish Nicholas would realize that, would see it’s not good for them either, keeping me here. Geoffrey drove me wild this morning. Frankly, I can’t do anything with him. I—”

  She broke off. A little boy in blue shorts and white shirt came slowly down the steps of the house, a toy pistol in his hand. When he saw Adrien with Blanche, he stopped short and stood glaring at her, his thumb in his mouth, his large blue eyes—Gillian’s eyes—wide and hostile.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  Adrien smiled at him.

  “I’m Adrien. Nurse Adrien Grey. I’ve come to look after your mummy, Geoffrey.”

  “Go away!” said the child. “We don’t want you here. Go away!” His eyes, his mouth puckered up. He looked as though he might scream.

  Before Adrien could do anything, Frances sprang forward, seized his arm, and said something to him in French, which Adrien could not catch. The little boy turned unwillingly, and went with his sister into the house, pausing at the door to glare at Adrien.

  “You see,” said Blanche despairingly, “he’s hopeless. Frances is good enough on the whole, though she’s a deceitful little thing. One can never really tell what she’s thinking. But Geoffrey...”

  “I shouldn’t worry about him too much, if I were you,” said Adrien soothingly. “He’ll come around.”

  Blanche sighed again.

  “I want to talk to you, Adrien. I want your advice. I think, somehow, you are the person who can help me.”

  “Heavens!” thought Adrien. “Confidences about the handsome Pierre, no doubt. I’m becoming a sort of sympathetic maiden aunt.”

  She said briskly, “I can’t stop now, dear. I must go and see how Gillian is, and get her ready for the doctor’s visit.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Blanche. “I didn’t mean now, But later. Please, Adrien. I know it’s a bore for you, but I’m going to burst if I can’t talk to someone.”

  “We can’t have that,” said Adrien, laughing. “What about this afternoon, while Gillian is taking her siesta?”

  “That’ll do fine,” Blanche agreed, her face brightening.

  “Well, this afternoon, then,” said Adrien, and ran lightly up the stairs to her patient.

  Gillian welcomed her with a smile. She looked better today and less haggard. The doctor’s words had evidently already had an excellent psychological effect upon her. Her sense of hopelessness was gone.

  Adrien realized that for months Gillian had at best been encouraged to hope only that she might become a little stronger. The greatest hope any doctor had been able to give her was for the life of an invalid.

  “What a wonderful thing it would be to be well again,” said Gillian, leaning back on her pillows, and watching the sunlight dance through the open shutters across the lemon-colored ceiling of her bedroom. She added, with cheerful impatience, “I wish Dr. Dubois’s treatment was starting today.”

  “But it is starting today,” Adrien assured her. “This diet, this medicine, is all to build you up for it. So it’s all part of the treatment, really.”

  “Oh, I know that,” said Gillian, “but I want the real thing, Adrien. I’m tired of waiting. However—give me the medicine. And a lump of sugar after it, please! It may be childish, but I don’t see why I should lie for hours with a horrible taste in my mouth. I hear you’re going to Madame de Neuf s this evening?”

  Adrien was surprised at the sudden change of subject.

  “I’m not sure...” she began.

  “Oh, why not? You must go, Adrien. You’ll enjoy it. Denise is great fun.”

  “Well, I don’t know her, after all,” Adrien protested. “I think I'd rather stay here, with you.”

  “Oh, so you want to keep me in order. That’s it, is it? Nothing doing, Nurse. Nicky will stay with me. Please go, Adrien. I know you’ll have a good time. And if Dr. Dubois’s treatment is as drastic as he implies, Nicky and I may not have many more of these evenings to ourselves, may we?”

  What could Adrien say? There was no reply.

  In the afternoon, a sleepiness prevailed in Val d’Argent. The shops were closed till four-thirty. The children were at school.

  Having seen that Gillian had fallen asleep, Adrien took a book and went into the garden, hoping that Blanche had forgotten their rendezvous, and that she would get a quiet half hour under the lilac tree.

  But she had hardly settled herself comfortably when Blanche appeared, and flopped down on the grass beside her. Adrien noticed that she had changed into a rather pretty flowered dress, and had fastened back her wild hair. She took off her sandals, stretched out her long brown legs and waggled her toes in the sunshine.

  “Adrien, you will let me talk to you, won’t you? Now?”

  “Very well,” Adrien agreed resignedly. “It’s about Pierre, I suppose?”

  “Well, yes and no. In a way it is, I suppose, but not chiefly.”

  “Oh?” Adrien began to be curious. “What is it about, then?” “Oh, Adrien, I’m so sick of being here! I want you to talk to Nick for me. I know you have great influence with him. And I can’t worry Gillian, can I? So you’re my only hope.”

  Adrien knitted her brows.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want to go to London. To the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. I want to be a great actress. I’ve got it in me, Adrien. I have, I know I have!”

  Adrien tried not to smile.

  “Blanche dear, you’re very young, you know. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “That’s what everyone says,” Blanche wailed. “But it just isn’t true. You’ve got to start young. Oh, if we couldn’t afford dramatic school, I’d be willing to go into rep. But it isn’t a question of money. Daddy left me heaps, but I can’t touch it till I’m twenty-one. Nicholas has control of it. And he wants me to stay here and look after the children. And if—Gill dies ... Oh, Adrien, I shall be cooped up here forever. You won’t let that happen, will you? You won’t let that happen to me!”

  Sympathetically, Adrien said, “Even if you have to wait to start your career till you’re twenty-one, it will still be plenty of time. And you can do what you like then. Nicholas will have no control over you.”

  “Oh, but if Gillian dies ... I know you think I’m horrid, Adrien, but I can’t help it. If Gillian dies, I shall be trapped. I shan’t be able to leave the children. I shall have to marry Pierre and stay here forever. That is, unless you—”

  She broke off and put her hand to her mouth. But Adrien hadn’t noticed her last few words. She was concentrating on, “I shall have to marry Pierre.”

  “Would that be such a terrible fate?” she asked.

  “Oh, you don’t understand...” Blanche buried her face in her hands. “Somehow I thought you would.”

  “You don’t love Pierre?” queried Adrien.

  “I don’t know. I suppose, in a sort of way, I do. He’s rather a dear. But I don’t want to marry, Adrien. I can’t stand the thought of settling down as a provincial housewife. I just can’t.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Blanche.” Adrien spoke coldly, to check the girl’s rising hysteria. “No one is going to force you to marry Pierre, or anyone else, if you don’t want to. You’re not living in Victorian times.”

  “But it’s different in France. Marriages are still arranged here.”

  “But you’re not French.”

  “Pierre is.”

  “Who is Pierre, Blanche? Does Nicholas approve of the idea of your marrying? Somehow I got the impression—” She stopped, sensing that one had to be careful with Blanche. But the younger girl guessed, what she had been going to say.

  “You have the impression that he doesn’t approve. I don’t think he does. He thinks I’m too young. But he’ll give way. Nicky always does?”

  The words struck Adrien like a shower of little sharp stones aimed at the shrine of her beloved. Was it true? Did Nicholas always give way? No, only to
Gillian.

  She said, “You mean Gillian approves?”

  “Oh yes—she wants us to get married. It was her idea that Pierre should come here. He is the son of an old family friend. Our family, I mean, Gill’s and mine. He’s been ill and the doctors said he ought to have an easy outside job for a bit. He’s all right now, but he hangs on because of me. Gillian wants Nicky to find him a job in the firm.”

  “Why not? It sounds a good idea to me. He could still see you. But you wouldn’t be thrown together quite so much as you are now. It would give you both a better chance to judge your feelings.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But Pierre doesn’t want a job like that.”

  “Oh—he has other plans? What are his ambitions, then?”

  “He wants to write popular songs. A musical show.”

  Adrien couldn’t help laughing.

  “Rather a castle in Spain, isn’t it? So you share theatrical ambitions. Seems to me you’re an ideal couple.”

  “Don’t tease, Adrien!” implored Blanche.

  “Dear, I’m not. But, honestly, so many young people have ambitions of this sort. And then they settle down into humdrum jobs, and happy marriages!”

  “Yes; and I’m afraid Pierre will do that.”

  “Then why don’t you marry him and try your luck together later on? It seems to me an ideal solution to your problems.”

  “Oh, Adrien! Because then I shall be trapped. Don’t you see? Pierre will do just as you say, he will take a humdrum job he doesn’t like, because he won’t want to be dependent on my money. And anyhow, I’m not sure he’s really got it in him to be successful in the theater. And if he isn’t we’d be sunk. We’d have to separate. Because I have—”

  “You mean you’re quite sure you have it in you to be a successful actress? You have great faith in yourself.”

  “It isn’t that. But I’m quite, quite sure. I know it, Adrien.” Looking at her, Adrien was astonished to see the same quiet, confident expression on her face as she had seen on Dr. Dubois’s the previous evening. A look of dedication.

  She thought suddenly, “If Blanche really has the theater in her blood, has anyone, has Nicholas, the right to deny her a chance? Is he really being fair to her?”

  She said, “Blanche, I’ll do what I can to help you. I promise. But you must be patient. You must—”

  She broke off, as Jeanne, the little maid, came running toward them, across the lawn, crying, “C’est Monsieur le Docteur qui est la.”

  “I’m coming—je viens, Jeanne.” Adrien sprang to her feet and ran toward the house, aware, to her annoyance, that it wasn’t the running that caused the violent beating of her heart.

  “At least,” she thought, “I’m in uniform today. He’ll approve of that!”

  Why was she so concerned about Dr. Dubois’s good opinions? she found herself wondering. But of course, that was easily explained. She wanted to stay with Nicholas and Gillian. She wanted to see this case through. It would be dreadful if Dr. Dubois should say he could not continue treatment unless Nicholas dismissed her and employed another nurse.

  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.