Doctor Raoul's Romance Read online

  “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.”

  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? Die, 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 hersel
f 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, d
espising 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.