скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Well, think about it, darling.’ Her mother spoke briskly. ‘It could be done easily enough.’
Phyllida gave her a faintly mocking look. ‘Mother, you have no idea…’
‘No, dear, but things can always be done, however awkward, if only one applies oneself to them.’
Nothing more was said after that. Phyllida went back to London two days later, reluctant to give up a job she liked and go through all the fuss and bother of finding another one—and outside London, she supposed gloomily.
She didn’t see Philip until the evening of the dance; indeed, she had taken care to keep out of his way, going to great lengths to avoid their usual meeting places, keeping one eye on the ward door in case he should come to see a patient referred for surgery.
But she had to see him again eventually. They met in the entrance hall, shortly after the dance had started, he very correct in his black tie, she prettier than ever in a pearly grey chiffon dress and silver slippers.
Her hullo was a trifle awkward, but Philip didn’t seem to notice. He took her arm, asked her where she’d been during the last two days and suggested that they went into the big lecture hall, decorated for the occasion, and danced. It wasn’t until they had circled the place at least twice that he asked: ‘Had second thoughts, Phylly?’
‘About what?’ And then, despising herself for the remark: ‘No, I haven’t, Philip, and I’m not going to— truly I’m not.’
He laughed down at her. ‘No? Shall we wait and see? We meet most days, don’t we, so it won’t be a case of “Out of sight, out of mind”—you’re very used to me being there, aren’t you?’
She met his eyes. ‘Yes. You mean you’ll wear me away like water on a stone.’
‘Nicely put, although I wouldn’t describe you as stony. You’ll change your mind.’
Perhaps it was because he looked so smug and sure of himself that she resolved then and there to look for another job. She didn’t say anything though, but danced the night away, mostly with Philip but with all the other men she knew as well. She enjoyed herself too; tomorrow was time enough to think things out.
She hadn’t got much further by the following evening when she came off duty. It had been a busy day with several of her patients not doing as well as she had hoped, so that she felt too depressed to do more than take off her cap and put her feet up on the sofa in the Sisters’ sitting room. She closed her eyes the better to think and then opened them again as the door opened and Meg Dawson, Surgical Ward Sister and one of her closest friends, came in. ‘There’s a phone call for you, Phylly—your mum.’
Phyllida had taken her shoes off as well. She padded down the passage to the phone box at its end and picked up the receiver. Her mother’s voice, very youthful still, sounded very clear. ‘Phylly? Father wants to talk to you.’
Phyllida was surprised; she and her father got on splendidly, but he was a busy man, not given to telephone conversations unless they concerned a patient. She said cautiously: ‘Yes?’
Doctor Cresswell didn’t waste time. ‘You mentioned leaving, Phylly—if you do, there’s a job going in about three weeks’ time.’
A sign from heaven, thought Phyllida childishly. ‘I could leave then—I’ve still another week’s leave due, so I’d have to work three weeks notice…’She knew that her father was nodding his head even though he didn’t speak. ‘What sort of job?’
‘A patient of mine until I referred her to Sir Keith Maltby—I attend her parents too. A girl of eighteen with erythroblastic leukaemia—I wasn’t called in until she had been ill for some time, sent her straight to Sir Keith who got her into hospital; she was there two months, had several courses of cytotoxic drugs and has improved considerably, gained weight, taken an interest in life. Her mother came to see me today, says Gaby has set her heart on going to somewhere sunny—they want to take her on a short cruise—Madeira and the Canaries, but they want a skilled nurse to keep an eye on her and recognise the signs and symptoms if she should have a relapse. All expenses paid, and fare of course, and a decent salary—about three weeks, they think. Of course you realise that Gaby hasn’t very long to live. Sir Keith agrees with me that she should be allowed to do what she wants within reason—her parents are wealthy, fortunately. It would get you away, my dear, if that’s what you want.’ And when Phyllida didn’t answer: ‘I could arrange for you to see these people—the name’s de Wolff—they’ve booked for a cruise leaving on April the sixth, that’s not quite four weeks away.’
Phyllida heard herself say that yes, she would like to meet the de Wolffs and that provided they liked her, she would be prepared to take the job. ‘I’ve a couple of days off, but not till the end of the week, that would be too late to give in my notice—look, Father, I’m off at five o’clock tomorrow and on at one o’clock the next day. I’ll drive down in the evening, see them in the morning and drive straight back—I can just do it provided they’ll make an appointment early in the morning.’
‘Splendid, my dear. I’ll see to it and ring you back.’
So she found herself the next day rushing off duty, racing into her outdoor things and driving as fast as traffic permitted out of London. The appointment was for half past nine on the following morning and to save time she was to go to the de Wolffs’ house, as it was on the London side of Shaftesbury and she could drive straight on back to work after the interview. She hadn’t told anyone about it and she hadn’t seen Philip. She had toyed with the idea of going to the office and giving in her notice that morning, but there was always the chance that the job wouldn’t turn out to be what she expected. She got clear of London at last and belted for home.
CHAPTER TWO
MRS CRESSWELL was waiting with supper, and her father came from his study to talk to Phyllida while she ate it. ‘Gaby’s a nice enough girl, poor child—difficult at times, I gather from her mother, but it has to be remembered that she’s very ill. She has no idea how ill, of course, although her parents have been told. Not that they’ve accepted it well; they simply cannot believe that a girl of eighteen can die. They’re both energetic, social types and can’t understand why Gaby isn’t the same.’
Phyllida carved another slice of her mother’s home-baked bread. ‘You don’t like them,’ she stated flatly.
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, shall I say that I regret their attitude towards illness and death—two inconvenient states they simply refuse to recognise, but I’m glad they’re so eager to take Gaby on this trip. Sir Keith tells me it’s only a question of three months or so.’
‘Oh, Father, how awful—isn’t there anything at all to be done?’
He shook his head. ‘You know that yourself, my dear. Thank heaven it’s extremely rare—other forms of leukaemia have a much more favourable prognosis these days.’
Phyllida left home after breakfast the next morning, to drive the few miles to the de Wolffs’home. She joined the main Salisbury road presently and then turned away on to a country road leading to Berwick St John, and after another mile came upon the house she was looking for. It was Edwardian, much gabled and ornamented with beams and plasterwork in an attempt to make it look Tudor. It was large too, spick and span as to paint-work and altogether too perfect for her taste. She thought with sudden nostalgia of her own home only a few miles away and so very different, its ancient oak door almost always open, its mullioned windows wide, with curtains blowing a welcome. There were no curtains to be seen here and no open windows.
She got out, crossed the gravel, so smooth that she felt guilty treading on it, and rang the bell. The man-servant who opened the door matched the house exactly; correct; unwelcoming and without any warmth. He begged her to enter, ushered her into a small panelled room furnished with expensive, tasteless furniture, and went away.
Both Mr and Mrs de Wolff entered the room a moment later, bringing with them an air of brisk efficiency and charm. They bade Phyllida seat herself, and without any preliminaries, proceeded to put her—as Mr de Wolff observed—in the picture. ‘You shall see Gaby presently,’ promised Mrs de Wolff, and smiled charmingly at Phyllida. She was a handsome woman, in her forties but not looking it by reason of exquisite make-up and beautifully cut hair, and a casual tweed suit which must have cost a great deal of money. She smiled a lot, thought Phyllida, and she quite understood what her father had meant when he had told her that neither she nor her husband wanted to accept the fact that Gaby’s illness was a terminal one.
‘The specialist takes a grave view, of course,’ said Mr de Wolff, teetering on his toes before the fireplace, like the chairman of a board meeting, ‘but we’re both so healthy ourselves we take a more optimistic view. This little holiday should do her the world of good, and she’s so keen to go.’
‘You will notify the ship’s doctor of her illness?’ asked Phyllida, ‘and I should want her medical notes with me so that they can be referred to if necessary.’
Mrs de Wolff frowned, and just for a minute all the charm had gone, but it was back almost at once. ‘Of course we’ll see to all that, Miss Cresswell, you can safely leave us to arrange everything just as it should be. We shall consult Sir Keith, of course—such a pity that he’s in Scotland, otherwise you could have gone to see him, but I’m sure your father has told you all there is to know about Gaby.’She got to her feet. ‘Would you like to see her now before you go? We do so hope you’ll come with us, but it’s for you to decide of course.’
She crossed the room and rang the bell and when the unsmiling manservant came, asked him to let Miss Gaby know that she was wanted in the morning room.
The first thing Phyllida thought when she saw Gaby was how very pretty she was, small and slim to the point of thinness and far too pale, with a cloud of dark hair to match her dark eyes. This thought was followed at once by a second one, that the girl looked far more ill than her parents had made out. She seemed a docile little creature too, replying meekly to her mother’s remarks about how much she wanted to go on holiday with them, and what she intended to do. But she offered no remarks of her own, although she smiled at Phyllida and went on smiling when her father said that she was a spoilt girl and had everything she could possibly want. He sounded very pleased with himself as he said it, and Phyllida wondered if he had stopped to think that having everything one wanted wasn’t much use if one wasn’t going to be alive to enjoy it.
She stayed for another half an hour, asking questions as discreetly as possible as to her duties. It would be mostly companionship, she gathered, and the giving of Gaby’s medicines and pills, as well as a number of small routine tasks—temperature and pulse and blood pressure and making sure that her patient slept well. She rose to go presently, reiterating that she would want the case notes with her, and reminding the de Wolffs that the ship’s doctor would have to be informed. Gaby had gone with some small excuse so that Phyllida could speak openly now. A little uneasy because of the de Wolffs’ casual attitude towards their daughter’s illness, she said gently: ‘You do know that Gaby is very ill? I know it’s hard to believe—and you’re quite happy about her making this trip?’
Mrs de Wolff’s charming smile slipped again. ‘Quite happy, Miss Cresswell,’ she said with finality. So Phyllida left it at that, only staying to arrange to meet them all on the morning of the sixth.
‘We shall be driving up,’ explained Mr de Wolff. ‘We’ll pick you up at the hospital, that will be the easiest way, I think.’
They wished her goodbye, and the manservant ushered her out into the chilly March morning. She had driven for ten minutes or so when she said out loud: ‘Well, they could at least have offered me a cup of coffee!’
She reached Salisbury by continuing along the same country road from the de Wolffs’ house, stopping on the way to have the cup of coffee no one had offered her, and once through Salisbury she made for London without waste of time.
At the hospital she had the leisure to change into uniform, write out her resignation and present herself at the office. The Senior Nursing Officer was considerably astonished, but in the course of her long and successful career she had learned when not to ask questions. Beyond expressing a sincere regret at Phyllida’s decision to leave, she said nothing other than to wish her a successful future and advise her to give the office due warning as to the exact date of her departure.
‘You have a week’s holiday still, Sister Cresswell, and I expect you can arrange to add your days off to that. I shall have to appoint someone in your place, but in the meantime I think that Staff Nurse Jenkins is quite capable of carrying on. Do you agree?’
‘She’s very good, Miss Cutts, and the patients like her. The nurses work well for her too.’
‘In that case I see no reason why she shouldn’t apply for the post.’ Miss Cutts nodded kindly in gracious dismissal.
Phyllida, speeding to the ward, felt intense surprise at what she had done. Probably if she had stopped to think about it, she would have decided against leaving, but now it was done she felt relief as well. She still had to see Philip and explain, but she would bide her time and choose the right moment for that.
But the matter was taken out of her hands. He came on to the ward to take a look at a suspected duodenal ulcer which would probably need operation, and instead of leaving at once he followed Phyllida to her office, shut the door behind him and asked her quietly: ‘What’s this I hear about you leaving?’
‘Oh, dear—so soon?’ She turned to face him across the small room. ‘I only saw Miss Cutts half an hour ago and I haven’t told a soul—I was going to talk to you about it, Philip.’ She pushed her cap away from her forehead. ‘Not now, though—I’ve heaps to do.’
‘You’re off at five o’clock? I’ll meet you at Tony’s at half past six.’ He went away without another word, leaving her to wonder for the rest of the day if she had made the mistake of her lifetime. Even now, if he overwhelmed her…she wondered at the back of her mind if he felt strongly enough about her to do that. With a tremendous effort she dismissed the whole thing and attacked her work; there was enough of that to keep her mind off other things; the duodenal ulcer not responding to medical treatment; Mrs Gregson springing a mild coronary upon them; the young girl in the corner bed with undulant fever, so depressed that no one knew what to do next to get her cheerful again, and the sixteen-year-old anorexia nervosa next to her, taking precious time and patience with every unwanted meal…
Tony’s was a small unassuming restaurant within five minutes’walk of the hospital and much patronised by the doctors and nurses. Phyllida arrived punctually and found a table for two by one of the windows. There was no view, only the drab street outside, and she sat staring at it until Philip slid into the seat opposite her.
His ‘Hullo—shall we have the usual?’was uttered in his normal calm way and when she nodded: ‘And now what’s all this nonsense about leaving?’
‘It’s not nonsense, Philip. I’ve given Miss Cutts my notice and I leave in three weeks’ time—just under, as a matter of fact. And I’ve got a job.’
Just for a moment his calm was shaken. ‘A job? So you’d arranged it all some time ago?’
‘No.’She explained carefully and added: ‘I’m sorry, Philip, I like you very much, I told you that, but the best thing to do is for us to stop seeing each other.’
He said with faint smugness, ‘You’re afraid I’ll wear you down.’
She stared at him, her blue eyes clear and honest. ‘I don’t know,’ she told him earnestly, ‘but if you did, it wouldn’t be right.’
The waitress brought them the soup of the day and Phyllida studied it as though it was something of vital importance. Presently she said: ‘It’s difficult to explain, but when I marry I want to be so in love with the man that nothing else matters; there’d be no doubts and no wondering about the future and where we’d live or how.’ She looked up from her soup and gazed at him from under her fringe.
‘And you don’t feel like that about me? Phylly, grow up! You’re living in a fairy tale—there’s no such thing as that kind of love, only in romantic novels. I’m surprised at you, I thought you were such a sensible, matter-of-fact girl, with no nonsense about you.’
Phyllida picked up her spoon and gave the Heinz tomato a stir. That was the trouble, she thought silently, he’d got her all wrong. She was romantic and full of nonsense; he had confused the practical, sensible young woman who ran the medical ward so efficiently with her real self, and looking at him now, she could see that he still thought it.
He was half way through his soup by now. ‘Well, trot off if you must,’ he told her cheerfully, ‘and come back when you’re ready. I daresay I’ll still be here.’
She sat silently while the soup was replaced by pork chops, frozen peas and a pile of chips which might have daunted any girl but her, who ate like a horse and never put on an inch. When the waitress had gone again, she said patiently: ‘I’m not coming back; this job is only for three weeks—I don’t know what I’ll do after that.’
It annoyed her that he still looked complacent, but to say more wasn’t going to help. Deeds, not words, she told herself silently.
‘What is this job?’ he wanted to know.
She told him, and being an opportunist, picked his brains. ‘I don’t know a great deal about it—I’ve never seen a case, though I’ve nursed one or two lymphoblastic leukaemias and they did rather well.’
‘This one isn’t likely to—it’s rare, so rare that there aren’t enough statistics, but it’s a terminal illness, I’m afraid. Have you got the notes yet?’
‘No. Sir Keith Maltby has been looking after her, but he’s in Scotland. Father will get the notes from him, though, he’s already telephoned him about it. He doesn’t object to Gaby going on this cruise—he says she can do what she likes provided her parents understand that the moment she shows signs of deterioration they must get her to hospital or fly her back without delay. The ship’s doctor will have all the facts; Mr de Wolff has undertaken to see about that. There’s plenty of money, I believe, so there’s no reason why anything should go wrong from that side of it.’
As she spoke, she wondered uneasily why she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. Perhaps because she had taken a faint dislike to Mr and Mrs de Wolff—quite an unfounded one, based entirely on his brisk attitude towards his daughter’s illness, and his wife’s calculated charm. Phyllida gave herself a mental shake, agreed with Philip that it would be interesting to see Madeira and the Canaries even if her chance to do so might be limited, and then applied herself to responding suitably to his unshakable friendliness.
It remained unshakable too for the next few weeks, and she felt guilty because she was unable to feel regret at her decision, largely because Philip made no secret of the fact that he expected her to come running once she had brought Gaby back home again.
‘Any ideas about the next job?’ he asked her airily. ‘A bit difficult while you’re away, isn’t it? It’ll mean an enforced holiday while you find something to suit you and then go after it. You might not get it either.’ He sounded so satisfied that she could cheerfully have thrown something at him.
Leaving the ward was harder than leaving Philip, she discovered; she had grown fond of it during the last few years; it was old and awkward to work in and there were never enough staff, but she had loved the ever-changing succession of patients, and some of those, like old Mrs Gregson, were so upset at her going that she had promised that she would come and visit them the moment she got back from the cruise. Unthinkingly she had mentioned that to Philip and been furious with herself for doing so when she saw the knowing little smile on his face, smugly sure that she was making an excuse to return to the hospital and see him. She managed not to see too much of him, though, going home for her days off so that she might collect Gaby’s notes and listen to her father’s sound advice, as well as root around in her bedroom to see what clothes she should take with her. It would be warm for most of the time and last year’s summer dresses looked depressingly dull. She decided to travel in a jersey suit and the silk blouse she had bought in a fit of extravagance, pack some slacks and tops and buy one or two things in London.
There was a nice selection of cruise clothes; her modest list lengthened as she went along the rails. In the end she left the shop with a new bikini, three cotton dresses, sleeveless and light as air, and because they were so pretty, two evening dresses, one in pink crêpe with not much top and a wide floating skirt, and the other of white organza. She wasn’t sure if she would have the chance to wear them, but there was no harm in taking them along. She already had a flowery-patterned long skirt and several pretty tops to go with it and a couple of short silky dresses from last year.
She packed her bags, arranged to have the rest of her luggage sent home, bade goodbye to her friends at a rather noisy party after the day’s work, and retired to bed, but not to sleep at once. There was too much to think about—Gaby and her treatment and the still vague disquiet because she didn’t know too much about it, although the notes were comprehensive enough and her father had primed her well. Presumably the ship’s doctor would keep a close eye on her patient, and after all, her parents would be there. Slightly reassured, Phyllida allowed her thoughts to turn to Philip. She had contrived to bid him good-bye at the party, with people milling around them so that there was very little chance to say much. She had tried to sound final, but he hadn’t believed her. It was annoying and she worried about it, getting sleepier and sleepier until she nodded off at last.
She left the hospital in some state, for the de Wolffs arrived for her in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac; it took up a lot of room in the forecourt and Phyllida, turning to wave to such of her friends who had managed to spare the time to look out of their ward windows, saw their appreciative grins. She got in beside the chauffeur after a final wave and caught Mrs de Wolff’s eye. It didn’t look in the least friendly and she wondered why, but she smiled at Mr de Wolff, and spoke to Gaby, who answered her eagerly and with encouraging warmth. Phyllida, a charitable girl who seldom thought ill of anyone, supposed Mrs de Woolff had had a trying time getting ready for their holiday. She settled herself in her seat, resolving to do her best to see that Gaby wasn’t only well looked after, but kept amused too, so that her parents could enjoy themselves too.
They arrived at the dock with only a very short time to spare before embarking—done deliberately, Mr de Wolff explained, so that there would be no delays for Gaby in getting on board. Phyllida took her patient’s arm as they walked slowly up the gangway, for Gaby looked exhausted, then followed the steward up to the Sun Deck. They were to share a de luxe cabin and she looked around her with deep satisfaction; she was used to the normal comforts of life, but this was luxury. She sat Gaby down in a comfortable chair, noted with satisfaction that their luggage was already waiting for them, and took a quick look round.
The cabin was large, even for the two of them, with beds widely spaced, a comfortable sofa, a table and two easy chairs. The window was large and the lighting well arranged and the adjoining bathroom all she could have wished for. It only needed a pleasant stewardess to offer to unpack for them to complete her satisfaction, but she declined this service and asked instead if they could have a tray of tea, for Gaby looked as though she could do with something of the sort. It was barely midday and Mr de Wolff had told her they would be going to the second sitting for their meals, still an hour and a half away; ample time to unpack, check unobtrusively that Gaby was fit to go to the restaurant, and try to get to know her better.
They drank their tea without interruption. The de Wolffs hadn’t appeared; probably they realised that Gaby was tired and needed to rest. Phyllida unpacked for both of them, not bothering her patient to talk. After lunch she would search out the doctor, show him the notes and ask for any instructions he might care to give her. Gaby could rest on her bed in the mean-time. The girl looked fagged out and Phyllida frowned a little; the job was full of uncertainties and Gaby was a very sick girl. She wondered again if it had been wise of her parents to allow her to come on the cruise and then conceded that if the girl had set her heart on it and had so little time to live, they were only doing what any loving parents would want to do. It was a pity that Sir Keith hadn’t seen Gaby for some weeks, but the de Wolffs had said that he had agreed to the trip, so it must be reasonably safe for Gaby to go. Phyllida dismissed her gloomy thoughts and started to chat quietly, hanging away her patient’s lovely clothes as she did so.
They shared a table with Mr and Mrs de Wolff at lunch, both of whom dominated the conversation, talking animatedly about the places they were to visit, the various entertainments on board and how splendid it all was for Gaby, who ate almost no lunch, replied docilely when she was spoken to, and attracted a good many admiring glances from the surrounding tables.
Phyllida did too, although she wasn’t aware of it; she was too concerned about her patient.
The meal was a leisurely one, passengers serving themselves from a long buffet of cold meats and salads, arranged in mouthwatering abundance. Gaby’s parents didn’t seem to notice that she was drooping with fatigue, so that Phyllida took affairs into her own hands and when the steward brought the coffee, excused both herself and Gaby, whisked her to their cabin, tucked her up on her bed, and went in search of the doctor’s surgery.
It was three decks down, adjacent to a small hospital. The doctor was at his desk, a young man with a pleasant open face, talking to the ship’s nurse. Phyllida took a dislike to her on sight and felt that the feeling was reciprocated; she didn’t like heavy make-up and brightly tinted nails on a nurse, nor did she fancy the hard blue eyes and tight mouth in what should have been a pretty face. However, her errand wasn’t with the nurse. She introduced herself briskly, stated her business and waited for the doctor to speak.
He looked bewildered. ‘But I haven’t heard…’ he began. ‘I’ve had no information about this Miss deWolff. Perhaps you’ll tell me about her, Miss—er—Cresswell.’
It took a little time, although she gave the information concisely and without personal comment. When she had finished he said thoughtfully: ‘Of course I’ll look after her and do everything in my power to help. You say she’s entered a period remission? Then it’s quite possible that she’ll be able to enjoy this cruise, to a limited extent, of course—and return home at least none the worse. May I keep these notes and study them? I’ll see that you get them back. Perhaps if I were to call and see Miss de Wolff…this evening, or later this afternoon after tea?’
Phyllida agreed. ‘I thought we’d have tea in the cabin and then dress without hurrying.’
‘Very wise. I think you should suit your activities to her mood. You say she insisted on coming on this holiday?’
‘Well, yes, so her parents told me—perhaps it was just a flash in the pan; she’s not shown anything but a— a kind of docile acceptance.’
The doctor rose to his feet. ‘Would you like me to talk to her parents?’
Phyllida considered. ‘If when you’ve seen her you think it necessary, yes, please.’ She hesitated. ‘They seem to think that this cruise will put her on her feet again. They can’t accept…’
‘I know—it’s hard for people to realise. Miss de Wolff has no inkling?’
‘None that I know of, but I don’t know her very well yet. I’ll tell you if I think she has.’
They parted in friendly fashion and Phyllida started off down the long corridor taking her to the other end of the ship, to be overtaken almost at once by the nurse.
‘I thought I’d let you know that you’d better not expect too much help from me,’ she began. ‘I have quite a busy time, you know, and I have to be on call round the clock.’
Phyllida stopped to look at her. ‘That’s OK, I’m sure you must be pretty busy. I don’t expect I’ll need any help, thanks all the same.’
The other girl gave the suggestion of a sniff. ‘If you need any advice…’ she began.
Phyllida’s large blue eyes flashed. ‘I expect I’ll be able to cope,’ she said gently. ‘I’ve been Medical Ward Sister at St Michael’s for four years.’She smiled widely, added ‘goodbye’ and went on her way, her blonde hair flying round cheeks which were a little pinker than usual, by reason of her vexation.
The doctor was very good with Gaby, matter-of-fact and friendly, taking care not to alarm her by questions which might give her reason to think. And afterwards, on the pretext of fetching some pills in case Gaby felt seasick, Phyllida went back to the surgery.
He said heavily: ‘Well, Miss Cresswell, if she’d been my daughter I’d never for one moment entertained the idea of her coming on a trip like this, however much she’d set her heart on it. And she’s not wildly enthusiastic about it, is she? Is she spoilt? She didn’t strike me as being so.’
Phyllida shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. She’s very quiet and agrees with everything her parents suggest.’ She didn’t add the unspoken thought that Gaby appeared to be in considerable awe of her parents and anxious, almost painfully so, to please them.
‘Well, I’ll have a word with them and take a look at her each day. You’ll come to me at once if you think it necessary, won’t you?’
Phyllida felt better after that, and after due thought went along to the de Wolffs’ cabin. It surprised her to discover that they were put out over her visit to the doctor. ‘There was really no need,’ declared Mrs de Wolff sharply. ‘Gaby is a little tired, but otherwise she’s recovering very well. We don’t want ideas put into her head.’
‘I don’t think anyone will do that, Mrs de Wolff— after all, she’s been under a doctor for so long now, she can’t find it strange if the ship’s doctor pays her a visit.’ She turned to Mr de Wolff. ‘I thought you were going to tell him about Gaby—he knew nothing at all about her.’
‘I considered it unnecessary.’ Mr de Wolff spoke pompously and looked annoyed. ‘After all, if Sir Keith gave his consent to this cruise, I hardly suppose that we lesser mortals need to interfere.’
