Ship's Nurse E-Book

Vivian Stuart

• Herausgeber: Jentas Ehf
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Historical Romance
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 328

Beschreibung

INTRIGUE. TENSION. LOVE AFFAIRS: In The Historical Romance series, a set of stand-alone novels, Vivian Stuart builds her compelling narratives around the dramatic lives of sea captains, nurses, surgeons, and members of the aristocracy. Stuart takes us back to the societies of the 20th century, drawing on her own experience of places across Australia, India, East Asia, and the Middle East.    Ann Guthrie considered herself lucky to be nurse on the luxury liner, Shagreen. She hadn't counted on becoming involved with the passengers — personally, that is. Nor with the dashing young Third Officer, who wouldn't take no for an answer!

Leseprobe

Ship’s Nurse

Ship’s Nurse

© Vivian Stuart, 1954

© eBook in English: Jentas ehf. 2022

ISBN: 978-9979-64-472-9

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

All contracts and agreements regarding the work, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas ehf.

–––

To

ELIZABETH MEIKLE

most patient and faithful of friends,

without whose co-operation and

care not a single one of my

books would have

been written

CHAPTER ONE

ANN GUTHRIE stood on the wharf, a slim, rather forlorn little figure in her dark suit.

Until this moment, excitement, and the consciousness that she was about to embark on the adventure of her life, had buoyed up her spirits through long weeks of expectation. But now she felt lost — and more than a little frightened — amongst the milling, purposeful crowd of wharf labourers and dock officials, the cranes and mountains of luggage which surrounded her.

Her heart lifted as she skirted the crowd and caught her first glimpse of the ship.

The R.M.S. Shagreen, built on the Clyde and launched only two years ago, was a sight to gladden any heart, even that of an inexperienced girl, whose love of the sea and ships had been born of her father’s tales of them and not of personal knowledge.

All her life, Ann had dreamed of going to sea. Her nursing training had been undertaken with this aim in view and her father had encouraged it, proud, in his gruff, determinedly unsentimental way, that his only daughter should want to follow in his footsteps.

Ironically enough, it had been Captain Guthrie’s long and tragic illness which had prevented Ann from realising her ambition.

For over two years she had nursed him and for two years, so that he should not suspect that his illness was one for which there was no known cure, she had spoken, gaily and lightheartedly, of the day when they would both go to sea in one of the Company’s ships.

They had even—and Ann drew in her breath sharply at the memory—decided on the Shagreen as their first choice.

A photograph of the ship, taken on her trials, had occupied the place of honour on David Guthrie’s bedroom wall. In consequence, every graceful line of her had long been familiar to Ann and she knew, from listening to her father’s discussions with Nicholas Frazer, every detail of the Shagreen’s construction and performance.

At the thought of Nicholas Frazer, Ann’s chin went up. It was to Nicholas that she owed her appointment to the Shagreen, for there was a long waiting list and she knew that, had it not been for the backing of one of the directors, she would have had to wait months for a vacancy. But she hated having to take favours from that strange, aloof man, whose manner towards her had been so coldly condescending of late and who yet, for some reason she could not understand had remained one of her father’s closest friends.

As a schoolgirl, Ann remembered, with a blush for those far-off days of innocence, she had secretly adored Nicholas Frazer and had cherished, all through the war a photograph of him in naval uniform. But he had changed since then, with the weight of his new responsibilities: he was a very important person now in the shipping world, head of the Company in all but name, and Ann found herself strangely in awe of him. He . . .

“Excuse me——” A masculine voice broke in on Ann’s thoughts and she turned, startled, to find a tall, fair-haired young man regarding her with interest and a friendly smile.

He was in uniform, with a single gold stripe adorning each sleeve, his cap set at a jaunty angle above a strikingly good-looking, high-boned face. A pair of merry blue eyes met hers, echoing the smile.

“Would you be looking for someone? Because”—he spoke in a rich, creamy brogue—“if you were now, ’tis just possible that I might be able to help you. And ’twould be a great pleasure to help you——”

“I’m not exactly looking for someone.” Ann coloured faintly under his scrutiny. “I—I’m joining the Shagreen. But I rather lost my nerve.”

The blue eyes lit up. “Joining her, is it? Then me luck’s in! Would it be in order to ask in what capacity you’re to join the ship?”

“I’m a nurse.”

“And this is your first voyage?”

Ann nodded. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll be after shipping as a stewardess?”

She stared at him in some surprise. “Oh, no—as a nurse.”

“Then you should describe yourself as ‘Sister,’” he pointed out.

“Should I?”

“Yes, indeed.” The young officer was looking at her with renewed interest. “How did you wangle it, at all? Is it the Chairman’s daughter you are—and me talking to you like an ordinary mortal?”

“I—I don’t understand.” Ann’s bewilderment was mirrored in her eyes. “How did I wangle what? And what has the Chairman to do with it?”

“Everything,” said the young officer dryly. “There are so few vacancies on the medical staff that quite a number of trained nurses sign on as stewardesses for their first voyage. Sometimes even for their second, in this ship.”

“Oh, I see.” Ann’s flush deepened. So she owed even more than she had realised to Nicholas Frazer! He had never mentioned the possibility of her signing on as a stewardess and she found herself wishing, quite illogically, that he had. For it put her in a position of hopeless indebtedness to have been thus singled out for preferential treatment. Her companion noticed the flush and smiled at her again. “I’ll take you on board,4’ he offered. “Er——my name’s O’Farrell, Barney O’Farrell. I’m the Third Officer.”

He held out his hand and she shook it solemnly.

“The sick bay,” Barney O’Farrell said, as they approached the gangway, “is on B Deck forward.”

He gestured upwards to where the great white ship towered above them and Ann halted, to follow the direction of his pointing finger.

She counted the decks. There was the Boat Deck and then A, where the passenger lounges, the bar and the closed-in promenade decks were situated, together with half a dozen luxury staterooms. Then B Deck, with the dining saloon aft and the First Class cabins and staterooms.

As she stood, gazing upwards, a wharf porter, loaded with baggage, almost collided with her. The Third Officer adroitly reached out a hand and spun her round, averting disaster by a matter of inches.

“Careful!” he warned. “This is not the place to linger, I’m afraid.”

His hand resting lightly on her arm, he piloted her up the gangway, acknowledging the salutes of the men on duty at the head of it. Ann saw one of the men grin at his companions and her own lips twitched. That grin told her more than he realised about the handsome Mr. O’Farrell.

On deck, it was comparatively quiet, after the bustle of the wharf. Passengers, Ann knew, would not start to come on board until the following day, but their heavy baggage was all being loaded now. At the Third Officer’s heels, she made her way past the Purser’s Office and along a narrow alleyway, lined with white painted cabin doors, all standing open to reveal the same ordered and impersonal neatness within.

The sick bay had a metal plate on the door and, beside it, were two others, labelled “Surgery” and “Dispensary.”

All three were closed and Barney O’Farrell paused to flash her an encouraging smile before beating a loud and imperious tattoo on the first. A quiet, pleasant voice called out:

“Come in, please.”

The Third Officer obeyed. “I’ve brought your new assistant up, Sister Amory.” He stood aside to allow Ahn to pass him. “Sister Guthrie,” he announced, a note of amused expectation in his lilting Irish voice. “Er—Sister

A tall, well-built woman in her late fifties rose from the desk at which she had been working. She was dressed in the regulation blue, button-up overall, with an impeccably starched apron and veil. Her eyes, dark and wide-set, took in Ann’s slim, fair prettiness and her lips tightened a little as she said:

“That was kind of you, Mr. O’Farrell. A fortunate coincidence that you found Sister Guthrie.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but she smiled as she turned to Ann. “How do you do, Sister?”

Her handshake was firm, the smile not unfriendly, though it faded as she glanced at the young Third Officer.

“We must not detain you from your duties, Mr. O’Farrell. I’m sure you are busy, are you not?”

Mr. O’Farrell reddened a little beneath his tan. “Never too busy to do some small service for you, Sister Amory,” he returned airily. “But—er—I’ll be on me way now, then, if ye’ve no further need of me.”

“None that I can think of, Mr. O’Farrell.” Sister Amory’s dismissal was firm. She waited until the door had closed behind his broad back and then said to Ann, her tone a trifle dry:

“He has altogether too much charm, that young man! I had him as a patient in my sick bay last voyage and if ever a man kissed the Blarney Stone, it is he. One has to be very severe with him, Sister Guthrie.” She regarded Ann gravely. “You are younger than I expected.”

“I’m twenty-five,” Ann defended.

“A great age, of course.” Sister Amory suppressed a smile. “You’ve been to sea before, I suppose?”

Ann shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. This will be my first voyage.”

“Good gracious me!” Sister Amory’s heavy dark brows rose in astonishment. “It is most unusual to appoint a first voyager to a ship like this one. Forgive my bluntness, but you are exceptionally well qualified?” She paused, looking a question.

Ann, feeling really uneasy by now, stammered uncertainly: “No, I’m sorry to say that my qualifications are not exceptional, Sister.”

“Where did you train?” Sister Amory asked.

“At St. Giles’s, in Edinburgh. I was a staff nurse in theatres when I left.”

The warmth had gone from Sister Amory’s voice. She said, very dryly: “Then I imagine you must have influence?”

“My father was with the Company for forty years and I was recommended by a member of the Board of Directors who—who new him very well. Nicholas Frazer.”

“Mr. Nicholas Frazer? Or do you mean Sir Nicholas Frazer?”

“No, that’s his father, isn’t it? I mean Mr. Nicholas Frazer.” Ann sensed the disapproval in her companion’s tone. Obviously, she should not have spoken with such familiarity of a member of the Board. But her father and Nicholas had been on Christian name terms and she had become accustomed to referring to him as “Nicholas Frazer.” She was unhappily conscious of having created a wrong impression. “I—I’ve known Mr. Frazer for years, I——”

“I see,” said Sister Amory significantly. “I see.”

There was an awkward little silence. Ann had no idea what it was that her senior had “seen” but clearly it was nothing in her favour. She stood there, aware of the searching gaze which was being directed at her, a painful flush spreading slowly over her cheeks. Finally, Sister Amory replaced the cap on her fountain pen, clipped it carefully to the top of her bib and moved towards the door of the sick bay. “I will show you your cabin,” she announced, “then, when you’ve changed into uniform, I will take you round our department and give you an outline of your duties. But I think——” she paused, her hand on the door. “I think I should warn you that the Company has very strict, regulations governing the relationship between its nursing staff and the passengers.”

Again that strange, significant glance. Ann, still very much at a loss, replied submissively: “I know, Sister.”

“No matter”—Sister Amory went on, as if Ann had not spoken—“no matter who the passengers are nor what personal relationships may have existed on shore. I hope I make myself clear?”

Ann hesitated, recognising censure and resenting it as being entirely without justification. Nicholas Frazer had been her father’s friend; but merely because, on that account, he had exercised his influence to get her appointed to the Shagreen, surely Sister Amory had no reason to suppose that Ann would take advantage of her acquaintance with him, in order to curry favour with anyone else on board? And why should she lay such emphasis on passengers? Oh, dear, Ann thought wretchedly, I have given her a bad impression of me!

She raised her head and met Sister Amory’s gaze steadily.

“My father was with the Company,” she pointed out gently. “I do know that the regulations are strict. But I’m much too anxious to make a success of my job to think of trying to flout them.”

Sister Amory’s expression softened a little. “I am glad to hear it,” she replied. “In the normal run of things, we are not overworked. You will find you have quite a lot of spare time on your hands. As this is your first voyage, want to make sure you understand that facilities for the passengers’ recreation are for the passengers. Not—with certain exceptions, of course—for the crew, whatever their status or rank. As a nursing sister, you will naturally enjoy officer status, but you will realise, I’m sure, that this carries with it responsibilities as well as privileges.”

“Oh, yes, Sister, I realise that,” Ann said, without hesitation.

Sister Amory inclined her head. “Splendid. We shall go into it all in detail later on. Now, if you’ll follow me, your cabin is along here. You’ll have it to yourself. I am in one of the isolation cabins, leading off the sick bay, as I find it more convenient, but yours, as you see, is quite close.”

She opened the door of a small, single-berth cabin, with a window looking out on to the deck. It was simply furnished with a bunk, an arm-chair and built-in wardrobe, dressing table and washbasin. The chair was covered in a gay floral chintz, matched by the curtains, which made a cheerful splash of colour in tike small, white-painted cabin. Ann was pleasantly surprised. After Sister’s homily, she had expected something more austere, and she exclaimed: “Oh, isn’t it nice!”

At that, the other woman managed a bleak little smile.

“I am glad you like it. Well”—she turned to go—“I see your baggage has all been brought up. I think I should unpack, if I were you, and then, the cases can go down to the baggage room. Report to me, in uniform, in”—she consulted her watch—“in an hour and I will show you round.”

“Thank you, Sister Amory,” Ann said. She watched the stiffly erect, blue-clad back out of sight and then, with a little sigh, knelt down beside the larger of her two cases and began to fumble with the locks.

The dream had at last become reality, but Ann found herself wondering, with an odd little sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, whether she were going to make a success of the job she had so long coveted.

It would all have been so different if her father had been on the Shagreen’s bridge. Tears pricked at her eyes as she bent over the suitcase and she felt, suddenly and frighteningly, very much alone.

But she bit her lip and her expression was resolute as she lifted a folded blue overall from the case and, shaking out its folds, laid it carefully on the bunk.

She was Captain Guthrie’s daughter and she was not going to fail.

CHAPTER TWO

IN A HARLEY STREET consulting-room, Nicholas Frazer was buttoning up his shirt, his dark, aquiline face betraying little of his thoughts as he faced the rising young specialist who was his friend.

“Well,” he said evenly, “I’m taking your advice, Tim.”

“Not before time,” Timothy Lane returned dryly. “You’ve been driving yourself unmercifully for the last five years.”

Nicholas, his coat half on, managed an expressive shrug.

“I’ve had to. The Old Man, as you know, is a very old man and an extremely frail, if indomitable, one. I’ve had to let him think he was still at the helm all this time. But, now that he’s retired, I shall have only my own job to do and that, believe me, will be a relief!”

A worried frown drew the doctor’s thick brows together and his kindly brown eyes were grave as, crossing to his desk, he consulted a sheaf of reports which lay there.

“I don’t like this, Nick,” he announced, tapping one of the reports with a long forefinger. “For a man of thirtyseven, this is a devil of a graph, you know.”

Nicholas, straightening his tie in front of the mirror, stared at his own reflection resentfully. He knew that he looked a great deal older than his age—had been feeling it too, during the past few weeks. His thick dark hair was, he saw, silvering at the temples, and the lines about his mouth and eyes hadn’t been there a year ago. But he turned, smiling, to glance carelessly at the report from his imposing height. “Is it?” His tone was mocking. “Perhaps fortunately, these hieroglyphics of yours don’t convey anything to me. But I know when I’ve reached my limit and, as I told you, I’m taking your advice and going for a holiday.”

Dr. Lane looked sceptical. “When?” he wanted to know.

“As it happens, to-morrow at noon.”

“You don’t mean——?” Scepticism was succeeded by incredulity in Tim Lane’s face. Nicholas’s smile widened.

“Indeed I do I’ll be joining you in the Shagreen. You suggested, if you remember, a Mediterranean cruise. Well, the voyage to Sydney will surely be better, since it will take considerably longer. And you’ll be on board, to keep an eye on me. All most satisfactory, from my point of view.”

“But look here, Nick—she’s one of the Company’s ships——”

“Certainly. Why not? I’ll be travelling as a passenger. I chose the Shagreen because you were making the trip as ship’s surgeon. It was a fairly last minute decision. I grant you, but I cut a few corners and managed to arrange it.”

“I’m delighted,” Tim Lane assured him, with sincerity. “But what happens when you reach Australia? You’ll get back into harness, I suppose, with all your accustomed vigour?”

Again Nicholas shrugged. “I’m not going without a reason, Tim. A conference in Sydney is one of them, plus business in Melbourne. There’ll be things to see to when I get there. I’m depending on you to cure me so that I can handle them. Under normal circumstances, I should leave a month later and fly to Melbourne, but you have so alarmed me, with all your gloomy prognostications, that I decided to go by sea. Also”—his tone was no longer light— “I’ve recently watched a man dying because he, poor devil, didn’t take his doctor’s advice. A very old friend of mine. I served under him when we were both temporarily elevated to the Royal Navy and, as it happens, I know the reason that he didn’t take his doctor’s advice was a patriotic one. He believed he was doing an essential job and he lied and cheated to keep himself in it. I didn’t find out about it till years later. When I did, I had to persuade him to retire. He was one of the finest ship’s Masters the Company ever had, and it broke his heart.”

Tim Lane eyed his patient uncertainly. He was never quite sure what to make of Nicholas Frazer. In shipping circles, where he was already a power, he had a reputation for ruthless hard-headedness, combined with shrewdness and sound judgment, which made him widely respected but not too well liked.

Yet, under his aloofness and his cynicism, the doctor thought, Nicholas was almost pathologically soft-hearted at times, going out of his way to help others less fortunate than himself, without counting the cost in time or effort or money. His manner was anything but suggestive of a kindly nature: it was intolerant, critical and, on occasion, harsh, and he made few friends, for very few people were ever allowed to penetrate the defensive wall he had built up about himself. His was a strange, contradictory character.

Partly his father’s fault, of course. The old man had come up from nothing, had fought his way up, asking no quarter and giving none, to friend or enemy. Before the First World War, he had owned a pair of fishing trawlers, skippering one himself.

Now he was the nominal head and principal shareholder of one of Britain’s leading shipping companies, a baronet and, if rumour were to be believed, a millionaire.

Since boyhood, he had been training his son to succeed him, subjecting the younger Nicholas to a toughening process at least as hard as his own had been. Harder, in many respects, Tim thought, studying the fine-boned, oddly lined face in front of him. He knew, from what Nicholas had told him on various occasion, something of the strange life he had led.

Left motherless at four or five, the boy, never robust, had been sent to sea in a trawler at ten, during his school holidays, and had almost died of pneumonia after his second trip. Recovering, he had spent his convalescence on a whaler in the far North and, at fourteen, his father had packed him off, as an apprentice, to learn his job in one of the Company’s smaller freightships. This had been an experience of which, even now, he could seldom be persuaded to speak. But Tim remembered that Nicholas had once told him that he had suffered tortures from seasickness and had added, with a wry smile, that this had been nothing to the bullying he had endured from his fellow apprentices, all older than he and resentful of him, as the owner’s son.

At twenty-two, in possession of his Masters and Extra Master’s certificates, he had been recalled and put into a city accountant’s office, from which the war, and a commission in the Naval Reserve, had released him—“In time,” as Nicholas himself had expressed it, “to save my sanity, Tim. But only just!”

Tim sighed and thrust the electrocardiographs out of sight

He said persuasively: “Nick, you’ll really try and take it easy on this trip, won’t you? You’re a sick man, you know.”

Nicholas turned to smile at him. “Nothing more strenuous than shuffle-board, I promise you, Doctor. You can rest assured that I intend to spend the greater part of each day in a deck-chair, with a rug oyer my knees and the ship’s medical staff’—he clapped an affectionate hand on the younger man’s shoulder—“in constant attendance! The Shagreen is our newest ship and she’s the last word in luxury. Wait till you see her. You made your last trip in the Norwell, didn’t you? Well, the Shagreen’s got her licked into a cocked hat. We’re going to have a wonderful time, both of us. Especially me. Five whole weeks of undisturbed leisure, heaven help me! I’ve never had much more than five days until now. I shan’t know what to do with myself.”

“Seriously, Nick——” the doctor pleaded.

“I’m perfectly serious, my dear fellow! Besides, you’ll be there, to see that I carry out all your orders.”

“And what authority will the Junior Surgeon have over a member of the Board of Directors?” Tim questioned sceptically. “On board one of the Company’s ships! I’ll give my orders now, with all the majesty of Harley Street behind me. Breakfast in bed, Nick. Cut down your cigarettes to ten a day, less if you can. No late nights, no alcohol, no violent exercise and——” he was scribbling rapidly as he spoke, “have these tablets made up and keep them by you.”

“Right.” Nicholas held out his hand. “You’ve finished with me?”

“Yes. I——” Tim hesitated. “I take it that the Senior Surgeon is in your confidence? I mean——”

Nicholas shook his head. “You are the only person who knows. I’d rather leave it that way, Tim, if you don’t mind. I don’t want a fuss. You’re one of my best friends and you only belong to the Company for a few weeks of your vacation every year. We’ll keep this between us. I’m not an invalid and I’m damned if I’ll be treated as one, even by you. If I need your professional assistance, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise——”

“I’m to keep my mouth shut,” Tim finished for him.

Nicholas laughed. “Certainly. With your usual discretion. I——” the dark, deep-set eyes held a gleam of affection. “Tim, old man, I’m damned grateful, you know. You’ve probably saved my life.”

“I haven’t,” Tim said soberly. “Only you can do that.”

“Then I shall start to-morrow.” Nicholas glanced at his watch. “I mustn’t hold you up. How about lunch? I’ve got a directors’ meeting at two and several things to see to before it starts. I was thinking of a snack at the Penguin in about half an hour. Could yon make it?”

“I think so. I’ve one more patient to see. Don’t wait for me, I’ll join you as soon as I can. Where is the Penguin? I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

Nicholas told him and took his leave.

Tim rang for his next patient to be admitted. Nicholas was waiting when he reached the restaurant, some forty minutes later, but he was not alone. The woman who sat with him was strikingly beautiful and Tim recognised her at once.

Andrea Sheridan had come a long way since the days when she had been engaged to Nicholas. She was now at the top of her particular tree, her unfortunate marriage to Dale Sheridan almost forgotten—except perhaps, Tim thought, looking at him, by Nicholas. Nicholas had been very bitter about it, at the time. He had been wildly in love with her.

“Andrea,” Nicholas said, as he and Tim moved over to their own table, a few minutes later, “is on her way to Sydney. She is going to tour Australia. She’s just informed me that we”—there was an almost imperceptible hesitation —“are to be fellow passengers in the Shagreen.”

Tim could not decide, from his tone, whether he was pleased at the prospect or the reverse but, as they sat down and Nicholas reached for the menu, he noticed that his companion’s hand was not quite steady.

“Look here, Nick——” he began, anxiety putting an edge to his voice. “You won’t—I mean——”

Nicholas met his gaze, his dark brows coming together in a frown. “I shan’t alter my plans,” he returned crisply, “if that’s what you mean. I can’t, it’s too late now, in any case. I must confess it was a shock, seeing Andrea again and being told, out of the blue, that she’s booked on the Shagreen. I thought she was in America. We’ve only met once since her—her marriage. You know, of course, that Dale Sheridan was killed?”

Tim nodded. He had known Sheridan only slightly and had disliked him. Moody and brilliant, he had enjoyed a brief and heady success as a playwright and had then lapsed into obscurity. Rumour, unkind as always, had hinted that he drank. He had been killed in a car smash in California and the American papers had made no secret of the fact that he had been drinking heavily before the crash.

“She has great courage, hasn’t she?” Nicholas remarked, his eyes on the table they had just left. His tone was thoughtful. Then, with an abrupt change of mood, he thrust the menu under Tim’s nose.

“What are you going to eat?” he asked impatiently. “I’ll have to go in ten minutes.”

Tim studied the list of appetising dishes without seeing what was written on it. He was remembering how Nicholas had looked, one bleak November evening when he had come to him and told him that Andrea had married Dale Sheridan. Tim, by the very nature of his profession, often came in contact with pain, but he had seldom seen a man endure such agony as Nicholas had endured that night. And now—was it all to start again, the old wound to be reopened? Nick was his friend, he couldn’t just let this happen, he had to do something to prevent it. Because Andrea Sheridan had planned it—it couldn’t be blind chance. She must have found out, somehow, that Nick would be sailing in the Shagreen. Probably it had been announced in the Press.

There had been ugly whispers about Sheridan and the reasons for his drinking. And about his finances. . . .

“Well?” Nicholas demanded.

The doctor took a deep breath. “Nick, I—don’t want to put my foot in it but——”

“I asked you what you were going to eat,” Nicholas reminded him, with dangerous calm. His expression was forbidding. Tim said: “Oh, for the Lord’s sake—order anything, I don’t care.” He was suddenly very glad that he had decided to spend his vacation as a member of the Shagreen’s medical staff, and said so bluntly.

Nicholas smiled suddenly. “You’re the best of fellows, Tim. But you’re quite wrong. It was all over a long time ago, it can’t be resurrected. Some things hurt too much for one ever to risk a repetition.”

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN ANN GUTHRIE woke next morning, it was a moment or two before she could remember where she was. The dim outlines of the cabin seemed unfamiliar and it was not until she saw her uniform, hanging neatly from the top of the wardrobe, that she remembered. She was on board the Shagreen. It was sailing day and her first day on duty.

She looked at the small travelling clock on the shelf beside her bunk and saw, with relief, that it was only six o’clock. She could lie here for another half-hour, at least, and try to sort out the rather confused impressions of yesterday.

Sister Amory had taken her on a tour of the ship—or such parts of it she had thought necessary, in order to familiarise her new assistant with her duties. These, it appeared, would not be too exacting, so long as there were no patients in the sick bay. When there were and if they were seriously ill, Ann would take the night duty.

Normally, she and Sister Amory would take it in turns to help with the surgeries—three a day; one from 11.0 till noon for passengers, one in the afternoon for the crew and a third, in the evenings, from 6 to 7. They would also, Sister Amory had said, divide the cabin visiting between them and this, too, would be morning and evening, unless there should be anyone sufficiently ill to require more frequent attention.

At all times, one of them would be on duty or, at night, on call, and their daily hours off duty would be arranged as and when convenient. Usually, Sister had said, each would be free for two hours every other afternoon and evening.

It seemed a very sensible arrangement, Ann thought.

Meal-times, too, had been allotted with scrupulous fairness. They ate in the main dining saloon, with the first- class passengers, but at a small table of their own, tucked into an obscure corner, and they did so at different hours, Ann taking the first sitting, Sister Amory the second, once the passengers came on board. Last night they had dined, rather constrainedly still, together, and this morning they would breakfast together, promptly at 7.30.

Ann had not met either of the two surgeons yet, but she had been told that they were Dr. Barnes, the Senior Surgeon and Dr. Lane, the Junior. Dr. Barnes, she gathered, having listened to a long list of his requirements and preferences, had sailed with Sister Amory before. But Dr. Lane was a Harley Street physician, making the voyage during his annual holiday and not, therefore, in Sister Amory’s opinion, a professional seaman, though medically well qualified.

Returning from the dining saloon, Ann had been taken, merely in order to be told that all were out of bounds to her, to the A Deck lounges, the veranda cafe and bar and the writing room on B Deck. The swimming pool, on D Deck, was open for the crew in the evenings, when the passengers would be dancing or being entertained to a film show, and it was permitted, Sister Amory had told her, for the nursing staff, when off duty, to watch films in the Tourist Class and to select books from the ship’s library.

Dancing was not permitted, under any circumstances, to any member of the crew, except the Captain, his two most senior deck officers and the Chief Engineer—and, of course, the Surgeons. Dances were held for the crew but, Ann gathered it would scarcely be in keeping with the dignity of her position to attend them.

“That is why,” Sister Amory had added, her lips pursed as she regarded Ann severely, “I had hoped to have an older woman appointed to the post. It’s rather dull for a girl of your age. You would have had a better time as a stewardess.”

Ann found herself thinking that, in this respect, at any rate, Sister Amory was probably right. Her “officer” status seemed to carry with it more restrictions than privileges. As long as there was enough work to keep her busy it would be all right, but she dreaded the thought of having time on her hands—time, it appeared, which she would have to spend alone in her cabin.

Even exercise had to be taken on certain decks at carefully regulated times, but in port at least she would be able to have a certain amount of freedom. Sister Amory had told her, with unexpected generosity, that as she had never been abroad before, Ann might have all the shore leave that was going.

“I’ve made the voyage dozens of times,” she had said. “And, to tell you the truth, I prefer to stay on board. When you’ve seen the ports once or twice, there’s not much to see, really. Though Australia’s quite like home in many ways, and I have friends in Melbourne and Sydney.”

A soft knock on the door interrupted Ann’s musings.

She called: “Yes! Come in.”

A short, dumpy little stewardess entered, with a tea tray, which she deposited neatly and with the deftness of long practice on Ann’s knees.

“Your tea, dear,” she announced. “I hope it’s the way you like it. Sorry I haven’t got time to stop for a chat now, but Sister Amory wants me, heaven knows what for.” As she spoke, she drew back the short, stiffly starched curtains and peered out into the dim greyness of the early morning. “Raining,” she told Ann glumly. “Oh, well, we’ll soon be in the sunshine. This time next week! Your bath’ll be ready when you want it—along the alleyway and first right.”

She bustled out, leaving Ann to drink a cup of strong, very sweet tea.

When she got out of her bunk, five minutes later, she saw that the wharf was already a hive of activity. From her vantage point, the hurrying figures looked ant-like and remote. In a few hours, the passengers would start coming on board and her job would really begin. Sister had warned her that there were usually a number of minor ailments and upsets to deal with, amongst the Tourist Class children.

Sister Amory was waiting for her in the sick bay when, punctually at twenty-five past seven, Ann, immaculate in her new uniform went in search of her.

“Good morning, Sister.”

“Good morning.” Sister gave her that bleak little smile, but she added, with more approval than she had yet displayed: “You’re punctual, I’m glad to see.”

“I try to be,” Ann said, answering the smile.

“Good. Then we’ll go along to the dining saloon.”

It looked very large and empty when they entered it, a forest of tables and chairs, about which white-jacketed stewards were already busying themselves, sorting enormous piles of cutlery and mountains of spotless table cloths. The head waiter gave them a dignified “Good morning” as they passed on their way to their own table, but he was busy and abstracted and paid them no more attention.

They breakfasted monosyllabically, Sister absorbed in her mail, which she had brought with her to read at the table. She appeared to carry on a large correspondence, Ann thought enviously, watching her take a bundle of envelopes from the pocket of her apron. Oh, well, she probably had a lot of friends!

Half-way through the meal, a steward came hurrying towards them. “If you please, Sister, you’re wanted in the sick bay right away.”

Sister rose, moving without haste. “Follow me when you’re ready,” she told Ann and went with the steward.

Ann drained her coffee cup and rose too. When she reached the sick bay, it was deserted, but the stewardess, who had brought her early morning tea, told her excitedly:

“They’re in Mr. Tucker’s cabin, Sister—he’s the Senior Second Officer. Sent me for extra blankets, they have. Seems he’s been taken bad and, from what I heard the Chief Surgeon say, they’re going to send him ashore to hospital. For an operation! I expect——”

Ann cut her short. “If you give me the blankets, stewardess, I can take them along. There may be something I can do.”

Reluctantly, the stewardess handed over the little bundle of grey hospital blankets. But she brightened visibly when Ann asked her where Mr. Tucker’s cabin was situated.

“I’ll show you, dearie. Come on, it’s this way.”

Ann at her heels with the blankets, she scurried off down the passage and up a companionway with a notice saying: “Officers Only,” to emerge on to the open deck.

Mr. Tucker’s cabin door was half open and, through it, Ann could see Sister Amory and a tall, grey-haired man in uniform bending over the bunk. She tapped softly and went in.

“I have brought the blankets, Sister,” she said.

“Good.” Sister did not look up. Her face, Ann saw, was lit by a warm, pitying smile and her voice was gentle as she addressed the man on the bunk. He was in his thirties, thin-faced and pale, his brown eyes dark and shadowed with pain.

Catching a glimpse of Ann, behind Sister’s back, his lips twisted into a wry attempt at a smile. “Isn’t it just my luck?” he complained to the cabin in general. “To go and get acute appendicitis, just when we have a vision of beauty appointed to the medical staff!”

At his words, the Senior Surgeon turned to look at her and Ann’s cheeks burned.

Dr. Barnes held out a slim, well-kept hand. “Good morning, Sister Guthrie.”

“Good morning, Doctor,” Ann managed, conscious that he was studying her intently. Sister Amory said briskly: “The blankets, please, Sister. Help me to wrap Mr. Tucker in them. The stretcher will be here in a minute.”