Ship's Surgeon Read Online Free Page B

dining-room. Involuntarily, she half turned. It was Kristin, in close-fitting black with a gold fleck, the huge Vernon Carey just behind her. Pat felt her appetite ebbing, and placed her knife and fork beside the half eaten filet mignon.
    “That big buffalo,” said the doctor conversationally, “is Corey, the cattle millionaire. Forty-three and still a bachelor, but not for long. It was inevitable that he’d be hooked by a widow. Lovely dish, though, isn’t she?”
    But he didn’t look for long at Kristin Fenley. His eyes focused more keenly upon the woman who was following the other two towards the Captain’s table. All Pat saw of her was a swathe of ash-blonde hair and slim shoulders in pale green as she took her place at a table for four. When Pat looked back at the doctor he was smiling slightly but unconcernedly eating.
    Involuntarily she asked, “Do you know the blonde?”
    “No, but she’s limping slightly, so I shall probably be making her acquaintance. Steak not so good?”
    “It’s fine, but I’ve really had enough. No more wine, thanks. Will you excuse me?”
    “Queasy?”
    “No,” quickly. “No, it’s not that. I was going to leave you to finish your dinner in peace.”
    His expression was calculating, his tone sarcastic. “You don’t threaten my peace, Miss Fenley.”
    “I imagine no woman would ever do that.”
    “One did—just once. I had to toss up whether to practise in Mayfair or concentrate on the pestilential jungle of West Africa. I took the wiser course, thank heaven.”
    “The other might have been more personally satisfying, if less exciting.”
    “I doubt it. Ever been in love, Miss Fenley?”
    “Yes.”
    He lifted thick brown eyebrows. “More than once?”
    “No.”
    “Still smarting? Or is he waiting for you?”
    Pat felt too raw about many things to begin a discussion that would add Alan to her imaginings. She took a cigarette from the case he offered and lifted a smiling mask.
    “When you get out to that plantation you’re going to miss probing into other people’s affairs.”
    “Maybe,” he said indifferently as he stabbed his lighter into life and held it to her cigarette before fighting his own. “Let’s go and have coffee.”
    “No coffee for me, thanks. I’ll go to bed early.”
    “Get a coat and take a walk. Make a habit of it every night.” He went from the dining-room behind her, waved a perfunctory hand as she murmured something and left him, to descend to B Deck. Pat took his advice and slipped into her black coat. As she emerged into the half lit promenade deck she wondered why her chest felt a little tight. Was it because the man had made her recall Alan? She didn’t think so. Thinking about Alan wasn’t really painful; it only reminded her that she had to do something about the boys before ... well, before he’d propose. You couldn’t blame Alan; he had no income yet and the twins weren’t his brothers.
    Pat walked quickly past the windows of the lounge, out on to the gaily illumined sun-deck, down towards amidships. A steward stepped from a companion way.
    “Miss Fenley?”
    “Yes.”
    “A letter for you. It was left at the purser’s office by one of the passengers.”
    Her name was written on a ship’s envelope in neat italicized writing—nothing like Kristin’s. She ran a thumb under the flap, slipped fingers inside the envelope and found it ... empty. How very odd. A passenger, the steward had said. She would have to ask the purser to identify whoever it was. Pat pushed the envelope into her pocket and raised her collar against the cold breeze. She stood at the rail, watching the black sea and the white angle of foam left by the speeding ship. The Channel; they were really on their way. Ceylon first, and little Deva delivered to her parents. Then Melbourne, and Uncle Dan. He wanted the boys, and Alan thought it right that Uncle Dan should have them. Thinking about it, Pat felt cold and small; twelve thousand miles between herself