A Case of Heart Trouble Page 11

  After lunch she yawned and curled up in a chair in the library, and announced that she wasn’t really in the mood to do any painting that day. She had put the studio to rights, and all was ready for the following day’s work, so she would take the rest of this day off and have a snooze until tea-time.

  “Wake me in time for your toasted tea-cakes, won’t you, Baxter?” she said, a little mockingly, as she partly closed one eye, and the housekeeper carried out the coffee cups. “Even at the expense of my figure I’d hate to miss anything as delicious as they are!”

  The next day she apparently remembered to bring her sandwiches, and the rest of the household saw little or nothing of her. Edith, who penetrated her fastness with a telephone message that had been received for her, reported her painting away busily. But the day after that she again made her appearance in the dining room just as lunch was about to be served to Dallas and Stephanie, and Mrs. Baxter set another place for her and resignedly accepted that it would also be necessary to add another cup to the tea-tray when it went in in the afternoon.

  She was perfectly right about this, for Mrs. Loring declared that as yet her muse was failing her, and she couldn’t work up any real enthusiasm for the commission she was engaged on. She asked Dallas whether she was interested in art, and whether she would like to have a look at some of the canvases in her studio, and because Dallas decided that it was better to be on harmonious terms with someone who was likely to be in the house almost as much as she was in the next few weeks she said that she would. Stephanie, delighted, accompanied her up to the studio, and while Dallas displayed an intelligent interest in some of the past examples of Joanna Loring’s work, and exclaimed in genuine admiration over one or two of the canvases, she perched on the model’s throne and peered into paint boxes and behind stacks of other canvases, and thoroughly- enjoyed herself for a short while.

  Joanna, donning a blue smock and attaching a cigarette to the end of a long ivory holder, curled herself up on a settee and invited Dallas to

  occupy one of the comfortable chairs. She told Stephanie that she could run away now, and that she and Nurse Drew were going to have a cosy chat and get to know one another, and that they didn’t want any overlong ears taking notes of their conversation. And when Stephanie appeared reluctant to leave them Dallas said protestingly that it was time for her charge to have an afternoon nap—something she and the doctor had agreed upon before he left—and that she would prefer to see her settled down if Mrs. Loring would excuse her.

  “Rubbish,” Mrs. Loring exclaimed, with a fine disregard for anything Martin Loring had agreed to in connection with his daughter’s welfare. “A child of that age—eight, isn’t she?—doesn’t need an afternoon nap. And if she does she can settle down herself. Run along, poppet, and crawl into your bed, if Nurse Drew insists . . . but I’d prefer a romp on the terrace with Joe at your age! ”

  Dallas merely looked at Stephanie, and the child disappeared obediently. When they were alone Joanna exhaled smoke languidly and regarded Dallas with a slight glint in her eyes.

  “Martin will have trouble with that child later if you cosset her too much,” she observed. “She takes after her mother and myself, and we needed stern discipline . . . which we never got! ”

  “I think Stephanie has already received quite a lot of discipline, for so young a child, at school,” Dallas returned, quietly. “At the moment she is not regarded as quite fit, otherwise I wouldn’t be looking after her.”

  “She looks all right to me,” Joanna commented. “You mustn’t be deceived by that pallor of hers. Maureen and I both had it. It’s what you can describe as a natural pallor. Nowadays I get rid of mine by the skilful application of rouge,” and she glanced sideways at herself in a mirror as if the result, she flattered herself, was highly satisfactory.

  Dallas agreed with her, but she couldn’t agree that Stephanie was one hundred per cent fit. She pointed out that Dr. Loring was hardly likely to be deceived by a natural pallor, and the other woman shrugged her shoulders.

  “Oh, well, perhaps she’s outgrowing her strength, or something of the kind, but I wouldn’t fuss her too much. And now I’d like to get down to saying something to you I’ve been wanting to say from the moment we first met. Do you remember? You were coming in from the garden after doing a bit of pruning, or something of the sort, in the rose garden.”

  “Yes, I remember perfectly,” Dallas answered, wondering what was coming.

  The other flicked ash from her cigarette into an ash tray. She lay regarding Dallas much as she probably regarded some of her prospective

  sitters.

  “I don’t mind admitting that I was astounded because you are so young. Martin, of all people— who could take his pick from amongst some of the most experienced women in your profession!—to choose a little probationer to look after him, and to let her run around in slacks in full view of anyone who came to the house, struck me as utterly amazing!”

  “I’m sorry I was wearing slacks that morning,” Dallas apologized quite calmly, “but the doctor was making great progress by that time, and there was a lot of work to be done in the garden. Mrs. Loring— Dr. Loring’s aunt—approved of my doing it!”

  “I’ve no doubt she did,” Joanna returned. “But that isn’t the point. Dr. Loring has a reputation to maintain, and in addition he happens to be a widower. It could have struck some people as a little odd that he picked on someone as young and unconventional as you.”

  “Apparently it struck you that way,” Dallas couldn't resist reminding her with a slight glint in her own eyes by this time.

  Joanna shrugged her shoulders again.

  “Oh, well, we’ll let that go ... I don’t need to be told that men are fools, and a pretty face never fails to attract them. Martin’s in his middle thirties, and that’s when his type often come to grief over junior typists, if they employ them . . . Only, in his case, it was a junior nurse. A first-year nurse, is that it?”

  “Yes,” Dallas answered, feeling a slight, angry quickening of all her pulses.

  “Well . . . your matron was at fault, of course, for not pointing out that you were too young. But no doubt she thought it would be good experience for you. The thing I blame you for is taking advantage of a situation and coming here a second time. That is the thing that will make people talk, and get Martin’s name into disrepute. Or it could do!”

  Dallas was so taken aback by this blunt declaration of war that for a moment her wits failed her, and she could say nothing. Joanna continued, waving her cigarette in its long holder in her direction.

  “You’ll have gathered now why I got rid of Stephanie. I didn’t want her to hear anything of this. After all, she’s got to live here with you, and we don’t want her to get wrong ideas about you. But don’t you yourself think you were a little unwise to come here and spend a week with Martin in this house—while his aunt, who chaperoned you before and made it all more or less respectable, was still away? That afternoon when Mrs. Temple-Stewart and I called, and stayed to tea, it was obvious you were as cosily dug in here as a bug in a rug that I’m not surprised Mrs. Temple-Stewart commented on it afterwards!”

  “Oh, did she?” Dallas said, in a dry, husky voice.

  “Yes, I’m afraid she did. And by this time, other people in the district have commented on it, too, as Mrs. Temple-Stewart isn’t the type to keep things to herself. ’

  “I thought she was your hostess,” Dallas remarked.

  “Well, of course, she is . . . and I’m not saying anything against her. I’m merely observing that she belongs to a certain type. We all of us fit into some sort of category, you know, and you, I would say, belong to the young and ingenuous. I don’t honestly think you’re aware of having done something slightly outrageous. I think you probably leapt at the chance of getting back here to a comfortable job, and that it never once struck you that you might have to cope with Martin! By that I mean that, in his low, depressed state—looking round for some sort of diversion!
—he might try to make love to you without meaning anything at all. ”

  “Really!” Dallas exclaimed, and leapt to her feet. But Joanna waved to her to sit down again.

  “Don’t get het up. Believe me, I’m on your side of the fence. I wouldn’t like to see you heading for trouble without doing something to prevent it. To a young woman of your inexperience Dr. Loring must seem devastatingly attractive, and I’ll grant you that he is. But if I tell you that, when his wife died, we thought he’d never get over her death, you’ll understand more easily that you just haven’t got a hope.”

  “Really, Mrs. Loring,” Dallas exclaimed again, feeling as if all the blood in her body was pounding wildly in outrage, “if- you think that all this is of interest to me, I can assure you that I—”

  “Am not interested? In that case you were entirely the wrong sort of nurse for poor Martin. He needed someone who understood how he felt about Maureen . . . how he adored her, how desperately he misses her still, how fanatically determined he is to put no one in her place. That sort of thing needs adult treatment, not childish sympathy. I’ve tried . . . and I know! ”

  “You’ve tried?” Dallas echoed her, as if she couldn’t be absolutely certain the other was being utterly and nakedly honest.

  “Yes.” Joanna nodded at her. “So now you know, when I can be as brazen as that, that I won’t let you get what I want! Not when I want it as

  badly as I do! Listen.” She got up off the settee and confronted Dallas, a lovely, slender, enchanting shape, even in her voluminous butcher blue smock. “I have everything my sister had, and more-far, far more, because she was basically cold and hard. Just before Martin’s accident I had practically convinced him of it, too. And, but for his accident—” “Why didn’t you visit him in the nursing home?” Dallas asked, her tone suddenly blunt.

  “Because I didn’t want to upset him. He might, in delirium, or something of the sort, have mistaken me for Maureen, and that would have been bad.”

  “You could have visited him when he was getting better.”

  “I was away on the Continent. And in any case, I kept myself informed as to his progress. I came down here as soon as I thought he was fit enough to see me. That very day, I believe, he gave you the sack, or something of the sort. And that, I might as well tell you, was because I complained about you and your youthfulness, and he wanted to please me. Later—just before I left—we quarrelled, and I stormed out of the house in a bit of a fury. You got the tail end of that fury, and departed the following day! ”

  This was so true that Dallas could suddenly say nothing.

  “Oh, believe me, my dear,” Joanna assured her smoothly, “I have every intention of marrying Martin one day, and he has every intention of marrying me. But at the moment he isn’t ready. He will be ready soon, though, and so long as you understand that you place in his life is purely temporary— very, very temporary—then there’s no reason that I can think of why you and I shouldn’t get on quite well together, and so long as we occupy the house together put up the appearance, at least, of being good friends. For Stephanie’s sake, if for no one else’s!”

  Dallas stood very still for a moment, meeting the boldly challenging, glorious dark eyes; and then she said something about rousing Stephanie from her nap and left the room.

  Left alone, Joanna lighted another cigarette and placed it thoughtfully in the end of the long, slim holder.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FOR the next few days Dallas found it hard to forget the conversation she had had with Mrs. Loring in the studio. She had been told nothing that she hadn’t previously suspected, and yet the memory of that half hour refused to be banished, and she knew that Joanna had scored heavily in that short interview.

  She had underlined Dallas’s very temporary position in the household, and she had also destroyed any possibility of contentment in her job which she might otherwise have felt. It was impossible to feel contentment when she recalled that last night of Martin Loring’s brief week—which he had devoted almost entirely to her! —in his old home, and accept the bitter pill that he was not above carrying on a flirtation, that included some anything but casual kisses, with a young woman he employed to look after his child . . . and who, incidentally, had certainly not asked to be employed by him.

  And if it was true that people like Mrs. Temple- Stewart were talking about her then it was hardly pleasant. But she didn’t believe a sophisticated person like Mrs. Temple-Stewart would bother to discuss the relationship between a man of Martin Loring’s eminence and a girl he employed. That was probably pure invention on Joanna’s part—and pure spite! Because Martin himself had admitted that he liked his nurse to be pretty, and a man who elected to be looked after by a pretty nurse, rather than a plain one, might occasionally remember that she was also a woman . . . and treat her as such!

  Dallas wished Aunt Letty would return from the South of France, but she was obviously enjoying her holiday, and there was no word of her return. Mrs. Loring continued to occupy the studio, and as proof that Mrs. Baxter understood her perfectly she asked to be put up for a couple of nights at the end of the first week, as the workmen in Mrs. Temple-Stewart’s house were creating a considerable uproar, and her room was amongst those that had to be redecorated.

  It surprised neither Dallas nor Mrs. Baxter in the least when, the two nights having expired, she admitted that Mrs. Temple-Stewart would be heartily glad if she could delay her return to Vineys until it was in a slightly fitter condition for the reception of guests, and as Mrs. Baxter was not in a position to refuse her she moved the rest of her things into Loring Court and settled down comfortably as an uninvited guest until Martin Loring should either approve the move, or request her politely to move on.

  But Dallas knew she was not in the least afraid she would be asked to move on, and that she herself was far more likely to leave Loring

  Court before Joanna Loring . . . who, after all, was the doctor’s own sister-in-law.

  But Loring delayed his return to Loring Court for a full three weeks after he had seen Dallas comfortably established there with Stephanie, and in the interval he neither telephoned nor wrote to enquire how his daughter did. In actual fact, she had improved enormously in that three weeks, Dallas herself has ceased to look as fragile as a piece of blown glass, and the two of them got on excellently together. Joanna, in between bursts of frenzied work in the studio, tried to influence the daily program Dallas had worked out for her charge, and blatantly sought to tempt the child into visiting her in the studio; and whenever she went out in her car she issued an invitation to Stephanie to accompany her, occasionally including Dallas in the invitation, but more often than not leaving her out.

  Dallas thought it judicious to give way sometimes, and allow Stephanie to accompany her aunt; but on other occasions she refused to grant the necessary permission, and Joanna had to set forth on her own, looking as if her opinion of Nurse Drew was slightly lower than it had been before. On one occasion she warned Dallas:

  “I think you’re taking your position too seriously, and exercising an

  authority that isn’t really yours. When Martin turns up for his next weekend I shall warn him that you’re not the right person to handle a child. Your methods are too old-fashioned, and too restrictive. After all, I am the child’ s aunt, and if anyone knows what’s good for her, I should be that person!”

  “And I,” Dallas reminded her, “am being paid to look after Dr. Loring’s daughter.”

  “You’re lucky,” Joanna returned impertinently. “For such an undemanding job it seems to me you’re surrounded by far too much clover! In fact, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had it quite so good in your life, have you?”

  Dallas thought it best not to answer, and when Joanna returned from driving herself into Oldthorpe she actually apologized for what she had said.

  “But you’re so deadly in earnest about everything you do that you annoy me sometimes,” she admitted. She was looking particularly please
d with herself, as if her outing had done her good. “By the way, I ran into an old friend of yours this afternoon. Someone who had no idea you were back at Loring, and is simply dying to see you.”

  “Who is that?” Dallas asked, perplexed because she could think of no old friend in the vicinity of Loring Court.

  Joanna smiled slowly.

  “You’re a deep one, aren’t you?” she said. “You didn’t tell me that you knew Brent Rutherford! Apparently you used to meet when you were here before, and lie’s been aching for an opportunity to get to London to see you. However, now that he knows you’re here he’ll content himself with ringing you up some time. Is that okay? There’s no reason why you shouldn’t take an evening off and go into Oldthorpe together.”

  “But I have no desire to go into Oldthorpe with Mr. Rutherford.” Dallas was shocked because she was fairly certain her employer would be furious if he so much as suspected that his cousin was contemplating telephoning her . . . obviously because

  there was some sort of a feud between them, and not for any more personal reason.

  Joanna looked completely disbelieving, and her smile this time infuriated Dallas. Largely because of the knowing look in her eyes.

  “There’s no need for you to pretend with me, you know,” she said. “Brent has a way with women, and they all fall for him. I was not unattracted by him myself at one time, but that was long ago.”

  “But I tell you I’m not in the least interested in Mr. Rutherford,” Dallas protested agitatedly. “And if Dr. Loring had any idea that he intended to get in touch with me—”

  “Oh, I know, I know! ” Joanna exclaimed, wagging a slim finger to emphasize the fact that she understood perfectly. “Martin and Brent have no time for one another, and the reason goes back far beyond my little affair with Brent. I could tell you about it, but I think I'd better not. Martin probably wouldn’t thank me.”