Consulting Surgeon (5 page)

IN THE END—and for the simple reason that, after all, Ned forgot to book seats in time—he and Ursula had to go to a matinee performance of
Much Ado About Nothing.

Afterwards, when they went for a late tea to the little Bloomsbury restaurant near his laboratory where he usually lunched, Ned began to worry: “I’m awfully sorry about the tickets. Did you
really
enjoy it as much as if we had gone in the evening?”

“Of course, I did. As if it made any difference!” Ursula assured him loyally and quite sincerely. For the odd thing was that Ned’s vague ineptitude, which could have been irritating in another man, was simply endearing in him. That you had to take Ned as you found him was something she had learned long ago.

Still worried, however, he went on: “Well, I don’t know. I might have realized you’d be sweet enough to say so, but a lot of girls would have been mad. I mean, the afternoon isn’t supposed to be very romantic, is it...?”

“Romantic? Oh, Ned, you are sweet!” In a sudden impulse to comfort his wistfulness Ursula reached for his hand and squeezed it.

“Ursula, my dear!” As her own clasp loosened his fingers tightened, holding her fast. For a moment of near-panic Ursula feared that she had unwittingly brought about the thing at which Coralie had hinted—a declaration of Ned’s love for her. But out of the corner of her eye she saw the waitress approaching with their tea-tray, and when it was dumped on the table beside them even Ned had to recognize that the moment of intimacy had passed.

When he spoke next it was to tell her of some new experiments he was conducting, using the table silver for diagrammatic illustration and becoming completely engrossed in his subject as he went on.

Ursula could have laughed aloud for sheer relief. This was the familiar Ned whom she knew well; she had only to listen and to throw in a reasonably intelligent question now and then, and he was happy in the belief that she found his maze of figures and formulas as wildly exciting as he did. Already she could convince herself that Coralie had alarmed her into looking for changes in his feeling for her which were not there at all. She did not want him to change. He was safe, predictable, even in his vagaries, and he was kind.

They lingered talking for so long that Ned found he would have to go straight on to keep a lecture engagement and would not be able to see her home. But before they parted he told her that in a week or two he was to lecture at a convention of scientists to be held at Sheremouth, and it was easy to assure him that, of course, she would see him while he was there, and even that she would try to attend one of the convention’s open sessions at which he would be speaking.

With a little chuckle she added: “Everybody seems to be converging upon Sheremouth this summer!”

“Everybody?”

“Well, you are, and Mama has got her doctor’s consent that she should come down there. That means Coralie will come too—”

“But you said ‘everybody.’ That’s only just us—your family and me,” objected Ned, puzzled.

“Yes, well—usually I’m alone there,” evaded Ursula. She knew that her thoughts had referred to Matthew Lingard as well as to Ned, Coralie and Mrs. Craig. And she was grateful for Ned’s preoccupation with a vain signalling of taxis which did not allow him to pursue the subject.

When she reached the flat she was met in the hall by Coralie, bright-eyed with pleasure.

“He’s here!” she whispered dramatically.

“Who is?”

“Mr. Lingard! He says he came to enquire how Mummy got on with Dr. Contin. But, Bear, do you think that might have been an
excuse?
That perhaps he really wanted to come...?”

Ursula took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know why he should,” she said evenly.

“Oh,
Bear
!” Coralie turned away, pouting. Beneath her breath she added: “He couldn’t have come just for that. There
must
have been some other reason.”

In the lounge Matthew Lingard rose to greet Ursula just as the shrill insistence of the telephone sounded in the hall.

“I’ll answer it...” she began, withdrawing her hand from the brief pressure of his fingers. But Coralie, who had already gone to do so, returned almost at once to announce that it was Matthew who was being called.

He grimaced as he rose once more. “That’s what comes of having a professional conscience that insists on laying information as to one’s probable whereabouts at any given moment of any day or night! Not that this can be anything urgent, since I’m on holiday,” he added as he excused himself in order to take the call.

“There! He meant to come here, because he must have left our telephone number behind him. That means he didn’t just drop in on the spur of the moment!” triumphed Coralie, when they were alone. Though how, she supposed this betrayed a deeper purpose on Matthew Lingard’s part Ursula had no chance to discover before he returned to the lounge looking preoccupied and worried.

He went to Mrs. Craig, apologizing for having to leave at once.

“Not bad news, I hope?” she asked conventionally.

“It is, rather, I’m afraid.” He turned to Ursula. “I told you, didn’t I, about my aunt who lives at Sheremouth? Well, news has just come through that her son Foster has been killed in this latest flare-up in Egypt.”

His hearers murmured their sympathy, and he went on: “It means I must get down to Sheremouth tonight, for Aunt Lucy adored Foster and she has no one else of her own to turn to. She has a weak heart, and, so far as I could gather from the message I got, she is already nearly prostrated. I left directions that her own doctor should be called in, but I must get down there too. Otherwise, until Foster’s widow, Averil, can come to her she will be completely alone. Now, if I might use your telephone again, I could save time by ordering my car to be ready as soon as possible?”

“Of course. Or is there any other way in which we can help?” asked Mrs. Craig.

“There’s nothing, I think, thank you.”

“Then we mustn’t keep you. Ursula will see you out.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about this. But perhaps you would dine with me one evening when you come down to Sheremouth?” His glance included them all.

“That would be delightful.” Before Matthew had left the room with Ursula, Mrs. Craig was already in mental review of her wardrobe, deciding which gown would be suitable for such an occasion—a pleasurable exercise soon to be interrupted by Coralie’s clamour that she had utterly nothing to wear for dining out and oughtn’t they both to do a lot of shopping before they left town?

Ursula waited while Matthew telephoned his garage and then made another call, putting off an appointment for the following day. Then he said: "Well, that’s that, and thank you very much. I’ll be getting along now, though I must say I wish I could feel I was taking more than a male sympathy and some degree of medical help to my aunt. There are some sorrows which are far better understood and comforted by another woman. But until Averil arrives she will have no one...”

He broke off, frowning, and in the instant of pause which followed an idea came to Ursula. An idea which, because she must not delay him, had to be put into words almost before it had formed in her mind.

Rather breathlessly she said: “I wonder whether I could be of some use, after all? You say that you would like Mrs. Damon to have a woman to call upon. Until her daughter-in-law reaches England, could I be of any help, do you suppose?”

He looked at her, not comprehending. “You? You mean professionally?”

“Not necessarily. I meant simply as someone of her own sex to be there with her while she takes the first awful shock. I could catch an early train in the morning and be in Sheremouth by lunch-time.”

“But you are on leave?”

“Only for a few days more,” she told him. “If it happened that I wasn’t needed at Shere Court I could still spend the rest of my leave in Sheremouth; and even if I were needed, I could sleep in hospital each night, so as not to upset Mrs. Damon’s household.”

Matthew Lingard looked at her. This time she wondered whether he might be seeing her now for the person she had always sincerely hoped she was; whether at least for the moment, his intolerance had ceased to misjudge her.

He said: “Thank you. Thank you very much. You couldn’t have suggested anything for which I could feel more grateful. You won’t want me to waste time claiming that I mustn’t impose on you by accepting. I
am
accepting; in fact, I’m going to suggest that you could make your gesture even more valuable, if you would.”

“How could I?”

“By going down with me tonight instead—”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight is when you may be most needed. Is that impossible for you?”

“No. No, it’s not impossible. I
could
come—if you would give me a little while to get ready?”

“Good. How long will you need?” It was characteristic of him that, having thanked her for her help, he now looked only for her efficiency in carrying it out.

“I must explain to Mama, and throw a few things into a case.”

He looked at his watch. “The distance is—what? Seventy—eighty miles? That means we should make it in about three hours from now. Late, but not too late, and a good deal better for our purpose than tomorrow.”

He left then, saying that he would call back for her in his car in half an hour. And though Ursula had to leave Mrs. Craig not a little querulous and Coralie frankly envious, she was waiting for him when he returned to pick her up.

The sun had not yet set, and at that time of evening the traffic was not congested. Matthew appeared to know the south London suburbs well, and within half an hour or so they were clear of them and on the open road for Sheremouth.

Nodding his head back towards her case upon the seat behind, he commented: “Are you always able to travel so light? I thought women found it essential to hang themselves about with hatboxes and zipping holdalls as well as the more orthodox luggage?”

“If they do, no doubt they need them,” retorted Ursula defensively. “But I had time to pack only enough for a night or two. Mama will send the rest straight to hospital. Which reminds me, when we get to Sheremouth, may I ring Matron to tell her that I shall be going in tonight but that I shall be late?”

He glanced at her quickly. “You won’t be going into hospital tonight.”

“Surely—?”

“My dear girl, face facts. We can’t hope to reach Shere Court until at least ten o’clock—probably later. If you are to be of any use at all, how can you hope to get back to hospital until the small hours? Would
that
be popular?”

“No, but—I may not be needed at Shere Court.”

“Nor may I, though I think I shall be. And I shall expect them to put me up, so why not you too?”

“That,” commented Ursula, amused, “sounds like the argument, ‘It’s as cheap to keep two people as one.’ And that happens to be a fallacy.”

“And one with which you, in particular, find yourself completely out of sympathy, no doubt?” he riposted quickly.

“Why ‘in particular’?”

“Because of the only context in which it is ever used. Isn’t it true that it is one of the more pathetically inept arguments of people who want to get married and find themselves opposed by circumstance?”

“It may be. But I still don’t see—”

“But surely? I mean, you convince me that you could be neither pathetic nor inept in any given situation. Nor, on your own evidence, could you need to argue yourself towards marriage. Let’s see, how did you put it? Wasn’t it that marriage was one of the chances which your career had already discounted?”

Ursula flushed, but she forced her voice to a quiet note as she corrected: “I think I said ‘could afford to discount.’ ”

“Is there a difference?” he challenged.

“Not if you fail to see any.” Not for worlds would she attempt to convey to him the yawning gap of difference she saw herself. For did she not know that if Denis had loved her in return, and if he had lived, no career, however absorbing, would have claimed her from the greater service of loving and following him and bearing his children? But Denis had not lived, and in forcing her work to form a healing tissue over the depths of her pain she had found it important and demanding enough to be able to regard it as the very intention of her life if need be; she would even be content to have it so.

But it was that “if need be” that she scorned to define to this man who, upon the evidence of a few ill-considered words, had judged her to have drawn a curtain of ambition and self-interest between herself and a woman’s vital, fundamental needs—her right to love and to be loved, to yield or to be strong, to sow selflessly and to reap a hundredfold. If need be, she could make her work her contentment and her peace. But if a new conviction of love should ask of her to choose, her choice would be already made.

As silence fell upon her last words she did not speak again for so long that Matthew wondered if she had fallen asleep. It had grown dark when, at last, he said: “Sleep, if you want to. You may not get much more tonight.”

For answer she thrust herself into a more upright position so that she could watch the raking beam of the headlights on the road ahead. “No, I’m not sleepy. I can never sleep while I’m travelling.”

“Make believe that getting there depends upon you? You should learn to delegate authority better. I assure you I’m quite capable of driving to Sheremouth unaided!” His words were caustic, and she changed the subject to ask him some details of the tragedy which lay at the end of their road.

“I know very little more than you do,” he told her. “The War Office will have notified Aunt Lucy by wire, but details won’t come through for a day or two. Averil, herself, may be here first.”

“How old was Captain Damon?”

“I’m not sure. About thirty, I believe. Anyway, older than Averil, who is twenty-seven.”

“Only twenty-seven? How dreadfully young to be widowed,” murmured Ursula in pity.

There was a slight pause. Then: “Yes. Dreadfully,” agreed Matthew.