Nurse for the Doctor (17 page)

Then he was gone. His big car slid away down the drive, chauffeur-driven, and he lay back against the pearl-colored upholstery already lost in thought, as if many things pre-occupied him.

One thing he had impressed upon Josie, however, and that was that if she needed him she was not to hesitate to let him know.
Tia
Amelie’s villa was one of the oldest on the coast, and there was no telephone, but a telegram would be answered immediately, and a letter reporting progress would be welcomed. So at the end of the first week following, his departure for Madrid, Josie wrote him rather a formal, and very careful, letter, giving him news of his aunt’s welfare, and when she received an equally formal letter of acknowledgement she half wished she hadn’t written at all. But it was part of her job to keep him posted with information concerning her patient’s progress, and after that the letters were dispatched to him regularly, at weekly intervals. The replies came back by return of post—the sort of replies she could have shown to anyone, and did show to Dona Amelie, who also received letters from Madrid, the contents of which she preferred to keep to herself.

It was the end of November before the old lady was up and about again, able to hobble about her house with the aid of a stick, and apparently none the worse for her accident. But while she was progressing through early convalescence to the more active stage when recovery is assured, Josie found her life had become rather a lonely one, and she watched the summer flee away altogether from the Costa Brava coast, and autumn banish most of the splendour, with a feeling of sadness because what had gone before could never quite be recaptured.

Not that there wasn’t still beauty. There were wonderful days, when the sun shone, and the sky and sea were as blue as they were when high summer made everything seem full of promise. But there were days when there was no blue about the sky at all, and the sea looked threatening and angry. There were days when it rained, and wind lashed the branches of the trees, and shook the windows of the
casa
, and the fallen rose petals that were everywhere were banished in cruel gusts right out to sea. Josie hated more than anything to see the last of the roses, although in sheltered corners of the garden they went on blooming as if they were determined to last until Christmas, at least.

With the approach of Christmas Dona Amelie grew restless. Under normal circumstances, she explained, she would have returned to Madrid long before this; because there was nothing like Madrid in the autumn, when the evenings were still long and golden, and after the immensely trying heat of summer the Spanish capital drew breath, as it were, and came awake once more.

“Spring and autumn are the seasons when you should see Madrid,” she told Josie, “and the winter can be very exhilarating. Ours is the highest capital in Europe, you know, and although a lot of people complain about the severity and extremes of our weather, at least we always know what we can expect. Which is more,” smiling at Josie, “than you, my dear, can say when you are in London.”

“That is quite true,” Josie admitted.

“In Madrid, too, I have a lot of friends, and life is never dull. There are excellent shops, and all the diversions that young people enjoy nowadays, and in a few weeks there will be fresh snow on the Guadarrama, and ski-ing will be possible. In addition to ski-ing there are other forms of exercise, if you are young enough to enjoy exercise—”

“You sound as if you are trying to tempt me,” Josie interrupted her, and this time it was she who smiled.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” the old lady announced placidly. “I have made up my mind that nothing could be nicer than that you should come with me to Madrid for Christmas—and after that to stay as long as you please! I should be enchanted if you would remain as my guest indefinitely, because, dear child,” patting her hand, “I have taken a great fancy to you, and I am very happy to have you with me.”

“That—that is very nice of you. It is extremely nice of you to say anything of the sort,” Josie managed, with a certain amount of difficulty, however, because the very thought of visiting Madrid for the first time, and perhaps coming in contact again with Carlos de Palheiro, affected her with a sensation like breathlessness.

Dona Amelie seemed to survey her rather shrewdly. “Not at all, my dear. It is you who have been exceedingly kind to me, and now that that fussy little doctor in the village can’t reasonably expect to keep me here any longer—”

“But, won’t it be rather a long journey for you? Josie said, remembering the frailty of the old lady, in spite of her intrepid disposition.

“My dear, my home is in Madrid, not here,” Dona Amelie replied, with finality, “and I’ve done the journey so many times in my life that it won’t hurt me to do it once more—perhaps many times more,” with a quick, rather quizzically hopeful smile. “We will go by car to Barcelona, and then take the train. There will be nothing exhausting about it.”

“And you will let your—nephew know?” Josie suggested, realizing that it was really her job to let him know. But the old lady dismissed the suggestion.

“All in good time,” she said, casually. “At the moment I know he is very preoccupied—the Duveens are still with him, you know, and Miss Petersen. And I’ve no doubt they’ve many social engagements, and he won’t want to be bothered with the whims of an old lady like myself, even if he is a devoted nephew, and I am extremely fond of him.”

Josie felt her heart sink—in fact, it might have been a balloon that had received a prick. Many social engagements ... Miss Petersen ... and he hadn’t replied to her last letter.

All at once she felt frightened of Madrid. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to go there. She wanted to stay where she was, on the emptying Costa Brava, where no one could get at her and hurt her, and no further disillusionment could lie in wait for her.

CHAPTER XV

Nevertheless,
Josie did arrive in Madrid, with Dona Amelie, whose chauffeur met them with a somewhat old-fashioned make of car. He was a rather old-fashioned chauffeur too, in his dignified and precise uniform, and he seemed delighted to have his mistress back. He tucked her in at the rear of the car, with many soft plaid rugs to protect both her and Josie from the definite chill in the atmosphere.

In fact, there seemed to be a faint flurry of snow in the air as they drove away from the station. A strong wind was carrying it from the peaks of the Guadarrama, and citizens of Madrid were hurrying along well wrapped up in a way that would have seemed impossible during their long hot summer.

Josie peered from the window and saw modern buildings, and a great many shops and cafes, with women in furs and daintily high-heeled shoes tripping along on the crowded pavements. There were no mantillas, and no whirling skirts; nothing but excessive elegance. Dona Amelie pointed out the fashionable shopping streets ... the Alcala, San Jeronimo, and the Gran Via. She seemed quite excited to be back, and Josie watched her a little anxiously.

But when, a little later, down a broad avenue, they came within sight of her house, she lay back as if at last she could relax. Carlotta, her maid, was on the front seat with the chauffeur, and in a matter of seconds she was out of the car, once it had stopped, and was assisting her mistress to alight. Dona Amelie’s house was of rather drab-colored stone, but it looked very impressive none the less. Inside it was even more impressive, with portraits lining the wall beside the staircase, graceful pillars supporting the gallery that ran around the hall, and an open patio in the very centre of the house that seemed a little unnecessary at this season of the year. But the rest of the house was beautifully warm, and almost lavish in its furnishings. Josie found that an entire suite of rooms was placed at her disposal, and once she was inside them she felt a little lost after the more homely atmosphere of the villa.

Dona Amelie had to admit to being very exhausted that night, and Josie and Carlotta got her to bed between them, and then rang for the doctor who normally attended her. He said that there was nothing that a few days of rest wouldn’t put right, and being a fashionable Madrid physician reminded Josie much more of Michael Duveen than the plump little man on the Costa Brava had done.

When the doctor had gone, Josie retired to her own sitting-room, and asked for her evening meal to be served to her there. When it arrived it was obvious that a good deal of care had been taken over the preparation of her tray. The black-clad housekeeper herself brought it, and inquired anxiously whether everything was as the English nurse desired. Josie felt a little warmed by the evident fact that her hostess had given strict instructions that she was to be treated with a large amount of deference.

But in spite of the temptingly served meal, and in spite of the comfort—the extreme comfort—of her sitting-room, the curious conviction that she had arrived at last in a place where she could be really hurt refused to leave her.

She stood in front of her windows and watched, between the undrawn curtains, the night traffic of Madrid streaming below her balconies, and something about the endless procession of glittering cars disturbed her still further. Each one of those expensive-looking vehicles contained one or more persons—in most cases it would be two!—off for an evening’s entertainment, and beyond the thought of that entertainment nothing mattered very much just then. The men would be sleek, and the women superbly dressed, and quite a few of the latter would look like Dona Maria—but there would be very few who would resemble Sylvia Petersen.

Sylvia Petersen was unique, and American, and if she were driving with a dark-haired man with only one arm it would be with far more than an evening’s entertainment in her golden head. Far more!

Every time the telephone shrilled downstairs in the hall—and it did so several times—Josie thought it was the marquis ringing to inquire about his aunt, having heard of her return from some unlooked-for quarter. But she was not summoned to deal with the instrument, and by the time she went to bed at ten o’clock he had not rung.

The next day Dona Amelie was easily persuaded to remain in bed, but Josie yielded to her insistence and went out to get her first look real at Madrid. She wandered in the shopping center, and was enchanted by some of the display windows, and further intrigued by the smartness of modern Spanish women without their duennas. The men, she discovered, seldom acted as their escorts, but that didn’t prevent admiring glances being sent after slender figures with gleaming hair coiled beneath the latest headgear, and wearing those perilous high heels.

When she returned to the house she had lunch served to her alone, and in the afternoon a couple of elderly friends called to see Dona Amelie. She entertained them to tea in her bedroom, and Josie poured out, and did the various honors. When the friends had departed Dona Amelie expressed herself as concerned in case Josie might be bored, but the girl denied being anything of the kind.

“This is far more exciting than the Costa Brava,” she said. “I find Madrid fascinating, and even watching from the window is a thrill after so many quiet weeks.”

“But we must not let you be dull,” Dona Amelie said.

She seemed to be thinking about something rather deeply, and Josie left her with her book, propped high against her pillows, but still thinking.

The next morning she insisted on putting through several telephone calls, and when these had occupied a full hour of her time she announced that she was getting up for lunch. It was during lunch that she asked Josie if she would do her rather a special kind of favor, and although Josie looked a little surprised, she promised immediately.

“It is nothing that I think you will dislike,” Dona Amelie said, draining the last of the very fine wine that the attentive manservant had poured into her glass. “In fact, I think you should enjoy it. It is simply that friends of mine have promised to take a young girl with them to a party tonight, and the particular young girl they had in mind suddenly finds herself unable to go with them. This has presented them with rather a problem, but I felt sure you would save the situation for them.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,
querida
!” The old lady directed at her a smiling look. “I shall be quite all right with my good Carlotta, and, besides, the house is full of servants who can look after me. So you can go with a clear conscience, and as it is a rather special affair devote a lot of time this afternoon to making yourself look pretty.”

Josie looked suddenly embarrassed. “But I’m afraid I haven’t a special dress for a special affair.”

“That is all arranged,” Dona Amelie told her. “I took the liberty of abstracting one of your dresses from your wardrobe, or, rather, Carlotta did when you were out—and it has been sent round to my own dressmaker, with instructions to return it this afternoon with something of a similar size that you can wear this evening. I thought you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of making you a little return for all your extreme kindness to me during the past few weeks.”

Josie hardly knew what to say. Her cheeks flushed—with a mingling of embarrassment, pleasure, gratification, and uncertainty. But in the end the uncertainty vanished before the faint look of pleading in the old lady’s eyes, and by the time she was ready for the friends of her hostess when they called for her that evening she was wearing not only the new dress, but, pretty new evening slippers, a necklace of real pearls that Dona Amelie had insisted on her borrowing, and the mink cape that she had once before worn about her shoulders.

The mink cape was perhaps the most wonderful part of the outfit, for it was practically new, intended for far younger shoulders than those of its owner, and its beauty and costliness proclaimed themselves to the world. The dress, that in future would be her own, was of white lace— white lace over a taffeta underskirt, and when Josie first saw it she thought of cobwebs all mixed up with moonlight, and almost too exquisite to clothe a mere body.

Dona Amelie explained: “I liked you so much in your other white dress, and I thought you should have another one.” She did not add that the two could not stand comparison, but Josie knew it, and was almost bemused by delight when Carlotta slipped it over her head. The sandals that went with it were the only touch of color she wore that night, for they were the pale green of a primrose stalk, and with her honey-gold curls she looked rather like a snowdrop when she was dressed. The pearls added the final touch—the pearls and a single white camellia which arrived from a nearby florist, and which Dona Amelie insisted should be fastened to her hair.

And then the old lady and Carlotta both stood back and practically clapped their hands with delight at the picture the English girl made, and to Josie it was a little incomprehensible that so much obvious pleasure should be taken in bedecking her in order that friends of Dona Amelie should be neither disappointed, nor let down. In fact, after peeping at herself in the glass, Josie had to admit to herself that she was hardly likely to let them down.

“Is she not exactly as one would have a young girl of her age and coloring look?” Dona Amelie demanded almost triumphantly of the maid.

And Carlotta answered fervently: “
Si, si, señora
!
Si, si
!”