Nurse Abroad(2)

I hate writing this, but have steeled myself to do it, because I feel that, quite unwittingly, I have been the one to deprive you of your rightful inheritance, and so, however distasteful I find it, felt that the least I could do would be to warn you so that you may be on your guard ... knowing Sarah so well, she will no doubt seek to disarm you.

All I ask is that you will not mention to her that I have corresponded with you in any way.

I only wish to warn you. If you care to write, I should be very happy to have this answered.



Yours most sincerely,



Elaine Thomason.



Grant Alexander’s lips tightened as he thrust it back into his pocket. This was the very devil of a coil!



It could be the end of all he had worked for, for so long. It had been a bitter enough blow to lose Duncan, his only relative, but to have this scheming woman thrust upon him, who’d know nothing of farming in New Zealand, who would see the estate only as something she could squeeze money out of, was calamity. If Duncan had been made to feel remorse, it ought to have been enough to have settled a lump sum on her, even if that might have meant mortgaging the place. Better by far than having someone on the spot, sharing his home, proving difficult and incompatible.

For Sarah the morning was a mixture of emotions. At one moment she longed for the time of disembarkation to come so that she could get it over, and thought the hour would never come; the next she felt the unknown future was rushing madly towards her and would presently engulf them all.

At last all formalities were over and the ship had berthed. A message was brought her that she was wanted in the Captain’s cabin. She knew a quickening of the heart, a sense of dread that was quite absurd—but this last year so many shocks had assailed her that she was ready to believe bad news might come at any moment. However, this was only the further kindliness of a man who had proved a real friend on the journey out.

“I meant to send for you before, Sarah,” he said with a fatherly air, “but I’ve been so deuced busy ... I’ve paged that fellow on the wharf who’s: come to meet you, and asked him on board for lunch—which will be quite soon now, and much more informal than usual, of course. I’d like to look this chap over.”

Sarah was dismayed, but dared not show it. She managed conventional thanks. There was a knock on the door, and a steward showed in Grant Alexander, a tall, broad-shouldered man, who was so like Duncan Alexander that Sarah caught her breath.

When the formalities were over and the subsequent silence needed bridging, Sarah said, “You’re extremely like your uncle, Mr. Alexander.”

There was a slight hardening of the face. “The likeness is purely physical, I assure you, Miss Isbister. I’m afraid I’m not nearly as easy-going ... or as impressionable, as my late uncle.”

It could be a warning, or a challenge.

The Captain said dryly, “You won’t find it hard to be easy-going with Miss Isbister—we’ve all fallen under her spell.”

Again the hint of meaning in the smooth tone. “I can well imagine that.”

His eyes sought her, tall and slim in Harris tweeds that were a mixture of blue and green, and accentuated the blue-green of her eyes. Her features were chiselled, the mouth full and tender, and from a wide, clear brow swept back the shining hair that was neither red nor gold, and was rippled like a field of sun-ripened wheat stirred by a breeze. Yes, he could imagine her casting a spell.

The next hour was a nightmare to Sarah. She was aware that the Captain was watching both her and Grant closely, despite his easy flow of small talk, his charming, avuncular way with the children, and she did not want him to worry about her.

Pauline went missing once. Sarah felt cross with her. It would be bad policy to make Grant Alexander feel immediately that the children were going to be nuisances.

She said sharply, when at last they ran the child to earth, “Pauline! I told you to stay around. I can’t go hunting all over the ship for you—Where were you?”

“I was making sure that the monkeys and the dogs had plenty to drink before they get moved to quarantine,” said Pauline unexpectedly.

“You know, Pauline, there are people to see to those things. You should have stayed here.”

Grant Alexander cut in. “That’s all right in theory, but people are extremely callous about animals, and it’s the golden rule here to see that it’s done, not take the easy attitude of assuming it’s someone else’s business.”

Sarah was speechless. She’d only snapped because she did not want to give him any loophole for complaint.

She tightened her lips, and bent to pick up a grip. At last, mercifully, they were ready. The Captain came with them to the gangway. Sarah and the children shook hands with him, and with the Master-at-arms.

“Thank you, Captain, for all your kindness, it’s made the journey for me.”

Grant Alexander watched them, a faint derisive curl to his lips. Quite, quite charming, wasn’t she? It paid to be. Captains, masters-at-arms, officers, stewards ... rich sheep farmers from New Zealand ... she knew how to handle them all.

The Captain said, “I’m still in your debt, Sarah. Hope you’ll have a voyage some day when you don’t spend most of the hours in the tropics below decks nursing measles and mumps. But it certainly helped us out. Goodbye, and don’t forget you have my sister’s address in Dunedin if things don’t turn out the way you hope. You’ll always find a welcome there. I’ve written her.”

As Sarah turned to descend the gangway, the Captain flicked her cheek with his finger and turned away. Sarah felt her eyes mist over as she followed Rory and Pauline down.

As they stepped on to the wharf Grant Alexander said, “Let me congratulate you, Miss Isbister. I imagine that to be singled out by the Captain for a farewell luncheon is indeed an honor. But I shouldn’t be surprised, since you could even twist my uncle around your little finger.”

Sarah looked up to encounter such a look of hostility that she visibly recoiled.

She said icily, “The Captain’s attitude was occasioned, only by the fact that a major epidemic broke out—fortunately early in the voyage—and as a trained sister, I was able to help.”

He looked sideways at her. “What wonderful opportunities nurses have! And I’m sure you never miss a move!”

He bent and picked up the luggage again. “You’ve made arrangements for your heavier luggage to be sent on, I imagine?”

“I have,” said Sarah, amazed that her voice was not trembling with rage. “Where do we go from here?”

“I’ll call a taxi at the end of the wharf, and since we have lunched, we’ll go straight to the air-centre and go on to the airport—some distance north—by their bus.”

Pauline’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, boy, I’ve never been in an aeroplane before. Do you think we’ll be sick?”

“I sincerely hope not,” said Grant Alexander.

As they boarded the plane Sarah said, “Perhaps Rory could sit with you. I’ll sit with Pauline.”

“No,” he said, “you are to sit with me. There are things to discuss.”

Sarah would not deign to argue. She seated herself, and when they were airborne said, “The first thing to discuss is how much do we owe you for our plane reservations.”

His air of surprise did not escape her. He made an impatient gesture and said, “Don’t be ridiculous ... and hypocritical. Whether I pay—or you—doesn’t matter, does it? It all comes out of Challowsford money in the long run!”

Sarah drew a deep breath. “No. It doesn’t come out of Challowsford money. I’m using Rendall money. There wasn’t very much—my stepfather was a Presbyterian minister—but thus far I’ve not touched a penny of your uncle’s money. I paid for our passages out of the proceeds of the sale of furniture and books—only away up in Orkney it doesn’t fetch very much.” The words almost stuck in her throat, but she managed them. “I’ve enough to get us to Challowsford and for a few weeks after that.”

The hateful voice beside her said, “Am I expected to applaud?”

Sarah bit her lip, gazing unseeingly at the shimmering sea below.

She said, “I quite realize, of course, that your attitude is natural. No one likes to see money go out of the family. If I could have managed any other way I would have. But it did ease your uncle’s last moments when I gave in and relieved his mind by accepting his way of reparation. Even if it hurt my pride.”

“Reparation?” His voice held immeasurable scorn.

“How. like a woman to look at it that way. It wasn’t my uncle’s fault, was it? The brakes suddenly failed. No dangerous driving—no suggestion of speeding ... and you can spare me the heroics, Miss Isbister. I’m not the gullible kind ... not like my uncle, who wrote raving about you. He said you looked like a Norse goddess out of an old legend. I’m not my uncle, or an undiscerning captain who probably fell for you because you look like a figurehead at the prow of some Viking vessel—”

Sarah’s voice was controlled, but it cut in. “Till now I’ve thought men were logical; looks are sometimes given to us at birth, as inevitable as our ancestry. I’m not any more to blame for my looks than if I were as plain as a pikestaff.”