Ship's Surgeon by Celine Conway Page B

Melbourne!” Kristin had spoken so abruptly that everyone was silent, looking at her. She laughed quickly, slipped a hand round the big man’s elbow. “In that case we’ll be seeing you and Mr. Pickard for some time to come. Shall we move on, darling? You did promise me a visit to the Palais Longchamp.”
    The two couples parted, and as she and Van returned to their taxi, Pat wondered how the Corey man would have reacted had she mentioned that Kristin had been her father’s second wife. Although she didn’t know the man, she felt he would be mortally hurt. Not because of the boys; he loved children. He’d be hurt because Kristin had lied to him, ignored her connection with Pat even here on the boat. He’d be hurt into hating her and casting her off. And, Kristin being what she was, you couldn’t blame her entirely. A lovely widow of thirty or so, childless and free to go anywhere, would be far more likely to snaffle a good job than one several years older and burdened with children. She had met Vernon Corey and let him think of her as other men thought; until, when she realized he would marry her, it was too late for the truth. She had set herself on a path from which there was no return. Pat hoped it worried her; she deserved to suffer more than a little.
    During the next few days, as the Walhara steamed steadily south-east towards Port Said and the breeze became warmer and slightly humid, Pat devoted almost all her time to Deva Wadia. The Sinhalese girl seemed not to have suffered any ill effects from the nightmare, though her usual light spirits did desert her for a while now and then. It was as if she recalled something unpleasant, reflected upon it and eventually cast it aside. Pat thought it best not to mention it. Deva was improving quite rapidly now, and as well as the exercises, which were becoming a degree or two more strenuous each day, she sat in a long chair on deck every afternoon, and had tea there.
    At first, the passengers hid their stares, but soon they were apt to take chairs nearby and start a conversation. Deva loved chatting, was candid and merry about herself, and even with Mrs. Lai looking blankly disapproving at her side she reacted naturally and spontaneously to friendly overtures.
    “I like all those people,” she told Pat one night as she settled for sleep. “But they puzzle me. Why do they play so hard? That red man who throws the quoit for exactly half an hour each afternoon, and those two women who walk, walk, walk! What are they afraid of?”
    “Putting on weight, I suppose,” Pat answered. “The ship’s food is so tempting that they all eat too much.”
    “But if they have to work so hard after it,” said Deva, mystified, “why do they permit themselves to be tempted?”
    “It’s human nature to take pleasures as they come, and if one has to pay for them afterwards, it’s just bad luck.” Deva looked up at her earnestly. “You are with me so much now. Do you have any of these pleasures?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Yet you are not happy, are you, Pattie? Is it because of the doctor and the shining woman with the white hair? I saw them together for a few moments, once. She looks very exciting in the little white shorts, with her long brown legs and scarlet sandals, but although the doctor smiled when he was with her he is not in love with her, I think.”
    “I don’t suppose he is. They don’t worry me at all.”
    “But you often think of things which cannot be spoken of, don’t you, Pattie? The doctor does also, but with him,” with a smiling grimace, “it is probably his patients. You were not here when he came to see me today ... or yesterday. Is it because I am so much stronger?”
    “Partly. He used to come at a regular time, but he doesn’t now, because it isn’t necessary. He fits you in among other calls. Would you like a little ice-water before I leave you?”
    “Lallie will give me some later. Pattie?”
    “Yes, Deva?”
    “You are not sorry you