Anne Mather - Rooted In Dishonour

It had been a long flight, but she was not tired. She thought Willard was beginning to look a little drained, but that was not surprising in the circumstances. This was the most energetic day he had had since leaving the hospital, and the excitement of returning home was beginning to take its toll of him.

Fortunately, her concern for Willard had successfully banished her own anxieties about accompanying him, but she was glad they were spending the night at an hotel in Castries before going on to Sans Souci. Sans Souci ; the name intrigued her, and in spite of her inhibitions she could not deny the surge of anticipation that filled her at the thought of spending the rest of her life in that part of the world which had fascinated her for so long. She looked down at Willard’s hand resting possessively on her shoulder and drew her breath in on a sigh. She would make him happy, she told herself determinedly, and ignored the speculative gaze of the first class steward who had been staring at her so admiringly throughout the flight. If he thought there was something odd about the relationship between a man obviously well into middle age and a girl of her obvious youth, it was just too bad.

The airport formalities were soon over with and a chauffeur-driven limousine took them the few short miles to the island’s capital. They drove past the surf-kissed beach and the sun came out long enough to make Beth catch her breath at the beauty of a sea that paled from deepest green to translucent opal. It was all so alien and exotic, and she stared wide-eyed at the green hills behind the town, thick with alemada vine and coconut palms.

Willard, as usual, seemed quite content to lie back and enjoy her excitement in it all. It was enough to know that she was with him, and the admiring glances she attracted satisfied his belief that he was escorting the most beautiful woman around. At first, Beth had not liked this aspect of their relationship, but as she got to know him better, she had realised it stemmed from an innate sense of insecurity. For herself, she found his undemanding company reassuring, and it was such a relief to be free of the fumbling advances of the men of her own age she had dated in the past. Her looks had not made her conceited, but she had long accepted the fact that blondes of her size and build could not help but encourage every available male in sight to try their luck, and she was sick of fending off unwelcome passes. She had even begun to wonder if she was frigid when Willard came on the scene, but his charm and easiness of manner had soon disarmed her, leaving her aware that for the first time in her life she felt pampered and cared for, and more importantly, respected.

Of course, the hospital authorities had not approved. Nurses, particularly staff nurses who should know better, were not encouraged to get involved with their patients, and their initial association had taken place under the eagle eyes of the doctor in charge of the case. It had not helped that the doctor in question, Mike Compton, had himself been attracted to Beth, but Willard had been more than a match for the authorities. As soon as possible he had moved out of the hospital into a nursing home, taking Beth with him as his private nurse. Everyone had said she was a fool, that she would regret giving up the staff appointment, that when he went back to his home in the West Indies she would find it hard to get another post. But somehow something had driven her on, and now she knew it was the love she felt for this man who was to be her husband.

In the hotel which faced the harbour, Beth insisted that Willard went straight to bed. ‘It’s been a long day,’ she said, when he would have protested. ‘It may be only early evening here, but it’s much later than that in England, and you must conserve your strength.’

Willard regarded her half impatiently. ‘I’m not a child, Beth,’ he assured her, although he began to undress obediently enough and she went to unpack her bag and take out his medication.

When she came back, he had put on his pyjamas and was folding back the fine linen bedspread. He was a big man, but these past weeks had stripped the flesh from his bones, and she guessed he was only a skeleton of the man he had once been. Yet for all that, he was still a handsome man, his greying dark hair as thick as it ever was.

Between the sheets, he looked up at her with resignation. ‘Is this to be our lives, Beth?’ he exclaimed. ‘You putting me to bed, instead of the other way around?’

Beth smiled, shaking out a couple of tablets from a bottle and handing him a glass of water. ‘You know that only time and rest can effect a cure,’ she told him, as he swallowed the tablets. ‘Now, do you need anything else?’

‘Only you,’ he said, reaching for her, drawing her down beside him on the bed and holding her close. ‘Hmm, you smell delicious. What is it?’

‘Only that perfume you bought me in Harrods,’ she murmured, aware of the hardening grasp of his fingers. His strength was certainly returning, she thought, and wondered why it should make her feel suddenly so vulnerable.

Beth’s own room was similar in style to Willard’s. Simply but imaginatively furnished, it adjoined a central lounge where she chose to eat dinner that evening. The golden lobster nestling in its bed of salad was appetising, but her own energies had been stimulated by the flight, and the sights and sounds beyond the balconies of the suite tempted her to go exploring. However, the brief dusk had given way to darkness, and although there were plenty of lights outside there were also too many people to risk losing herself among the crowds that thronged the narrow streets abounding the harbour. Instead, after eating only a minute portion of her dinner, she contented herself by standing on the balcony in the velvety darkness, listening to the combating sounds of various steel bands and the shrill music and laughter that seemed to flood from every bar and eating house. The yachts that were anchored in the harbour were floodlit at night, and on some of them there were parties going on. And towering above them all was a cruise ship of an American line, docked in Castries for an overnight stay.

It was late when she finally retired to her bed, but still she couldn’t sleep. Although the sounds outside were muted now through the louvred shutters on the windows, her brain refused to cease its chaotic tumble, and everything that had happened these last hectic weeks came back to torment her.

It was difficult to believe that it was only eight weeks since she and Willard met. It seemed so much longer than that, and perhaps that was part of his charm. From the very beginning she had felt relaxed with him, but even so she had had her doubts about his immediate attraction to her. A patient often imagined himself in love with his nurse, particularly if his illness was serious, and she had treated his devotion with a certain amount of cynicism in the beginning.

Her own feelings had been less easy to diagnose. After spending two days in the intensive care unit at the hospital, Willard had been put into her charge, and in a short time they had become friends. He had told her who he was, and where he lived, all about the island; and she had listened with the kind of fascination shown by anyone who had lived an ordinary humdrum sort of life faced with the unknown and the exotic. The fact that Beth had always been attracted by that area of the world just added to its appeal, and she guessed Willard had used that shamelessly to encourage her interest.

But gradually they had talked of other things and other places. Beth had explained how she had always wanted to be a nurse, and how she and her mother had struggled to pay for her education after her father had been drowned in a boating accident when she was four. She could hardly remember him now, and as her mother had died two years ago she had no one to keep the memories alive.