My Surgeon Neighbour Read online

  “How does she find out anything she does, apparently without stirring a yard to do it?” returned Sarah rhetorically, remembering that yesterday she also had seen Jurice Grey in an open car with a young man whose face was vaguely familiar; recalling too her surprise at the sight of the other girl for once being escorted by a man other than her host next door.

  On Saturday, a brilliant day, she cycled down to the Club, in tennis kit and taking her racket, in case of there being a chance of getting a friendly game on a side court. She was early; not many people had arrived as she paused in the lounge-bar to run her eye down the list of entries for the mixed doubles ... Ames, bracketed with a partner ... Bradbury, ditto. Rossiter, no partner listed ... Fuller and partner ... Mansbury, partnered Grey—Mansbury? Sarah had not known he played tennis, nor that Jurice Grey did. Neither were members of the Club, though of course that meant nothing. This was an Open event.

  As she stood at the notice-board there was a large screen between her and the door. And the two people who now came in were completely unaware of her presence, committing her to an unwilling eavesdropping as soon as she recognized their voices.

  “All right,” said Oliver Mansbury’s coldly, “you’ve made up your mind to play with this Dan Rossiter. But what I’d like to know is why you’ve been at pains to keep up this fiction that he had some other woman coming to partner him?”

  “It wasn’t a fiction!” Jurice Grey’s tone lacked sincerity. “He had someone in mind!”

  “But no definite engagement? How accommodating of her to wait on his decision until the last possible moment and then to find herself thrown over!”

  “How do I know anything about that? It wasn’t until last night that he asked me to partner him.”

  “And you said—?” The tone was dangerously inviting.

  “The truth of course, that I had entered with you, but—”

  “But that you could ditch me just like that, I suppose?”

  “I—I said I’d ask you about it. After all, a lot of people will be disappointed if he can’t play for want of a partner. They come to see players like him, not ordinary fry like us.”

  “I thought he had this partner on an elastic kind of understanding?”

  “Oh that! But it’s too late to get her now. Heavens, I never supposed I was going to bring this sort of avalanche down upon my head. It—it’s all so petty!” Jurice protested.

  “Listen, Jurice,” Oliver’s voice was quieter as he agreed, “I grant you it would be petty if it were simply a matter of my being deprived of you as a partner. But you should know it’s more than that. It’s because this sort of thing runs to a pattern I recognize only too well. Jurice does as she pleases, and everyone else must fall into fine. In fact, I wonder you aren’t producing your classic ‘One of my Voices’ has advised me to play with Dan Rossiter! You’re quite capable of it.”

  Jurice’s voice came in a provocative note. “You’re not jealous of Dan surely, Oliver?”

  “You’d like to believe it, wouldn’t you? Sorry to disappoint you by assuring you that I’m not.”

  “Well then, what are you nagging me about? I’m being accused of something, but what?”

  “Of the kind of petty betrayal of your word that I thought once didn’t matter, as long as it stayed petty. But it doesn’t always.”

  “So that very soon now you’ll be forced to accuse me for the umpteenth time of having no ‘integrity,’ I suppose?” flashed Jurice. “Well, I’m not staying while you gather your forces, d’you mind? Because we are what we are to each other, I’ll do penance, come to heel, eat humble pie or whatever, but I’ll do it later. Now I’m going to partner Dan because I want to. After all, I’ve known him since we were both so high. So excuse me, will you? He’s waiting.”

  For several minutes more her companion kept Sarah a prisoner behind the screen. Then as other people came in she judged she could escape and did so, conscious of shame at her unbidden part in the ugly scene and longing to forget it as soon as possible.

  People only quarrelled with that degree of bitterness when they cared enough to be mortally hurt by the defection of the person dearest to them. No, thought Sarah, Oliver Mansbury’s denial that he was jealous hadn’t rung quite true and no doubt Jurice had known it. And how sure she must be of him to goad him so and still be able to expect his complaisant forgiveness when she chose to ask it!

  On the terrace overlooking the principal court Sarah chose a seat which would afford her a good view. Most of the people she knew would be playing and she was still alone when Oliver Mansbury came over to join her. Pleased, she was about to make room for him on her bench when he said,

  “No. Look, this is a bit impromptu, but as they tell me you haven’t a partner, and by mischance neither have I, would you consider our teaming up together even at such short notice?”

  Sarah hesitated. To have him beside her to share spectatorhood with him was one thing; to partner him at the risk of letting him down was another. She hedged with, “Why I’d love to, but you don’t know how I play, do you?”

  He smiled. “No more than you know how I do. But for the record, how do you play?”

  She smiled back. “I’m far from star quality, but I’m said to be steady,” she told him.

  He nodded. “Good enough. I’m rather out of practice—no time for it—but I hope I shan’t have to disgrace you. Come,” his hand went under her elbow, drawing her to her feet, “let’s go and furnish the Secretary with our belated details.”

  In the first few sets of their section they had mixed fortune, but somehow managed to survive. Sarah knew she was playing as well as she had ever done and her honesty knew that her partner was doing her no more than justice when he praised once,

  “Steady, you say? The understatement of the year! My good Sarah Sanstead, you’re a stone wall, no less!” Victory within their section was to take the winners into the final against the other section-finalists. Before the end of their own hard-fought but winning game, these were already known to be Dan Rossiter and Jurice, of whom they had not been within speaking distance until the four of them were gathered near the umpire’s chair in readiness to take the court for the final. Then Jurice made a perfunctory introduction of Dan Rossiter to Sarah, looked ‘through’ Oliver Mansbury and ostentatiously tucked her hand beneath her own partner’s arm as they walked to their end of the court.

  The final was to be decided in three sets and when the first, after a ding-dong exchange of winning points, went to their opponents, Sarah realized only too well that, for other than sporting reasons, her partner was sharing her own excitement, suspense and longing to reverse matters in the next two sets. If she hadn’t been the unwilling eavesdropper on that scene in the lounge, she might have criticized his eagerness and concentration as showing him to be a man who must win or lose caste in his own eyes. As it was, she sensed his need to express his independence of and superiority over Jurice Grey, if only in a game and if only for as long as it lasted.

  The knowledge helped her to play the next set as if she could not be guilty of a weak or misjudged stroke if she tried. True, luck—the net-cord dropped shot and the ball which raised chalk—was also on their side, and they won that set easily at six games to three.

  The final set opened better still. The brilliant net-play which was Dan Rossiter’s forte temporarily deserted him and Jurice was wildly ‘poaching’ with ill success. But when the other two were leading by six games to four and were daring to hope that their expectation of a gallant defeat might in fact become victory instead, Jurice was running for an apparently easy return when her racket hurtled from her hand and she fell forward on one knee.

  From the spectators there was a long-drawn ‘A-a-h’ of dismay and sympathy. But as falls on the court went, it was not a bad one, and as continuity of play was the match rule, everyone expected her to be on her feet even before her partner ran to her and Oliver Mansbury jumped the net to do the same.

  Jurice, however, remained on al
l fours, only turning painfully to sit as the two men knelt beside her. Hovering in the background Sarah heard her say to Rossiter, “Don’t touch me, please. I can’t bear it. It’s my wretched kneecap, it slips out and has to be manipulated back. Oliver knows, don’t you?” she appealed to him.

  “Yes. Let me look.” But as he straightened her leg, his skilled hands gentle on each side of her knee, the umpire was down from his chair and coming over.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to play on, Miss Grey?” he asked.

  She grimaced and bit her lip. “I don’t know. Do I have to say at once?”

  “Well we play to the continuity rule of course, but—” The umpire broke off as Oliver Mansbury stood and made the decision for him. “I think Miss Grey shouldn’t go on,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry if that makes the match null and void, but I’d advise that she shouldn’t try to finish it.” His glance round at Sarah brought her closer and Dan Rossiter patted Jurice’s shoulder consolingly before he stood to hear the umpire say, “That’s really bad luck. Unsatisfactory for all of you. But if you’re sure—?”

  “I’m quite sure.”

  “Then I’m very much afraid I’ve no choice but to give the match to Miss Sanstead and yourself by default. You do understand, don’t you, Miss Grey?” the umpire appealed to Jurice.

  “Of course. You couldn’t do anything else.” Jurice looked up at Sarah from beneath her lashes and put up a hand to touch her late partner’s. To Sarah she said, “Congratulations, though what a too-stupid finish!” and to Dan Rossiter, “I’m terribly, terribly sorry. I couldn’t blame you if you never wanted to play with me again! But you’ll try to forgive me—no?”

  Then with the two men’s help she stood; their linked hands made a chair for her; a ball-girl ran up with her racket and Sarah collected her sweater with her own.

  At the clubhouse Jurice protested that she was all right, anyway not in too much pain to wait to see Oliver and Sarah receive the award for their win. But as soon as the anti-climax of the small ceremony was over Oliver told Sarah he would like to get Jurice home straight away, offering Sarah a lift too if she wanted one.

  She didn’t, she told him. She had her bicycle. Then she added shyly, “It was a pity it had to end that way. But I do want to thank you, Mr. Mansbury, for about the best game I ever remember playing!”

  “Thank me? I should be thanking you,” he declared. “Anyway, the thing had our opponents at a greater stretch than it had us, and though it was rather an empty victory for us, I’m pretty sure the result might have been the same if we’d been allowed to take it to a finish. What do you say?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so.” But for all the conviction in his tone he left her disappointed that he had not suggested their teaming-up together in any future game.

  Before they had left the club Oliver had called for bandages and splints for the dislocated knee and showed every solicitude for Jurice in helping her into his car. But once on their way and without witnesses, he suddenly invited, “Well?” in a tone like splintered ice and Jurice’s reply showed she knew very well what he meant.

  She slanted him a sidelong look. “But of course, darling, I knew it wouldn’t fox you!” she said. “All the same, aren’t you going to give me credit for doing it rather well?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THERE was a long moment of silence. Then Oliver said, “I should be flattered. But since you hadn’t a hope on earth of deceiving me, weren’t you running something of a risk in reckoning on my co-operation? Supposing, as soon as I realized there was nothing wrong with your knee, I’d said, “On your feet, girl, you’re all right?”

  “Ah, but I could bet you wouldn’t.” You hate scenes, and it would have created a king-sized one if you’d accused me of shamming in front of all those people. And I will say you did me proud,” Jurice indicated her rigid knee, “even if your trussing me up like this has rather made you a party to my hideous crime, hasn’t it?”

  Oliver’s hand tightened on the steering-wheel. “It’s done nothing of the sort. I knew at first touch you hadn’t dislocated anything, but until I’d observed you I couldn’t be sure you hadn’t fallen harder than you intended and were shocked. And publicly gave you first aid as an excuse for bringing you away as soon as possible so that I could accuse you in private. So now, perhaps you’ll explain why?”

  Jurice shrugged. “But obviously to save Dan Rossiter’s face. He was playing abominably in that last set. I did everything I could to save the situation—”

  “What situation? We were one-set all, and the chances weren’t so very far from being even in the last one. Why should his face need saving from an experience he must have had a good many times before now?”

  “Oh my dear, can’t you see! The honors weren’t even by that time; with Dan playing as badly as he was, we hadn’t a hope of recovery. And for a star like him to be beaten in a local tournament by you and your little nurse-partner, would his face be red? Hence my spectacular collapse, which I thought a good idea. At least it ensured we couldn’t be beaten, so that Dan would have nothing to lose.”

  “And I suppose I needn’t ask whether you made him an accessory after the fact?”

  “Of course I didn’t. He’d have gone right up in smoke!”

  “I hope so indeed.” Oliver paused, then stated with dangerous quiet, “And you’re lying, Jurice. You didn’t put on this act for Dan Rossiter’s sake. Nothing so simple. You had to pay me out for finding another partner for myself; you know exactly how well you play and you couldn’t bear to let me and my scratch partner come within a few points of beating you outright. You were afraid you mightn’t win, so you had to rob us of the satisfaction in the only way you knew. We’d win the trophy of course. But only by the back door, and you were prepared to settle for that.”

  Jurice turned on him furiously. “I tell you it was for Dan’s sake!”

  “It was not, and you know it. Anyway, since you’re not keeping up this fiction of a dislocated kneecap for a minute after I get you back to Greystones, how are you going to explain your sudden recovery to him when he enquires for it?”

  “I told you, he was only down here for a week with friends. He’ll ring up, of course, perhaps send flowers. But I can handle him. Kneecaps do slip out—and in—just like that.”

  “And Sarah Sanstead, what about her?”

  “What about her? Oliver, you wouldn’t—?”

  “Betray you to her? Tell her the truth? No, if it’s anyone’s, that’s your job.”

  “But I couldn’t! And you can’t make me, it’s too late!” For the first time panic took the place of bravado in Jurice’s tone.

  Oliver said wearily, “How right, I can’t make you.” He drew up at the door of Greystones before adding, “But this I insist on. You’re going to meet her and apologize to her for the fiasco of the whole thing, owing to you. You could also suggest she might care to play it out again sometime. What’s more, you’re going to do it tonight. As soon as I think she could be home from the Club, I shall go over and ask her to dinner with us.”

  “Tonight? Oh I can’t. I—I’m dining out!”

  “You are not. You’ll dine with Kate and Sarah Sanstead and me. Tell Kate, will you, that there’ll be an extra one for dinner.” Oliver’s tone made of that an order rather than a request as he allowed her to get out of the car alone, and drove away towards the garage.

  For an hour after the end of the tournament there were convivial post-mortems in the Club lounge and it was dusk before Sarah was able to get away. Her thoughts were with Dick as she went to get her bicycle. Today he would have been at the auction sale at Sellinby; his father’s funeral was to be on Monday. After that, she resolved, she must ask him to Monckton for a meal, and, coming round the corner of the clubhouse, came upon him sitting in his car.

  “Lo,” he saluted her. “Can you leave your bike, Sarah? If so, I’ll drive you home.”

  “Yes, of course. Just a tick and I’ll take it back to
the bay. Dick, how nice of you to collect me!” she said warmly.

  “Nice for which of us? Anyway, get rid of that steed of yours and come along. Oh, and I hear you won the doubles after all, you clever girl. How come?” he asked.

  “Well, not exactly ‘won’.” As soon as he rejoined him she explained how she had come to play in the match, described its mounting suspense and the stalemate which had ended it in her own and her partner’s favor.

  “Not very satisfactory, that,” commented Dick.

  “Not at all satisfactory,” she agreed, for some reason stopping short of the ‘However, it couldn’t be helped’, which should have come naturally, but didn’t. She changed the subject. “Just now I meant it was nice of you to bother to come to meet me when, when you must have had a hard day at Sellinby, and with Monday and all that before you.”

  A shadow crossed Dick’s face. “I had to come. I’ve got to talk to you, Sarah.”

  But he didn’t, and her sympathy left him to the silence which ensued until they reached Monckton. Then she said, “You’ll come in and take pot-luck with us, will you?”

  Dick frowned. “ ‘Us?’ ”

  “Well, Alice Cosford and me, after she has put the children to bed.” But at his further hesitation Sarah added, “All right, if you’d rather not. Come in for a drink instead. I’ll have to run and see if Alice needs any help. But you can come to my den and we can have the best part of an hour before Martha will be serving supper.”

  As she spoke she put out a hand to draw him into the lighted hall. But at her touch it was as if something electric sparked within him. He halted in the open doorway, causing her to halt too, then shortened the distance between them to take her other hand and to hold them both behind her back, so that she stood imprisoned in the circle of his arms.