Page 33 of The Ship of Brides
‘What seems to be the problem, then?’ He was sliding his hand back and forth along the desk as if to some unheard rhythm.
‘I don’t have one.’ She straightened, stiff in her starched shirt. ‘Are you the surgeon? Mr Farraday?’
‘No.’ He gazed at her, apparently weighing up whether to enlighten her. ‘Vincent Duxbury. Civilian passenger. I’m probably not the man you had in mind. He – er – he failed to make the trip. Captain Highfield asked me to step in. And, frankly, given the standard of entertainment on board, I’m happy to oblige. How can I help you?’
‘I’m not sure that you can,’ she said, perplexed. ‘At least, not in that way. I was – I mean, I’m a nurse.’ She held out a hand. ‘Frances Mackenzie. Sister Frances Mackenzie. I heard that some of the brides were to be allowed to help out with secretarial duties and such, and I thought I might offer my services here.’
Vincent Duxbury shook her hand, and motioned to her to sit down. ‘A nurse, eh? I thought we might have a few on board. Seen much duty?’
‘Five years in the Pacific,’ she said. ‘Last posting was the Australian General Hospital 2/7 Morotai.’ She fought the urge to add ‘sir’.
‘My cousin was out in Japan, back in ’forty-three. Your husband?’
‘My? Oh.’ She looked briefly wrongfooted. ‘Alfred Mackenzie. Royal Welsh Fusiliers.’
‘Royal Welsh Fusiliers...’ He said it slowly, as if it had significance.
She folded her hands in front of her.
Dr Duxbury leant back in his chair, fiddling with the top of a brown-glass bottle. It looked as if he had been in the room for some time, although he was still in his jacket. Suddenly it dawned on her that the smell of alcohol was not necessarily medicinal.
‘So...’
She waited, trying not to look too hard at the label on the bottle.
‘You want to carry on serving. These six weeks.’
‘If I can be useful, yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve had special experience in burns, treatment of dysentery, and revival of impaired digestive systems. That was the POWs,’ she added. ‘We had significant experience of those.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I don’t have much specialist feminine or obstetric knowledge, but I thought at least I could help with the men. I asked someone aboard the hospital shipAriadne, where I last served, and they said that aircraft-carriers sustain a disproportionate number of injuries, especially during flight training.’
‘Well researched, Mrs Mackenzie.’
‘So... it’s not even that I’d like to occupy my time usefully, Doctor. I would appreciate the chance to gain a little more experience... I’m a good learner,’ she added, when he didn’t speak.
There was a brief silence. She looked at him, but was discomfited by the intensity of his gaze.
‘Do you sing?’ he said eventually.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Sing, Mrs Mackenzie. You know, show tunes, hymns, opera.’ He began to hum something she didn’t know.
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said.
‘Pity.’ He wrinkled his nose, then slapped his hand on the desk. ‘I thought we might get some of the girls together and put on a show. What a perfect opportunity, eh?’
The brown bottle, she saw, was empty. She still could not make out what was written on the label, but now the scent of what it had contained burst softly on to the air with his every utterance.
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure that would be a... a useful idea, Doctor. But I really wondered whether we could just discuss—’
‘“Long ago and far away”... Do you know “Showboat”?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘Pity. “Old Man River”...’ He closed his eyes and continued to sing.
