Cane Music Page 7

“You knew her mother?”

  “I saw her. She was fair.”

  Roslyn did not add to that. She put a light wrap over Belinda’s bare legs, then followed the doctor out again.

  “I’ll leave it to you to work out a roster,” he said. “No doubt you’ve done such things many times before. Please don’t think you mustn’t leave Marco’s side. There’ll be many opportunities for you to do so, and for your own wellbeing it’s very necessary, though, of course, you already know all this. Once Connie absorbs what’s expected of her, I’m sure she’ll be fairly reliable. Also, Marcus can watch. I know” ... indulgently ... “you won’t want to leave your patient, your breed are all like that, and thank heaven for it, but you must. You do understand that?”

  “Oh, I do,” nodded Roslyn. She wondered what he would have thought of her if he had known her real thoughts. I am a nurse, she thought, but before that nurse I am Belinda’s guardian, self-imposed perhaps, but no one, and certainly not Connie ... or—her father? ... is going to push me out of that. Father! She wondered if her lip had curled at that, and she even put up a tentative finger to find out.

  “I’ll fly in whenever I can,” the doctor was saying, “and certainly whenever I’m called, even though I’m being currently run off my feet. Anyway, apart from my attendance being a necessity now because of old Marco’s condition, I” ... he paused, then looked directly at Roslyn ... “will want to come.” His eyes smiled into hers.

  He went soon after that. Roslyn heard a car starting up, later the engine of an aircraft whirring. She went in to Belinda, still asleep but’ stirring slightly as though she would soon be out of it. Roslyn made small disturbing noises to hurry things up, made them with a little pain in her. How long before she had to hand these sweet absurdities to someone else?

  “Ness,” said Belinda, sitting up in bed and extending her chubby arms.

  Roslyn sponged her, dressed her in a clean dress, then carried her downstairs. At the foot of the stairs, Marcus Moreno took over by taking over Belinda. The child went to him quite contentedly, but then once she knew anyone she generally was affable, thought Roslyn, telling herself there was nothing at all significant in the familiar way that Belinda allowed herself to be transferred to Marcus’s arms.

  “Come and see Marco,” the man said, and Belinda’s “Yes” and Roslyn’s “I hardly think it’s the right time” came at the same time. The man gave Roslyn a triumphant smile and carried the baby in.

  Roslyn followed, but only as far as the door. Belinda was not at all upset by the old man in bed, not like most children are by sickness, and Marco was undoubtedly very happy to see her. He could not speak, but joy shone in his dark eyes.

  In silence Roslyn stood at the trio, all so different in ages, yet all so startlingly alike. The same shape of head, the same curve of features, the same—

  “Seen enough?” Marcus cut in sharply but softly, essentially for one pair of ears alone. He seemed to have mastered that very remarkable art.

  “I—” began Roslyn defensively, but he shrugged aside her defence.

  “And what are you going to call Mr. Marco Moreno, Belinda?” he asked, turning from Roslyn to the small girl.

  Roslyn waited rather breathlessly for Belinda’s “Grandfather” ... “Gramp” ... something of the sort, but:

  “Molly,” Belinda replied promptly, and she stood on her small toes and gave the old man a kiss.

  “You see?” Marcus commented. “Didn’t I tell you that kids arrive at their own names? Didn’t I—Ness?”

  Roslyn could not answer. Really, this cool, preposterous man was the very end!

  He began speaking again, but in a different strain now.

  “Don’t tie yourself down with Marco,” he began advising Roslyn. “Get Connie in whenever you can.”

  “And I take over Belinda?”

  “Certainly not.” He said that definitely. “Pick a time when the kid’s asleep, then grab some real relaxation. You can’t rest with a child around. Also, I’ll do the night shifts.”

  “Oh,” said Roslyn, trying to keep joy from her single syllable. At least she would have Belinda to herself then, she was thinking, Belinda pink and soft from her bath, asking for stories, falling asleep with her head on your shoulder halfway through the tale.

  She became aware that he was scrutinising her closely, and murmuring something about looking up Connie to fix up a programme, she turned away. He seemed about to say something, but he must have had second thoughts. He nodded, and Roslyn went out.

  She had not asked which room was Connie’s, but she heard laughter, a girl’s light laughter, and followed the sound. Connie was perched on the back verandah rail talking to a young Italian hand.

  She got off the rail as Roslyn came out and asked guiltily if she was needed.

  “Not at present, Connie. That’s what I’ve come about, to fix up our roster.”

  “I’m to look after that little girl.” Connie seemed quite pleased about that.

  “And occasionally relieve me,” came in Roslyn a little sharply, thinking of the time she still intended to snatch with Belinda in spite of what that man had just directed.

  “Of course, Sister, but I do hope you’ll tell me what to do in the sickroom. I’m inexperienced, remember. I mean, minding a baby is nothing—” Connie paused at something on Roslyn’s face. “I really mean it is, of course, but not the same as having the responsibility of a desperately ill old man.”

  “I’ll tell you everything, and I’ll only leave you when I know it’s clear sailing. Now about Belinda—”

  “Oh, you needn’t tell me that, there’s nine in our family.”

  “All the same, it’s important.”

  “Her being a Moreno, you mean,” nodded Connie. “Yes, I suppose so, Sister.” She looked knowledgeable,, and not all averse to sharing her knowledge, but Roslyn held back. A sister, she thought, must not try to pump a young junior, even though Connie would need little pumping, and would undoubtedly enjoy it.

  “There’s a lot of money there,” Connie proffered hopefully, obviously inviting Roslyn’s interest.

  Roslyn was interested, but she kept back any questions.

  “Mr. Marcus will take over the nights, so I’ll keep Belinda with me then,” she announced.

  “Oh, thank you, Sister—a kid is a bit of a tie if you want to go out, isn’t she? But you’re sure you don’t mind having to stay in for her?”

  “Quite sure. Then through the day when old Mr. Moreno is safely asleep you can watch and I’ll take Belinda again.”

  “Thank you,” said Connie a second time. She looked down to see if the black-eyed Neapolitan still hung: around, but he had moved off. “Mr. Marcus said something about me stopping here later on to look after Belinda,” she confided. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. I think I’d sooner do it actually than the other. Mind you, I like the idea of nursing, I always did, but it’s just that. it seems so hard when you first begin, all that running; around, I mean. Sheer drudgery, that’s what it is. But what I do like is getting dressed up in my uniform. I think a girl really looks something in a uniform.”

  “Well, you needn’t bother to dress up now,” advised Roslyn. “Uniforms take time and maintenance, and I’m sure Belinda would just as soon see you in some bright dress.”

  “Oh, but I want to wear my uniform, Sister.” Connie’s young face had fallen. “Please,” she tacked on, obviously very disappointed.

  Roslyn hid a smile. After all, she was not that far away herself in age not to recall the first thrill of pristine starch.

  “Very well,” she allowed ... and it was an allowance that very soon afterwards she bitterly regretted.

  For, going back to the sickroom, and to Belinda now prattling happily on Marcus Moreno’s knee to “Molly”, Roslyn had barely entered the room before Connie came behind her. Before, this the girl had only worn a semi uniform; now no doubt to impress her dark-eyed boy, she had put on all her gear—cap, jacket, black stockings on trim legs, t
he lot. Belinda, who had previously accepted her as just a girl, now looked with new interest at her.

  “N-ur-se,” she said clearly, and it was as different from the crisp ‘Ness’ she gave to Roslyn as any speech therapist could have made it.

  “N-ur-se,” she said again.

  Roslyn was measuring out medicinal drops by now. Dusk was creeping into the room and she had switched on old Marco’s bedlamp for better light. She kept her gaze on the phial she held, but inevitably she found herself looking up and across at Marcus Moreno.

  “Very interesting,” he drawled.

  He went out soon after that, taking Belinda with him.

  “I’ll walk her around the garden before dinner,” he said, “while you brief N-ur-se.” Deliberately he stretched out the vowel.

  “But I won’t be watching tonight, will I?” asked Connie, alarmed. “Sister said I wouldn’t, that you would do that, sir.”

  “That’s true. But you can watch while we eat our evening meal, Connie. I have a few things to catch up with Sister, for I certainly didn’t expect a homecoming like this today. Also Belinda has become accustomed to dinner for three.”

  “Yes, Mr. Marcus, and then you’ll relieve me afterwards?”

  “Someone will.”

  “What time, Mr. Marcus?”

  “In time,” he said, “for you to rendezvous under the banyan tree with your Pietro.”

  “Oh, Mr. Marcus,” Connie giggled, “he’s Filippo.”

  But afterwards she listened to what Roslyn instructed her, nodded assiduously. In time she would have made a fair nurse, Roslyn judged, but because a certain situation had arisen, now she would probably never become one. The girl was not regretful now, she had only reached the drudgery phase and had found it all very dreary. This new child-watching job must be manna from heaven, yet still the remnants of a dream must have lingered, for, having heard Roslyn out, Connie asked wistfully: “Do you wear a cape at your hospital, Sister?”

  “Yes. A red one.” Roslyn, remembering her pro days, could not resist that.

  She noted that old Marco had drifted off, so left Connie sitting beside him. She went upstairs, found the bathroom, took a quick shower and changed into a fresh dress, and was down again just in time to hear a bell.

  “Yes, it’s dinner,” Marcus Moreno, Belinda perched on his shoulder, called from the bottom of the hall. “This way, Miss Young.”

  Roslyn went down, turned left, and found a very large table in a very large room. It was set for three. A smiling Italian man held out a chair.

  “Isn’t it rather banquet-size?” Roslyn asked after the man had left.

  “We’ve always eaten like this,” Marcus Moreno shrugged.

  Soup came in—tomato.

  “I was expecting minestrone at least,” Roslyn admitted.

  “Being Australian, we eat Australian here, unless we particularly ask,” he replied.

  “Doctor Carlton told me to go down one night to the chalets for a bowl of ravioli.”

  “Yes, we’ll do that.”

  She opened her mouth to inquire, “We?” then decided lot to press the point. Meat and vegetables had followed the soup, and she began to fix up Belinda’s plate.

  “No, don’t,” he directed.

  “I always do.”

  “I think you mean you have done so for the last three lays.”

  “Yes.” She flushed.

  “Then it’s high time Belinda fended for herself.”

  “A baby of—”

  “She’ll stay a baby if you keep on babying her.”

  “But she might cut herself.”

  “Good. I doubt if she’ll do it again.”

  “You’re a very hard man,” complained Roslyn.

  “I’m only thinking of her. I’m thinking of the near-impossibility of looking after a child and this place when you’ve left.”

  “Connie ...” Roslyn began.

  “Oh, Connie will go, too. Any girl I get will go. I don’t think you know your state ratios, Sister Young. Queensland’s the most woman-hungry state of all. At one woman to twenty men, how can I hope to keep Connie, Betty, Glenda? you name it.”

  “I could name myself,” she said pertly ... and dangerously.

  “As a matter of interest” ... he had put down his knife and fork ... “what name would that be?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said what was your name.”

  “You know it, or you should know it, you signed me on for employment.”

  “Roslyn.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then who,” he said casually but with an unmistakable undercurrent to the apparent disinterest, “is Ness?”

  “Ness?” Belinda echoed happily.

  “Ness as opposed to N-ur-se,” the man went on.

  “I don’t know what you mean, what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. I think your name is not Roslyn at all.”

  “It is.”

  “Then I think there’s another name. Something that sounds like Nurse but isn’t. Nurse ... Ness. Ness ... Nurse.”

  “Nesta,” came in Belinda clearly. She had never said it before, but Roslyn knew wretchedly that there always had to be a first time with a child. But did it have to be now? Now, sitting opposite him?

  “Nesta.” He tasted it speculatively. “Not much used now. Why did you adopt Roslyn?”

  “I am Roslyn. Roslyn Nesta.”

  “So for this assignment you decided to be Nesta?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you always do that? Alternate your name?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you now?”

  The Italian had come and taken away their used dishes, brought in a torta that made Belinda clap her hands.

  “No reason at all. I mean—well, just a mood. I was called both names equally from those around me, and decided this time to adopt Nesta.”

  “Or Ness?” he probed. “Ness—very like Nurse? Miss Young” ... pulling the torta away from Belinda’s exploring fingers ... “what is all this? First of all, are you a nurse?”

  “Of course I am. You saw me at the hospital. You heard Doctor Chris speaking to me, addressing me by name.”

  “A doctor is no more infallible than a canecutter—he could have been inveigled into calling you that, you could have asked him, and he, the unmistakably lovesick medico that he undoubtedly was, couldn’t refuse.”

  “He is not lovesick and I never asked him. At home because there was already ... had been ... a Roslyn, I was Nesta, away from home I was my first name. It was as simple as that.”

  “Only not simple. Not really. I think there was something more than a mood behind your careful ‘Ness’. Miss Young, I think I’ve been got at, or at least a damn good try has been made.”

  “Why on earth should you think that?”

  “Because right from the beginning with this business everything has fallen into place far too easily. The child took to you like an old beloved toy. ‘Ness,’ she said at once, and I didn’t need to be a Sherlock Holmes to guess why. It was because you were Ness to her, always had been. Tell me the story. Did you live next door?”

  “No.”

  “Then were you a friend of the unfortunate pair who met with that fatal accident?”

  “I knew them,” Roslyn admitted.

  “Your first moment of truth,” he nodded. Then he asked: “How closely did you know them?”

  “I just knew them,” Roslyn said, trying, because of Belinda, not to raise her voice hysterically. Well, in a way it was the truth; she never had really been close to either of them, to Dudley, or to Nanette.

  “You saw a free trip north with a good salary attached, is that it?” He offered her a loophole rather lazily.

  “Yes,” she said eagerly. “Yes, I did.”

  “Liar,” he came back at once. “You lying, lying girl.”

  “What—what are you saying?”

  “That you’re lying. You came with Belinda ...
yes my pet, you can start your torta ... because you couldn’t bear her out of your sight. You’re obsessed with the child. Yes, I've watched you. Rather too big an obsession for a girl next door. Do you know what, I don’t think you were next door, I think you were as near as in the house, the same house, I think you lived with Belinda. Why do I think that? It’s in your voice, your attitude to her. Everything you say to the child, everything you do. Well, come clean.”

  “I did live there, and I did become close,” Roslyn admitted wretchedly.

  “Then why the heck didn’t you say so right from the start?”

  “I thought you mightn’t take me on, I thought you might get someone else, and I wanted—I had to come. You see” ... Roslyn paused ... “it’s not as you think, not only a love for her, I mean. We—well, we’re related.”

  “What?” He put down the spoon he had taken up now with a clatter.

  “Related,” Roslyn said triumphantly, glad at the utter dismay now in his face; it was good, even for once, to upset that bland, assured countenance, she thought.

  She was not prepared, however, for what came after her triumph. He got up from his chair, stood staring at her an incredulous moment, then wheeling round he strode out of the door. He slammed the door after him and everything rattled furiously. Even Belinda, relishing the tart, looked up in surprise.

  “Naughty,” she awarded, then she went further and awarded something else. “Naughty Fath-er,” she told Roslyn, and, taking advantage of Roslyn’s stunned silence at what she had said, she snitched a cherry from the torta. Fath-er. Although Roslyn had suspected it, had had to accept it, somehow she had still not quite believed it. Although Belinda was so like him that she had to be part of him, it still had not made for her entire credence. Yet—“Fath-er”, Belinda had just said. “Naughty Fath-er.”

  “Why do you say Father, Belinda?” Roslyn asked gently.

  “Becos.” It was a new word for the little girl, and she said it proudly.

  “Because?”

  Belinda licked her fingers free of tart, put them in Roslyn’s, then said: “Come along.”

  Roslyn let her lead her out of the dining room, down the hall and into the room where Connie sat by the old man. At a meaning nod from Roslyn, Connie left.