“They’ll get somebody else,” Holbrook countered easily. “Ay, without the slightest trouble. There’ll be a regular hard-up rush.”
Moray was silent. He knew that he had only to mention his approaching marriage to kill the offer dead. But for some obscure reason, perhaps an over-sensitivity, an exaggerated delicacy of feeling, he hesitated. He stood so well with this worthy family, that he did not relish the thought of shattering—as he undoubtedly would—a very pleasant and satisfactory relationship. Besides, the question of his engagement had never once come up during the voyage. It was not his fault if he had been mistaken for an unattached young man; he had simply not had the opportunity to introduce the subject. How painfully odd it would seem if he were forced to do so now. He’d look an absolute idiot, or worse, as though he had almost been ashamed to speak of Mary. No, with the end of the trip almost in sight, he could not place himself in so invidious a position. It wasn’t worth it. In a few more days the Holbrooks would be gone, he would never see them again. And on the voyage home he would take good care to declare his position early so that this kind of contretemps could not possibly recur. In the meantime his best course would be to temporise.
“I needn’t say how much I appreciate your interest in me, sir. But naturally, with such an important decision to be made, I’d have to think it over.”
“Do that, lad,” said Holbrook with an encouraging nod. “The more ye think on it the better you’ll like it. And don’t forget my bit of advice. When a good thing comes your way, take it.”
Moray went below to his cabin, and shut himself in. He wanted to be alone—not to consider this extraordinary offer, for he had not the slightest intention of accepting it, but, simply for his own satisfaction, to reason in detail how the thing had come about. In the first place, there was no doubt but that Dorrie’s parents had taken to him from the start. Mrs Holbrook especially had shown great partiality and had lately become almost maternal in her attitude. Old Holbrook was a tougher article, but he too had been won over, either through his wife’s persuasion, or through an actual liking for Moray. In the second place, so far as could be gathered, there would be a definite advantage to Holbrook and his son Bert in the acquisition of an active and clever young doctor for this new American venture. So far so good, thought Moray; but the answer was not yet conclusive. A third decisive motive must have operated to bring the two other factors together.
Moray shook his head unconsciously, in self-disparagement, in immediate renunciation of all conceit, yet there was no escaping the fact that Doris herself must have had an important part in the development of this wholly unexpected situation. Even if he had not the evidence of Mrs Kindersley’s recent remarks, there was proof enough in Dorrie’s own behaviour. She was not the love-sick type, she would not sigh and moon around, but that look in her eye had a specific meaning that only a fool would misconstrue. Add to this the influence which, as a spoiled only daughter, she exercised over parents who were accustomed to yielding to her wishes, and in this instance willing to see her settled in a suitable marriage, and the answer was complete.
During these reflections Moray had been frowning. Now, looking at himself in the glass, he gave a short, troubled laugh. Doris had really gone in off the deep end—head over heels. No, no, it wasn’t funny, not a bit of it. On the contrary—adjusting his expression—he felt put out and embarrassed, although no doubt it was flattering to be sought after and to have a rich, attractive girl so “completely gone on him”—Mrs Kindersley’s absurd phrase came to him again, making him smile—particularly when those moments on the upper deck, and others, came to mind, as they did now, with a sudden disturbing rush.
He checked himself, looked at his watch—that fine Patek Philippe—which showed five minutes to six. Good Lord! He’d forgotten about his surgery hour. He’d have to rush. Life was really exciting these days.
But before he left the cabin he went to his bedside chest and took out the locket Mary had given him. Gazing at her dear sweet face in the little snapshot, a rush of tenderness overwhelmed him. He murmured emotionally:
“As if I’d give you up, my own darling girl.”
Yes, her image would protect him. In future he would be calm and composed, pleasant and agreeable of course, but inflexible to any of that nonsense. Only ten days remained before they would be in Calcutta. He swore by all he held dear that be would maintain this attitude of discretion until the danger was past, and the voyage over.
Chapter Thirteen
The ten days had passed, they were now in the delta of the Hoogly, and Moray, alone in his surgery, viewing that period in retrospect, found every reason to be satisfied with himself. Yes, he had kept his word. At the captain’s dinner, a hilarious affair of paper streamers, toy trumpets, and false noses, he had been a model of discretion. Indeed, he had done better. Resolved not to allow Doris to make an exhibition of herself, and him, before the entire ship, when O’Neil read out the sports prize winners he stood up, diffidently yet calmly, and with an unexpectedness that took everyone by surprise.
“Captain Torrance, Mr O’Neil, ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission may I say that Miss Holbrook and I fully understood from the start that as one of the ship’s officers I was not really eligible to compete in these events. We only went in for the fun of the thing and although we were lucky enough to win, we’ve both completely agreed we couldn’t possibly accept the prizes, which should go in all the events to the runners-up.”
When he sat down, instead of the few desultory handclaps that might have broken out, there was a sudden and sustained eruption of genuine applause. The Holbrooks were delighted, for even they had at last begun to sense the general feeling; Mrs Kindersley went up, smiling, for her tea service; and afterwards the captain actually gave him a word of approval. Only Doris reacted unfavourably with a very dirty look.
“Why the devil did you do that?”
“Just for a change I thought you might like to be popular.”
“Popular my tits. I wanted them to boo us.”
He danced only two dances with her, drank no more than a single glass of champagne, then, on the plea of having letters to write, excused himself and retired to his cabin.
After that, while never easy, it was less difficult. He avoided the boat deck where she usually sat, and when they did meet adopted a tone that was light and jocular. Beyond that, he kept himself strictly busy—the approaching landfall made his plea of extra work a plausible excuse. What Doris thought he did not know: following the dinner she had developed a habit of looking at him with narrowed, almost mocking eyes. Occasionally she smiled, and once or twice, when he made a simple remark, burst out laughing. Certainly her parents suspected nothing; they were more marked in their attentions to him than ever.
He sighed suddenly—it had really been quite a strain—then, rising, he locked up the surgery and went on deck. On the starboard side a group of passengers had gathered, viewing the river bank with an interest made greater by long days at sea. Tall coconut palms rose above the muddy shore lit by a flash of tropical birds, natives knee deep in the yellow water were throwing and drawing their circular nets, catamarans heeled and rippled past, the ship was barely moving, almost stationary, awaiting the river pilot. Amongst the others were the Holbrooks, and finding safety in numbers, Moray joined them. Immediately Mrs Holbrook excitedly took his arm.