Grady stared; his eyes squinted and his mouth opened. He did not speak. Frank—yes, Frank, he thought in his wonderment—would not turn up his Cornellian nose at this. Even to his first swift stare it was obvious that this was a real operating room, and superbly equipped.
Miss Talbot looked up at him from her short height, sidelong humor mixed a little with irony in the lift of her eyebrow.
“We can inspect it fully later, Doctor,” she said. “Now if you’ll kindly come down aft . . .”
Obediently Grady followed her through the sickbay between the empty bunks. In the cream-painted bulkhead there was another door. With a gesture Miss Talbot threw it open. Grady stepped in.
“Holy mackerel!” he exclaimed.
It was all there, beautifully appointed. Desk with swivel chair, two large leather armchairs, padded examination table, scales, screen, a cupboard of instruments—he could see the blood-pressure apparatus—even a bookcase in which heavy medical tomes gleamed their gold-lettered spines at him.
“Consulting room!”
“Nothing but, Doctor.” She moved in beside him, needlessly straightening on the otherwise virgin desk a crested ash tray. “You’ll do most of your medicine in here. Mostly, all it requires is a patient and sympathetic ear.”
Wonderingly Grady examined the instrument cupboard, while the nurse stood back near the door, smiling, her eyes on the clean and manly size of him, noting the dark auburn hair and the rugged face and the look of competence about him which sat easily and naturally on his bigness. Shrewdly mature, she judged the long straight nose and the jutting jaw which was relieved by the sensitivity of his mouth. Strong, she thought—and probably understanding with women and kids. He’d need to be.
Unaware of this other examination, Grady wandered past the bookcase. Toxicology, surgery, pathology, anatomy, dietetics, physical therapy—there was even Ponsford’s Textbook of Obstetrics. They were all modern volumes, brand-new, and, by the look of them, unopened. He came back to Miss Talbot.
“Satisfied?” She smiled.
“No—envious.” He glanced keenly at the nurse. “Pity it has to be wasted. Without much effort I could think of twenty surgeries where this stuff would be a godsend.”
She nodded, then she said flatly:
“I wouldn’t concern myself too much with other surgeries’ lack of equipment, Doctor.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just this. You’ve got a fully equipped set-up. If we do run into serious trouble, you’ll be expected to fix it, right here. The captain and the company won’t take any excuses.”
Her voice was casual but her eyes were shrewd. She knew that she would learn a good deal about this new man in the next few seconds.
“Fair enough,” Grady answered easily. “Don’t wish anyone any harm, but a neat little adrenalectomy might liven things up a bit on the bounding main.”
“Adrenalectomy,” she snorted, satisfied. “I should hope not! Ah—you like surgery?”
“Specialized in it.”
“I see. How come you take a berth like this then?”
“I can see I’d better satisfy your curiosity right off,” he said and grinned. “But let’s consult in my consulting room. That chair please, madam.”
She sat down in the armchair and he went behind the desk. She shook her head at the proffered cigarette and he lit one himself.
“Let’s say I’m a perennial and peregrinating locum tenens. Thought this would be a new experience.”
“It certainly will be. There’s not much hope of surgery, but every chance of getting spliced.”
He smiled. “I notice you are familiar with sea-terms.”
“Ten years at sea, girl and woman.”
“Well, well. Maybe you’ll give me some language instruction.”
“Pleasure, Doctor.” She paused, looking sideways at the deck. He was mildly surprised to see she was frowning.
“Come now, Miss Talbot, it won’t be such a chore. Already I know port from starb’d, the bow from the stern.”
With a small quick gesture she shook her head. Then she looked directly at him. Behind his equable expression Grady was suddenly alert.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Look, Doctor, you might as well know this right off. You seem a nice young man and it’s only fair you should know.” She paused, wetting her lips, while he waited, wondering what was coming. Then she went on quickly, as though anxious to get it out.
“You say you’re a surgeon. It’s been a long time since I was in an operating room—a hell of a long time. I wouldn’t be much use to you. In fact, no damn use at all. I’m not much better than a baby-sitter aboard.” She looked up at him, entreaty in her wrinkled eyes. “But this is a sweet berth—everything found, a bed, a good salary. I have no one ashore. . . .”
Grady would never make the perfect surgeon—though experienced, he still retained some sensitiveness. He saw the concern in Miss Talbot’s eyes and he swallowed and said gently:
“You don’t have to worry, Miss Talbot—for two good reasons.”
“Oh?”
“First, I admire and respect your honesty. You must have been a damn fine nurse. Second, I’m used to operating without assistance.”
There was surprise in her relief. “Without any assistance?”
Grady ashed his cigarette. “Being a locum in backwoods practices has its advantages,” he explained. “But anyway, you said yourself there’s not much chance of surgery.”
“That’s right,” she agreed. Relief was palpable in her face. “Dr. Fenton—he’s the man you’re relieving for this trip—never ran into anything.” She smiled brightly, back to her motherly self. “Sea air and no worries are fine for business ulcers. The first week you’ll have a crop of stubbed toes—ringbolts in the deck, things like that—but from then on you can sit back and enjoy yourself.”
Maybe, Grady thought, she thinks that’s all I signed on for. And maybe she’s right, he grinned to himself. He glanced at his watch.
“Six o’clock. What time’s dinner?”
“Eight onward. But mostly they sit down around nine—after cocktails. The ship could float on what one cruise load gets through. By the way, you’ve got your table?”
He hadn’t thought of it. “No. Who do I see about that?”
“Normally the purser. But you’re on the strength. You’d better see the chief officer. In fact,” nodding, “you had better see the chief officer. Mr. Bedloe doesn’t like anyone going over—or under—his head.”
So, Grady thought, Mr. Bedloe was not quite the well-uniformed nonentity he had seemed to be in the captain’s cabin. But that figured—you didn’t get to be chief officer through your good looks. He filed the information away for possible reference. As he stubbed his cigarette and stood up Ben Grady had, fortunately, no prior knowledge of just how soon he would be consulting that reference. . . .
“Well,” he said, “guess I’ll take a look around. Sooner or later someone in this labyrinth is going to tell me they’re lost.”
“Like me to come?”
“No, thanks,” he said easily and at once—he didn’t want his ignorance to be so obvious. “I’ll manage. By the way, anything I’m supposed to do?”