Doctor's Assistant by Celine Conway

loved her. Her lids lowered.
    “He’s a doctor.”
    “Doctors are men, you know. I suspect you do know. Ben doesn’t want to get along without a woman, does he?”
    “He ... he needs a holiday.”
    Charles gave a brief laugh. “You mean a honeymoon.” On a harder note he ended, “If you’re not fond of him it’s unfair to go on working with him.”
    “Of course it isn’t unfair. He must have help.”
    “But not from you! It takes a strong man to endure the torment of having the girl he wants near at hand but untouchable, and Ben isn’t particularly strong that way. You wouldn’t want him to crack up?”
    “Ben—crack up?” She shook her head in disbelief. “He’s not at all that much in love with me.”
    “He has told you, then?”
    “Yes, but he was almost casual, so it can’t be very serious.”
    “What a child you are,” he said viciously. “Talking with you makes me tired.”
    She was quiet with hurt. She was not even quite sure what Charles was getting at. Did he think she ought either to marry Ben or get out of his life? But how absurd. Ben didn’t want that, and her home was as much here in Port Quentin as his was.
    It came to her suddenly that Charles and Ben did not really like each other. They were opposing personalities. Both were hard workers, but Ben found life arduous and not particularly rewarding, whereas Charles was commanding and completely self-sufficient.
    She became aware that Charles had gone from her side, but she had no wish now to watch him at the helm. The ship veered and changed Laurette’s view. They were cruising back down the coast.
    Charles returned. “Come along to the cabin for a drink. Can’t offer you coffee because there’s no fresh water on board, but I can find you a large lime and soda with a suggestion of gin.”
    He was suave, his earlier spurt of annoyance apparently forgotten. He seated her in the small square cabin, unlocked a cupboard and got out drinks. When he had poured he sat down beside her and offered cigarettes. As he held the lighter she saw the scar inside his arm, a long, crooked, red indentation. In the house he was careful to keep it covered, and this was her first sight of it since she had dressed the wound.
    “Does it still hurt?” she queried.
    ‘Only if it gets an unlucky bang. The redness will wear off.” He tried his drink. “Now that you’ve shown yourself a good sailor we might make a longer trip one day. The Wild Coast is a succession of lovely inlets and river mouths, and the villagers who live near them are comparatively unspoiled because modern transport can’t get at them. I’ll introduce you to an old chief who remembers my grandfather having a pow-wow with his father, when he was a small boy. Port Quentin had hardly begun then.”
    “I’ve probed about the history of Port Quentin,” she said. “People say it was meant to be a first-class port but the river-mouth silted and made it dangerous for all except small shipping.”
    “That’s true. You should have asked my Uncle Gilbert all about it. My grandfather was his father. That’s how the property comes to be entailed to me.”
    “Will you really take me higher up the coast?” she asked eagerly.
    “I’ve said I will.”
    “If talking to me makes you tired...”
    “It’ll be weariness in a good cause,” he said mockingly. “Besides, we’ve no one like you at Mohpeng, so I ought to make the most of you.”
    She said, “It’s only just about three weeks to when you leave, isn’t it?”
    “Yes—so you’d better be nice to me. We haven’t time to quarrel.”
    “I’ll be sweeter than pie if you’ll promise to give up treating me as an infant.”
    He grinned and drew in his lip. “Don’t behave as one. I won’t promise, but I’ll try. How’s the drink?”
    “Not too bad.” She lowered most of it and set the glass on the table. The cabin had become strangely stifling and Charles was a little too near. She jumped up. “I’ve never seen the