Chapter 3
"I'm sorry, terribly sorry," Penny stammered when the silence following her ultimatum and David Stewart's grim acceptance became unbearable.
His demeanor changed abruptly. Reaching over, he patted her arm, much in the matter of an old-time family doctor reassuring a nervous patient. "There, there-take it easy, baby."
"But I've hurt you!" Penny wailed. "I didn't mean to do it like that."
"Think nothing of it, sweet. I asked for it; I had no business dreaming out loud. A fellow can't always win."
"A girl can't, either," Penny said weakly.
His manner changed again. "Now we've got the future wrapped up," he said matter of-factly, "suppose we get on with the show. In a few minutes we'll be in Washington, and you're missing the overture. It may come as a surprise to you that there are a lot of points of interest right here in your own front yard."
Once more, with disconcerting rapidity, David Stewart's manner changed, prompting Penny to ask herself, What is he anyhow-man or superman? Why, within the space of a few brief minutes, he has become several different people!
He was no longer the would-be benedict, dreaming of the unattainable. He wasn't even the syndrome-ridden young medicine man, poking into symptoms, probing for imperfections, while practicing like crazy to achieve a cool bedside manner. Nor was he a reincarnation of the easy-going family doctor, who made you feel so young, so dependent, and so divinely safe.
Now he had stepped into still another role-that of professional guide. With becoming deference and only an occasional wisecrack, he was pointing out to a "beautiful foreigner" the "colossal sights" along the Maryland highway leading into the "super-colossa!" city of Washington.
"It's all in a day's work, ma'am," he said when Penny, feeling guilty, suggested returning home.
With a flourish, he stopped the car in front of the Medical Center. It consisted of a group of buildings whose architectural grace and landscaped surroundings would have made it a showplace anywhere in the world.
The scene was dominated by a many-storied tower that rose high and white into a kaleidoscopic sunset sky. The time was six o'clock, and the Center was broadcasting a musicale by means of carillon chimes. Altogether, it was a breathtaking sight, made all the more impressive by the music.
"On your right, ma'am," David was saying in the sing-song voice of a practiced guide, "you see the finest get-well card in the world-begging your pardon, of course. It's got everything: thirteen thousand beds, a ship's clock, and a nine-hole golf course. How's that for class, ma'am?"
"It really is extraordinary." Penny, who had seen the structural masterpiece several times since her return to the States, spoke with genuine enthusiasm. "Even on the Continent...."
"I'm prejudiced in its favor, of course," Dave broke in hurriedly, returning to his normal tone of voice. "After all, it's my classroom, my workshop, my home away from home-my life, for the time being."
It was in this hallowed place, he went on to say, that he had worked for two rewarding years-in research laboratories, clinics, wards-learning of the facts of life and of death. Coming there fresh out of medical school, he had labored a minimum of nine hours a day, not to mention night duty. He had put in as many as five hundred hours a month on occasions, napping whenever he could.
"Many times," he confided, grinning, "I didn't hit the hay for thirty-six hours hard running."
"And for what?" Penny asked, then answered her own question. "For a room and board and peanuts. You've told me."
He looked at her in shocked surprise. "Did I say a stupid thing like that? I must have been out of my mind, too pooped to know what I was saying."
"Oh, you said it-never mind the alibis." There was a ring of triumph in Penny's voice. Here, at last, she had Right on her side, indisputable evidence that David Stewart was far from perfect.
"You said a lot more, too," she gloated. "You admitted your bed was too short and the hospital fare was sort of pablumish. You all but broke out in a rash in your hurry to get to a roadside diner where you could get man-size meals, as you call them hamburgers, hot dogs, corned beef, and stuff. Deny that, if you can!"
He grinned sheepishly. "I'm not denying anything, pussy cat. A man has to sound off now and then. Even so, I should have my throat cut here and now."
"We-e-ll, I wouldn't say that, exactly," Penny backtracked, not wanting to press her advantage too far.
"I'd say it. I owe the Center everything-and I do mean everything. A medic who trains here has it made. He's not only qualified to take the Oath; he's conditioned to live up to it. Oh, I'll admit it's been rough at times, and I've done my share of griping, but there isn't a single little thing I'd change."
He was silent as he started the car and moved back into the line of traffic en route to Washington. Then he said, seemingly out of context but quite pointedly:
"Be careful what you ask out of life, pussy cat. You might get it."
"What do you mean, I might get it?"
He shrugged. "Never mind. I was just thinking. A lot of poor devils don't actually know what they want. They beat their brains out chasing fireflies, winding up behind the eight-ball and blaming Fate as the cause of it all. I'd hate to see that happen to you, Penny Gilmore."
To Penny, this was a sobering thought, one that was to remain in her mind throughout the evening and for some time thereafter.
They had dinner at a small but beautifully appointed restaurant in the Rock Creek section of Washington. Although it was still daylight, the blinds were drawn, and rose-shaded lights shed a benevolent glow on groups of well-bred diners, predominantly female and obviously not as young as they once were. The fragrance of cut flowers mingled with the aroma of spicy, exotic foods, while muted background music formed a pleasantly unobtrusive accompaniment to the medley of voices.
"We came here because they specialize in the finest of foreign foods," Dave explained when they were seated and studying the menu, "served in a style to which you've been accustomed. Thought you'd like that."
They specialize in high prices, too, Penny thought, and said in deference to her escort's modest salary:
"I think I'll just have a sandwich-ham on rye bread, perhaps. Something light, you know. I'm not a bit hungry." She all but choked over the lie and wondered what, besides a vague feeling of guilt, had possessed her to say rye bread. She hated the stuff!
"Now look here, doll, what kind of nonsense is that?" Dave protested. "You don't want a crummy old sandwich-not in a place like this where you can get everything from pickled octopus to sauteed lamb's eyes."
Penny smiled and pushed the menu aside. "Even if I were starving, I'm afraid you couldn't tempt me with lamb's eyes."
"Well, I'm hungry, after all the pablum you say I've been eating. I intend to have skish kebab with all the trimmings. Can't I change your mind? How about a cocktail for a starter? I'm not working tonight."
Penny wavered for a second, then held to her original decision. To hesitate at this point would be to confirm this young man's assumption that she did not know what she wanted, even in the matter of food. "No, thank you. I'm really not hungry. Just the sandwich and perhaps a glass of iced tea."
"Well, I'll be a so-and-so!" David Stewart exploded. Then, in a gentler tone, "Sure you won't change your mind, sweet? The food here is ultra-special. Today was pay day, so we don't have to pinch pennies, if that's what's holding you back."
When Penny shook her head vehemently, he gave the order to a robot-like waiter: a double martini and a sumptuous meal for himself, tea and a sandwich for the unhungry lady. The automaton bowed stiffly and went on his way.
While she nibbled on the all-American sandwich and her escort feasted on the elegant cuisine reminiscent of romantic places, Penny had a chance to take stock of her surroundings.
Smartly attired women of indeterminate age sat in pairs or small groups, chatting earnestly, as though settling affairs. A bevy of predestined spinsters clustered around a long table, enjoying what appeared to be an office party, sans men.
An occasional male, well on in years, sat in solitary dignity, frowning into his highball and scarcely touching the delectable dish set before him. Altogether, it was a thought-provoking scene. Penny remarked on it.
"You know what?" She laughed, bent upon keeping the conversation light. "I sort of miss those lovely truck drivers back at our little diner. They were so big and strong and-well, masculine."
When her companion looked at her curiously, she inclined her head toward their fellow-diners. "This must be Ladies' Night here in Washington," she giggled.
"Could be every night is Ladies' Night here in Washington," he teased, mimicking her voice. "Could be."
"I've never seen so many surplus women, outside of a girls' school I attended in Switzerland. Why, there isn't a man in sight under sixty-except you, of course," Penny chattered on. "We're such oddities, they've all been staring at us ever since we came in, as though we don't belong and they sort of resent our being here."
"Could be it's that outlandish sandwich you're not eating that's bugging them, or this elegant meal I'm putting away."
"Pooh! It's just that we're strangers and-well, you know how Americans are."
"Don't fool yourself, sweet. I hate to say this-but it's me they're looking at, admiring; you they're resenting." Dave Stewart flashed his outrageous grin. "Something tells me we'd better eat fast and scram."
"But why, for heaven's sake?" Penny demanded, unwittingly picking up the bait.
"Well, I wouldn't want to start a stampede among the ladies. That's not impossible," the young intern announced by way of apology. "I still say Washington is the greatest city in the world, but it's no matrimonial smorgasbord. A good man off a leash is hard to find."
"You're impossible," Penny flung back, laughing in spite of herself. "But let's do finish eating and get out of here."
Dave chuckled. "Anyone for cherry blossoms?"
The cherry trees along the Tidal Basin were just as beautiful as he'd said they'd be. Darkness had descended, but pinch-hitting for the moon Dave had promised, powerful floodlights illuminated a scene of haunting loveliness.
There were people, too-male and female, strolling in pairs. Couples, young and not so young, walked arm in arm or holding hands, seeing only each other, seemingly oblivious to the rosy pageant of cherry blossoms. The flowering trees were but a fitting backdrop for romance.
"Who said Washington is no marriage smorgasbord?" Penny challenged. "If these people aren't married, they ought to be. They're in love, that's for sure."
They were honeymoon couples from the hinterlands, Dave said, stepping easily into the role of wet blanket. The National Cap ital at cherry blossom time outshone Niagara Falls as mecca for newly weds. Residents of Washington, he went on to say, did their sightseeing, if any, in the daytime. It was safer, in view of a crime wave that was plaguing the city.
"If you're trying to scare me, you're wasting your breath, David Stewart! I don't scare." Penny felt her face burn, but she believed her voice was reasonably steady. "I wasn't born yesterday."
"No?" David Stewart's eyes twinkled; then his face took on an expression of affectionate concern. "Living overseas for ten pampered years, you've been wrapped in cotton. I'm not trying to scare you, sweet. I'm only conditioning you for whatever's ahead. I'd hate to see you get hurt in your first brush with freedom."
"You'd like nothing better." Penny knew she was being unfair, but she was beyond caring. "Conditioning me-indeed!"
Some two hours later, when he helped her, very gently, out of the car in The Grove, it irked Penny to realize that David Stewart had slipped once more into the spurious role of family physician and friend. Despite the fact that he had been-well, jilted was the only word for it!-he was as calm as you please. She herself felt shaken, drained dry.
He knows it, too! she told herself helplessly.
When she said goodnight, good-bye, and thanks for everything, he made as though to kiss her, but she turned and fled up the flagstone walk and into the cottage she'd thought she hated. Suddenly it was a heaven-sent refuge.
She supposed she should feel lighthearted, even exhilarated. She was getting the freedom she had asked for, had thought she wanted. From now on she could live her own life without family interference or hampering romantic entanglements. She had won a victory, of sorts.
But somehow the taste of it was like brine in her mouth, and even the poor little house took on a precious quality now that she would soon be leaving it. For some reason she could not quite fathom, she felt for all the world like a displaced Pilgrim, lost and alone in an American wilderness, with nothing but darkness ahead.