Juggernaut

								

"Never mind," she reflected philosophically.  "I have a feeling I'll
land the job, which is the main thing.  And as for the doctor--however
queer he is, he'll be safe in one respect--he'll never make love to me!"
This, in her eight years' experience on her own, she had learned to
consider.  Not that all doctors and male patients made love, but there
were a sufficient number who did, in spite of what certain invidious
colleagues might say about girls getting only what they asked for.
For a moment she looked up at the house, its red-brick front and
painted door so blank and non-committal, so little revealing, then with
a laugh at her recent discomfiture she drew her fur closer about her
throat and set off briskly towards the centre of the town.
She had not taken a dozen steps when the loud bang of a door made her
look suddenly behind.  Yes, it was the doctor's door, the same that had
been shut in her face a moment ago.  A young man--English by the look
of him--had issued hastily from the house and was now getting into a
small, rather smart car that stood by the curb.
In another moment the car and its occupant glided past her, the young
man sullenly intent on the road ahead.  Esther had a close view of his
face, clean-shaven, healthily bronzed, with a sort of neat and
inconspicuous good looks, somehow marred by a shallow hardness in the
eyes and fine lines that spoke of high-living.  Not a person one would
notice very especially, yet at sight of him the girl's thoughts were
instantly diverted into a new channel.  She frowned as she watched the
disappearing car.
"Now where is it I have seen that man before?" she pondered.
She had certainly met no one in Cannes; she knew few if any Englishmen,
yet the face, with its combined hint of cynicism and petulance, was
undoubtedly familiar.  It stirred some vibration in her memory, recent,
and in an indefinable way unpleasant.  Where had she seen him?
She gave it up.

CHAPTER II
An hour later Esther sat at a table in the magnificent Restaurant des
Ambassadeurs, drinking her tea with enjoyment and revelling in the
scene before her.  She felt a little guilty at being here, for she was
a conscientious young woman, averse to throwing money about when there
was nothing coming in.  Still, she had not indulged herself to any
great extent since Miss Ferriss departed, having bent all her efforts
towards finding work, and now that there was employment in prospect she
thought she had earned the right to a little relaxation.  Gaiety was
all about her, the very air of this holiday place held the suggestion
of it like a pervading perfume.  Consequently, when she had roamed
about for an hour and finally gravitated towards the Croisette, the
temptation came upon her to satisfy her longing for tea in some place
where she could look upon the care-free world that flocked here to
play.  Not that she belonged to that world, heaven knows!--though,
travelling de luxe with patients, as she often did, she knew a good