Storm Over Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

There was no trace of accent in his voice. It was cultured, polite – slightly arrogant.

  From the onlookers there arose a murmur of resentment.

  ‘Ay, and so you damned well should be!’ It was old Jim Jim, spitting his disgust to the ground, grinding it in with a stout boot as if he would like to do the same to the strangers who had come to Rhanna from out of the storm. ‘Foolhardy buggers, out in a yacht in this weather, playing yourselves – at the expense o’ others.’

  The man shrugged. ‘This is no time or place to try and explain. My friend is badly hurt and needs a doctor immediately so can we get moving for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘We’re taking the chiel straight up to Doctor Megan’s,’ Torquill explained to the minister, his strong mouth curling in disdain at the stranger’s impatient cheek. ‘Maybe you would get along there, Mr James, and warn her we’re coming.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mark was about to hurry away when he remembered Eve, and paused for an undecided moment.

  ‘We’ll take her home, Mr James.’ Seeing his dilemma Barra spoke up. ‘The doctor will want you, more than any other body, to tell her what’s happened for it will be quite a shock to her havin’ strangers trampin’ in her door at this ungodly hour.’

  ‘Thanks, Barra, I’ll be along to see Tina as soon as I can.’ He rushed away, glad of some action, glad too that the rain had diminished in volume though a bullying wind still tore at his clothes as he ran to Tigh na Cladach and pounded on the door.

  Megan was attired in her dressing gown and had obviously just bathed. The scent of roses wafted out to him bringing some sense of beauty to bear on that nightmare hour of storm and death.

  ‘Mark! What on earth—?’ Her first thought was that he had come to see her after all – and she was about to tell him laughingly that the same idea had been on her own mind and he had disturbed her just as she was about to get dressed, when she noticed his dishevelled state, the sodden appearance of his clothes. ‘Mark, you’re soaked, what’s happening?’

  Taking her hands he quickly explained. She stared at him. ‘A yacht in trouble – on a night like this? I never heard a thing – I was having a bath. All I heard was the roar of the sea.’

  ‘I know, I heard nothing either, just saw lanterns on the shore – Megan, the men will be here shortly. Can you put on some lights?’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ She was bewildered, trying to collect her thoughts. ‘Come in, Mark, I’ve kept you at the door. You must have a drink before you catch cold. The whisky is on the table in the living room.’

  ‘No, no thanks, Megan,’ he said hastily and she gave a funny little laugh. ‘You always refuse a drink from me, it isn’t poisoned, I can assure you. Och, don’t look like that, it was a joke – help me with the lights. The generator was playing up earlier, I hope it can take the strain—’

  Together they rushed around, switching on lights in the hall, the surgery. Only the living room remained bathed in a rosy ambience and in this room they collided. His hands brushed her breasts, he was painfully aware of her nakedness beneath the robe.

  ‘Megan – Meggie.’ He held her close and kissed her briefly on the mouth. She was warm and soft, the fragrance of her drying hair tantalized his senses, her skin was satin smooth against his cheek. ‘Don’t be angry,’ he said huskily, ‘I just wanted to touch something lovely after the sorrows of this night – you see, there’s more – Matthew was drowned saving one of the lifeboat crew from going over. I can’t believe it, I don’t want to face Tina – she’s a very special person to me. I had to hold you – to feel your strength touching me.’

  ‘Oh, Mark,’ she breathed, ‘I’m so sorry, so very, very sorry.’ Pulling his dark head down to her breasts she kissed the damp tendrils at his nape and held him close for a few brief, wonderful moments, stroking his hair, murmuring soothing words. He heard her heart beating, felt the warm, sensual fullness of her breasts lying under his cheek – but it was only a fleeting moment of joy. In seconds she was gone from him, rushing to dress just as the men came through the hall with the stretcher.

  ‘In here.’ Mark led the way into the living room. The stretcher was placed on the floor, the man in it moved slightly, groaned.

  He was pale to the lips, bloody, bruised, and badly cut about the forehead but none of these could quite obliterate his youthful features and firm, clean-cut jaw. The soft lamplight shone on his crisp, fair curls, cast delicate shadows over his finely honed features.

  ‘It’s alright, old man, you’re safe, or rather you will be if we can rustle up some action here.’ The dark young man spoke impatiently and spun round on his heel. ‘Where’s the doctor?’ he demanded.

  ‘Here.’ Megan snapped on the overhead light and came forward into the room. She had changed hastily into a loose-fitting cream Aran pullover and a pair of close-fitting blue jeans that showed her long legs and well-shaped bottom to startling advantage. Her damp hair was mussed attractively around her clean, shining face which was rosily flushed from all her rushing about. She looked small and very young in those moments, Mark thought, certainly nothing like a fully qualified doctor facing the daunting task of putting together the injured man who looked nearer to death than life under the telling glare of the bright ceiling lamp.

  Respectfully the men moved to make way for her, their sopping boots leaving wet trails all over the pale beige carpet.

  ‘He’s all yours, Doctor Megan,’ growled Graeme Donald. ‘We’ve done our bit.’

  No one was prepared for her reaction as she stood looking down at the man on the stretcher. She recoiled, seemed to shrink into herself, her hazel eyes darkened to disbelieving black pools in her suddenly white face.

  ‘What’s wrong, lass?’ Torquill Andrew spoke kindly. ‘Do you know the man?’

  ‘Oh, she knows him alright.’ It was the other man, a smile flashing in his good-looking, arrogant face. ‘She was the reason he came here and why I got myself roped in for the trip. He couldn’t give you up, Doctor Megan –’ his gaze swept briefly and impudently over her slender figure – ‘now I can see the reason why. Daniel Smylie Smith,’ he stuck out his one good hand towards her, but ignoring it she dropped down on her knees to examine the patient with trembling hands just as Babbie came flying breathlessly in.

  ‘I came as soon as I got the message,’ she imparted, pulling off her hat and showering everyone with raindrops in the process. She was like a breath of fresh air in the oddly tense stillness of the room.

  ‘Babbie.’ Megan rose to her feet. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come, I’m going to need all the help I can get here tonight.’

  It was the most unrestrained welcome Babbie had ever received from the new doctor, and though she was somewhat taken aback she laughed and said cheerily, ‘Well, it’s nice to feel needed.’ She turned to the men. ‘Come on, lads, it’s muscle we need at the moment. Take the man through to the surgery before he melts on the carpet – and it’s far too nice a carpet to get stains all over it. The sooner we repair him, the sooner he’ll get home to wherever he came from.’

  It was obvious she had heard all about the Mermaid’s foolhardy attempt to reach Rhanna during the storm – and probably she had also heard about Matthew. Behind the smile her green eyes flashed dangerously, her generous, laughing mouth was set just a little too firmly.

  ‘Do I get some attention too?’ Daniel Smylie Smith grinned at her teasingly and indicated his injured arm.

  The smile disappeared. She eyed him coldly. ‘Ay, you too, though being the hero you are you’ll have to wait your turn – oh, by the way,’ the smile was back, a shade oversweet, ‘I hope you have a strong stomach, Mr Smellie. We’re going to need your help in surgery – you’ll come in useful for boiling water and the like.’

  ‘The name is pronounced Smylie.’ Daniel’s pale grey eyes were icy.

  ‘No matter how you dress up a name like that it’s Smellie in these parts and aye will be,’ Babbie returned pertly.

  The men tittered appreciatively, their wide grins and a
greeing nods forbidding further argument from the irate young man. Babbie had won and he knew it. To make an issue of it in front of these dour, silent islanders would only be to invite further ridicule.

  Graeme and the others hoisted up the stretcher. The little procession moved through to the surgery. Mark James left the house quietly and without saying goodbye. He wasn’t needed there anymore, Steven Saunders had come back to Megan. His name had never been spoken but there was no need for a formal identification, it had been there in her eyes when she had stood looking down at him, telling Mark that the hopes she had for so long kept buried in her heart had been realized that night. Ay, the storm had wreaked its havoc alright – robbing the island of one of its finest men, in his place throwing back a stranger who was of little import to anyone – except for one young woman whose life had just been starting to fall into place and who now saw it crumbling into fresh pieces around her.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!’

  Elspeth Morrison scuttled into the butcher’s shop, bristling with importance, her face as animated as anyone had ever seen it, her customary air of calculated reserve failing her so completely she forgot for once to be dignified, and banged the door so hard behind her a string of sausages slid off their hook to land in the sawdust beneath.

  ‘Ach, Mistress Morrison!’ wailed Holy Smoke, rushing round the counter to pick up the dusty sausages and run with them to the back shop, there to swill them round and round in a wooden tub filled with water.

  ‘Can you no’ be more careful, woman?’ he admonished, emerging through to the front shop to replace the gleaming wet links on their hook, as he did so giving them an affectionate pat for all the world as if they were ‘alive and kicking’, a habit of his where his produce was concerned and one that brought forth scowls and mutters from the more fastidious housewives.

  ‘Indeed I meant no harm, Mr McKnight.’ Elspeth, the most fastidious of all, forgot to be appalled at the rude handling of the sausages. ‘It is just, I am no’ knowing where I am after all the tragedies o’ last night. Poor, poor Matthew. He was a good man just and the Lord will punish those pleasure seekers who were the means o’ bringing about his untimely departure. I am after hearing too that Hugh McKinnon was so upset about Matthew he has left the island and will no’ likely come back. Of course, a poor simple cratur’ like him should never have been wi’ the lifeboat team for it is a fact he has no brains at all in his head and would forget to rise out his bed in the morning if nobody told him to do it. But forbye Hugh, I kent fine trouble was coming to Rhanna though I never said a thing to anyone. I just knew it would happen sooner or later.’

  ‘So you are after shouting when you came through the door,’ Barra commented dryly, eyeing the housekeeper’s flushed face. Never had she seen the parched countenance so alive, and obviously neither had the rest of the shop for all eyes were turned on this most reliable harbinger of news, the business of shopping forgotten in the anticipation of the moment.

  ‘A pound o’ stewing steak,’ Barra’s pleasant voice was sharp. Turning her back on everyone, she addressed herself firmly to Holy Smoke whose dewlaps were still drooping after the incident with his precious sausages. ‘And be quick about it, Mr McKnight. I have other things to do wi’ my time even if no one else has and I don’t want to hear gossip at a dreadful time like this.’

  ‘Ay, ay, right away, Barra.’ Holy Smoke hacked off a lump of red meat, weighed it, removed a tiny piece no bigger than a thumbnail, and threw the remainder into a piece of paper to wrap it up dexterously.

  ‘You’ll want to hear this, Barra,’ Elspeth persisted tightly, twin spots of crimson boiling high on each cheekbone.

  ‘A pound o’ link sausages, Mr McKnight,’ Barra almost shouted, ignoring the impatient mutterings of those who were urging Elspeth to divulge her news. ‘And don’t be giving me the ones you picked off the floor – clean ones or nothing.’

  ‘But, Barra, these is all I’ve had time to make this morning!’ cried Holy Smoke, aghast at the very idea of losing a sale. ‘There is no’ a thing wrong wi’ them. You saw me taking them through and washing them wi’ your very own eyes.’

  ‘By God, that sounds terrible just, washing your sausages in your customer’s eyes,’ choked Kate. ‘And Barra’s right, it’s no’ hygienic pickin’ links off the floor and swilling them round in dirty water . . .’

  ‘My water is clean!’ Holy Smoke strove to keep calm. ‘I drew it from my own well just after dawn this morning.’

  ‘Ay, and maybe washed your socks in it first,’ dimpled Kate. ‘And here –’ she peered at his hands, ‘what’s that brown stuff round your fingernails, Sandy?’ Gleefully she looked round at all the laughing faces and asked, ‘Now, it canny be nicotine, can it? Our Sandy neither drinks nor smokes.’

  ‘No, no, it canny be nicotine,’ came the delighted chorus.

  ‘Then what else is brown and clings round the fingernails to such a degree?’ Kate could hardly speak for laughing. ‘Can anybody here tell me that and yet keep the subject clean?’

  The shop forgot all about Elspeth in the joy of teasing Holy Smoke about his nails till Elspeth finally exploded altogether. Losing all vestiges of dignity she took a magazine from her bag, waved it vigorously in the air and shouted, ‘Will you all listen to me for a minute! The yacht that was rescued last night belongs to no other than Doctor Megan’s fancy man! It was him and some other highfalutin’ playboy who was the cause o’ Matthew drownin’ in that boiling sea last night!’

  The effect of her words left even Elspeth momentarily stunned. All laughter abruptly ceased. A pin could have been heard drop in the deathly silence that suddenly pervaded Holy Smoke’s premises.

  ‘And how do you come to know all this, Mistress Morrison?’ asked the butcher with deference, his ‘Sunday best mantle’ of acquired gentility falling over him like a cloak though he simply could not keep a note of pure curiosity from creeping into the carefully worded question.

  Elspeth was nonplussed by the totally undivided attention she had craved and which was now so abruptly hers.

  ‘Graeme Donald told me the man’s name, that is why I know,’ she stammered in some confusion.

  ‘Ay, but who told you the rest?’ probed Kate relentlessly. ‘You are no’ makin’ yourself as plain as usual, Elspeth.’

  The old woman’s lips tightened. She was herself again, throwing back her severe grey head to impart grimly, ‘I was after reading all about Doctor Megan and her fancy man in one o’ they sleazy magazines Ruth McKenzie gets from Rachel Jodl.’ Raising one scrawny arm she triumphantly waved the magazine in the air like a flag. ‘’Tis all in here, every word. Steven Saunders is the mannie’s name, the spoilt son o’ rich parents who own boatyards in the south o’ England. He was in the gossip columns wi’ a half-naked young woman hanging on his arm, just one o’ a string he took to amuse himself with after he broke up wi’ Doctor Megan. There was some talk o’ marriage between him and her and some scandal about them living together in sin before his ring was on her finger – though mind, that was only hinted at for these journalist chiels will twist anything to make a bittie news.’ She tried to make the concession sound sympathetic but no one was listening anyway. The damage had been done and everyone jostled everyone else in their efforts to get at the magazine and read its contents for themselves.

  ‘By here, she’s right enough.’ Kate was reading avidly, her large elbows ably warding off grabbing hands. ‘Doctor Megan’s name is here in black and white and it says she just disappeared out o’ the lad’s life wi’out so much as a goodbye kiss or a note to say where she was going.’

  ‘Of course I’m right, I wouldny lie about a thing like that.’ Elspeth folded her hands across her sparse stomach and nodded self-righteously. ‘I aye kent there was something about the new doctor that wasny just right. She didny come here just for the good o’ her soul or to admire the scenery – oh no – she likely came to escape the gossip connected wi’ her sham
eful affair and thought to hide herself on this good, clean-livin’ island o’ ours. Of course, me being the Christian woman I am, I would never have breathed a word o’ my findings to another living soul but after what happened to poor Matthew I just had to tell someone.’

  ‘Ay, about a dozen someones,’ nodded Barra, her pink face growing pinker by the minute. ‘And you mean to stand there and tell us you’ve known all this for quite some whilie and never opened your mouth to anyone – you of all people, Elspeth? Have you been ill and none o’ us knowing a thing about it?’

  Elspeth appeared dazed at this pointed airing of her own enormous self-restraint on the subject, though the look she threw Barra would have frozen the Dead Sea. ‘I have no’ been ill, Barra McLean,’ she imparted haughtily, ‘I just saw no point in raking up Doctor Megan’s past for I kent well enough it would rear its ugly head sooner or later and I have been proved right. There was only one person I told and that was Bob Paterson for I knew well enough he wouldny tell anyone.’

  ‘No, he wouldny,’ Aunt Grace nodded her silvery head in placid agreement. ‘Bob is a gentleman just and was never one to indulge in idle gossip.’

  As if on cue the door opened to admit Bob himself, his faded blue eyes more watery than usual. He had taken the news of Matthew’s death badly, having worked with him since he was a boy fresh out of school. Without glancing at anyone he went up to the counter, slapped down a few coins and gave a curt order for ‘a quarter pound o’ wee beefies’.

  Holy Smoke weighed out the minute portion of minced beef. ‘Could you no’ just order a half pound and be done wi’ it?’ he grumbled. ‘You could save yourself a journey down to the shop if you were a bittie more generous wi’ your sillar and you a rich man from all I’m hearing.’

  ‘’Tis no’ for me, ’tis for my cat,’ grunted Bob sourly. ‘I wouldny insult my own belly wi’ your wee beefies for I know fine you put in more fat than meat then cover it wi’ blood to make it look good.’