Return to Lanmore

by Sheila Douglas

  Nell took the letter, but didn't open it. 'What time did he leave?'

  'Seven o'clock. He had to drive to London Airport.'

  And he had still been up at two in the morning. Nell rubbed her heavy eyes and wondered how he managed it. 'How long have you worked for Mr Trent?' she asked.

  Mrs Reed smiled reminiscently. 'Five years now, and my Joe had been out of work for nearly that long when Mr Trent took us on. He's a wonderful employer. Ask anyone who works for him, miss. The men on the farm feel just like we do.'

  'I believe you,' said Nell, thinking sadly that Philip seemed to be kind to everyone but her. She fingered the letter and opened it when Mrs Reed rose to get more coffee.

  Just a brief note written in a strong slanting hand: 'I behaved badly last night. I hope you'll accept my apologies. Of course there's no need for you to go. Please stay, at least until I get back,

  Philip.'

  She was tempted, but stuck to her original decision. If she stayed she would only suffer further heartache. When she spoke to Dr MacFarlane he agreed that it would be easier if she lived in the village. His house was next door to the surgery. If she wanted to pick up notes on a patient before visiting them it would save time.

  Andrew made some joke about having a pretty girl in the house, took in Nell's pale unhappy face and was suddenly quiet. When they were alone together he asked her what was wrong.

  Nell shook her head. 'Please, Andrew, I'd rather not talk about it.'

  He looked unusually sober. 'Something to do with that chap who came down from London recently?' At her surprised look he gave her a wry grin. 'Place like this you can't hide a thing.' He laid a hand on her shoulder, gave it a little squeeze. 'Cheer up, Nell. Your family agree to the move?'

  'They can see the point. Elizabeth certainly approves. She thought I was a nuisance, keeping such erratic hours.'

  'And the master of the house?'

  Nell was quick to catch the disapproval in his voice, knowing that the two men didn't like each other. 'Philip?' She gave a brittle laugh. 'Even more pleased than Elizabeth to see me go, I'm sure.'

  For the letter, she had decided, meant nothing. A polite gesture made more out of respect for her grandfather than because he was genuinely sorry for his behaviour.

  Nell was even more deeply involved in surgery life now that she lived on the spot. Though she visited her grandfather every day, he complained that she was cutting herself off from them, and so in a way she was—immersing herself in medical work so that she had little time for brooding, helping Andrew collect data for an article he hoped to submit to the British Medical Journal, listening to Dr Mac's stories of his early days in the practice, when he had been no older than Nell was now.

  'Such a pity you've decided to go back to London,' the old man observed one evening. 'You fit in so well, my dear. It's not too late to change your mind. I haven't sent off an advertisement yet.'

  Nell gave him a warm smile. I'm touched, Dr Mac, but I really feel I should get more experience. Midwifery, paediatrics, perhaps E.N.T. Then I might apply for a trainee post, and if yours is free ...' She let the words trail off, wondering if in a couple of years, when the wounds had healed, she might be prepared to come back.

  'But by that time there may be no reason for you to work here,' the doctor observed, and Nell stared at him.

  'Why not?'

  'Your grandfather may be gone.'

  Apprehension gripped her. 'Are you trying to tell me something? Isn't he doing so well as he was?'

  'He's eighty, my dear child, and we all have to die some time.' At her stricken face he sighed. 'You're very fond of him, aren't you? I've never understood why you didn't make it up sooner.'

  'I tried to,' Nell told him, blinking away the tears that stung her eyes. 'I wrote several times, but he never answered. I rang, but Elizabeth told me he didn't want to speak to me.'

  The doctor's expression was thoughtful. 'He never told me that. I always thought he was too proud to make the first move, but would have welcomed one from you.'

  'Well, he didn't,' Nell said shortly. 'And I don't think he wants to go over it now. So please, Dr Mac, let's respect his wishes and not rake over die past. And by the way, I'm not looking for jobs in London, but somewhere in this region. Birmingham maybe, or Westhampton. There's a good hospital there.'

  The two weeks since Philip had gone were almost over. 'He comes back tomorrow,' Colonel Whitehead said, when Nell had tea with him the following day. The thought gave her a sleepless night. She couldn't avoid seeing him, because she would have to visit her grandfather, unless the old man came round to the MacFarlanes' house. She could plead pressure of work and with any luck Philip might be off again in a few days, so that she would have a little longer before she had to meet him. It was cowardly and foolish and only a postponement, but it would give her a chance to recover her equilibrium. At the moment she had a humiliating tendency to dissolve into tears under stress.

  Dr MacFarlane was delighted to see his old friend, whom he was no longer visiting as a patient.

  'So come again tomorrow,' Nell urged. 'Good for you to get out, Grandpa, and I am rather busy.' Mr Reed had driven the Colonel and would be calling back for him at six o'clock. When she walked out to the car with him Nell managed a casual, 'Philip back?'

  The old man nodded.

  'Is he staying long?'

  'Couldn't say,' and with that she had to be content.

  After a second visit from her grandfather Andrew said thoughtfully, 'What are you up to, Nell? Why don't you want to go to Trent's house?' He stared at her bent head. 'You're not that busy, so what's keeping you away?'

  A half truth would be easier than complete evasion. 'Philip and I—we don't get on ‑'

  'So that's why you wanted to come here. I did wonder. But you have to see him some time. Aren't you being a bit childish?'

  'I expect I am,' Nell agreed bitterly. 'But if I never saw him again it would suit me.' She realised from Andrew's expression that she was reacting too violently and stopped abruptly, her colour high. If he read more into her words than she wanted him to, he kept it to himself, though he looked very thoughtful as he went out of the room.

  Nell was pottering in the garden the following afternoon, dead-heading the MacFarlanes' tulips, when she heard a car crunch to a halt on the gravel. She walked round the side of the house, expecting to see her grandfather's Rover, but came to an abrupt halt when she saw Philip's car. He stepped out of it, slammed the door and stalked towards her, grim-faced.

  She swallowed nervously. 'Well, hallo! I wasn't expecting to see you.'

  'Your grandfather is feeling rather tired today. I persuaded him not to come.'

  'Oh. Did he send a message?'

  'He hopes you'll come back with me. However busy you are.' This with sarcasm.

  The blood hammered in Nell's ears so that she found it difficult to think straight, so startled was she by his unexpected appearance. She was behaving like an idiot and he thought so too—that much was apparent from his contemptuous expression. 'Come on, girl,' he said under his breath.

  'I'm not dressed for visiting.' She looked down at her jeans and sweater, at the shabby suede shoes on her feet.

  He gave them a cursory glance. 'You look all right to me. Come on!'

  'But why in your car? I'll follow in mine.'

  'No, you won't.' He took her arm in a hard grip. 'I've a few things to say to you. In private. The car's the best place for that.'

  Short of a scene on the drive, which might be overheard by passers-by in the lane, Nell had no choice but to go with him. Besides, she felt too low in spirits to resist. It was shattering to discover how helpless she was to control her emotions. How powerful a hold the mind had on the body! This man, who looked at her with such dislike, had made her knees tremble and her hands shake. When she fumbled at the car door, he opened it impatiently and waved her in.

  They turned off the village green, drove a short distance towards Philip's house and swun
g on to a grass verge, under some trees. Nell stared blindly through the windscreen and waited for him to speak.

  'You got the letter I wrote? Before I went away?'

  'Yes, I did.'

  'Then why didn't you stay?'

  'Because I wanted to go.'

  'I see.' He said it softly, reaching into the glove compartment for cigarettes, taking his time over lighting up. 'So you haven't forgiven me?'

  'No, I haven't!' exclaimed Nell, suddenly as angry as he was. 'You made it too plain I was only there on sufferance. That you only asked me to stay because of Grandpa.'

  'Did I say that?'

  'You didn't need to.' She rolled her window down and took a deep breath of the sweet spring air. 'Please drive on, Philip,' she said wearily. 'I suppose it was silly trying to avoid you.'

  'Very silly, since you were bound to meet me before long.' He threw his cigarette out of the window, but still he didn't turn on the engine. 'You know why we can't get on, don't you?' he asked abruptly, and she looked away quickly, her heart beating fast.

  It was between them again, however she might deny it, the fierce pull of an intense physical attraction. When he put his hand on the nape of her neck her breath came faster. 'Oh, Philip!' She turned into his arms, clung blindly to him and returned his kisses with passion.

  There was the sound of a car in the distance and they drew apart just as it reached the bend in the road. Philip waited for it to pass, then turned the ignition key. 'I didn't mean that to happen,' he said evenly, 'but you have a way of looking at a man ... those big brown eyes and those tumbled curls ... very sexy, as I'm sure you must know.'

  It wasn't intended as a compliment, and Nell's face whitened. 'Why do you dislike me so much, Philip? What have I ever done to you?'

  'Got under my skin. Taken my mind off my work,' he said savagely.

  'But if ... if we feel the same way ... and you must know that I do ...' She stumbled to a halt, intimidated by his scornful expression.

  'What are you offering me, Nell? An affair? Under your grandfather's nose? I couldn't do it to the old man. Besides, I don't care to share you with Andrew, or have you finished with him already?' He put the car into gear and rolled forward off the grass.

  'I've told you about Andrew ‑'

  'So you have, only I don't believe you. Very convenient for you, living in his house. Especially when the old man's out at night.' The words were insulting, his tone even more so.

  'I give up,' Nell said bitterly. 'You're cruel and intolerant and—and the most hateful man I've ever met!'

  'You have a nasty temper, little Nell.' He had recovered his control completely and it put her at a disadvantage. 'Simmer down before we reach the house or everyone will know we've been quarrelling. I have visitors,' he added as they drew up at his front door. 'Friends from Stockholm.'

  They were all on the terrace at the back of the house, enjoying the warmest day of the year, her grandfather and Elizabeth, James Fenton and his young sister, and the visitors from Sweden. Herr Petersen was a stocky grey-haired man of no particular distinction, with a strikingly beautiful daughter. As they shook hands Nell was all too conscious of the contrast between Ilse Petersen's trendy suede suit and her own much washed sweater and jeans. It made her awkward and more abrupt than usual, especial as Philip was right beside her, performing the introductions with smooth urbanity.

  As soon as she could she moved away from them, drew up a chair by her grandfather and asked quietly how he was.

  He did appear tired. There was a pinched look about his nose and more of a tremor to his hands than usual. 'Feeling my age today,' he admitted, and this was so unlike him that Nell felt very concerned. However, he would hate a public discussion on his health, so she held her peace for the moment and left him to drowse in the sun.

  James Fenton brought her a cup of tea and Bobbie dropped into the chair on her other side. 'What do you think of the beautiful Ilse?' she asked under her breath.

  Nell looked along the terrace to where Ilse talked alone with Philip, her chair drawn close to his, her blonde hair a striking contrast to her deeply tanned face. When they had shaken hands she had topped Nell by a head. She was a big girl, beautifully proportioned, with the grace of an athlete and the face of a film star.

  'Quite something,' Nell said lightly. 'She makes me feel... inadequate.'

  Bobbie gave a dramatic sigh. 'Me too. And she's not just good to look at. James says she's a rising young interior decorator, highly regarded in Stockholm. And she's a champion skier. No point competing with all that!'

  'None at all,' agreed James, 'But why do you want to?'

  Bobbie gave him an aggrieved look. 'You know why. If I could make Philip realise that I'm no longer a little girl!'

  'He won't as long as you make silly remarks like that,' James said severely, but his expression was indulgent as he looked at his young sister. 'Personally,' he observed, transferring his gaze to Nell, 'I find perfect women rather intimidating. She looks like Brunnhilde. To be admired from afar!'

  Nell had to laugh. 'You're absolutely right. She's just like a Wagner heroine,' but behind the laughter she felt the ache of despair. How intimate was Philip with this beautiful woman? How often did he meet her in his travels abroad?

  She found out from Herr Petersen when they were strolling on the lawn after tea. 'Ilse loves this place,' he told Nell with an affectionate glance at his daughter, where she still sat on the terrace with Philip. 'It is always a pleasure for us to come here.'

  'You've been often?'

  'Not often. Three—no, four times,' Herr Petersen replied in his precise English. 'And Philip as often to us. He stays with us when he is in Sweden. He has a lot in common with Ilse, I think—both so talented and so ambitious. I understand you are also a career woman, Dr Ramsay.'

  'I do have a career,' Nell agreed with a little sigh. 'But I don't think I'm really a career woman.'

  'Is it not then the same?' Herr Petersen asked, frowning over the distinction.

  There was one, thought Nell, though it was too subtle to explain to a stranger and a foreigner at that. She loved her work but was not ambitious. She wanted only to be a good doctor. She wasn't one of those women who set their sights on a consultant post, and were prepared to sacrifice almost anything to get there. In her student days Nell had vaguely envisaged a future in which she might have a husband and a part-time medical practice. She was too feminine to want to compete full-time in a medical world that was still dominated by men. However, she had to earn a living, and that dream of marriage had disappeared entirely, swept away by the reality of her feelings for Philip. She had told him he was hateful, wild words that meant nothing. She loved him and longed to be in Use's place. She had been cut to the heart by the easy camaraderie between him and the Swedish girl.

  She had never at any time been on those sort of terms with Philip, nor was ever likely to be, judging by their recent interlude. Philip's admiration for the Swedish girl was there for all to see. Respect? She probably had that too. Love? Not yet, surely, or he would not have behaved to Nell as he had done in the car. That was small comfort, however, for physical passion without tenderness was a cruel and comfortless thing.

  James drove her back to the MacFarlanes'. Philip, engrossed in conversation with the Petersens, hardly noticed her departure. Elizabeth, who had been very quiet all through tea, decided to come with them.

  'It's ages since I've had a talk with Sandy, and he's off duty this evening.'

  Although there was no liking between them, Nell felt very sorry for her aunt. Elizabeth had looked her age on the terrace in the bright spring sunshine. Elegance and breeding could not compete with the splendour of Ilse's youth and beauty.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Next morning there was a letter for Nell, asking her to attend for interview the following week at Westhampton Royal Infirmary.

  'You know Mr Trent has just opened a factory there?' Blackie asked, when Nell took the letter into the kitchen to show her. />
  This news was very unwelcome. 'No, I didn't,' Nell said slowly. 'I remember James Fenton mentioning some town in the Midlands. I don't think he said which one.'

  She went out of the kitchen with a heavy heart, her pleasure at being selected for an interview quite gone. Was her peace of mind to be disturbed wherever she went? Would she never get away from thoughts of Philip? 'Snap out of it!' she told herself firmly. 'Stop being so childish!' For Westhampton was a large town, almost a city, and the chance of running into Philip there was very small. If she got the job, which was by no means certain.

  She did get it, rather to her surprise, for there were three other applicants at the interview, all of whom seemed cleverer and more sure of themselves than she was. It was a step up from her last post as a house surgeon, for her appointment was as senior house officer in obstetrics, to commence on May the fourteenth.

  'Is that too soon?' she asked Dr MacFarlane. 'I don't want to leave you in the lurch.'

  In his blunt way he told her that they had managed without her before and could again. 'Though I've already telephoned Q.C.H. Put out feelers for a locum trainee. If the right man comes he can stay on.'

  Philip had returned to Stockholm with the Petersens.

  The builders were making good progress at the Manor and Blackie, after a month's rest and treatment, insisted that she would soon be fit for work again. So Nell had no pangs of conscience at leaving Lanmore and a fierce urge to do so before Philip came home again.

  'Westhampton's less than an hour's drive from here,' she told her grandfather, 'and my off-duty's good. Alternate nights and alternate weekends, and one half day a week in addition.'

  'They'll work you to the bone,' Andrew warned, from his own experience in obstetrics. 'Twenty-four hours on duty without a break, and you'll be lucky if you have four of them in bed.'

  His forecast was proved only too right. Nell arrived at Westhampton on Monday morning at ten to nine, was swept up to the obstetric block by an enthusiastic young registrar, whirled round the department to meet the senior midwives and back to the main entrance to await the arrival of her chief, Mr Archibald MacFee, consultant in obstetrics and gynaecology. Mr MacFee was a genial and portly man, well into middle age. He extended a warm welcome to Nell as the newest member of his team, but after a couple of hours on his ward round she knew that genial he might be, tolerant of inefficiency never.