Nothing Ventured

by Anne Douglas

  Twelve

  Next day, late morning, Isla managed to slip away from the treatment rooms and made her way to the patients’ dining room. As it was not a place she needed to visit, she’d scarcely seen it since the day of her interview, but she knew it was quite grand, with white-clothed individual tables set with shining cutlery and flowers, and, of course, waiter service – all very different from where the staff had their meals.

  Only to be expected, of course – the patients at Lorne’s being used to dining out in good restaurants and probably counting the hydro’s excellent food and pleasant surroundings as part of their cure. Certainly, no expense was spared in giving them what they wanted: a first-rate chef – Mr Paul, as he liked to be called – was employed in a modern kitchen, together with two assistants and several waiting staff, one of whom was the amazing Trina Morris.

  Now that she thought about it, Isla vaguely remembered hearing that a waitress had left and a new one appointed, but she hadn’t taken much notice of it at the time. Why should she? How could she have known that it would matter to her that a new waitress had arrived? Perhaps it still wouldn’t, but all the signs pointed to her arrival mattering to Boyd. And what mattered to Boyd mattered to Isla.

  Visiting the dining room at that time, Isla had hoped she’d find tables being set, and when she saw two young women busy with preparations, she knew she was in luck. One of them – bright and bouncy Daisy MacDuff – was known to her. The other – well, she must be Trina.

  With a sinking heart, Isla took in the girl’s undoubted beauty – the wide-apart dark eyes and well-cut black hair beneath a wisp of a cap, her wide scarlet mouth and pert, straight little nose. Wouldn’t be turned up, would it? No, no, of course not. Everything about her was just right. Her slim figure in her black dress, her elegant legs in her black stockings, her slender fingers laying out cutlery … And the power to attract? To draw? Oh, God, that was there all right. Even with no males in sight, even with only Isla approaching, it was clear she liked to send out the charm like rays from the sun. Poor Boyd didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘Hello, Isla!’ Daisy was calling – dear, overweight Daisy, who didn’t seem in the least overpowered by her new colleague. ‘Anything we can do for you, pet?’

  ‘No, no, I was just wondering if you’d seen one of my patients – old Mr Gibson. He’s always going missing; I thought he might have come in here.’

  ‘No, we haven’t seen him – we’ll tell him to get back to the treatment rooms pronto, if we do. Oh, but you must meet Trina – she’s our new waitress, took over from Ruby, if you remember. Trina, this is Nurse Scott – Isla to her friends.’

  Isla and Trina shook hands, Trina smiling brightly, Isla less so.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Isla, moving away.

  ‘And you.’

  ‘So, if you see Mr Gibson—’

  ‘Don’t worry, we know what to do.’

  So that was that, Isla was thinking, when the door from the kitchens flew open and one of the waiters came in, his gaze going straight to Trina. As he went to her, continuing to fix her with his eyes, Isla recognized him as Damon Duthie, known for creating arguments and falling foul of Mr Paul, the chef, on a regular basis. His own looks were not unlike Trina’s, for his hair was black and his eyes dark brown, but where she was certainly good-looking, somehow he missed being handsome, perhaps because his brows were inclined to meet too often and his smiles were very rare.

  ‘So, where’ve you been?’ he now asked Trina, his voice truculent. ‘I was going to show you round the grounds before we had to get things ready. Where’d you go?’

  ‘I asked Trina to help me with the tables,’ Daisy told him pleasantly. ‘There wasn’t really time to look round the grounds, especially when you know there’s plenty to do anyway.’

  ‘Sweet of you, Damon,’ Trina said, her voice light but with an undertone that said she was not going to argue. ‘Thing is, I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Mr Paul. We can look at the grounds later.’

  ‘Look, you don’t have to worry about that old windbag. Take it from me, he’s past it, anyway …’

  Leaving Damon still sounding off, Isla quietly slipped away, her mind racing as she tried to sort out what might happen if Boyd asked Trina to go out with him. On first seeing Damon, Isla had been encouraged that he might be enough to keep Boyd out of the running, but taking in his looks and his manner, it seemed obvious that Trina would prefer Boyd, which was exactly what Isla didn’t want. Maybe she was being unfair – she didn’t know the girl, she’d only just met her – but she remained certain in her own mind that Trina would be wrong for her brother.

  Yet what was she doing, anyway, looking ahead, making assumptions, about something that wasn’t really anything to do with her? Boyd was her brother, true, but he must work out his own problems, make his own decisions. Isla must just leave him to it.

  But, oh, Lord, it was hard. He’d been through enough; she didn’t want him hurt in any way again.

  ‘Hello, Isla, there you are!’ cried Ellie Cumming as Isla hurried into the treatment block, worrying that she would be late for her routine heat bath appointment with difficult Mrs Abbot who suffered from arthritis.

  ‘Can’t stop, Ellie, have to see Mrs Abbot.’

  ‘That’s why I wanted to speak to you. She sent a message that she doesn’t feel up to the heat bath today. Would you go up and give her a massage?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, yes. Just get my breath first.’

  ‘You ought to have a cup of tea or something – you look a bit down. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all. Just one of those days.’

  ‘Well, to cheer you up, remember it’ll soon be Easter and the days are getting longer. On the other hand, that means Doctor Lorne’s daughter will be home from boarding school any day now, and is she difficult, or is she not?’

  ‘That sweet little girl?’

  ‘Sweet little girl? She’s no little girl – she’s leaving school this term. Going to a finishing school in Switzerland – typical!’

  ‘But why is she so difficult?’ Isla asked, turning to be on her way. ‘Because Doctor Lorne spoils her, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right, so maybe it’s not her fault, but she only thinks there’s one person in the world who counts and that’s her. Never has time for any of us. You’ll see for yourself when she comes.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll have improved, now she’s left school?’

  Ellie laughed. ‘And maybe she won’t!’

  Thirteen

  After Isla’s straight talking to him in the canteen, Boyd burned with anger – not with her, but with himself. He felt he had let himself down, speaking of Trina Morris in the extravagant way he had, as though he were some lovesick schoolboy. Isla had been right to show disappointment in him, and he only wished now that he’d kept his mouth shut about his feelings, even though, as he’d admitted to himself after he’d left her, they were real enough.

  Yes, it was something he’d hardly been able to take in, the way he’d experienced an almost physical blow when he’d first set eyes on Trina. Was this what they called love at first sight? The sort of thing you saw acted out at the cinema, or the theatre. Romeo and Juliet, and all that sort of thing …

  So, what did you do about it? If it felt unreal, try to make it real? Oh, God, yes. That’s what he had to do. See Trina again. Ask her out – maybe not at first, but as soon as possible, certainly before the damned waiters she’d be working with got a chance. Damon Duthie, for instance, or Clive MacAlastair – two chaps Boyd had never had any time for, Damon being so fiery, Clive so boring. Surely Trina wouldn’t be interested in either of them? No, he didn’t believe so, but as he thought of another alternative, his heart almost missed a beat. Wasn’t it more likely that a girl who looked like her would have a young man in her life already? Might even be engaged?

  The only thing to do was to get along to the patients’ dining room, find Trina and introduce himself. Take it from t
here. But what excuse could he have for being in the patients’ dining room?

  A better idea came to him. He’d pop into the kitchen – all very casually, of course – and pretend he was reminding Mr Paul to come in for his exercises. Trina would be sure to be in and out of the kitchen, and he would, again very casually, speak to her, welcome her to Lorne’s, tell her who he was and what he did – and there it was – he’d have made himself known. They could progress from there, if they were to progress at all.

  The following morning, he put a notice on the door of the gym – Back in half an hour – and having combed his hair and straightened the collar of his blue gym shirt, made for the kitchen. It was the time when morning coffee was being assembled for those patients in the lounge who had no treatments, and Mr Paul was reading the paper and smoking – strictly forbidden, except for himself – while his staff were filling silver-plated coffee pots and setting out biscuits.

  No sign of Trina. That was the problem. Boyd, putting on a smile, approached the chef, a heavy man in whites, whose eyes were small and whose nose was large, and who now raised his eyebrows at Boyd.

  ‘What brings you here, laddie?’ he asked jovially. ‘Come to cadge a cup of coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks; just wanted to remind you about your exercises, Mr Paul. It’s pretty important to keep up with ’em, you know, if you want to keep fit.’

  ‘Hell, I’ve enough exercise here, if you ask me. Trying to get meals ready and keeping track of all these layabouts supposed to help me!’

  ‘Layabouts, Mr Paul? That’s a wee bit unfair!’ cried skinny Clive MacAlastair, pausing in the doorway with a loaded tray.

  ‘Well, where’s Damon, then? Where’s that new lassie?’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Paul!’ came Damon’s voice, as he and Trina came sauntering in. ‘I was just showing Trina here round the grounds – forgot the time, eh?’

  ‘I’ll say,’ the chef snapped. ‘Well, give the others a hand with the coffee, eh? You too, Trina. And remember when you work here, you work in the kitchen – looking round the grounds is for your own time, not mine!’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Paul,’ the new waitress murmured, echoing Damon but sweetening the apology with a charming smile which the chef couldn’t help returning. Boyd stood aside, his rapt gaze on Trina.

  ‘Hello, you’re new, eh?’ he asked in a low voice, moving closer to her. ‘I’m Boyd Scott. I run the gymnasium. It’s good to meet you.’

  ‘Trina Morris,’ she murmured, her dark eyes studying his handsome face with an appraising gaze he’d met often enough before. ‘I didn’t even know there was a gymnasium here. Not that I’m one for PE!’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ He laughed lightly. ‘We do have a ladies-only hour three times a week, when one of the nurses helps with the instruction. You might like to try that.’

  ‘Ladies only? Not my style!’ Trina’s eyes were dancing. ‘Who cares if women and men do PE together?’

  ‘We just have to do what folk think is suitable,’ Boyd said awkwardly. ‘But it’d be grand if I could just show you round sometime.’

  ‘OK, sometime I’ll pop in. Nice to have met you, Mr Scott.’

  ‘And for me to have met you, Miss Morris.’

  ‘Trina,’ she whispered, leaning towards him for a moment as Damon suddenly called her, his voice edgy and rough.

  ‘You coming, Trina? We’re supposed to be serving coffee!’

  Shrugging her slim shoulders and taking a tray and a coffee pot, Trina favoured Boyd with a wide smile before following Damon and the other servers out of the kitchen.

  ‘I’d better get back,’ Boyd murmured, after standing in silence for a moment. ‘Don’t forget to come along for your PE, Mr Paul, when you’ve time.’

  ‘Aye, when I’ve time.’ The chef gave Boyd a grin. ‘She’s a looker, eh, our new lassie?’

  ‘Miss Morris?’ Boyd began to move to the door. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose she is.’

  ‘Reckon my dining room’ll be more popular than ever, once the nobs have seen her.’

  But Boyd was already gone.

  Walking on air because he’d met Trina as he’d planned, he was almost back at the gym when he suddenly saw Isla making her way to the lift with a large bag of crushed ice. He called her name.

  ‘Boyd?’ She turned to meet him. ‘What are you doing out of your gym?’

  ‘What are you doing out of the treatment block?’

  ‘I’m on my way upstairs to see a patient. She’s here for diabetic treatment but sprained her ankle out walking – I’m giving her a cold pack.’

  ‘I’ve just been to remind Mr Paul about his exercises.’

  ‘In the kitchen?’ Isla’s eyes narrowed. ‘You sure you saw Mr Paul?’

  ‘OK, you win.’ Boyd laughed. ‘I did see Miss Morris as well. She said she wasn’t one for PE but she’s agreed to see my gymnasium.’

  ‘Oh, Boyd!’

  ‘No, it’s all right, I’m not being an idiot this time – all very cool, calm and collected.’

  Isla shook her head. ‘Maybe. All I can say is, you be careful, Boyd; be sure what you’re doing. But listen, I’ve just heard some really gloomy news. Doctor Woodville told us this morning he’s leaving in April. Going to take over his father’s practice as a GP in Edinburgh. Oh, he’ll be such a loss, eh?’

  ‘He will. That’s bad news, all right. He’s a great guy.’

  ‘The next doctor won’t be as nice, I bet you. But I’d better dash. Remember what I told you, Boyd.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said carelessly and, as Isla’s gaze followed him, continued on his way.

  Fourteen

  Some days later, seeing Dr Woodville on his own in his office, Isla decided on an impulse to tell him how much he was going to be missed. He wouldn’t mind, would he? Of course he wouldn’t. Dr Woodville never minded anything; that was what made him one to be missed.

  ‘I haven’t been here long but I feel the same as everyone else,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s just not going to be the same for us without you to cheer us on.’

  ‘Oh, come,’ he answered, flushing a little. ‘I’m a very ordinary sort of guy, nothing special. But I certainly appreciate your kind words, Isla.’

  Isla. His use of her first name saddened her, for she knew he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t soon been leaving. Dr Lorne preferred formality between members of staff at work; even after work, Isla had never heard anyone call Dr Woodville Bob, for instance.

  ‘By the way,’ he was continuing, ‘we have a new patient arriving tomorrow who’ll be staying several weeks, possibly more, as he really wants to give the treatment a chance to work. As he’s also a bit depressed at present, I’m asking everyone to take a very positive attitude with him, reassure him that all will be well, and that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, of course we will,’ Isla agreed. ‘What’s his complaint?’

  ‘Chronic bronchitis.’

  ‘He’s elderly, then?’

  ‘Hope not.’ Dr Woodville smiled. ‘He’s twenty-nine – my age.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’ Isla blushed. ‘It’s just that most patients I’ve met who have chronic bronchitis have been older people. Maybe after having had a lot of acute bronchitis over the years.’

  ‘That’s usually the case, but for Mark Kinnaird, our patient, the acute attacks came early on in childhood. We went to school together, before he went into his father’s law firm and I chose medicine, and I remember him often being ill as a boy. It’s no surprise to me that he’s developed the chronic form. Now he’s always breathless, always coughing, and he’s desperate for us to provide some relief. Nothing’s worked for him so far in conventional medicine.’

  ‘Poor chap – I hope we can help him.’

  ‘Well, we’ve had plenty of success with chest patients. I think there’s every chance. He’s arriving about two tomorrow. Perhaps you’d see him settled in?’

  ‘Certainly, I will, Doctor Woodville.’

  ‘Look out for him, then, i
f you would.’ Dr Woodville hesitated. ‘Just one more thing – I think you’ll all be happy with my replacement. Doctor Lorne says he’s a very good doctor and will fit in here very well.’

  Isla’s eyes widened. ‘You mean, Doctor Lorne’s already chosen a new doctor? But there haven’t been any interviews, have there?’

  ‘Wasn’t necessary. Doctor Lorne already knew of Doctor Revie, who’s the son of a medical friend and has been working at a hydro in the Highlands. He’s got the experience and was interested in a move here, so when Doctor Lorne offered him the job, he accepted. Should be ideal.’

  ‘I thought there always had to be interviews for jobs. Seems fairer.’

  ‘Maybe, but if you know the right man for the post, I don’t see why you shouldn’t just go for him. He would probably have been the best at an interview anyway.’

  ‘I suppose so. Think I’d better get on, Doctor Woodville. I won’t forget about the new patient.’

  ‘Thanks, Isla.

  They exchanged smiles and separated, Dr Woodville to make for the lift to see an upstairs patient, Isla to snatch a cup of coffee with Sheana before her next appointment. They discussed the surprising news that a new doctor had already been appointed and agreed he’d be no match for Dr Woodville, whatever he was like, though Sheana remarked that maybe they were being unfair.

  ‘Should always keep an open mind, eh? Though you needn’t keep one about our young madam arriving tomorrow. It’ll not take you two minutes to see what she’s like!’

  ‘You’re talking about Doctor Lorne’s daughter? Coming tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s right. Day before Good Friday. Finished with one school, starting another in Switzerland. All right for some, eh?’

  ‘I think I should keep an open mind, anyway,’ Isla said, laughing. ‘You folks sound prejudiced.’