by Anne Douglas
‘Aye, and it was all for nothing, anyway, when it was Staff Miller who spilt the beans.’
‘Staff Miller?’ cried Isla. ‘How did she know?
‘Seems she’d noticed little talks and smiles between you and Doctor Revie, and told Sister Francis she was sure something was going on. Said Sister should inform Doctor Lorne, but Sister said she wasn’t even sure about it … but Kitty Brown had overheard it all, and you know what Kitty’s like. Mouth as big as a letterbox for gossiping!’
‘I’m surprised you never noticed folk looking at you, Isla,’ remarked Sheana. ‘The story was all over the hydro, anyway, though we said there was nothing in it, just to be helpful.’
‘I did notice,’ Isla said slowly. ‘At least, I felt it. But I couldn’t be sure.’ She gave a small bitter smile. ‘Anyway, it’s true now, that there’s nothing in it.’
‘We do feel sorry, Isla,’ said Ellie earnestly.
‘We do,’ agreed Sheana.
They were, thought Isla, but she couldn’t help noticing that the expressions in their eyes had changed from when they saw her as the girl who was going out with Dr Revie. He’d been such a catch, hadn’t he? With his looks and status, being so swooned over by so many lady patients, why had Isla been the one who’d caught him? That was the question she’d read in their eyes then. Now that she hadn’t caught him, there was no longer any need for questions in her friends’ eyes, only sympathy – and maybe a little satisfaction that things had righted themselves. Isla was just the same as everyone else, after all – only sadder, of course.
And those looks she now saw in the eyes of Sheana and Ellie were the same, she realized, as those she saw in the eyes of her other colleagues. Which proved that they knew what had happened, and it was just as she’d told Mark: they were all looking at her and feeling sorry for her. She’d been lucky for a while, but her luck had run out, and now she was the same as everyone else. Dr Revie would never come back to her.
Even if he were ever likely to do that, which he wasn’t, Isla knew she wouldn’t want him. Though still feeling the ache of the loss of his love, after what he’d put her through, she could never think the same of him as a person. Yet on one sunny morning, when she had taken an elderly lady to the terrace, his power still to hurt her struck her like an arrow to the heart.
For he, too, was on the terrace, wearing his white coat as though on duty, but certainly not with a patient. Oh, no, the person sitting with him was no patient, and he would never have been looking at a patient so intently, would never have been talking to a patient the way he was talking to the girl beside him now.
Magda Lorne.
Never had Isla thought she’d be so shocked to see Grant with her, when she’d already had her suspicions that he would try for the girl who was Dr Lorne’s daughter. But now that her fears were realized, it seemed too terrible to accept that she’d been right, and that the man she’d loved – still hadn’t stopped loving – was only interested in his own future and didn’t care who got in his way.
‘All right, dear?’ came Mrs Noble’s voice, cutting through the darkness of Isla’s thoughts. With a start, Isla managed to smile and shake her head.
‘Quite all right, thank you, Mrs Noble. But will you be happy here until lunchtime?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ the old lady told her, her faded blue eyes searching Isla’s face. ‘I just need you to put up my parasol, if you would? My hands, as you know, aren’t much use these days, though, of course, my treatments are a help – a great help.’
‘Of course I’ll put up your parasol. The sun’s quite strong this morning – you’ll need it.’
Who is this talking so well? Isla asked herself, for she could hardly believe it was her, when all she wanted to do was go somewhere and never see the world again. But she wouldn’t do that; she’d see her next patient, come back to wheel Mrs Noble to the dining room, then change and run down to see her mother in her own lunch hour. Not to tell her of seeing Grant and Magda together. No, not that. She had something else in mind.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise!’ Nan cried. You didn’t say you’d be seeing me today.’
‘Well, it’s not one of your work days, so I thought I’d look in. Don’t need much to eat – a sandwich will do.’
‘Isla, Isla, you’ll never get better if you don’t eat properly. I could have done you a nice ham and egg pie or something if I’d known you were coming.’
‘Get better? I’m not ill.’
‘Is that right?’ Nan pursed her lips. ‘Well, I’ll just put the kettle on and rustle something up. You sit down; you’re as white as a sheet.’
‘Something to do first, Ma. Where’s that dress I was making? The evening dress?’
‘The evening dress? It’s in your wardrobe. As a matter of fact, I finished it for you; there wasn’t much to do. Why’d you want it?’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered finishing it. I want you to put it in the bin.’
‘Put it in the bin?’ Nan’s eyes were horrified. ‘I’ll do no such thing. It’s a lovely dress – you’ll get plenty of wear out if it.’
‘I’ll never wear it!’ Isla’s voice was trembling, her eyes full of tears. ‘I don’t even want even to see it again.’
‘Now listen to me, Isla,’ her mother said, using the tone of voice that Isla knew from childhood meant she would brook no arguments, ‘you are going to keep that dress and one day you are going to wear it. For someone else, not Grant Revie. It was meant for a dinner dance, eh? But he never took you to one and you never wore it for him, so now it’s got nothing to do with him. What you must do is keep it for the time when you can go dancing with someone else and never give him a thought. Are you listening to me, Isla?’
‘Yes, Ma, but I’m not sure I can do what you say.’
‘You can do what I say, because it makes sense, eh? Throwing that dress away would mean you’re still letting him matter, and you don’t want that, I’m sure!’
Wiping her eyes, Isla gave a long weary sigh.
‘No, but it’s hard, it’s very hard, to believe he’s so far from what I thought.’ She raised her eyes to Nan. ‘And I still sort of love him.’
‘Aye, well, no one said it would be easy. These things take time. But at least you can show some sense and not go throwing out a perfectly good dress in the heat of the moment!’ Nan stood up and rested her hand for a moment on Isla’s shoulder. ‘Poor lassie,’ she said softly. ‘Just take it one day at a time, eh?’
‘Someone else said that,’ Isla said, rising to fill the kettle. ‘Must be good advice.’
As she buttered the bread her mother sliced, the thought of Mark, who had been the one to give her that advice, stayed with her and might have been comforting, except that soon she would have to prepare to say goodbye to him. Would he want to keep in touch? She had no idea, and after a while his image had faded and she was back to bearing her own particular burden.
Forty-Two
It was the day of Mark’s departure. He had handed out his tips, his chocolates and his bottles of wine. He had made his farewells to the doctors, to the nurses, to everyone who’d looked after him, and now was back in his room, wearing his formal suit, to pick up his case before his father came to collect him.
‘This is it, then,’ he said quietly to Isla, who was to accompany him downstairs. ‘This is goodbye.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she answered lightly, making great play of checking around to see that nothing had been left. ‘You must take a last view of the hills – you always liked to look at them, didn’t you?’
He glanced at the armchair that had been his and soon would be someone else’s, and nodded. ‘Kept me sane, at times, that view.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, Mark! Things weren’t so bad here, were they?’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean that. It’s been marvellous, the help I’ve been given; I couldn’t be more grateful. But sometimes in the early days, you know, I used to get so depressed – I just couldn’t see an end to
it.’
‘And then the treatment began to work and you felt better?’ Isla moved closer to him, her eyes searching his face. ‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘You know I did. And, as I say, I had wonderful help. Particularly from you, Isla.’ His gaze was as intense as hers. ‘And I want to thank you.’
‘Mark, I was just doing my job.’
‘I know it’s your job to help everyone, but what you don’t realize is that from someone as dedicated as you, your help is special.’ He hesitated. ‘It always seemed very special to me, anyway.’
They were silent for a moment or two, each exchanging long, sad looks, until Isla glanced at her watch.
‘Time’s getting on, Mark. We’d better go down; your father will be here soon.’
‘First, I’ve something for you. Just hang on – I’ll get it out of my case.’
‘You’ve already given us those beautiful chocolates, Mark; you shouldn’t be giving me anything else—’
But he was already returning to her with a small elegant carrier bag which he put into her hand. At the name on the bag, her eyes widened.
‘Logie’s of Edinburgh? Oh, Mark, what is it?
‘It’s just some scent.’ He was a little embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s French – something pretty new. I rang my father’s receptionist and asked her to get it for me, and she said this one only came out last year. Hope it’s all right.’
‘All right? Oh, heavens, I’ll say it’s all right!’
Isla was taking the elegant glass bottle from the carrier and reading the magic name, which she’d only seen in magazines. Chanel. A French perfume. This was without doubt the most exciting present she’d ever received, and the one she would always cherish. If she ever used it all up, which she couldn’t imagine doing, well, she’d have the bottle, wouldn’t she? A bottle, a memory …
She raised astonished eyes to Mark, who was watching her with anxiety.
‘You like it?’ he asked.
‘Mark, I do. I love it. I’ve never had anything like it before. The only thing is—’
‘What? Tell me.’
‘Well, I don’t know if I can accept it. There’s a sort of unwritten rule that we don’t accept presents except for chocolates, or something small – and this is not really small.’ She gave an apologetic smile.
Mark shook his head. ‘Isla, all I wanted to do was show my appreciation. That can’t be wrong, can it? It’s not as though the scent’s a pearl necklace or something. Please, won’t you reconsider?’
‘I’d like to, Mark …’
‘Well, why not? Why tell Sister Francis, anyway? I know, as a lawyer, that’s not the sort of thing I should suggest, but it’s a damn silly rule you’re worrying about, anyway.’
For a moment, he was silent, still keeping his eyes on her face, then he said quietly, ‘It would give me a great deal of pleasure to give you something you liked, Isla.’
Oh, why not? she thought, why not take it and stop making difficulties? There weren’t so many people in her life queueing up to give her something she liked, were there?
‘Then I say thank you,’ she told Mark. ‘I’ll keep your lovely present and thank you very much for thinking of me.’
He relaxed visibly and it seemed as though they might seal off her decision with – what? A hug? A kiss on the cheek? Isla, holding her present, found herself wanting to do that – to hug or kiss Mark in a friendly way – and almost made a move towards him. But years of training held her where she was. Nurses didn’t kiss patients, even on the cheek. She must hold back.
‘We’d better go down,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Let’s fasten up your case again, shall we?’
‘And say goodbye.’
‘We can say goodbye downstairs, when we see your father.’
‘No,’ said Mark, ‘now.’
And doing what she had failed to do, he moved towards her, bent his head and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Goodbye, Isla, and thank you for everything,’ he murmured, and turned to fasten his suitcase, leaving her once again astonished. Seemingly, if nurses shouldn’t kiss patients, patients could certainly kiss nurses. Only with friendly kisses, of course, nothing romantic. And a friendly kiss was what she would have expected from Mark, for that was what they were, wasn’t it? Friends?
Even so, when it came to saying another goodbye, this time also to Mark’s father, who had arrived to drive him home, Mark didn’t say they would keep in touch. Never asked her to write, for instance, or said he’d write himself; only told his father how well she and everyone had looked after him, and he was sure he was going to be all right now.
‘I hope so,’ sighed Mr Kinnaird. ‘But many thanks, Nurse Scott – we’ll see how things work out. Mark, shall we go?’
‘I’m ready,’ Mark said, smiling, and with a last long look for Isla and a wave of his hand, he turned to follow his father from the entrance hall, insisting that he carry his own case, as he had insisted when coming down from his room.
How well he looks, she thought, watching Mark as his father drove him slowly away; all they had to hope now was that he’d be all right away from the hydro. Fingers crossed, for that. Strange, he’d made no attempt to suggest that they might meet again – she’d thought he might, for they’d had such an affinity. Or she’d believed they had. But perhaps all along he’d realized that their friendship was for the confines of Lorne’s, and that once he was back in his own life, it would wither and die?
She couldn’t know the truth of it, but as she returned to duty, having first put her precious scent in her locker, she knew that before she could think of any kind of new relationship, she must first get over Grant Revie. And, as her mother had said, that was not going to be easy.
Take one day at a time. That was the thing. There could be no avoiding the pain of seeing Grant at work and knowing his thoughts were for Magda, just as there could be no more comforting talks with sympathetic Mark. From now on, she was on her own. Must stand straight, face the world and wait for time to do its work.
And work in itself was a help. Take that afternoon, for instance. While she was giving Captain Bonnymore his herbal bath, which he always complained about, especially if it was lavender, she had no time to think of anything else. And when he said again he felt such a cissy, coming out smelling like a woman, she even laughed, as she always did. That was something, eh? One day at a time … She’d come through, in the end.
Forty-Three
On a Saturday evening in mid-September, Boyd and Trina were at the Edinburgh Palace Theatre enjoying a variety show and feeling lucky they’d managed to wangle time off together – always so difficult, and for Boyd, when they failed, frustrating. It meant so much to him, to be with Trina, all time spent away from her seeming only a waste. Whether she felt the same, he could never be sure, the truth being that he could never be sure of her feelings, anyway. She seemed to enjoy being with him, certainly enjoyed their lovemaking, as far as it went, but of more than that he just had no real knowledge. Maybe he should just relax, let things take their course, wait for her to feel as he did, if she didn’t already. As though he could!
In the semi-darkness of the theatre, he found his eyes turning often from the stage to rest on Trina sitting close, taking pleasure in her obvious delight in the performance of the dancing girls, who had followed the stand-up comedian, the conjuror, the juggler and the other acts they’d already seen. Just look at the way her eyes were sparkling and her lips were parted, as she sat forward in her seat, clearly concentrating only on the stage, completely unaware of Boyd at her side, who was so very much aware of her. He didn’t mind. He knew she loved the spectacle of the theatre – the costumes, the music, the atmosphere of being out of her ordinary world. She’d come back to him when the lights went up for the interval, and she would look at him with great, dazzled eyes before returning his smile, and then it would be his turn to take her attention.
‘Like an ice?’ he asked, when the interval came.
�
��Oh, yes, please. It’s so hot, eh?’ Trina fanned herself with her programme and rose in her seat. ‘Think I’ll just pop along to the ladies’ first – better join the queue, eh?’
‘Me, too,’ said Boyd, eyeing the line already forming at the ice-cream seller’s side.
By the time Trina came back, however, he had his two tubs of ice cream ready. As he tackled his own, he watched, fascinated, as she enjoyed hers, her tongue catching little drips on her scarlet mouth, her delighted shiver as the icy sweetness met her throat.
‘Oh, that’s grand!’ she cried, placing her wooden spoon into her empty tub and putting it on the ashtray on the back of the seat in front of her. ‘Don’t you love ice cream, Boyd? I’m so glad somebody invented it. But listen – you’ll never guess who I saw in the Dress Circle just now!’
‘Dress Circle? I thought you went to the ladies’?’
‘I did, but when you come out, you can see the whole auditorium so I just looked up at the Dress Circle and there they were!’
‘Who?’
‘Doctor Lorne’s daughter and Doctor Revie!’
Boyd’s face darkened. ‘Are you sure, Trina?’
‘Of course I am! I know what they look like. They were there in the front row of the best seats, all dressed up, with the doctor trying to get so close to Magda that he was practically on her lap!’ Trina laughed loudly. ‘And she was just sitting there, trying to read the programme!’
Looking into Boyd’s face, which was still shadowed with anger, his fine mouth grim, his grey eyes cold, Trina’s laughter ceased and she put her hand to her lip.
‘Oh, Boyd, I’m sorry! Your poor sister, eh? Hasn’t taken the doctor long to move on, has it?’
Trina took Boyd’s hand.
‘But don’t look so angry, Boyd – she’s well shot of Doctor Revie. It does no good to think about him.’
‘It does me good,’ Boyd said tightly. ‘I think about him a lot – how much I’d like to knock his block off, and see him have to leave the hydro. Doctor Lorne would never want him around if he knew what had been going on.’