Nothing Ventured

by Anne Douglas

  ‘No problem there. Just to make sure, though, eat as many of Ma’s scones and cakes as you can!’

  After they’d laughed, Boyd went back to his seat and looked at Isla.

  ‘So, how are things under the new regime? Grant Revie treating you all well?’

  Isla hesitated. ‘He’s OK. Hasn’t started bossing us about or anything, but it’s not the same as when your father was there, Magda. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but the atmosphere’s different. We don’t feel as relaxed as we used to do.’

  ‘Bet you don’t,’ Magda commented. ‘Grant has different ideas from my father. In fact, he more or less said so, when he came to tell Daddy about the changes.’

  ‘Changes?’ Isla was alert. ‘What sort of changes? He told us there’d be some, but we don’t know what they are yet. We’re afraid there’ll be sackings.’

  ‘Probably. I know Daddy was pretty upset anyway, by what’s being planned.’

  ‘Grant gave him details?’

  ‘Yes, he was decent enough to do that. Apparently, he’s got permission from the board to make the hydro more of a hotel. That’s the trend, he says. People are going off full water cures, but they still fancy coming to a hotel with a sort of spa or water treatment attached.’

  ‘A spa?’ cried Isla. ‘A hotel? That’s what he’s planning for the hydro? I don’t believe it. It would make it all quite different.’

  Magda shrugged. ‘He said it was what people wanted. All the facilities of a hotel, plus entertainment, a golf course … and spa and water treatments thrown in. I suppose it could work.’

  ‘I can imagine what your dad thought,’ said Boyd. ‘He was always the serious doctor, eh? Grant’s out to make money. There’s the difference.’

  ‘And some staff will have to go,’ Isla said slowly. ‘Obviously, they won’t need as many nurses if the treatments are just a sideline. I wish now I hadn’t promised Doctor Lorne I’d stay.’

  ‘He’d no idea then what was going to happen,’ Magda said sympathetically. ‘But you needn’t stay now.’

  ‘You mean I should go before I’m sacked?’

  ‘I bet Grant won’t sack you, Isla,’ Boyd put in. ‘Though what you should do, if you ask me, is marry Mark Kinnaird – that’d solve all your problems!’

  A rich red colour rose to Isla’s brow and she lowered her eyes.

  ‘Oh, there’s still a problem, Boyd,’ she said lightly. ‘Mark hasn’t asked me.’

  ‘Oh? I thought …’ As Magda shook her head at him, Boyd looked embarrassed. ‘I thought you were both – you know—’

  ‘No. As a matter of fact, I’m not seeing him at the moment. We’re … having a break.’

  ‘Here comes the tea!’ cried Nan, entering with a loaded tray, while Will followed with another. ‘Now I’ll just set this on the table. Oh, isn’t it grand we’re all together and so happy?’

  It was some time later, when the family party had broken up, with Boyd and Magda on their way to the station, and Nan and Will talking over Magda’s amazing visit, that Isla arrived back at the hydro for evening duty. Still trying to come to terms with the awful news Magda had passed on, she was hoping she wouldn’t see Grant Revie, or she would be bound to tell him what she thought of his future changes and that she for one would not be staying around to see them.

  And then, of course, she did see him, strolling through Reception, where a telephone was ringing and Noreen’s Sunday replacement, Ruthie Atkinson, was running to answer it.

  ‘Isla, how nice to see you!’ Grant cried. ‘We haven’t talked for a while, have we? You must admit I’ve been very good staying out of your way.’

  She was about to open her mouth to speak when she heard her name called and looked across to Ruthie beckoning her.

  ‘Isla! Telephone!’

  ‘For me?’ She didn’t know anyone who would ring her, especially not on a Sunday night.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked Ruthie as she came to pick up the receiver. ‘Are you sure they want me?’

  ‘It’s some man from Edinburgh. He rang earlier, said he’d try again. Definitely wanted you.’

  ‘Hello? This is Isla Scott speaking,’ Isla said, wondering, with a beating heart, if it could be Mark trying to get through to her.

  But it wasn’t Mark; it was his father.

  As she listened, Grant, watching closely, saw the colour drain from her face, and when she laid the receiver down and turned to him, he went to her.

  ‘Isla, what is it? Tell me!’

  ‘It’s Mark. He’s ill, very ill.’ Her lips were trembling, her eyes enormous, full of fear. ‘He has pneumonia.’

  ‘Oh, God – with his medical history!’ Grant took Isla’s cold hands, as Ruthie, at a distance, looked on with awe. ‘That’s bad, Isla, that’s bad.’

  ‘He’s asked for me, Grant. I must go.’ Isla looked round wildly. ‘I’m on duty, but I must go. There’s a late train I can catch—’

  ‘No train, Isla; I’ll drive you.’ Grant released Isla’s hands. ‘Quick, run up and pack a bag – you’ll be staying on, I take it? Yes, get what you need and I’ll try to catch Sister Francis – she won’t have left yet – and tell her you won’t be here. Don’t worry, she’ll cope. You just meet me on the steps in ten minutes. All right?’

  ‘Grant, I don’t know what to say—’

  ‘Just pack your things, Isla. Then we’ll away.’

  Seventy-One

  Isla knew that she would never forget that drive through quiet roads, with Grant driving as fast as he dared, his handsome face grim, their only talk of Mark’s illness and what they might expect to find when they reached him in Edinburgh.

  ‘He’s being nursed at home with his own doctor and a private nurse,’ Isla said, her voice low. ‘The doctor thinks he’ll be better there than in hospital; he has everything he needs, including oxygen.’

  ‘That’s fine. Sometimes patients are better off at home.’ Grant gave her a quick glance. ‘But you know as well as I do that there isn’t a great deal we can do for pneumonia. It’s an inflammation of the lungs with no magic formula to clear the symptoms – might happen one day, but for now we’re dependent on the patient’s own will to survive.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Isla, thinking of all the pneumonia cases she’d nursed, of how the patients had suffered, with high temperature, pain and racking cough … the difficulty in breathing, the struggle to clear the lungs of secretions, the nightmare of facing the crisis, the turning point, which some survived, but many did not.

  And now this dreaded disease was being faced by Mark – her own dear Mark, who she’d been stupid enough to quarrel with, who meant so much, but who might now be taken from her before they could be reconciled. All right, it was true, he hadn’t declared his love, but deep down she knew it was there – it was hers – and maybe all she’d had to do was speak to him about it. But he’d been upset with her over Grant, and she’d been upset anyway, so they’d quarrelled and – oh, God – parted. Please, please, she prayed to the unknown, may we not be parted now.

  ‘How long has Mark been ill?’ Grant was asking. ‘Did his father say?’

  ‘No, I wish I’d asked him.’ She was trying to control her fears. ‘You’re thinking of the crisis?’

  ‘Between the sixth and eighth days, yes. All will depend on that.’ Grant was having to slow down as they reached the outskirts of the city. ‘What’s the address again?’

  ‘Gloucester Place. I think I can guide you, if you like.’

  ‘No, I know it. We’ll be there very soon.’ Again, Grant glanced at Isla. ‘What’s your plan, then? To work with the nurse who’s already there?’

  ‘Oh, Grant, I have no plan.’ Isla was shivering, longing to reach Mark’s home, dreading what she might find there. ‘I just want to see him, know how he is.’

  Parking the car in Gloucester Place, Grant said quietly, ‘Isla, I won’t come in with you. Don’t want to get in the way.’

  ‘No, no, you won’t be in the way. I’m su
re Mark’s doctor and his father would want to talk to you.’ Isla put her hand on Grant’s arm. ‘Come in with me, but first I want to thank you for driving me here. I’m so grateful – I can’t tell you how grateful.’

  ‘I was glad to do it, Isla. Made me feel I’d been of some use.’

  ‘Come, then.’ Taking a deep breath, Isla left the car, Grant following. With trembling finger, she rang the bell of Mark’s home.

  The front door was opened by Mrs Fernie, looking worn and red-eyed. She instantly drew them in, taking Isla’s small case and her coat, though Grant kept his, saying he wouldn’t be staying long.

  ‘I’ll just call Mr Kinnaird, sir – Miss Scott. He won’t be a minute—’

  In fact, he was already with them, his hand outstretched, exclaiming how wonderful it was to see Isla, and how quick she’d been – was it thanks to Dr Revie, then? How very kind, very kind.

  He, too, looked worn and rather older as he held her hand and said he would take her at once to see Mark. Oh, things would be better now, he was sure of it, now that Isla was here; Mark had been so anxious to see her.

  ‘I’ll wait,’ Grant said quickly, at which Mr Kinnaird called Mrs Fernie who took him into her care, while Mr Kinnaird asked Isla to follow him up the stairs.

  ‘Just to the door on the right, my dear. Then you’ll see Mark.’

  Even before she saw him in his bed in his large airy room at the top of the stairs, she could hear the deep wrenching sounds of his breathing, sounds she knew so well but were so particularly painful to her now that she could hardly bear to listen.

  Oh, Mark, Mark!

  She ran to him where he lay, his eyes closed, his face darkly flushed, and sank down beside his bed to take his hand.

  He stirred, his eyelids slowly moving, and then his shadowed eyes recognized her and his whole face seemed to change, to come alive for a moment or two, as he brought out her name.

  ‘Isla? You’re here?’

  ‘Yes, Mark, I’m here,’ she whispered, tears stinging her eyes but held back so that he should not see. ‘I’m here and I won’t leave you. You’re going to get well again, I promise.’

  ‘Promise …’ he tried to say, but even as she watched, he began to cough, and two people she had only vaguely sensed in the room moved to be with him, one a young woman in nurse’s uniform, the other a middle-aged man in a dark suit. The nurse and the doctor. Oh, yes, Isla knew she must now step aside, let them do their job, and, rising, she moved back, still keeping her eyes on Mark. But the doctor came to her.

  ‘I’m Doctor Wynn,’ he whispered. ‘I believe you’re Miss Scott from the hydro? Mr Kinnaird has just asked me to speak to Doctor Revie before he leaves. Perhaps we can talk later?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Suddenly feeling strangely weary, she sank into a chair as the doctor withdrew, and watched as the nurse helped Mark to bring up sputum, then settled him against his pillows before turning to glance and then faintly smile at Isla.

  The face, the smile – were they familiar?

  Isla, failing to manage a smile back, thought they might be. But from where? The short bobbed hair didn’t ring any bells, but surely she had seen the friendly, pretty face somewhere before?

  ‘Remember me?’ whispered the nurse, coming close. ‘I’m Margie MacCallum. We met at the interview at the hydro.’

  ‘Margie MacCallum … Yes, I do remember! I’m Isla Scott. But you look different somehow—’

  ‘Only my hair. I had it bobbed. It was always coming down.’ Margie’s smile had faded. ‘But you’re Mr Kinnaird’s friend, aren’t you? Oh, you must be feeling so bad, but you mustn’t despair. The doctor is very hopeful, and, see, the breathing is a little better, isn’t it?’

  Looking back at Mark, his breathing did seem rather easier, though his eyes were closed again and he appeared to be sleeping.

  ‘You look all in,’ Margie said softly. ‘How about a cup of tea?’

  ‘I just want to be with him.’

  ‘Tea first. Quick now, I’ll watch over him.’

  ‘I won’t be long, then.’

  With a last look at Mark, Isla, knowing she must have something to keep her going, left the sick room to make her way to the dining room, where she found Grant with the doctor and Mr Kinnaird. She would have gone directly to Grant, if Mrs Fernie hadn’t insisted that she have some of her chicken soup – perfect for energy.

  ‘I was thinking of tea …’ Isla began, but it was easier just to take the soup, until Grant came up and whispered that he must be on his way.

  ‘Finish that soup, though, it’ll do you good, and then come and see me off, will you? I’ve made my goodbyes to Mr Kinnaird and Doctor Wynn.’

  Obediently, she followed him into the hall where he turned to her, his blue eyes serious.

  ‘Tell me how you found Mark. He was my patient once. I feel so bad for him.’

  ‘I’d say he’s holding his own, but’ – Isla’s voice shook – ‘there’s no doubt he’s very ill.’

  ‘As you know, pneumonia is always a danger to chronic bronchitis, but his doctor here is confident he’ll fight it. Don’t give up hope.’ Grant gave a final press to her hand. ‘If you can, will you let me know how things go?’

  ‘I will. And thank you, Grant, thank you again for all your help. You know what it meant to me.’

  ‘Meant a lot to me to do something for you and Mark.’ He paused a moment. ‘Goodbye, then, Isla.’

  ‘Goodbye, Grant.’

  ‘Come back when you can.’

  She nodded but made no reply, and after he’d kissed her briefly on the cheek, he was gone. She waited a moment, then turned away, thinking only of Mark, but first she had to have a quick word of encouragement with Mr Kinnaird, and be encouraged herself by Dr Wynn who said he was grateful to her for being there. Next, there was tea to drink and her room to see – and all the time she was on pins, waiting to be with Mark again, even if he didn’t know she was there.

  But when she was finally by his bed again, he did know she was there, for his eyes were open and on her face, and he even lifted his moist, hot hand to put into hers.

  ‘Isla,’ he whispered. ‘You’re back again. All … I wanted.’

  ‘All I want, too, Mark, to be near you.’

  There she stayed, until he fell asleep, when she lay on the sofa in his room, even though Margie tried to make her go to her bed.

  ‘Tomorrow night, maybe,’ Isla told her. ‘Tonight, I’ll stay here.’

  Seventy-Two

  When would the crisis come? That was the question on everyone’s mind, as Mark’s illness appeared to have reached a plateau of suffering, with continual coughing, pain and fever, the only change in sight being that terrible turning point when he would either come through to recovery – or not.

  Six to eight days after the onset of the illness was when the crisis could be expected, which meant that it could come as early as two days after Isla’s arrival.

  ‘You will be staying on?’ Mr Kinnaird had asked her anxiously after her first night spent by Mark’s side, and she had assured him that she would. It was what she had come for, and she and Nurse MacCallum would manage all the nursing between them.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ he said fervently. ‘We’d been about to engage a second nurse, but if you’re willing to stay—’

  ‘It’s all I want,’ she told him simply. ‘To look after Mark and see him through.’

  ‘Isla, you have all my thanks.’ Mark’s father’s voice thickened and he briefly wiped his eyes. ‘He’s all I have, as you know. But if there’s anything I can do for you – anything you need – you have only to say.’

  ‘Well, there is something – if you wouldn’t mind …’

  ‘Anything, my dear.’

  ‘May I use your telephone, then? I’m sending a postcard to my parents to tell them what’s been happening, but I’d like to ring my brother at college and just speak to him.’

  ‘Of course, of course, Isla! Please, rin
g him now.’

  It was a relief to tell Boyd of Mark’s illness and feel his sympathy even over the telephone. Of course, he wanted to come to see Mark, but Isla said it would be better to wait; Mark wasn’t up to seeing visitors and they were waiting now for the crisis.

  ‘He’ll come through, Isla, I’m sure of it. He’s young and he’s got the will to live – that’s what counts, they say. But keep in touch, eh? Let us know how things go. And don’t worry about the folks. I’ll see them at Christmas, while Magda goes to her father’s. They’ll understand that you have to stay with Mark.’

  Deeply grateful, Isla hurried back to Mark, to do all that was required for him, while Margie cheerfully sorted and bore away a great quantity of laundry.

  Cheerful – yes, that was the word for Margie, and Isla, who was finding it a real bonus to be working with so pleasant and caring a nurse, thought she’d been lucky.

  There was never much time to talk, of course, but later that day, when Mark was sleeping, having been given medication by Dr Wynn to ease his pain, the girls did manage to have a cup of tea together, and Margie said how glad she was to be working with Isla.

  ‘To tell you the truth, I was really scared of working with one of those battleaxes from the agency, you know. It’s so much nicer with you – I remember thinking how friendly you were at the interview. Of course, we all knew you’d get the job!’

  ‘Now, how could you have known that?’ Isla asked with a smile. ‘But I liked you, too. Did you never get into a hospital post, then?’

  ‘Och, no, I think it was my hair! Always coming down. Folk probably thought I was too scatty. So I decided to go for agency work, got my hair trimmed, got a job, and everything’s worked out well.’

  Margie’s eyes on Isla were suddenly full of sympathy. ‘But I’m so sorry your young man’s so ill, Isla. Try not to worry. We’ve both seen cases just like his, eh, and they’ve pulled through? He will, too.’

  ‘There’s the crisis ahead,’ Isla said in a low voice. ‘I never stop thinking about it. I almost wish it was here now.’