“Who was that?” Rachel asked, sneaking up on him from behind the helicopter. She’d been too late to see the stranger’s face and by the time she’d cleared the fuselage, the man had been halfway across the field and running away, as if he’d just seen a ghost. But she’d caught something about Martha being beautiful and so couldn’t disguise the green-eyed monster that now glared at Patrick, waiting for an explanation.
“That was someone called Donald, he’s brought some sandwiches for one of the staff.” Patrick said dismissively. “By all accounts the girl was so excited at our planned visit that she clean forgot to bring them with her this morning.” Patrick added scornfully, as he threw the paper package to Rachel. “Here be a love and ask reception to find the girl and give them to her, will you?”
Her eyes, like a set of traffic lights, changed colour to red, as she was given her orders. Just who, she wondered, did he think he was talking to? Rachel idled in neutral for a few seconds and once her initial flush of anger had died away, moved on.
“You know for a minute I thought I recognised the chap, but then I was stood inside the hotel and you two were obscured by the plane’s fuselage.” She said thoughtfully, as she ignored Patrick’s command.
“Plane! It’s a bloody helicopter Rachel, not a plane… how many more times must I tell you and anyway I thought you told me that you’d never been up here before.” Rachel felt duly chastised but this time the lights seemed to be stuck on red.
“I haven’t! And I don’t know anyone called Donald but something looked familiar about the chap… and my name, if you remember, isn’t Rachel nor Cox nor Bouchet… I thought I was supposed to be here under some false pretext… some big, potential corporate client who was looking for a venue for their next sales meeting?” She wasn’t sure if Patrick thought it necessary to lie about her real name to protect her feelings or ensure that his good name wasn’t sullied in any way but whatever the real reason, she’d gone along with the ruse because the deception had given the trip an extra frisson of excitement.
“Sorry, yes you’re right. Come on let me show you round and then I know a place where we can have a private tête–à–tête and I don’t mean so we can discuss the hotel’s policy for dealing with corporate customers.” Patrick added with a cheeky wink.
Donald ran most of the way back to Dr Monroe’s surgery and as he stood on the pavement looking up at the impressive stone building, which also double as the town’s only pharmacy, he wondered what it was that was so important. He knew he’d disappointed Dr Monroe and the other medical staff at the hospital because he’d not been able to remember anything of importance… in fact of all the people he knew now, only Martha had really accepted him for who he was and not who he might have been. They hadn’t said as much to his face but he felt that both the doctor and Mrs Henderson didn’t trust him. They still feared more what he might have been, rather than liked who he was. He’d even overheard Martha’s father telling her to be careful around him… that she didn’t know enough of his past… that he might be running away from something… something that they didn’t want to get involved with.
“Good Lord Martha, be sensible. He says he can’t remember anything about his past! Well until he does… you need to tread carefully and keep your distance. If you get too involved with him, it will only end in tears, you mark my words. ” Her father had pleaded passionately.
Donald shrugged off his self-doubts and as instructed checked the state of his boots before making the grave mistake of soiling Mrs Henderson’s polished waiting room floor. He was relieved to see that the run back along the coast road had dislodged all of the mud and dirt, which he’d picked up in the fields and woods, but to make doubly sure he didn’t offend Mrs Henderson or her clean floor, he’d judiciously wiped each boot in turn on the small patch of grass that formed the well-manicured verge directly outside the surgery.
“Come in Donald. Mrs Henderson phoned to say you were on your way. Did you manage to see Martha?” The doctor asked in his kind bedside manner. Perhaps it was the surgery’s cocooned influence but his voice sounded more soothing and welcoming than it did at home, Donald thought, as he walked through the empty waiting room and into the doctor’s office.
He’d been to the surgery before to fix the odd dripping tap but he’d never entered the doctor’s inner sanctum. The room was small, with a window that overlooked the High Street and was warmed by a small old fashioned gas fire, which occupied the tiled fireplace and spluttered away as the blue flames licked the fire bricks, giving them an orange glow that further enhanced the feeling of well-being. In the corner, next to the doctor’s desk was a large couch, whilst in front were positioned two rather uncomfortable looking chairs. Donald picked the one nearest the wall and sat down without being asked.
The doctor fidgeted nervously, as he shuffled some papers on his desk and played with his beloved stethoscope, which was normally draped around his neck like some tribal necklace but today it was curled on the leather topped desk like a coiled asp waiting to pounce. The doctor’s stress would have been evident to anyone… anyone that is with the possible exception of Donald and that only made the situation worse for Martha’s father, for it felt as if he was about to betray Donald’s innocent trust and possibly loose his daughter’s love and respect… The stress he knew he could cope with, the loss of Martha’s affection was a totally different story and one for which he didn’t have a prescription.
After losing his wife, Dr Monroe had just immersed himself in his work. It had always been a solitary practice and the thought of calling in a locum to cover his absence, had never entered his head… and anyway he knew that his patients would simply have waited until he’d returned to work and then they’d all have piled into his first surgery, bringing him all their troubles, aches and pains.
And when he’d not been stressed about the complications surrounding a birth or the effect on a family of a loved one’s death, there’d been Martha for him to worry about and lose sleepless nights over. Oh, he’d been well aware of his failings as a father and he’d looked to the ever resourceful and dependable Mrs Henderson to care for and raise Martha in her own strict way, but that had been no substitute for the love of her own mother or the guiding affection of her father.
Before his wife’s death, Mrs Henderson who’d daily cleaned his surgery, had only come in twice a week to help Martha’s mother look after the house by doing the laundry and changing the beds. But following the funeral, just when Dr Monroe was at his lowest point and he thought he might not be able to cope with life and a child without the love and support of his beloved wife, Mrs Henderson had stepped in and had suggested a more permanent arrangement as his housekeeper, leaving the doctor to tend his patients and wallow in his own grief.
Of course there’d been gossip. Cromarty was a small town, which was no better than any other provincial town when it came to narrow minded busybodies, but it seemed downright backward and introverted when the rules of rural living were deemed to have been broken … and when it came to tittle-tattle in the pubs and shops, it had almost no rival.
The doctor though had remained ignorant of the wagging tongues. Only Mrs Henderson knew what people were saying behind his back but they’d never dared to hint at any form of impropriety to her face. When she walked into the post office or shop, all such gossiping stopped dead. Her stare could kill a cockroach at thirty paces and not one of the villagers… not even the burly fishermen down at the docks, were brave enough to take on the small, wizened old lady.
So she’d shielded the doctor and Martha from the worst of the innuendos and slurs in the only way she knew how… the Monroe’s house became a fortress against the outside world. No one was invited there and Martha was never let out alone, unless it was to play in the garden, which over time became more of a jungle than the pristine horticultural delight it had been whilst Mrs Monroe had been alive.
But she knew Martha couldn’t stay sheltered all her life and her job up at the hotel was
her first step on her journey into life and the outside world and then he’d arrived… Donald, the man with no past and as far as Mrs Henderson had been concerned, no future… well certainly not one that involved Dr Monroe’s house, Martha or Cromarty.
Mrs Henderson had seen a change come over Martha from that first evening she’d come home and told her about the strange man who’d walked into the hotel and collapsed into her arms. Oh she’d tried to stop her going to the hospital to visit the man but it had been impossible and Dr Monroe hadn’t been much help… he never had been where his daughter’s welfare had shown a cause for concern. And each time Martha had come back from one of her hospital visits, Mrs Henderson had watched for the sign, that first moment when something more than concern for a helpless stranger struck… then it had happened and there’d been nothing she could do about it.
The wee girl had persuaded her father to let him come back to their house and stay under the same roof. All Mrs Henderson’s protestations had fallen on deaf ears and at that moment she knew she’d lost the battle. The really sad part of it all though was that she was the only one who could see what was happening. Martha was too innocent to know that she was falling in love, whilst Dr Monroe was too busy working and looking after his patients to notice the change in his daughter.
Then there was Donald… the interloper and the cause of all the angst. He was either too stupid to see the signs of blossoming young love or too clever forging his new life and inveigling himself into Martha’s affections to worry about the effect his presence was having on the household. For all Mrs Henderson knew, he could have been just another lothario or gigolo or as her favourite newspaper, The Sun would call him… Love Rat. She could see the headline… “Local love rat dumps wife for younger model.” …and that she could never let happen.
She knew from the moment that Donald came to live in the house that whatever the cost, she had to get him out of their lives.
“No doctor, she was busy when I got there but I saw and spoke to someone called Fitzgerald, apparently he’s the owner… or so he claimed.”
“Ah yes that would be Patrick Fitzgerald… what did he say to you?” The doctor was interested to see how Donald had interacted with the stranger.
“He told me not to touch his helicopter… but I was only touching it because it…” Suddenly he didn’t really know why he’d touched it.
“Yes Donald? Why did you touch it?”
“I don’t know. There was something in my head which made me think I’d seen it before or at least something that was black and shiny.” Donald didn’t understand any of what had happened to him. The conundrum that he’d faced since the day when he’d woken up in the hospital was that if he didn’t have a single recollection of anything before a certain time, how could he be sure that he’d merely forgotten it… rather than it had never happened?
Everyone said that he just couldn’t remember this fact or that but as he’d asked Dr Monroe once…
“If I’d have woken on a desert island with no one else around, how would I know I’d lost my memory?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about Donald.” Dr Monroe said reassuringly, just as he would as if he’d been talking to any of his patients.
“But I wasn’t going to damage it, just touch it.” Donald jumped to his own defence.
“I’m sure you were Donald but that’s not what I meant. It’s the fact that you thought it reminded you of something, which is important. Mrs Henderson says it’s happened a few times recently. She thinks you might be starting to remember your past.” Donald was confused by the news. Strangely, he couldn’t remember a single occasion when the housekeeper had been present, when he’d had any sort of flashback… however small or transient.
“Really, what did she say?”
“Well, she thinks that with help… some sort of stimulation you might remember more.”
“Maybe I don’t want to, has Mrs Henderson thought of that? I’m not being ungrateful Dr Monroe but I don’t recall any such incidents.” The doctor thought his patient seemed agitated at the prospect, perhaps his housekeeper had been right all along, maybe there was something in the man’s past, which he wanted to remain a secret and if that was the case it could only mean one thing… Donald knew more about himself than he was saying and everything that he’d done had been an act, and if that was the case then she might also be correct in thinking that Martha could be in danger.
“Look Donald, I’ve been talking with a friend of mine and he thinks he may be able to help you.”
“He’s another doctor? Like you?” Donald asked, interrupting.
“Not exactly like me, but he works with lots of people like you… people who have forgotten things.”
“What like where they left their keys or their mobile phone, because that would be very useful. In fact Mrs Henderson ought to see your friend, she’s always walking round the house asking herself where she’s put this and that.” The ludicrousness of the whole situation made Dr Monroe smile.
“I’m sure she does Donald but that’s not the sort of forgetfulness I’m talking about. You see what happens to Mrs Henderson happens with everyone from time to time, especially as we get older but with you… your loss of memory is more fundamental and complex. It’s like there is something in your head that is stopping you remembering your past. Now that could be something physical, like a tumour or an injury or it could be something that we can’t see with scans and tests. Its more subconscious than physical… do you understand what I mean?”
The medical team at Inverness had done every test possible and they’d all come back clear… physically there appeared to be nothing wrong with Donald.
“So if you can’t see anything, how can this friend of yours’ help?”
“He runs a special, private clinic in the lake district, where people go and stay to recover from various types of illnesses and injuries that affect their brains. I’ve talked to him this morning and he would be prepared to try and help you… as a special favour to me. Of course there is one condition…”
“What’s that?” Donald asked the obvious question, which opened the door for Dr Monroe to explain the more difficult part of his proposal.
“You have to stay there… at the clinic, until your memory returns.”
“When do I have to decide if I want to go or not?”
“Well I spoke to Alistair… that’s my friend’s name and he says that you can go immediately… today, but if you delay then the place will go to another person.” Dr Monroe was keen not to lose the impetus or give Donald too much time to think. “Now Mrs Henderson has packed your things into a bag and I’ve asked Mr McHendry who runs the local taxi if he would take you there and…” The last part he was unsure how to explain, as part of him didn’t want Donald to leave for he knew Martha would be devastated when she found out.
“And?” Donald asked intuitively.
“And Donald… he’s waiting outside with your bag in the boot. If you leave now, you’ll be there by tonight and can start the treatment tomorrow.”
“What about Martha? Can’t I say goodbye first?”
“No!” Dr Monroe said a little too quickly for Donald’s liking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go and leave without saying goodbye, even if it would only be for a few days. “No Donald, that’s not possible. Anyway she’ll be busy at work and she wants to make a good impression today. Look, I’ll tell her where you’ve gone and that you’ve said goodbye. I sure she’ll write to you very soon. Now are you ready? This is going to be very exciting time for you because there’s a whole world somewhere out there with all your memories locked away inside it. All you have to do is find the key that will unlock them.”
Martha arrived home slightly earlier than normal, as she’d run all the way from the hotel right up to the front door of the house. She’d been so keen to tell Donald all her news about her day that without stopping to take a breath she’d rushed straight outside into the garden, where she knew she’d fi
nd him still working hard in the garden.
Unfortunately, Mrs Henderson had been clearing the sheets from his bed and removing the last vestiges of Donald’s presence from the house when the front door had slammed shut. Belatedly alerted to Martha’s unexpected arrival, the housekeeper had been prevented from bounding down the stairs to intercept her, by a conspiracy of dirty laundry, which was piled high on the landing and a painful bout of rheumatism that meant the old woman could do little more than hobble down each of the stairs.
After two minutes of frantic searching, Martha stood still and listened for any clues as to Donald’s whereabouts, but the only sounds she heard were the birds singing in the trees, a solitary seagull squawking out its welcome from its perch high up on the tallest chimneypot and through it all the melodious background noise of the sea gently washing the edges of the beach, as it ebbed back and forth with metronomic regularity.
Unsure why Donald wasn’t working in the garden on such a pleasant day, Martha hesitated for only a moment before she rushed giddily out of the garden and onto the beach sure that the only other place he might be would be the stretch of sand, but a quick glance up and down the pebble-strewn shoreline dashed any hope she might have had. For nowhere along the open stretch of sand could she see a single trace of Donald or the seals.
Disappointed by his absence and the news that Mr Fitzgerald had sent his apologies for being so rude and had even offered to give him a ride in the helicopter by way of saying sorry, Martha dejectedly hung her head and slowly made her way back into the garden and the potting shed where her last hope was that Donald had perhaps taken an afternoon nap and not heard her calling for him. But once more her anticipation at finding him curled up like a child in a cot was dashed when she found the shed deserted.
“Where are you Donald?” She asked out loud in desperation. Suddenly it occurred to her that maybe he was playing a joke on her and was merely waiting for her to turn her back before he’d spring out of his hiding place and playfully surprise her.
Stranger at the Wedding Page 16