‘And nor are you, son.’ I guessed he’d take the term as a gross insult. He did. ‘As your uncle is, when he shows up he can tell me if I’m right or wrong. Till then I’m going to do what I think’s right.’ I had found a rather attractive little room overlooking the loch. ‘I’ll put Judy in here.’
I took her temperature again when she was in bed. It was one hundred and three, I crushed two aspirins in a little water. ‘Gargle and swallow, Judy.’
‘Ugh! How foul!’
‘Isn’t it just? But it’ll ease your, throat and that headache.’
After the aspirins she drank warm milk. ‘You’re right. It doesn’t hurt so much to swallow now. But I do feel funny. Sort of all aching.’
She had no sign of any form of rash. I stayed with her for some minutes, after she fell asleep, and wished I had had more experience in the ordinary childish ailments. Having trained in a teaching hospital, my paediatric experience had been almost exclusively concerned with the abnormal. Consequently, as I now weighed her signs and symptoms, a nightmarish row of differential diagnoses occurred to me. ‘Rheumatic fever? Meningitis? Polio? And God forbid it, but, having seen too much in children, I couldn’t rule it out ‒ leukaemia? A high temp, sore throat, headache, general aches ‒ classic kick-off symptoms for the lot. But so they were, I reminded myself, for measles, chicken-pox, scarlet, acute tonsillitis, and even in more severe attacks of German measles.
Her uncle must be back soon. Surely he couldn’t spend another night on that ruddy mountain?
Suppose he did? Could I leave Judy all night without getting hold of some local doctor? The telephone exchange or the local minister or someone could give me a hand. Should I stop waiting and ring round now?
I touched Judy’s forehead. It was slightly cooler and she was deeply asleep.
I tried looking at her as if she were a patient in Martha’s and I was on nights. Would I get a medical registrar out of bed for a child in her condition? She was getting sleep, rest, and warmth, the essential basics for recovery from any complaint. I wouldn’t call up any registrar ‒ yet. That was the rub. In Martha’s I had only to lift a telephone receiver to have an assortment of physicians and drugs on tap. Achnagairl House was not Martha’s, and outside the evening was growing misty.
The mist thickened. Judy slept on. The boys and I ate for supper one of the twin casseroles prepared by Mrs Cameron. Every few minutes one or other boy jumped up. ‘That must be Uncle Dougal.’ It wasn’t.
Johnnie pressed his face against a window. ‘I can’t see anything. How can anyone find anyone in this, Elizabeth?’
That thought had been in my mind for some time. ‘Maybe this mist looks different if one’s born to it.’
Robin said, ‘Those two English chaps lost on the Ben won’t be used to it. I wonder if they’re still up there?’
‘Why?’ asked Johnnie cheerfully. ‘Think they’ve fallen off? Will they be awfully dead if they have, Elizabeth?’
A few minutes later I went up for another look at Judy, leaving the boys enjoying a hideously gory discussion and wondering why people get so worked up about the effects on children of violence in their television programmes. I was all for adults being protected in that context. Though I was a trained nurse, the boys’ conversation just now had made me downright queasy, but they looked happier than at any time since we met at Euston.
I had left Judy’s bedside lamp on and set it on the floor. The circle of soft light was enough to show me from her doorway that she had not stirred since my last visit. She looked hotter. I went in and took her pulse without waking her. It was up.
Her room was at the front, and the dining-room in which the boys were sitting at the back. They didn’t hear the mist-muffled voices outside and then the footsteps. I hurried back to the stairs and was half-way down when the front door opened. ‘Professor Grant?’ I went on down. ‘I’m sorry to startle you, but Joe couldn’t come up with the children, so I brought ’em. I’m Elizabeth Wade.’
Momentarily, the man in the doorway just stared at me. Then he stepped slowly into the hall, closed the front door, and shut out the mist before removing his white crash helmet with its still-attached headlamp. He wore a crumpled and stained garish orange anorak, his dark hair was soaked with mist and sweat, his face was grey with fatigue and mountain-dust, and his chin was rough with a day-old beard. He was younger than I had anticipated, though his actual age at that moment was impossible to guess.
‘Yes. I’m Dougal Grant. Good evening, Miss Wade.’ He removed a glove to shake hands and hung it over the ice-axe fixed through his leather belt. ‘You’re very welcome to my house.’ He unhitched and heaved off the haversack on his shoulders, and his stance showed from whom Johnnie had inherited his square shoulders. ‘You drove them from Glasgow?’
Before I could answer the boys exploded into the hall, talking simultaneously.
‘Quiet, laddies! Yes, those Englishmen are safe ‒ and you can tell me of Mrs Cameron’s daughter later. First things first.’ Professor Grant put his belt and ice-axe on the chest and unzipped his anorak. ‘So Judy’s unwell, Miss Wade?’
‘I’m afraid so. She seems to have some kind of chill. She’s in bed and asleep.’
‘No doubt the best place.’ He glanced at the boys, then back to me. ‘You’re a nurse? Trained?’ I nodded. ‘That’s providential.’ He sent Robin to make tea, Johnnie to find Mrs Cameron’s letter in his study. ‘Now they’ve gone,’ he said quietly, ‘could you enlarge on that tactfully brief report?’
I gave him the kind of report I would have given any physician, on-duty. Since Martha’s nurses were not, officially, permitted to diagnose, I offered no diagnosis.
He said, ‘Sounds like a strep throat. Fortunately I’ve antibiotics in the house.’
‘Good.’
Johnnie had inherited his eyes as well as his shoulders. His direct gaze took me back to Euston last night. ‘You think it may be more complicated than that?’
‘Quite honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t seen enough normal ailments. She does give me the impression she’s cooking something, but I may be dramatizing.’
‘Aye. The worst of any good teaching hospital is the impression it gives one that every illness has to be a major illness. One tends to forget the legion of minor illnesses that never get inside a teaching ward. You must’ve had an anxious time. I’ll take a look at her now.’
‘Shall I come?’
‘You’ve done more than enough on my behalf, thank you.’ He opened the dining-room door for me. ‘If you’ll sit by the fire I’ll be down directly.’ He threw on more logs. ‘When do you have to be back on duty?’
‘Seven-thirty, Monday morning.’
‘That should present no problem as you’ll be flying back. You don’t object to flying? Good. Then I’ll attend to the details later. Are you comfortable in that chair?’
‘Very, thanks. But can’t I help? You must be dead tired.’
‘Weary, naturally, though I’m accustomed to mountain rescue work.’ He looked at me, reflectively. ‘I doubt you’re accustomed to driving the long road from Glasgow, and with a sick child. I’m much in your debt as it is. I’ve no wish to add to that by returning you to London exhausted by your wee interlude in the Highlands.’
He was gone about fifteen minutes. On his return he had changed into a dark roll-neck sweater and grey trousers. His hair was neat, but with his unshaven chin he still looked thuggish. ‘Possibly just strep, though I’ll reserve judgment until I can see her in daylight.’ He sat down and made polite conversation about Joe, our journey up, my job in the theatre, his local mountaineering club. ‘Ah, good! Will you put that tea down on the table, Robin?’
When I refused a second cup he said he was sure I was more than ready to retire. ‘Would you care to use the room by the right of Judy’s?’
‘Thanks, yes, if you’re sure I can’t help?’
‘Quite sure. Thank you.’ He gave me a civil little bow. ‘I hope you sleep well. Goodnight
, Miss Wade.’
‘Goodnight, Professor Grant.’
I went upstairs feeling I had suddenly stepped back a couple of centuries, while at the same time realizing there was more than one way of getting an unwanted guest out of the family’s hair. But I was tired and he was obviously capable of looking after Judy. I dropped thankfully into bed.
Occasionally I woke and heard him next door. Once I looked at my watch. Ten to five. Did he never use sleep?
It was still dark outside, but the mist had gone and through the darkness the outline of the hills was plain. Ben Gairlie was a giant black shadow in the pre-dawn sky. As I had no head for heights of any description, the idea of climbing for pleasure was beyond my comprehension. Presumably, as my host was a member of the local mountain rescue team, he was an experienced climber. I wished I knew him well enough to ask if ‘because it’s there’ was the whole answer, and then my mind flashed back to my former notions of an elderly, arthritic, and bronchitic professor, limping down from the mountain. I fell asleep again, smiling, and when I woke the sun was on my face.
It seemed only five minutes later, and, forgetting briefly where I was, I raised myself on an elbow to blink at the clock over the Medical School. The present returned directly I saw the loch, steel-grey and flecked with white. The sky was heavy with thick white clouds sweeping inland from the Atlantic and obscuring the upper half of the Ben. A colony of gulls flying over the water in strict formation made grey-white splashes against the tan hills, and the sun was shining on the houses on the opposite side of the loch. They were blue and white and they looked attractive, yet they worried me. I could not think why until I realized the sun was in the wrong place for early morning. I reached for my watch. It was eleven o’clock.
The house was silent as I leapt out of bed. I put my head round Judy’s door, and, from her colour and breathing as she slept, her temperature was normal. Relief removed some of my ill-humour at being allowed to oversleep. Having worried over and to a minor extent nursed Judy, I had developed the instant affection for her most nurses developed as quickly for most child patients. It could take days, even weeks, to get close to a sick adult, but after an hour alone with a sick child one could make friends for life. With some children one could do that without being ill; Johnnie was an example. Robin was one of the other kind, and, in fairness to him, he was at a much more tricky age. Dressing quickly, I mused on what type of patient Robin would make, and decided he would be very good providing he was ill enough. With a minor ailment he’d be sheer murder.
I wished I had more than my blue jersey suit, coat, and one spare sweater with me. Yesterday’s drive had done nothing for my suit, and the good Highland air was having a disastrous effect on my hair. Combing made it crackle with electricity and then stand on end. I surveyed my reflection, glumly. All I needed to complete the picture was a flower, a row of beads, and a bell.
I went out on the empty landing and paused by a window overlooking the bare front garden and the solitary Scots pine at the gate. A large white foreign car was parked outside the gate, and a man and woman stood by it, talking. It was a couple of seconds before I recognized my host, and not only because he had had a shave.
In daylight his hair and eyes were darker than Johnnie’s, his high cheek-bones were more marked, and his jaw was much more square. He was closer to thirty than forty, and he wore a tweed jacket and a darkish kilt. The kilt suited him as he had good legs, tanned and not bony knees, and he was not too tall. He was about five foot eleven. The young woman with him came up to his shoulder.
She was a brunette with regular features and an exquisite complexion. Her pink tweed suit looked hand-woven, very expensive, and worth every penny. She looked wonderful, and from Dougal Grant’s smile he thought so too. I thought of Joe’s ‘hasn’t bitten a woman in years’. Joe should see dear old Uncle right now. I went on down.
Johnnie charged into the hall. ‘You’ve slept ages. You’re as bad as Judy, but Uncle said we weren’t to come up to you until you came down. Judy did wake for breakfast, then she went back to sleep, and Uncle says we mustn’t make a row as sleep’ll do her more good than any drugs north or south of the Border.’ Unconsciously he mimicked the faint lilt in his uncle’s voice and the very much more marked accentuation of the ‘r’s. ‘I thought you’d just never wake up. Mrs Pringle says you must have an affection for your bed. She’s been fearfully busy, and she’s been keeping your breakfast hot hours and hours!’
‘Mrs Pringle? Who’s she?’
‘Mrs Cameron’s sister. She used to be Uncle Dougal and our Mummy’s nanny when they were small. She came ever so early after Uncle Dougal sent her a message, and she’s staying till Mrs Cameron gets back, only she hasn’t moved in properly as she came here after she’d been to church, only she calls it “the kirk”, and she says today is the Sabbath. Uncle Dougal cooked us a fab breakfast before she came. We noshed and noshed!’
‘Jolly good. Sorry I missed it. I hope your uncle didn’t mind?’
‘Gosh, no! He said it was nice for you to rest, and much more fun for us men to eat in peace. He’s been fearfully busy,’ he rattled on. ‘He’s rung Joe and Mrs Evans and the old doctor who lives in that only other house this side of the loch. His name’s Dr Sinclair, and he’s coming to see Judy this afternoon because Judy’s got It. Uncle Dougal asked Joe if Robin and me’d had It. Joe said we had, ages ago, and he’s had It and Mrs Pringle’s had It, and so has Uncle Dougal, and he’s going to ask you if you have.’
So she had been cooking something. Whatever it was, from the way she looked, she had it mildly. ‘Johnnie, what’s It? Can you remember?’
He frowned in thought. ‘No. Sorry. Uncle Dougal knows?’ He flung open the front door. ‘Uncle Dougal, here’s Elizabeth, and she wants to know what It is!’
Dougal Grant came up the path. ‘I’ll explain, directly, Johnnie. Will you away to Mrs Pringle and ask her to make Miss Wade fresh tea?’ He wished me a polite good-morning, expressed deep happiness at my long rest, and introduced me to his companion. She was a Mrs Maureen Valentine. He called her Maury.
She looked me over and smiled very, very sweetly. ‘The Good Samaritan I’ve been hearing so much about!’ She clasped her hands to prove life had no more to offer.
‘So kind! So sensible! So intrepid! But then you couldn’t know Dougal normally refuses to let any woman behind the wheel of his car.’
He said quickly, ‘On this occasion, Maury, I’m most grateful to Miss Wade for taking matters into her own hands.’
‘My dear, I know that.’ She laid a hand on his arm and kept it there. ‘I’m sure Joe Fenton will be equally grateful. And you’ve always said he’s such a nice lad.’ She smiled on me again. ‘Let me guess. You two are engaged?’
I smiled very, very sweetly. ‘No.’
‘You mean it’s still a secret? Say no more. I so understand! I was just the same when I first met my beloved Pete. I couldn’t talk about it. Remember that summer, Dougal darling? When Pete came up to see Daddy about filming one of his books and we met and married inside of three months?’
‘I’ve not forgotten.’
I glanced at Dougal Grant. I could have been wrong, but I had the immediate impression that he would have preferred not to have been reminded of that period. I looked thoughtfully at Maury Valentine.
She barely stopped for breath. ‘We used to live in old Dr Sinclair’s house. My father was a writer and passionate fisherman ‒ wasn’t he just, Dougal? ‒ and he came up for the fishing one year, when I was ten, and never left Gairlie again until he died. I lived here until I married ten years ago and went out to Kenya. For years,’ she assured me, ‘I practically lived in Achnagairl. You can imagine the comfort it has been to me, since I lost my husband in a car accident last year and came back to Gairlie, to be among old friends again. I’ve a house up the glen, now. I wish you could come and see it ‒ but you’ll be leaving us so soon. Such a pity! You’ve seen nothing of Gairlie.’
Dougal said, ‘A
s I’ve explained to you, Maury, Miss Wade’s return still remains an open question.’ He faced me. ‘Judy’s got scarlet. Have you had it?’
Oh, God, I thought, no! He wasn’t going to like it, and nor would Mrs Valentine. Nor did I. I had to be honest. ‘Not as far as I know, but as we had an epidemic among the staff at Martha’s in my first year and I missed it, I can only guess I had it as a small child, or have a natural immunity.’
Mrs Valentine’s smooth face tightened, peevishly. ‘Why not ring your mother? She’ll know, surely.’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not possible.’ From the speed with which Dougal spoke Joe had given him my family history. ‘So.’ He smiled rather nicely. ‘Though that question remains open, it settles another. As a scarlet suspect you can’t travel anywhere by public transport, and unless I’m much mistaken you certainly won’t be welcome back at Martha’s until you’re in the clear. I hope you’ll have no objection to staying on here with us? You’ll be most welcome.’
I felt weak. ‘That’s very kind of you, Professor Grant. Perhaps if I could ring my Matron first?’
‘Of course. I’ll have a word with her presently. I’m afraid I know very well what she’ll say.’
Unfortunately so did I. I apologized for causing so much trouble. He said it was no trouble at all and any apology was due from him to me. ‘As the incubation period for scarlet is so short, you won’t have long to wait,’ he continued. ‘I’ve known cases develop within twenty-four hours of contact, though more commonly on the second or third day after, and never, in my experience, after the seventh day. To be safe, I think we should allow a clear week from today. You agree?’
It was a civil query, but, as he was well aware, I was in no position to disagree with the medical opinion of a Professor of Tropical Medicine. ‘Of course. Thank you.’
Mrs Valentine drawled, ‘My, my, aren’t you the lucky one? A week’s holiday in the Highlands!’
I nearly told her to stop worrying. I thought Dougal Grant looked great in a kilt, but his olde-worlde good manners were beginning to wear me down. As he was the first Scottish Highlander I had met on his home ground, I didn’t know whether he was a typical or way-out example of the race, or whether his Scottish upbringing and years in Africa where responsible for his seeming so out of touch with the life I was accustomed to living in London. Obviously he and I belonged in different centuries as well as different races. I preferred mine. The men I knew in London might not treat me as if I were made of glass, but they did treat me like a girl, and not just a female. I was only now discovering there could be a difference. It was amusing, for a little while. I was equally amused by Maury Valentine’s bothering to give me her life history as a warning-off. I felt much happier about my blue jersey suit, and the reverse about the coming week.
Highland Interlude Page 3