Tangled Autumn

‘Mine’s Gloria.’

The sitting room was charmingly odd, for it had been furnished largely by the better-off members of the community, but as most of the inhabitants had contributed something, there was a delightful hotch-potch of Victoriana; handsome rugs, two armchairs with rather startling covers, a modern and very efficient-looking desk crammed into one corner, and a variety of cushions of every conceivable size and shape. The walls supported a remarkable collection of pictures, dominated by ‘The Stag at Bay’ over the fireplace, on either side of which were two dim sepia-tinted photographs of elderly ladies in the heavily laden hats of a past era, and they in turn were flanked by ‘When did you last see your Father?’ on the one side and a cross-stitch text framed repulsively in plush and bearing the words ‘Flee from the Wrath to come’ on the other.

Sappha allowed her fascinated gaze to take in these samples of art before turning her attention to the third wall, which held, surprisingly, a delicate watercolour of the harbour and a pair of coloured prints each depicting a gauze-swathed young woman in the act of encouraging—or possibly repelling—the advances of a young man in a tricorne hat. Sappha was still trying to decide which it could be when her hostess spoke. ‘Shattering, isn’t it? The first day I was here I swore I’d have the whole lot down, but this place was furnished by practically everyone who lives here and if I moved a single picture I’d hurt someone’s feelings.’ She made a face and Sappha laughed.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she admitted, ‘though I love the watercolour.’

Gloria coloured faintly and looked pleased. ‘Oh, do you? Actually I did it myself.’ She grinned cheerfully and went on, ‘Come and sit down and I’ll tell you all about Baroness van Duyren. I’m so glad you’ve come to take over—I mean I’ve got my hands full and after all she is a private patient. Mr Devenish is your uncle, isn’t he? He comes out most weeks, but anything trifling he leaves to me or Doctor MacInroy.’

She said this name in such a way that Sappha was constrained to ask:

‘Is he nice—Dr MacInroy, I mean?’

‘Well, he’s—we’re engaged—that’s why I came here, to be a bit nearer him until we marry, but of course we don’t see a great deal of each other; when I’m free he’s usually up to his neck in measles or something and when he’s got a day off I’m delivering babies.’ She sighed. ‘All the same, it’s nice here, the people are dears and the countryside is heavenly.’ She eyed Sappha’s rather townish clothes with a little doubt not unmixed with envy. ‘Do you like the country?’

Sappha, to whom any part of the world would have been preferable to London at that time, replied that yes, she thought she would love it.

‘It’ll be a bit different from the bright lights of London,’ Gloria warned.

‘Yes,’ Sappha agreed, ‘but I—I wanted a change.’ She frowned. ‘Just for a few months, you know.’

Gloria’s eyes slid discreetly to Sappha’s ringless hands resting on her lap. She said airily: ‘Well, that’s all right, and it’s good fun here too. There’s always something going on here—whist drives and play-readings and dances, and when you can’t think of anything else to do you can always come here, you know. I don’t lock the door, only on my days off, and I’ll show you where I keep the key so’s you can just walk in.’

Sappha thanked her warmly. ‘I’ve got a little car,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d get out and about when I can get off.’

‘Walking’s better,’ said Gloria. ‘Now, shall we go over the notes and charts and so on? I’ve got them ready and a rough routine, though I expect you’ll change that to suit yourself. I don’t know when you’ll get your day off, but I’ll pop up and do the necessary when you do…’

‘Is she nice—the Baroness? She sounded a bit…’ Sappha left the sentence in mid air, but all Gloria said was, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to form your own opinion—she’s Dutch, you knew that, I expect? But her English is as good as yours or mine. She comes to stay with the MacFees at least once a year. She’s fifty-four and has six children—the youngest is sixteen and the eldest thirtyish. Lashings of money, though they’ve had so much for so long that you hardly notice it, if you see what I mean.’

Sappha nodded. ‘It’s a month since she had parathyroid osteodystrophy done, isn’t it? Uncle John was rather pleased with the op—he said it was a nasty tumour. Funny no one found it sooner…’

‘Well, it’s a rare condition, isn’t it? and the signs and symptoms are a bit like rheumatoid arthritis, aren’t they? It was her son—the one who’s a doctor—who suspected a tumour on a gland. He’d been away for several months, though, and she was already over here on holiday when he joined her, and he got your uncle to see her. He caught her just in time I fancy, and as it is, the poor dear has mild renal failure and to crown everything she fell down the first day she was got out of bed after the op and fractured an arm and a leg—the bones were already a bit softened because of the lack of calcium and the tumble did the rest. Still, she’s not the sort to give in and she’s on the mend, we hope, but dreadfully depressed at times, poor dear. You can see why she needs a private nurse.’ She paused and looked at Sappha. ‘Are you sorry you came?’

Sappha said slowly, ‘No, it’s quite a challenge, isn’t it? I think I shall like it.’ She got to her feet. ‘I should go back. Mrs MacFee said something about me seeing the Baroness before suppertime and I ought to run over these notes first. Is there anything else I should know? Drugs and so forth?’

They bent their heads over the charts and prescriptions and TPR sheets, and presently, promising to ring up her new friend if she found herself in difficulties, Sappha made her way back to the Manse.

Her patient had a large room on the first floor, and the small room leading out of it had been turned into a very comfortable bedroom for herself. She took off her outdoor things, tidied her hair and was led by Mrs MacFee into the Baroness’s room. Her first reaction was one of surprise; her patient wasn’t at all what she had imagined her to be. Sappha, who had a lively imagination, had conjured up a middle-aged heavily built woman with iron grey hair and a commanding manner. What she saw was a small, extremely pretty woman, whose hair was so fair that the silver in it was hard to see, and whose face, though woefully thin and colourless, was lighted by the sweetest of smiles. She was sitting very erect against her bed pillows and despite the plastered right arm and the bed cradle, managed to look as though she were dressed for a party. Mrs MacFee made the introductions, remarking: ‘Now I shall leave you two to get to know each other. Supper won’t be until half past seven, and perhaps if…’ she paused and looked at Sappha. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure what I should call you. Sister—or Nurse or Miss Devenish. I know you’re a hospital Sister, so perhaps…’

Sappha said at once: ‘I’d like it if you would call me Sappha. Sister is a bit stiff, isn’t it?’ She looked at her patient. ‘Baroness van Duyren may wish to call me something else—’

‘Indeed no,’ said the little lady vigorously. ‘We’re going to be seeing a great deal of each other for the next few weeks, aren’t we? I’d like to call you Sappha if I may.’

This important point having been settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Mrs MacFee went away and Sappha pulled a chair up to the bed. ‘I’ve some marvellously clear instructions from Miss Perch,’ she said, ‘but as she has never been here all day I thought we might fill in some of the gaps between us and then I’ll bring you your supper and perhaps you would tell me what you would like to do until bedtime.’

The day’s routine was discussed at some length and minor points such as time off and free days for Sappha were settled too. It was at the end of this discussion that the Baroness said: ‘You wear very pretty clothes, my dear, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’m afraid you’ll not have many opportunities to go out here, though Ida did tell me that you have a car of your own. How clever of you to drive—I must confess that I have no idea as to what is under the bonnet. Did you not find the journey from London very tiring?’

‘No,’ said Sappha. ‘I stopped overnight on the way up and the roads are good except for the last twenty miles or so. I was stupid enough to run out of petrol coming up the hill from Inver Alligin, but some man came along in a Land Rover and filled the tank for me.’ She looked annoyed as she spoke, remembering the dark stranger who had been so coolly critical of her and her clothes.

‘Dear me,’ observed the Baroness, ‘he seems to have vexed you in some way. Do tell.’

‘He looked like the Demon King—you never saw such eyebrows,’ said Sappha with ill-humour. ‘He—he said that he might have known it was a woman…and he didn’t like my clothes. I think he was laughing at me.’

She was interrupted by a tap on the door and the man she was talking about came in, this time impeccably dressed in tweeds and exquisitely polished shoes. He seemed a great deal larger at close quarters and his eyes looked quite black. Sappha sat staring at him, the picture of consternation, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her eyes round with surprise. A surprise not shared by her patient, who looked from Sappha’s face to that of her son’s and said, so softly that neither of them caught her words: ‘Enter the Demon King—how very interesting life has suddenly become!’

CHAPTER TWO

THE Baroness shook out a lace ruffle, raised her voice and said pleasantly: ‘There you are, Rolf—how nice,’ and turned to smile at Sappha. ‘This is my son Rolf, my dear—he’s on a short visit from Holland—just to see how I am, you know.’ She gave Sappha just enough time to murmur politely before she went on: ‘Rolf, this is Miss Sappha Devenish who has come to nurse me back on to my feet again—all the way from London too. I daresay you remember, dear—I did mention…’ Her voice took on a vague note. ‘I believe you have already met…’

Sappha had gone a delectable pink. She said baldly: ‘Yes, we have, I was just telling you.’ She glanced across at the man standing so quietly in the doorway, her brown eyes snapping because she suspected that behind the politeness of his expression he was laughing at her. He walked across the room without saying anything at all, kissed his mother, said in a voice deeper than Sappha had remembered: ‘Yes, Mother, I remember very well,’ and turned to shake Sappha’s hand. At close quarters he seemed very large indeed and handsome in a dark sort of way. He enquired gravely how she did and when she looked at him she could see that his eyes were alive with laughter. He said: ‘I hope you will enjoy staying here, it is—er—a little quiet.’

He allowed his gaze to sweep over her well-turned-out person so that she made haste to say with a touch of haughtiness: ‘I shall be wearing uniform,’ and was instantly furious with herself for saying anything so stupid, for his mouth curved in a faint smile and the peculiar eyebrows lifted. ‘Of course,’ he said mildly, ‘what could have made you suppose I should expect anything else?’ He sat down carefully on the end of his mother’s bed. ‘Tell me, did you have a good journey? Which way did you come?’

‘The M1—from London, you know.’ Her voice had an edge to it. ‘And at Inverness I got on to the A832, through Garve and Achnasheen and Torridon—it was a good road all the way, excepting for the last few miles.’

‘Ah, yes.’ She was sure he was laughing at her again. ‘There are very few roads around here—just the one to Torridon. You will enjoy the walking, I have no doubt.’ His voice was silky and she had her mouth open to answer him back, but he went on smoothly: ‘Am I interrupting something? Would you prefer me to come back later?’ Which was so obviously a polite way of asking her to leave that she got to her feet at once with a remark that she would unpack.

She found her way down to the kitchen presently to fetch her patient’s supper, having disposed of her clothes and changed into a crisp white uniform and perched her Greggs’ cap upon her nicely arranged hair. It was a spotted muslin trifle, goffered, edged with lace and rather fetching. Mrs MacFee, helping in the preparation of the invalid’s supper, complimented Sappha upon it. ‘Such a refreshing change, my dear, after some of these odd styles—not,’ she added hastily, ‘but what you looked charming when you arrived.’ She set a steaming pipkin of soup carefully upon the tray and added its lid.

‘Now, dear, if you wouldn’t mind taking this up. I don’t feel that I should be telling you what to do, really I don’t, but I’m sure you will find your way around in no time at all, and then you must do as you think best for your patient. I expect Dr van Duyren is with her now?’

Sappha said, ‘Yes,’ and cast around for something else to say about him. She could, of course, have mentioned that they had already met, she could even have passed a remark about his satyr’s eyebrows, but Mrs MacFee might find that a little odd. Instead she asked: ‘Does he stay here? I mean when comes to see his mother?’

‘Oh, yes. Of course he’s been coming here ever since he was a very small boy—Mr MacFee thinks of him as a son—he comes and goes as he likes and he knows everyone for miles around. He keeps a Land Rover here and many’s the time he’s gone to some outlying croft when there has been an accident or a baby arriving too soon and we couldn’t get Hamish MacInroy.’ She paused for breath. ‘They’re good friends, anyway.’

Sappha, cutting toast into neat squares, agreed that it sounded most convenient, while the unbidden thought that Andrew—a great stickler for etiquette—would never have countenanced casual help from a colleague crossed her mind. Presumably it was a different kettle of fish in these remote parts. She picked up her tray and went upstairs to find that her patient was alone and looking rather downcast, so when she had arranged everything so that the Baroness could manage with her one hand, she said: ‘I want to write up your charts—do you mind if I sit here and do them while you have your soup?’

Her patient lifted her spoon. ‘Would you?’ she asked eagerly, ‘a new face is so refreshing.’ She spooned another mouthful. ‘You were quite right, Sappha—Rolf does look like a demon king—it’s extraordinary that I have never noticed it before.’

Sappha put down her charts. ‘I must apologise, Baroness. I should never have said that—I had no intention…’

Her companion nibbled toast. ‘Why should you be sorry?’ she asked. ‘I expect he was wearing some dreadful clothes and muddy boots and probably he hadn’t shaved. I believe he went out very early this morning—a broken leg near Ben Eighe and he would have to walk part of the way you know—it was off the road. Hamish was out on a baby case and one really can’t leave a person lying with a broken leg, can one?’

Sappha said dryly: ‘No, that would be rather unkind,’ and her patient nodded before continuing: ‘Really, I hardly recognise him sometimes. At home, of course, he looks exactly like a doctor.’ She waved a hand in an expressive gesture, ‘and naturally, being the eldest, he tends to throw his weight around—is that the right expression?’

Sappha smiled. ‘Yes, though perhaps it’s a little severe.’

‘Not nearly as severe as Rolf when he’s annoyed,’ retorted his mother with spirit.

‘All the same,’ commented Sappha, ‘you must be very glad of his support.’

‘Oh, I am, child, I am. My husband died when Rolf was twenty-five, and Antonia—the youngest—was only nine. The others are married now, which means that Rolf has more leisure, though he always has time for Tonia—they’re so fond of each other.’ She smiled a little wistfully. ‘She is such a dear child and I do miss her. She’s at school and I had hoped that she would be able to come over for a day or so—it’s so long to Christmas, but anyway, I shall be home before then.’

Sappha took the empty soup bowl. ‘Good gracious, yes,’ she said bracingly, ‘but surely she could fly over for a weekend? There’s an airfield at Inverness…’ She stood deep in thought. ‘We could at least make a few enquiries.’

‘That would be lovely, but I believe Rolf thinks that it would be unsettling for Tonia—she has her studies…’

‘Oh, pooh,’ said Sappha inelegantly, ‘she can do some extra homework to make up for it—shall I talk to Doctor van Duyren and see if he will change his mind?’ She was on her way to the door and didn’t see the Baroness’s face which held an expression of mischief mixed with anticipation.