Tangled Autumn

This remark induced the Baroness to give a watery smile. ‘Oh, yes indeed I was—and the children too,’ she added, ‘Rolf’s very like him.’

Sappha straightened up. There was no accounting for tastes, she told herself crossly, and after all the Baroness was his mother. She was on her way to the door when the Baroness observed: ‘Well, I daresay your young man will tell you why he came when you see him tomorrow. I must say he has a great deal of patience after coming all this way.’

Sappha had thought so too, but it wasn’t very nice to be reminded of it by someone else. But it was a long way, surely Andrew hadn’t driven hundreds of miles just to say hullo. Besides, there was still the question of Staff Nurse Beatty. Sappha said tonelessly: ‘I’ll get your tea, Baroness.’

She put off going down to her own tea for as long as possible, so that by the time she went into the sitting room everyone was having second cups and Andrew was explaining at some length just how important it was to have the right sort of practice. He was forced to break off while Sappha was told to sit down and asked if there was enough milk in her tea and was the toast really hot still; she sensed his annoyance at being interrupted even across the room. He had nodded briefly at her when she went in, but it was the Baron who had got up and pushed her gently into his own chair and then, taking no further notice of her, gone over to sit by Andrew, to listen, apparently tonguetied with admiration, to that gentleman’s dissertation upon his brilliant future. Sappha munched morosely at a scone and drank her tea, watching Andrew. He was enjoying himself—he had an audience who appeared to be interested in him, even though he wasn’t in the least interested in them. She glanced round the room; Mrs MacFee was listening with a charmingly attentive air, so was the minister, Antonia was gazing at him with rapt attention—and so to was the Baron, too rapt, thought Sappha. He looked up and caught her staring at him and returned it with one of his own, a long searching look which ended in a faint smile.

She dressed with care for her meeting with Andrew—a fine wool dress in a warm shade of pink with a high neckline and full sleeves gathered into bands and then ruffled over her hands. She covered it with her raincoat and tied a matching scarf over her hair. Andrew said that they would go for a run before tea and then sit in Mrs MacGregor’s parlour until dinner was ready for them. There were things, he had said, which had to be discussed. She pondered this remark while she was putting on her good shoes—a reckless act, she knew, seeing that the weather was worsening every minute, but she wanted to look nice for him.

When she was dressed, however, she sat down on the bed, reluctant to go, even though he had said he would call for her at two o’clock, and it was already past that hour. It worried her that she didn’t feel happier or more excited than she was. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing Andrew again which made her so curiously apathetic about the afternoon’s outing. She got up and went to the Baroness’s room to say goodbye and found that lady straining to see out of the window from her chair. She looked round as Sappha went in and said:

‘He’s just come, dear—he seems a very smart man, I hope you’ll have a lovely time. Antonia is very taken with him, you know, not that that signifies anything—I daresay you will come back with a ring on your finger once more.’

Sappha said slowly: ‘I don’t know. I think I’d want to wait this time. I—I have to be sure.’ She picked up a pillow and put it where it belonged. ‘You’re sure you can manage? I feel it’s all wrong leaving you alone—Gloria isn’t here either…’

‘Nonsense,’ said the Baroness comfortably, ‘Antonia is dying to play nurse; you’ve put out my pills, my exercises are done, and Rolf will be in, I daresay, to make sure everything is all right.’

Sappha said goodbye and went downstairs to where Andrew was waiting, talking amusingly to Mrs MacFee. He smiled at Sappha as she joined them and said casually: ‘Hullo there,’ looking so completely at ease that she felt a small prick of annoyance because he was so sure of her. After all, it had been he who had let her down even though he had come back to her.

The afternoon wasn’t an unqualified success. Andrew was a good driver and he handled his car—a Jaguar—well, but as Sappha pointed out, the wind was now almost gale force and the rain was developing from a thick drizzle to a steady downpour. It seemed foolish to take the road through Shieldaig and Kishorn just so that they might see the heights of Skye from Auchtertyre; in any case, Sappha pointed out reasonably, in such weather there would be nothing to see. To all of which Andrew replied with a laugh. ‘Nonsense,’ he said, ‘we can talk as we go and worry about the scenery when we get there.’

But talking was impossible. At first it hadn’t been too bad going down into Torridon, for there was shelter from the forests which lined most of the narrow road and later on the newly constructed road towards Shieldaig, but then the road reverted to its former width, winding up and down the hills so that Andrew had to pay attention to his driving. At Loch Kishorn Sappha suggested that they could probably see Skye from there, but Andrew said sharply: ‘What’s come over you, Sappha? Don’t you want a chance to see the country? We’ll go on to Auchtertyre—it’s not much further. We’ll go there for tea and talk.’

Naturally there was no Skye to be seen, but Andrew at least seemed to have derived some satisfaction from reaching his goal, if only for the reason that he would be able to tell the Baron about it later. They stopped for tea in Lochcarron, and although the hotel was empty the tea was delicious. Despite herself, Sappha relaxed and began to enjoy herself, Andrew could be an amusing companion and he was making great efforts to please her. They had almost finished tea when he said: ‘Sappha, you must know why I came to this outlandish spot…darling, I’m lost without you.’

‘What about Beatty?’ Sappha asked in a cool little voice which disguised the warm glow of excitement at being wanted again. She gave him a level look. ‘Did she find someone else?’

She watched Andrew grow red. ‘It was mutual—we weren’t suited. I suppose I was a fool.’ He caught her hand on the table and held it tightly. ‘Listen, darling, come back with me. Leave this awful godforsaken place, you don’t belong here. We could have such fun together.’

She stared at him across the table. It was lovely to be wanted; to be missed—London might be fun and perhaps he loved her very much to have come so far to say so. The uneasy thought that he hadn’t said so crossed her mind. She withdrew her hand gently and said:

‘Look, Andrew, don’t expect me to answer you now. I must have time to think about it.’ She saw the faint annoyance on his face. ‘My dear girl, what on earth do you have to think about? I’m doing you a favour—giving you a chance to escape.’

Sappha said quietly: ‘But I like it in Dialach. I didn’t think I should, but I do—and I can’t leave my patient just like that, where are they going to get another nurse at a moment’s notice? My patient has been very ill and she will need care for weeks yet.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Good lord, Sappha, stop being such a do-gooder. They’ll rub along, and she’s got that brigand who calls himself a doctor, hasn’t she?’

Sappha put down her cup with a hand which shook a little. ‘That’s a beastly thing to say. He doesn’t look in the least like a brigand.’ She felt guilty saying it, for had she not likened him to a brigand herself? She hurried on: ‘He’s good to her—he comes over from Holland every week or so and he helps the local doctor when he’s needed…’

Andrew was laughing at her. ‘More fool he. Are you a fan of his? Or perhaps you’ve fallen a victim to his charm?’

‘Neither,’ she snapped. ‘I—I don’t like him, but that’s no reason to be spiteful, and I won’t leave until another nurse is found to replace me.’

He smiled. ‘We’ll not argue about that now. We’ll go back and make ourselves comfortable round Mrs MacGregor’s fire and I’ll guarantee to make you change your mind.’

He gave her a look which sent the colour into her face but left her bewilderingly unexcited. She followed him out to the car in silence, puzzled at her lack of response. Three months ago she would have flown into his arms and now she felt herself moving away from the touch of his shoulder in the car. But he didn’t notice this nor her silence; he was talking about his future and how much money he intended to make, and not once did he mention her…

The journey back was tricky. The wind, now a gale, buffeted the car, while the rain, coming down in good earnest, made the windscreen-wipers useless. Even on a fine dry day the road needed care, and although Andrew was a good driver, he wasn’t a patient one. Sappha was glad when they skidded to a halt before the small brightly lighted inn. Inside it was warm and cheerful and a table had been laid for them in the little parlour behind the bar, and two comfortable chairs drawn up before the fire. Sappha took off her raincoat and scarf and hung them tidily behind the door, then followed Mrs MacGregor up the narrow staircase to one of the bedrooms so that she might tidy herself. The room was spotlessly clean and rather cold; its little window overlooked the houses lining the harbour, and she stood for a moment watching the boiling sea. There was a light twinkling at the end of the causeway and she wondered if Mrs MacTadd was all right. She wondered about Gloria and Hamish too; they surely wouldn’t be driving back in such weather, probably they would wait until the storm had quietened down or the morning light made the journey easier; listening to the wind howling outside, she didn’t blame them.

They had finished their sherry and Mrs MacGregor was in the act of placing two plates of steaming soup on the table when she was almost knocked over by a boy who darted in from the bar. He was so wet that the water ran in little rivulets down his arms and legs and formed pools on the matting, but even while Mrs MacGregor was scolding him he had pushed past her and handed Sappha a sheet of paper wrapped carefully in a scrap of plastic. She put down her glass and said in surprise:

‘For me? Are you sure?’

The boy nodded, ‘Aye, miss,’ and when she said: ‘Well, take off your wet coat while I read it,’ surprised her by saying: ‘Nay, I’ll not,’ and looked so beseechingly at her that she took the paper out of its sopping wrappings and began to read.

‘Sappha, Mrs MacTadd has jumped the gun. A shoulder presenting and well jammed. I’ll have to do a Caesar. Go to Gloria’s and fetch her midwifery bag, the gas and air, blood giving and taking sets and the vacoliter of blood in the fridge. Keep the boy with you, he’ll bring you back. Ask Glover if he’ll give a hand.’ It was signed R.v.D.

She looked up from it to find Andrew’s eyes on her. He said irritably:

‘Give the boy something and let’s get on with our meal.’

Sappha folded the paper carefully. ‘No, we can’t do that. Listen, Andrew.’ Almost before she had finished explaining he exclaimed: ‘But you’re not going, Sappha. The man must be mad. Why can’t he send the woman to hospital? He’s only a GP anyway.’

She answered him patiently. ‘How? There’s no ambulance in the village—how could she be brought over the causeway or put in a boat on a night like this, and then be driven miles?’ She added stubbornly: ‘He’s perfectly able to deal with it himself if he must.’ As she spoke she was astonished to find that she believed what she was saying.

She went to the door and took down her raincoat and started to put it on; Andrew strode across the little room and caught hold of her.

‘Sappha, you’re not to go. Let him manage as best he can.’ His voice held a faint sneer.

‘He wants your help,’ she reminded him as she evaded his hand and tied on her head-scarf. Andrew flung away and went to sit in one of the chairs. ‘I have no intention of going. I don’t even know that the fellow’s a doctor—after all, he’s a foreigner, supposing the woman were to die—my reputation—I have myself to consider.’

Sappha turned away without a word. It was funny to think that if this hadn’t happened she might have decided to go back to London, if not immediately, then in a short time, not because Andrew had wanted her to, but for some vague reason of her own which lurked somewhere at the back of her mind, and there was too much on that at the moment for her to give it a second thought. She had to help Rolf, of that she was certain. Not looking at Andrew she said. ‘Come along,’ to the boy and pausing only long enough to ask Mrs MacGregor to send a message to the Manse, she followed the boy out into the storm.