Tangled Autumn

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was no sign of the Baron the next morning. Sappha busied herself with her patient, helped and sometimes hindered by the well-meaning efforts of Antonia, who, after lunch, declared her intention of sitting with her parent while Sappha went for a walk.

Sappha, who was feeling moody and restless, felt more inclined to sit and brood in her room, but she had some letters to post; she would go down to the post office and take a look at the sea at the same time, so she put on her raincoat and tied a scarf over her hair and went out into the rather wild afternoon. It was raining; not very hard, but the wind was boisterous and the mountains behind the little town stood head and shoulders in dark cloud. She walked around the harbour, shivering a little because the wind was keen as well as strong, eyeing the angry waves beyond the harbour’s mouth, they were battering the causeway too. A solitary fishing boat was battling its way in and she stopped to watch it, thankful that she wasn’t called upon to leave dry land.

It was after she had been to the post office and was on her way back to the Manse that she came face to face with Andrew. She stopped short, her eyes like saucers, her mouth, bulging with a wedge of the toffee she had purchased along with the stamps, slightly open. Andrew however didn’t look in the least surprised, nor for that matter did he look awkward or ashamed of himself, but then, some small detached part of her mind reminded her, Andrew never did. But this thought was swamped by the rush of excitement inside her, emotion caught her by the throat so that, what with her heart in her mouth as well as the lump of toffee, she was quite unable to speak.

Andrew, unhindered by either the one or the other of these encumbrances, stopped in front of her and said with all his well-remembered charm, ‘Sappha—darling, how marvellous to see you again! I had a couple of free days—it seemed a good chance to come and look you up.’

Sappha, once more in control of both her breath and the toffee, gave him what she hoped was a cool, unflustered look. She said:

‘Oh, indeed. How did you know that I was here?’

‘I wormed it out of old Mother Martin.’ Mother Martin was Home Sister at Greggs’ and a notorious passer-on of gossip. Andrew’s good-looking face broke into a smile as he caught one of Sappha’s hands in his. ‘I thought you would be glad to see me—you are, aren’t you, Sappha?’

She caught her breath. Of course she was glad, she was on the point of saying so when she felt the weight of a great arm on her shoulders and heard the Baron’s voice, mildly, amused, say: ‘Hullo, Sappha, taking an hour or two off?’ She felt the arm tighten. ‘Andrew Glover, isn’t it? Thought you’d show up—the landlord of the pub at Torridon mentioned on the telephone that you were heading this way. My name’s van Duyren, by the way.’

Sappha watched Andrew’s face as he tried to make up his mind how to treat the Baron, who, she noted, was looking ruffianly enough in a thick sweater and terrible old trousers stuffed into rubber boots—he was swinging a string of fish in one hand too. She choked down a sudden desire to laugh because Andrew had no idea who the Baron was and the Baron had equally no intention of telling him. She looked sideways up into his dark face, changing the toffee lump from one cheek to the other as she did so, a childish action which caused him to blink rapidly while the nostrils of his commanding nose quivered ever so slightly. He said carelessly: ‘Why not take the afternoon off, Sappha—or for that matter, the rest of the day? Antonia and Mrs MacFee will cope.’

Sappha frowned. For one thing Andrew had said nothing about taking her out—he’d had no time—and for another, it made her sound too eager. She was eager, she told herself, but Andrew mustn’t know that. She said icily: ‘How kind of you, Doctor, but I’ve had my off-duty for today and I see no reason for giving myself any more.’ And went pink under his mocking gaze. It was maddening that he should spoil this unexpected meeting with Andrew—it could have been something exciting and even more than that, though Andrew, at the moment, didn’t appear to be exactly carried away… He said now: ‘Are you a doctor—I had no idea…’

The Baron waved the fish and said mildly: ‘Oh, I’ve a practice—a small country town in Friesland.’

Andrew smiled with a hint of patronage. ‘Oh, a GP.’ He was contemptuous and faintly pitying. ‘I’ve rooms in Wimpole Street—consultant you know—a nice little private practice.’

‘You are to be congratulated upon your success.’ The Baron’s voice was silky, and Sapphia stirred uneasily under his confining arm, remembering dimly that the Baroness or someone had mentioned that he lectured in Groningen and hadn’t she said something about examining? With feminine unfairness she was instantly up in arms against him—he was taking the mickey out of Andrew. She said positively: ‘I really must go—there are things to do.’

If she had hoped to get rid of the Baron she was sadly mistaken, for he remarked immediately: ‘We’ll all go. Come up to the Manse for tea, my dear fellow—Mrs MacFee will love to see a new face and you and Sappha can sort out her time off.’

He turned up the lane leading to the Manse, and Sappha perforce turned with him. Andrew fell into step beside her. ‘A pity you can’t manage today,’ he remarked smoothly. ‘What about tomorrow—afternoon or evening perhaps, old girl?’

Sappha quivered with temper; not only had she been called old girl, her free time was being discussed and arranged for her without so much as a by your leave. She opened her mouth to say so, but the Baron spoke first.

‘Of course, tomorrow, why not? And I must insist that you take both the afternoon and evening, Sappha. It’s not quite the weather for a drive, but there are some splendid walks—I can lend you a pair of boots—’ he flung a friendly aside to Andrew. ‘I suppose you’re at the pub here. They make you very comfortable and Mrs MacGregor is a good cook—she’ll turn out an excellent dinner for the pair of you.’

‘I’m not sure—’ began Sappha looking at the Baron with frustrated rage, to be met with a look of such limpid friendliness that she was struck dumb; if she hadn’t been prepared to think the worst of him, she could have supposed that he was trying to make things as easy as possible for her and Andrew.

They turned in at the Manse gate and walked slowly up the short drive to the front door, and any idea Sappha may have had about keeping Andrew’s visit from her patient’s ears was scotched by the Baron, who paused and waved at the Baroness’s window. Sappha felt sure that even if she didn’t happen to be looking out at that moment, Antonia would have seen them. She excused herself in the hall and flew upstairs to change back into uniform. It was foolish, but she felt better able to cope with the situation once she had clasped the silver buckled belt round her slim waist and tucked her hair tidily under her cap.

The Baroness and Antonia were sitting by the window when she went in and although Antonia said nothing, Sappha gained the strong impression that this was because she had been told not to. The Baroness turned her still beautiful eyes upon Sappha and asked merely: ‘A pleasant walk, I hope, dear?’ Sappha, repeating her impressions of the sea and relaying the little bits of gossip she had gleaned from the post office, wondered why her patient didn’t ask about Andrew, for it was obvious from their faces that they had seen him. She hadn’t long to wait to find out, however, for very soon the Baroness told Antonia to go down to tea and tell Mrs MacFee that Sappha would be down directly, and that young lady had barely closed the door when her mother said:

‘So he came after you, Sappha. I hope he doesn’t intend to take you back with him—not,’ she added earnestly, ‘that I should dream of stopping you.’

Sappha paused in the clearing up of the bed table in preparation for the tea tray. She said a little wildly: ‘But he hasn’t asked me. I don’t even know why he’s here—I’ve had no chance…we’d only just met when Dr van Duyren joined us.’ She added bitterly: ‘He insisted on bringing Andrew back for tea and he’s kindly arranged for me to be free tomorrow afternoon and evening.’

Her patient seemed to miss the sarcasm in her attendant’s voice, for she said kindly: ‘Now, isn’t that nice? How thoughtful of Rolf. I expect they took to each other at once.’

Sappha, who had her own opinion about this, muttered: ‘Oh, well—they’re both doctors,’ and remembered the Baron’s modest admission to being a GP.

‘Exactly what does Dr van Duyren do?’ she asked.

The Baroness closed her eyes the better to think. ‘Let me see now—he has a large practice in Dokkum, but of course he has two partners, then he has consultant’s chambers in Groningen as well as being a professor at the Medical School—he has a teaching round and so on and he’s an examiner—he specialises in stomachs and I never have understood why, my dear.’

Sappha said weakly: ‘He’s busy.’

‘Too busy,’ agreed his mother, ‘I sometimes think. But he seems to like it, though I have warned him that if he’s not careful he’ll have neither the time nor the inclination to marry. When he does, of course, his wife will come before everything else,’ she sighed, ‘just as I did with his father.’ Two tears rolled down her cheeks and Sappha hurried across to her to put her arms around her and say: ‘There there—and how proud you must be to remember that, and I’ve no doubt that you were worth every second of his time.’

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.

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