Hospital in the Highlands (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sister Lamont always had this power to inspire confidence in her charges, both nurse and patients. She might well have been her namesake, the lady with the lamp, for she brought light and hope and serenity along with her, as though these qualities were inherent and could be shared, as one shares the light of the moon when one’s own little candle has burned out.

Flo spared a smile here, a word there all down the ward, then she went to see the men. Someone had assumed it was her day off and there was a merry little smoking party out on the veranda.

“So I’ve caught you red-handed, have I?” she demanded mock-sharply, as the four culprits tried to look as innocent as
possible in the circumstances. “Next thing somebody’s going to cough his wound open and have to be restitched. Couldn’t you possibly keep out of mischief until it's safe to indulge again? For your
own
sakes, gentlemen?”

“Sorry, Sister,” said number one shamefacedly. “We didn’t think.”

“Nobody wants to deprive you of your smokes, least of all me. I like one myself on occasion. But you really wouldn’t like a trip to surgery again, would you? The worst hemorrhage I ever witnessed was due to a sly cigarette causing a choking fit. I won’t tell you what happened to
that
patient. I’ll leave you naughty things to brood about it.”

The careless had to be warned for their own good, the frightened reassured. Flo had her own way of tackling every situation. By the time she had seen a fine pair of twins who had arrived in maternity during the early hours of the morning, it was time to meet Keith. The prospect brought her no joy whatsoever.

Fay Lamont soon wearied of the house and simple domestic pursuits. Pixie was thrilled simply to have a garden, and when she was not helping Auld Willyum she was exploring copses and shrubberies, climbing trees or enchantedly wat
c
hing the progress of a frog her perambulations had disturbed in its moist exploits. Meg was determinedly “housekeeping,” trying to win Janet’s confidence by discussing the day’s menus with her and walking around with a bunch of keys like the chatelaine of some stately French chateau.

When Meg had twice refused to rise to her sister’s taunts, Fay began to think life simply wasn’t worth living. A caller, who proved to be the Minister of the local Episcopal church, was the very last straw.

It was Fay who received him.

“You must have the wrong house,” she said coldly, “we’re Mohammedans here.”

The pleasant young man smiled.

From the back of the hall in a horrified voice Meg exclaimed, “Fay!”

“That’s all right, Miss Lamont,” the parson said, still smiling. “The lassie’s frank, at least.”

Fay grabbed her coat and went out, slamming the door slightly.

“Do come in,” Meg begged, all in a flutter of shame. “What must you think of us,
Mr. ... Mr. ...
?” she groped.

“Lammering’s the name. Michael Lammering. You’re Miss Flo’s sister, aren’t you?”

The handshake was crippling, and Meg winced. Not once had Mike Lammering’s dark eyes left hers, and she found herself blushing. No man had looked at her as intensely in years.

“I was just going to ask Janet to make a cup of tea,” she said, fingering her hair, which she felt was untidy. “Which church is yours, Mr. Lammering?”

“Saint Stephen’s. Episcopal,” he vouchsafed.

“If that’s the same as Church of England you must
have my youngest sister, Pixie,” she proceeded. “She hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

“I’d be glad to have all of you,” the parson said quickly. “Why not come and see the church at least, on Sunday?”

“Well—I’ll see. I may come with Pixie. You won’t expect Fay, of course?”

“Why not, Miss Lamont?”

“Well, you saw her—heard her? That’ll be the day, when
she
goes to church!”

Mike Lammering shrugged.

“I think Miss Fay may come to St. Stephen’s sooner than you think. The unlikeliest people often are extremely devout at heart.”

Meg actually laughed, and hearing her, Pixie peeped in at the window and got quite a shock. She was looking younger and prettier than the youngster had ever known, and the man in the chair, leaning toward her, looked as though he was there for the afternoon, not teetering on the edge ready to dash off at any moment as most men had been in Meg’s company of recent years.

An inarticulate forestry commission officer had been amazed to see a perfectly wonderful blonde girl thumbing a lift from him, and having taken her into the town of Glen Lochallan he was now loath to let her go out of his otherwise uneventful life with so little to tell of the experience.

“Will ah be seeing you again, Miss?” he ventured as he struggled to open the passenger door of his estate car.

“Why?” Fay wanted to know.

“Well. Will you not be wanting to go home again?”

“Oh, possibly.” Fay considered. “When will you be available?” she asked, thinking this contact might well be useful.

“I’ll be glad to suit you in that respect.”

“Very well.” Fay favored the man to one of her posed smiles, teeth parted an eighth of an inch. “Shall we say six o’clock? Good! I’ll see you here.”

Though she didn’t know the town she nosed out the center where there was most life, and assessed its possibilities. The solitary cinema was showing a film that had been in the capital three years ago. There was, however, a small hall known as the Playhouse that gave warning of the visit of a well-known classical musical quartet.

“That’s better!” Fay approved, deciding that if something like this happened occasionally there might be good to be said for the place. She found herself approaching the loch, and here were the big hotels preparing themselves for a tourist invasion in the summer. One ran to an orchestra, and once again Fay’s eyes gleamed.

She determined to inquire of the management for news of their orchestra and passed into the wide reception hall, pine-panelled, to look around. The Manager’s office was down a corridor beyond the main lounge. Already through the glass panelling she saw waiters serving early tea, and was grieved that she had left the house without money.

All at once she saw a familiar figure at one of the tables. It was Flo, minus hat and coat, but still in her dark uniform dress. She wasn’t alone. A man sat opposite, a man in a well-cut dark suit with smoothly brushed fair hair. As Fay watched the man reached-out a well-manicured hand and laid it over Flo’s, and that young lady obviously tugged and protested, and a dark flush stained her cheeks.

While Fay still watched, standing back discreetly against a potted palm, Flo rose and made preparations for leaving. The man rose, also, and followed her to the glass door.

“I’ve turned the other cheek for the last time, my proud beauty,” Fay heard him say sharply. “You could have been a darn sight nicer to me, I must say!”

Flo fled, and the man somewhat sulkily beheld another female sliding into his ken. He stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then his face lit into recognition.

“It can’t be! It can’t be you, Fluff?”

This had been the pet name by which men had addressed her when she had been at the chin-chucking stage.

“It’s Fay, yes,” she said simply. “Fancy meeting you again, Keith!”

“I can’t believe it! You’ve grown up. You’ve grown into a real peach, Fluff!”

“Thank you. Did I see you giving my sister tea?”

“You did, worse luck. I consider I’ve wasted my afternoon up to now.”

“Give
me
tea and let’s see if we can stop the rot,” Fay said gaily, and led the way back into the lounge. “You’re looking very handsome, darling,” she flattered adroitly. “Tell me why you’re here and what you were doing holding hands with Flo!”

“Actually I work at Flo’s hospital,” he said. “You mean she hasn’t told you?”

“No. I’ll bet Meg would like to know!”

“I want to see Meg. Flo won’t let me.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Who knows how a woman’s mind works? Perhaps she wants me for herself.”

“She looked as though she was telling you to go to hell,” Fay reminded him.

“So she was, when I was pressing about Meg. I think my ex-
fiancée
should know I’m in the district, don’t you? Why keep us apart as though something criminal had been committed?”

Fay welcomed tea and drank thirstily.

“Do you want to marry Meg?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if she’d have me. Frankly I’m not in love with her nowadays, but there’s something I would like her to know.”

“Aren’t you going to tell
me
?”

“If you like. I want Meg to know it was Flo who came between us.”

Fay’s eyes grew round and disbelieving.

“You don’t mean that!”

“I do. I found myself thinking more of Flo than Meg, and—not being a cad—I broke the engagement. Flo was too scared to come out into the open then and she hasn’t changed now. She doesn’t want Meg to know the part she played in the break-up.”

“I should just think she doesn’t!” Fay agreed. “Meg would go mad if she knew this.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yet Flo is playing the part of Lady Bountiful so beautifully to her down and out family. There isn’t a hint that she has been anything but wonderful in her whole life. Supposing I taxed her with this thing
...
?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Keith said uncomfortably. “She’d only deny it. No good comes of raking old mud.” He smiled suddenly. “Let’s talk about you, Fluff. What you’re doing, what you’ve done and what you mean to do.”

“I don’t know, and I’m not the worrying sort. I think this has been a fateful meeting for me, Doctor Bexley, and I’ll wait and see what happens next.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

F
lo felt happier than she had for some time.

Though she had always loved her work there was suddenly a real pleasure about her days, not merely the inherent satisfaction that comes from the knowledge of accomplished tasks well done and fully appreciated.

Daily rounds with Mr. Strathallan soon became highlights in the routine: he was jocular where it was good for the patients to be so; with the very sick he was unhurried, reassuring, no matter how urgent the appointment to follow or how pressing the hands of the clock.

Even Matron did not frown to hear patients’ laughter from the wards during the Consultant’s rounds. She was sure that the young man himself was in the well of the tide of mirth, and in Matron’s experience—which was not inconsiderable—nobody had yet died laughing.

Sister Lamont had bloomed this past week, too, her senior decided observantly. Maybe she had heard from her young man and there was to be news of a wedding. It would be difficult to replace the girl, but Matron would never even hint that her leaving for such a reason would be an inconvenience.

Flo decided her happiness welled from the fact that her sisters were not proving as difficult as she had feared. Pixie had started school on the Monday—a co-educational school favored by Robert Strathallan for his young brother, Hamish. Hamish had consented, somewhat offhandedly, to transport Pixie to and from school on the pillion of his motor-scooter, though, having now seen all the Lamont girls, his preference was for the tall, magnificent blonde who, though nearer him in age, was so far removed from him in experience. Fay had never even looked at him yet, though there was already six-foot-one of him and he called at Rowans twice a day with unfailing regularity.

Meg had hopefully inserted an advertisement in the local paper and had received two replies. They were both smallish jobs, but it was a start, and that was what mattered.

Fay was as usual uncommunicative about her affairs, but she was going out quite regularly once she had completed her morning’s violin practise.

The forestry commission man called to give her lifts to and from Glen Lochallan, though if he was proving himself of further use or interest to her, Fay didn’t confide.

Flo found herself singing softly as she busied herself in her private office attached to Women’s Surgical. Mr. Strathallan was coming in to look at the new patients who had arrived from the city just after dinner. Flo also wanted to discuss with the surgeon someone she felt had been overlooked. Young Mrs. Lindsay had been at The Glen for a long time. Originally she had had a small operation and the wound hadn’t healed. It had been stitched three times, and three times the gut had had to be removed. Now the wound was clipped and Mrs. Lindsay was more comfortable. She was sure she could go home and be looked after, like some of the others. She felt so well. Wouldn’t Sister ask Mr. Strathallan if she could go home and be with her husband and see her delightful, four-year-old twins, who were beginning to forget that their mother had ever been upright and active?

“I’ll see,” Flo had promised. “You do seem to be part of the furniture of. this ward, don’t you, dear?”

Robert Strathallan tapped and entered Sister’s office, and she—caught in the middle of a melody—blushed and once more felt that disturbing leap in her heart. It was those blue eyes, she told herself sharply. They were steady, direct and almost conversational before his lips spoke.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she made herself say dutifully.

“Good afternoon, Sister. Will you be free this Saturday evening?”

Caught thus unawares she flushed again. Why did he ask? Supposing she was free, what then?

“May I ask why, sir?” she countered, telling herself she might well be free for some things, but certainly not—repeat
not
—for others.

“You may, Sister.” He waved her into her chair and perched on the table looking perfectly at ease. “If you’re thinking of how your family will react, they’re invited too. All except the wee one.”

“Invited to what, sir?”

“Oh”—he laughed—“of course you would be away when the mail arrived at home. Colonel MacGregor, who lives at Lochside, is holding a ceilidh—that’s a Highland get-together—and as your fame as a family has already spread throughout the district, it was a feather in my cap that I could supply your names and speak for you.” He looked again with that blue, direct glance of his. “I told him I would urge you to attend. Please do.”

Somehow he used “you” in the sense of the singular, and she lowered her eyes to the page of the day book open in front of her.

“I’m sure my sisters will agree with me that it’s very kind of Colonel MacGregor, and I am free on Saturday; it’s my weekend off duty. We’ll discuss the invitation this evening when I get home.”

“
Naturally
I would place my car at your disposal,” fie went on, “so could you let me know how you decide, also?” She raised her eyes and he promptly seized upon them with his own and repeated, “Please go!”

It was all becoming too intimate and important, she realized. He couldn’t know how much she wanted to go to the ceilidh and yet why she probably wouldn’t.

“Does one wear evening dress?” she asked in self-defence.

“Yes. A Highland girl would wear something simple and white and her man’s tartan ribbon across her chest.”

“Very nice,” Flo said, beginning to write in the day book. “Now may I discuss a patient with you, sir?”

“Go ahead,” he invited, not appearing in the least put out by her adroitness in steering the conversation into safer channels. “What’s troubling you?”

“I think it’s time Mrs. Lindsay went home to her family, don’t you? There are two little girls to consider, also.”

“Hm.” He slipped off the table and paced about slowly, thinking hard. “I was considering the wee girls, actually. They’re quite happily settled with Grandma, I believe?”

“Yes.” She looked up and met his eyes quite impersonally this time.

Robert Strathallan scratched his cheek thoughtfully.

“I think maybe Mrs. Lindsay could spend a week with her man somewhere, upon her feet and going easy. She mustn’t be pestered by the bairns, though.”

Flo had risen also, now. Her heart felt like a stone suddenly. “Mr. Strathallan, you don’t mean Mrs. Lindsay isn’t—isn’t going to heal?”

He looked equally upset at having to agree.

“I mean just that, Miss Flo,” he said, forgetting they were in hospital and that she was wearing a Sister’s uniform. “A malignancy was removed originally, and now not only the wound is malignant but parts of the bowel, also. This isn’t mentioned in her ward notes because they have a habit of reading their notes when one’s back is turned for a moment, and that sort of thing doesn’t make for comfortable reading, does it?” He sighed a long, hard sigh.

“I’ve seen them—like that,” Flo said dully, “but surely not Annie Lindsay? She’s too young—”

Robert Strathallan put a firm hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“One grows fond of people in this job,” he said, “and when there’s nothing more to be done one still has to carry on doing something—anything—and remain cheerful and optimistic while on duty.”

Robert Strathallan removed his ha
n
d and braced his shoulders. “Now, Sister,” he said in a businesslike tone, “I think you can start getting Mrs. Lindsay up on her feet a little each day. Pad her wound well. I’ll see her husband when he comes in and we’ll discuss this wee holiday for the two o’ them.” He looked out of the window. “If I didn’t know she’d be begging to come back to us in a wee while, I could be happy for the lassie when she hears the news.”

Annie Lindsay heard the news and absolute rapture spread over her countenance.

“Oh, Sister,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “I was beginning tae think I was never going tae get on ma feet again. My Tam will be that pleased. When Ah wasna picked tae go oot with the others, an’ me feeling so well, Ah despaired o’ masel’. You know?” Her delight fading, she asked suddenly, “Sister, what’s wrong? Why are you grieving?”

Only one who was ultra-perceptive could have seen grief in Flo Lamont’s smiling face. She bit her lip sharply.

“Just family trouble, Annie,” she said quickly. “Even I have a family, you know.”

“Yes, Ah do know,” the other said, her happiness returning. “Your sister just came with the library. My, but she’s a lovely girl.” As Flo stared the young woman put her hand up to her lips. “I didnae mean you’re not pretty, Sister, but yon girl’s different. She’s a smashing blonde, ye ken?”

“Yes, I do know,” Flo smiled, pondering on Mrs. Lindsay’s words. “I didn’t know you had met my sister. Actually there are three of them, and all smashing blondes. I have to be content with holding their mirrors for them.”

Annie Lindsay surveyed her with absolute affection.

“I’ll take your sort in a hospital ward any day, Sister. You’re a smashing pal.”

“Thank you.”

It was some time before Flo was free to leave Women’s Surgical and go in pursuit of Fay, news of whom met her all down the ward. Fay had, apparently, announced their relationship freely, though why she hadn’t seen fit to announce to Flo that she was acting as hospital librarian was a different matter altogether. The job was honorary and at times extremely dull, and it did not sound like Fay to be giving both her time and energies to the bedridden for no return, unless she had changed her nature along with the air she breathed.

Flo ran her to earth at last when she saw the unattended library trolley outside Keith Bexley’s office. She tapped on the glass door and opened it almost too quickly, before she was invited to do so, but the scene was decorum personified. Fay was sitting five yards away from Keith, smoking a cigarette through a long, jade holder.

“Well!” greeted Fay, insolently. “Herself!”

“Hello!” Flo greeted both breathlessly. “So you’ve met!”

“Ages ago, old thing,” Keith said with a shrug. “I’ve been seeing a lot of old Fluff.
She’s
good fun,” he added meaningly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Flo rounded on her sister. “About Keith, the job, everything.”

“Why should I?” Fay retorted. “I don’t need dry nursing in either capacity.”

“Have you told Meg that Keith’s here?” Flo asked her sister.