A Caring Heart

by Margaret Carr

  Then she sighed. ‘In other ways he is very childlike with swift mood swings and temper tantrums. He can be extremely difficult which is why I’m so worried for him now he has gone missing.’

  Their starter arrived with a cheerful, ‘Bon Appetit’ and they both tucked in.

  When they had finished they laid down their cutlery and with a sharp look in her direction Jack said, ‘He hasn’t gone missing as such, he is scouting for a couple of my men who are looking for an escaped prisoner.’

  Isobel felt her jaw drop open. ‘What,’ she gasped when she caught her breath.

  A frown dropped between his brows. ‘It’s under wraps at the moment. No need to upset the locals and cause a panic if they should decide that they might be murdered in their beds.’

  ‘Why, is this prisoner dangerous?’

  ‘No, not at all, but you know what people are like once their imaginations take hold.’

  ‘So where is he, when will he be back?’

  Just then their steak arrived in a beautiful cream, tomato, onion and basil sauce, and she had to wait for her answer as Jack bit into his dinner.

  ‘He’ll be back before you are, tucking into one of Mother’s bran cakes if I’m not mistaken,’ he said between bites. She looked up and caught him watching her with a gleam in his eye.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘You are with your need to mother all your chicks, yet you were ready to murder poor Mackenzie.’

  ‘Yes well, that was different. He rubs me up the wrong way.’

  ‘Then I can see I am going to have to be on my best behaviour.’

  Isobel’s heart gave a little skip and she choked on her last piece of cheese.

  * * *

  It was true. Bobby was back safe and well, having come to no harm from this excursion with the soldiers. Had they found the missing prisoner Isobel wondered, but refrained from asking, when she reminded herself that Jack had wanted it kept secret for fear of worrying the locals.

  The Lewis family were just glad to have Bobby back and were happy with his, ‘been to the woods,’ explanation. Churchill dogged his every footstep, Joyce Lewis explained to Isobel, and wouldn’t let him out of his sight for a moment. ‘So it’s to be hoped he doesn’t go walking in the woods again or he will have company the next time.’

  Leaving the Lewis’s farm Isobel had two more visits to fit in on the far side of the village. It was as she left the last house and was making her way back up the valley that she heard the baker’s van rattling up behind her at a spanking pace.

  Moving over to the side of the road she knew no more until she was knocked sideways into the ditch and watched the van disappearing up the road careering wildly from side to side behind the runaway horse.

  When she tried to haul herself to her feet pain shot through her side making her feel sick. She laid still and quietly explored her body from her feet upward. There was a sickening pain in her left ankle but no obvious broken bones. The main pain was her side and she suspected broken ribs. Waves of pain made her eyes water.

  She must have blacked out for the next thing she knew someone was lifting the bicycle back onto the road and asking her if she could stand. She gave a low groan and tried once more to drag herself out of the ditch.

  This time with much grinding of teeth and the helping hand of the man holding the bike with one hand while reaching down to help her with the other, she managed to stand. Using the bike and the man for support they made it back to the village.

  Between gasps for breath she told the man what had happened and asked him to enquire after the baker. He left her at the doctor’s house and went to make the enquires. Doctor Turnbull burst into the kitchen where Mrs Holland was fussing around Isobel.

  ‘What’s to do here?’ he said, shooing the housekeeper away.

  Isobel repeated her story as best she could and said she thought she had broken her ribs. He examined her then strapped up her ankle and ribs, put her into his car and insisted that she went straight to bed when they arrived at the cottage.

  ‘I will contact the nurse from down the valley and she can come and stay with you until you are fit again. Do as you are told, woman. You can’t manage here on your own so that’s an end to it.’

  ‘But Nurse Thomson will have her own round to do. She won’t have time to . . .’

  ‘Well they will just have to arrange something else, now to bed with you.’

  When he had gone Isobel hobbled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea then she sat down in the armchair in front of the fire with the blanket from Churchill’s chair draped over her knees and let silent tears drop down her cheeks.

  JACK SOFTENS TOWARDS ISOBEL

  Bobby had helped them find the perfect sites for their work and Jack was well pleased. He had given up all hope of ever living a useful life again, when his friend Andrew Foreman gave him an introduction to a man in Whitehall.

  Jack and the Major met in a tall wood-panelled room with a large oak desk and two straight backed chairs in the centre like an island in a sea of polished wood. The Major walked forward to shake Jack’s hand, his grip had the firmness of a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

  The Major had suggested that Jack might be interested in using his skills as a serving officer to do some undercover work for a new department of the government. It would mean spending a couple of weeks training in the work that would be expected of him. Then he would be asked to take over a group of men in a secret operation that must on no account be discovered on pain of death.

  Jack could hardly believe his good fortune. To be active again even in a small way was more than he had ever hoped for. After instruction he could see a way forward at last, and entered into the scheme with enthusiasm. Initially he was to take charge of a group of other officers based at the Hall where they were to set up a secret radio network. The old tramp had been invaluable in this endeavour and they now had six hidden dugouts arranged within an area around the camp.

  * * *

  It was two days before he heard the story of the runaway baker’s van and realised that Isobel had been hurt. So that afternoon he paid a visit to her cottage. He knocked on the door several times without an answer and was about to leave when an upstairs window opened and Isobel’s blonde head popped out.

  ‘Oh hello, the door’s open, just come in.’

  He opened the door and stepped over the threshold.

  ‘I’ll be down in a moment, make yourself at home,’ he heard her say before she came slowly down the stairs.

  He looked about him at the dishes in the sink and the overburdened coathooks on the wall behind the door. A pile of laundry lay on a chair waiting to be ironed. A look of enquiry crossed his face as he made his way into the living room. They both entered the room at the same time.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess. Nurse Thompson isn’t the tidiest of people.’

  He was shocked at how pale and fragile she looked and quickly made way for her to sit down in the big armchair.

  ‘I only heard about your accident this morning,’ he said, sitting down opposite her. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Three cracked ribs and a twisted ankle. The bike has bent forks but the baker is all right. Apparently it was the crack of a shot gun that startled the horse, the baker fell back and banged his head and the horse bolted. I wouldn’t have thought that horse had the energy to bolt, but you never know.’

  She drew her breath in slowly after her little speech and grimaced.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll get the bike repaired. How long will you be out of action?’

  ‘Not long at all if I have any say in the matter. Sally Thompson has been very helpful, but she tires me out with her endless high spirits and disorganised chaos.’

  ‘I was on my way up to the farm and I wondered if you would like a run up. The Land Army girls are up there now and making a big difference.’

  He watched the colour creep back into her face and the grey eyes sparkle with sudden interest.
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br />   ‘That would be lovely, thanks. I haven’t been able to get out and I’m going stir crazy.’

  He led her out to the car that seemed always to be at his beck and call. The driver jumped out to hold open the door for her when he saw her strapped up ankle, and Jack helped her inside.

  On the ride up to the farm Jack explained that his father hadn’t been too impressed with Nurse Thompson. ‘She’s a little bit over the top if you get my meaning and that confuses Dad. I’m afraid you have spoilt them all. Mum has been asking after you, but Bobby said it served you right for cutting off Churchill’s tail. I must confess that even I was confused with that one until Mum explained Churchill was the cat. Though why you cut his tail off I can’t imagine, unless it was that Irish temper of yours getting the better of you again.’

  Isobel stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘I didn’t do it deliberately. He had been mauled and it was hanging by a thread, it was the only thing I could do. Do you mean Bobby is holding a grudge against me, but I did try to explain to him why I had to do it.’

  Jack was openly laughing at her. ‘Calm down. I’m sure he will forgive you in time.’

  Mischief made her say, ‘Which one? Bobby or Churchill?’

  ‘Both.’

  Then the car stopped at the farm gate and the driver got out to open it.

  ‘I will have to see if they will allow us to surface this lane up to the farm. Its condition worsens every year.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ she asked with interest.

  ‘Well, it will take a gang of men over a period of time, and then there will be the guarding of them, but I can always ask.’

  ‘It will be great if you could,’ she said with feeling, the thought of the nerve jangling ride up and down the lane to the farm still fresh in her mind.

  ‘Oh, Nurse Ross how good to see you,’ Joyce Lewis greeted her. ‘Duncan has missed you. The other nurse is very nice of course, but he keeps on about you, wanting to know where you are.’ She fussed around them as they entered the kitchen. The driver had followed them in at Jack’s invitation.

  ‘Mum, Dad, this is Wally Tennent my driver and right-hand man.’ There was handshaking and lively chatter going on when Bobby came in not long after. Looking rather uncomfortable Wally turned away muttering something about seeing to the car. By the look of surprise on Bobby’s face he had not only seen him but recognised him. Isobel noticed this and unconsciously frowned.

  If Bobby looked so pleased to see him, why did the driver make such a hasty exit she wondered. Duncan was saying something to her and she turned her attention back to him. After an hour they were on the point of leaving when Isobel found herself standing next to Bobby.

  ‘Has Churchill forgiven me, Bobby?’

  Bobby nodded his head. ‘Animals don’t hold grudges, not like people.’

  ‘Do you know Wally well?’

  Again he nodded his head. ‘Me and him meet in the woods. Find good places to hide.’

  About to ask him more she was interrupted by Jack who was holding the door open for her. She looked hesitantly across at Wally but decided against asking him what he had been doing in the woods. Perhaps it had been a bit of illegal poaching that he didn’t want known about, or perhaps it had something to do with the missing prisoner. She put it to the back of her mind when Jack asked if she had enjoyed her visit to the farm.

  ‘I hope it wasn’t too much like work.’

  ‘Not at all. I look on your parents as friends. They are lovely people.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘Perhaps when you are more mobile we can repeat our trip into Rennington.’

  Isobel tried to reply with practised equilibrium while her nervous system went into spasm. Their first meal had been just that, a drive into town, a meal with genial conversation and a drive back. No hint of anything else, yet here he was suggesting a second date. He was a man with hidden sorrows, she knew that, and would not look beyond the friendship he was offering, yet it was hard to check the fluttering in her stomach.

  * * *

  The day she returned to work was a day of soft warm winds and fluffy powder puff skies, so she left off her navy cardigan and set off on her recently restored bicycle. She had seen nothing of Jack since her trip up to the farm and assumed it was because he was busy.

  In the days since she had frequently wondered whether anything would come of his offer of another date in Rennington, then scolded herself for caring about whether he did or not. This morning, however, she had placed Jack Lewis firmly to the back of her mind because Alan was coming home on leave.

  She was too cautious to make plans, but the pleasure of her thoughts must have shown on her face for that morning everyone who knew her smiled and waved back as she passed. She and Alan would walk in the hills and take a picnic.

  Alan loved to walk and they would lie in the grass as they had done when they were children staring up at the sky and make animals and magic people out of the clouds, as their mother did in the smoky embers of the fire of a winter’s evening.

  Later as teenagers they had spent their summer vacations walking and skiing in many different countries. Then their parents had died and life became a more serious affair. Alan had joined the RAF and she had completed her nursing training and taken the job here in Thornbury.

  Her thoughts were brought back to the present by the sudden eruption onto the road in front of her of a small boy with a white scared face. Braking sharp enough to raise the rear wheel from the road, she asked the small boy what was wrong. With tears pouring down his face he managed to say, ‘He’s under the wagon.’

  Swiftly dismounting from the bike she dropped it onto the verge and hurried after the boy who was running back towards a row of farm cottages a few yards up the track.

  Never having had any calls to these particular cottages before she was horrified when turning into the yard behind them to notice the dilapidated state of the area. Her patient was trapped under the wheelbreak of a heavy wagon. Three women were trying to lift the weight from the man as a young boy tried to pull him out.

  ‘Leave him,’ she called out to the young boy, ‘get something to prop it up with.’

  Running up she placed her bag on a stone wall and bent down to the man lying groaning beneath the wagon. The women had failed to move it and let the wagon rest back on the man.

  ‘Quickly,’ she said, turning to the women. ‘Help the boy gather something to push under the wagon the next time you lift it.’ After only moments they were back with a number of items that Isobel accepted would make a support if a precarious one, and then once again the women gathered their combined strength and with a shout heaved the wagon upward. Isobel and the lad ran around shoving the things under the wagon to support it then the women let the weight go.

  Grabbing the man under the armpits and digging in her heels Isobel tugged him slowly backward. He was heavy and the ground beneath them rough, but clamping her teeth tight she heaved him free of the wagon and the women let out a satisfied shudder.

  The man was now unconscious. ‘What’s his name?’ she asked the women standing alongside her.

  ‘Ray.’

  ‘Ray! Ray, can you hear me? A blanket if you please and we’ll carry him inside.’

  There was a slight hesitation and she glanced up at the two anxious work lined faces of the older women.

  ‘He’s not one of ours,’ the grey haired woman said. ‘He’s a field worker.’

  ‘Then where does he live?’

  The women shrugged.

  ‘Well he can’t lie out here.’

  One of the women disappeared into the nearest cottage and brought out a blanket which they used as a makeshift stretcher to carry the man inside. They laid him on a large bed in the far corner of the room. The place stank of damp and decay.

  There was a fire in the grate around which were arranged a large black kettle and an equally large pot, a skillet and a wicked looking pair of tongs. The floor was packed earth with a greasy hooky mat before t
he fire. Green mould decorated the walls and the door and window frames barely met the holes they were designed for.

  Isobel had retrieved her bag and moved to examine her patient. After a while she looked up and said, ‘Someone will have to go for the doctor, this man is badly hurt. The boy can take my bike, it’s outside by the road.’

  As Isobel finished speaking one of the women turned and called out across the yard to the older lad, ‘Freddie, the lady wants you to go to the village and fetch the doctor. You’re to take her bike.’

  The lad came forward scratching beneath his thatch of hair. ‘I never ridden a bike afor,’ he said.

  ‘Well now’s your chance,’ Isobel snapped, ‘and be quick, this man may need to go to hospital.’

  The boy took off at a run and Isobel sat back to keep a watch on her patient.

  When the boy came back he just shook his shoulders. ‘The woman said the doctor was out on a case, she’ll pass message on when he returns.’

  Isobel frowned. ‘Did she say where the emergency was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we must get this man to hospital,’ she said as she wiped away the blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘Boy, go back to the village, stop at the first telephone you see and dial nine, nine, nine and ask for the ambulance and tell them where you live.’

  The boy set off once more at a run. A few minutes later he was back in the doorway. ‘I thought I told you . . .’ She got no further when a dark figure loomed in the doorway and nudged the boy to one side.

  ‘Can we take him in my car? It will no doubt be quicker.’

  Isobel looked up into the questioning face of Jack Lewis.

  ‘Yes please, that will be most helpful,’ she smiled gratefully.

  Together they carried him carefully out to the waiting car and lay him on the back seat with his head resting on Isobel’s knee.