Healing in the Hills

by Ruth Clemence

  Ismay found herself laughing at the ingenuous remade and sincere admiration in his eyes, and watched a little sadly as he walked away down the corridor and left the train to be met by a burly man, obviously from his resemblance to Ivor, the brother he had talked about. She sighed as the train once more continued its journey. This was the story of her life—chance meetings with interesting individuals quickly terminated. Once involved at the early age of eighteen with Peter McNeil, Ismay had never seriously looked at another man, hardly ever accepted a casual date. In her first year at the hospital the other student nurses had thought she was mad when, despite all persuasions, she had refused to join in the free dating that went on with medical students at the hospital, and even in some cases with members of the staff, though this was frowned upon by the nursing hierarchy. What was perfectly all right for sisters and staff nurses was not the thing for junior nurses. Nevertheless, most of the girls in her year had boy-friends amongst the doctors, either qualified or in training, and her own particular buddy, Sandie Grey, had tried again and again to get Ismay to change her mind and accept a date.

  But Peter had been both a jealous and a possessive lover. Right from the start he had insisted on being the only pebble on the beach, and before she left to start her hospital training he had made her promise faithfully that she would not accept invitations from other men. At first Ismay had been quite willing to comply. She had no particular wish to go out with some of the rather immature students who pestered her during working hours. Compared with Peter they had seemed mere boys, and until he had placed the engagement ring on her finger when she was twenty, it had never even occurred to her to question his complacent acceptance of the fact that she had never so much as looked at any other man, even in the most casual manner.

  It was only after Sandie, who had come down to spend a week-end with her in Cambridge, pointed out to her that he was being unreasonable in his demands and asked if Peter too had promised eternal fidelity that Ismay began to wonder whether what was sauce for the goose was always sauce for the gander. She never openly inquired of Peter whether he took out other girls, but she had had her suspicions about his relationships with some of the other researchers in his laboratory. The name of Sheila Moss had been often on his lips at one period, and although Ismay had been careful to show no sign of jealousy, she had frequently wondered if, after their experiments were over, Peter and this female colleague perhaps continued their discussions over an intimate meal in one of the town restaurants.

  She had been even more certain, after he had left for America, that he was dating other girls out there. Often his letters were brief and perfunctory and he never wrote more than once in two or three weeks. By the time the date came for his return, Ismay was in two minds whether she still wanted to marry him or not. His face had even begun to fade a little from her memory, and she used to take out his photograph and sit looking at it in her bedroom at night.

  It did not help to have Sandie urging her constantly to have a good time! ‘I don’t understand you, Ismay,’ Sandie had said one night when she was sitting chattering on Ismay’s bed. ‘Dozens of the boys, even Johnny Cross, would give their eye-teeth to take you out. Some of the girls are absolutely green with envy that you have the latest and dishiest of the registrars hankering after you, and all you can say is “no”. Ever since he came here six weeks ago the girls have been tumbling over themselves to arouse his interest, and without the slightest effort from you he falls head over heels for the one girl who won’t even look at him properly.’

  Ismay laughed. ‘There’s no good going on about it, Sandie. I’m engaged, and there’s no point in encouraging Johnny Cross to think he’s got a chance when he hasn’t.’

  ‘Well, how can you tell if you never go out with him?’ Sandie asked, refusing for once to be put off. ‘You might actually find you liked him better than Peter.’

  Ismay did not reply. There seemed no point in continuing the argument, indeed loyalty to Peter insisted that she terminate the conversation right away, but she was secretly becoming less and less sure of her own innermost feelings and eager to meet him again to gauge her reactions.

  When Peter finally returned she had gone to a good deal of trouble to get time off to meet his plane, and she was shocked into momentary silence when, on the journey in from Heathrow, he told her quite casually and off-handedly that he was going straight home to Cambridge.

  ‘What! Immediately?’ she had asked at last.

  He had glanced at his watch. ‘Well, on the first available train. I thought you knew that Mother was expecting me.’

  Ismay had sat silently in the taxi. She had not stopped to point out that after all she was supposed to be engaged to him and had expected at least to spend a few hours in his company after their long separation. If this was a sample of the way he was going to behave after they were married, and if she was always expected to come second either to his own or his mother’s wishes, she did not foresee a very happy future stretching ahead of them.

  She went back sadly to the hospital and wandering into her room went over to the window. She had only been there a couple of minutes when Sandie Grey’s head popped round the door. ‘I thought I heard footsteps, so I thought I’d pop my head in to see if it could possibly be you. What on earth are you doing back so early? I thought you’d gone to meet Peter’s plane.’

  Ismay turned round and throwing her handbag and gloves on the bed began to take off her coat. ‘Yes, I did,’ she remarked, ‘but he had to go straight home.’

  ‘You’re kidding! Not to Cambridge? Couldn’t he even have stayed and had a meal with you?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Ismay replied levelly, and going over to the mirror began to comb her hair. Over her shoulder she could see Sandie’s indignant face and when she spoke her friend’s voice squeaked with fury.

  ‘Well, I call it quite fantastic and I think you’re ridiculous to put up with it.’

  Ismay looked up appealingly. ‘Don’t say any more, Sandie, for goodness’ sake, it’s bad enough as it is. One word of sympathy and I shall probably sit down and howl all over you.’

  Sandie regarded Ismay’s face in silence for a moment or two, and then, giving her shoulder a squeeze, she walked out of the room without another word.

  For the rest of that week before she was due home to have her two days off, Ismay had done a lot of straight thinking. She had finally gone to Cambridge fully determined to have it out with Peter, and to tell him that she was not sure they should go on with their engagement. But surprisingly he had met her in at the station and almost before she was seated beside him in the car he had broken the news that he had put the money down on a cottage at Madingley, and that his parents were going to pay for central heating to be put in.

  Ismay was so disconcerted that she lapsed into immediate silence. Without a word to her: without even consulting her wishes he had already bought their future home. More than ever she was determined to put her foot down and not be treated as a mere cypher, but she was not given the opportunity. She reached home to find not only her own parents but Peter’s mother and father there for the evening meal, and she had been helplessly swept forward on the tide of everybody’s enthusiasm.

  The cottage had been visited and she had to admit even to herself that it was a little jewel and that when it was modernized it would be a perfect place in which to live. But her opinion had not been sought before its purchase was completed and she felt left out and sick at heart at Peter’s lack of concern for her feelings. She was a quiet girl by nature, unused to creating a fuss about anything, and her acquiescence was so taken for granted that she found herself being overwhelmed by the arrangements which were being made around her.

  Before she knew where she was the wedding date had been set, a place for the reception had been arranged, the lists of guests drawn up, even her bridesmaids chosen for her with hardly a second’s hesitation on Peter’s part, or a thought in his mind that she would not be completely in agreement with e
verything which he suggested or arranged. He had come back to a very desirable job at the university and already he was talking about the dinner parties they would give to Professor This and Doctor That—a furtherance, Ismay thought to herself, of his ambitions. Although she had lived in Cambridge all her life, she somehow could not visualize herself as a university wife, entering the charmed but narrow circle enjoyed by other graduates of Peter’s standing. She had been used to the easy camaraderie of a big hospital, where one met all sorts and types of people. She was not certain that she wanted to give it all up yet and become just a mere wife. Because Peter had made it quite clear that he would expect her at home once they were married.

  And then had come the accident, the horror of which still kept Ismay awake at night. But what was even more horrifying was that when she had got over the initial shock, a kind of relief had followed the first sorrow. Even now she could not prevent a feeling of guilty remorse stealing over her whenever the thought recurred, and she found herself staring at the Westmorland scenery passing the train window and telling herself once again that she was a hypocrite.

  It certainly lessened the strain to get away from home so she did not have to pretend a grief she did not feel; to be going to strangers where she no longer had to play the role of a heartbroken girl.

  Glancing at her watch, she suddenly realized that it would not be long before she reached her destination, and getting up she went down the corridor to have a wash and make up her face again. Stepping out of the train fifteen minutes later, she glanced around. She could see no sign of anyone likely to be Lewis Kynoch, so taking out her ticket, she went through the barrier and putting down her cases in the station entrance hall, looked around carefully.

  There was an elderly lady in a thick, fur-collared winter coat who must, Ismay thought, have been feeling far too warm on this mild afternoon, holding a little girl by the hand and anxiously watching the people coming through the barrier. There was a loving couple, holding on to each other as if this was their last moment on earth, talking excitedly, and against the sliding gate leading out on to the street stood a tall man dressed in a shabby pair of trousers, a misshapen, much washed pullover and a scruffy pair of old walking shoes.

  As Ismay stared in his direction he pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards her. He glanced down. ‘Green suitcases! Then you must be Miss Carroll. I’m Lewis Kynoch,’ and he held out his hand.

  His handshake was firm, but Ismay’s eyes were disapprovingly taking in his appearance and she did not immediately reply. He was still holding on to her hand and she looked up into his face to find him smiling down at her sardonically. ‘Don’t worry, nurse. I haven’t examined my patients dressed like this, if that’s what you’re thinking. I changed in my office before coming to the station to meet you because I’m hoping to get in a couple of hours’ fishing before dark,’ and dropping her hand he picked up the two suitcases, turned and led the way to the car park.

  It had been precisely what Ismay had been thinking and she followed him silently. It wasn’t until he had seated her in the car, taken his own place and set the car in motion that he spoke again. ‘Would you have any objection if we dispensed right away with the formal approach?’ he asked.

  Ismay looked questioningly towards him. He glanced sideways a moment into her eyes, and then his gaze went back to the road ahead of them. ‘It will be much easier for the girls if they can call you by your Christian name.’

  ‘By all means.’ Ismay’s voice had a throwaway, ‘don’t care’ note in it. ‘I hate standing on ceremony and would much prefer everyone to call me Ismay.’

  She waited for the usual comment on her unusual Christian name, but none was forthcoming, the man beside her merely replied quietly, ‘And my name is Lewis, as I think you already know. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family in due course.’

  They did not speak again until they were more than halfway towards their destination. As soon as the residential quarters of Penrith were left behind Lewis Kynoch put on speed and drove fast and competently along the winding road westwards. For her own part Ismay was quite content to sit in silence and look out at the beautiful landscape unfolding before her eyes. Yes, it was just as marvellous as she had remembered from that holiday years ago, and as they continued on their way she saw nothing to dampen this first enthusiasm at the beauty of the district where she had come to work.

  Before they reached Keswick Lewis Kynoch turned left into a small side road, and presently ahead of her Ismay saw through the trees the glint of water. They were soon running down a small secondary road, having quite obviously bypassed the town of Keswick itself, when suddenly once more he swung the car to the left and straight up a very steep drive.

  Instinctively Ismay grasped the side of the door and her breath came out in a long gasp of surprise as they whirled between the two wide pillars of the gateless entrance and continued up the long approach. Beside her, Ismay’s companion laughed. ‘Sorry about that! I should have warned you. It’s always a bit of a shock the first time you turn into it, but you have to take this drive at a gallop, otherwise the vehicle is inclined to slip backwards. Whenever you drive in here you’ll find you’ll have to do the same.’

  Ismay was quite prepared to believe it, because for the first few yards the drive had been very steep indeed and it was quite obvious why there was such a wide entrance way. If it was necessary to turn off the road at such speed there had to be plenty of room for a car coming down the drive from the house to pull into the side. She remembered in retrospect that there had been a mirror to give drivers notice of anything coming from the other direction, but she had not seen her companion glance towards it, although she supposed he must have done so.

  By now they had reached the house itself and Ismay was glancing interestedly about her. On the front elevation which they were approaching a long sun-lounge had been added, sticking out from the south-west corner at an angle to catch every bit of sunshine. The French windows were standing wide, and as Lewis Kynoch swung the car round the house to the northern end where a big double garage stood with its doors open, Ismay had just time to catch a glimpse of a figure sitting inside the annexe.

  As she got out of the car she stood and stared up at the house. It was a big square grey stone house of no particular architectural beauty, but it looked solid and weather-proof. She could imagine that when the winter winds blew it must be reassuring to get indoors and feel the strength of those stone walls around you. Lewis collected her cases and led the way towards a small side door, saying as he did so, ‘We normally use this way to come and go. It’s never locked until late at night,’ and entering the house, he led the way down a long corridor and into the hall.

  Dumping her cases at the bottom of the staircase, he beckoned with one finger. ‘Come along. I think I saw my mother in the sun-room. I’ll take you through and introduce you to her first.’

  Slowly Ismay followed him as he opened a door and held it so she could precede him into the long drawing-room. The annexe opened out of this and Lewis led the way down to where by the open garden doors a small figure was seated surrounded by packets of seeds. Mrs. Kynoch senior looked to be in her late sixties or early seventies. She had short curly grey hair and her blue eyes twinkled as she glanced up at her son. ‘I thought I saw you flash past the window at your usual crawl,’ she remarked, a teasing note in her voice, and Lewis chuckled.

  He took Ismay’s elbow and pushed her forward. ‘I picked up our nurse, Mother. Here she is. Let me introduce Ismay Carroll.’

  Mrs. Kynoch got to her feet and shook Ismay by the hand. She found herself being searchingly scrutinized by the shrewd blue eyes and wondered fleetingly if this astute old lady approved of what she saw.

  ‘Anne arrived?’ Lewis asked abruptly before Ismay had had time to say more than a rather nervous ‘Hallo’ and ‘Yes, thank you,’ in answer to her hostess’s inquiry as to whether she had had a good journey, and as Mrs. Kynoch let go of Ismay’s hand and sat
down again she replied, ‘Oh yes. Over an hour ago. Mrs. Fletcher and I got her to bed and Clare’s keeping her company.’

  ‘Does she seem all right? Did she stand the journey without trouble?’ Lewis asked.

  ‘She seems fine to me. A bit pale and tired, but don’t take my word for it, go up and see for yourself.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I intend to,’ Lewis grinned, and he turned back towards the door leading into the drawing-room. ‘Felicity in?’ he asked, suddenly swinging round as he reached the door.

  Mrs. Kynoch hesitated a moment, a packet of seeds between her fingers, and then she looked directly across the room. ‘No, she’s not back yet from her bridge afternoon,’ she remarked levelly.

  A frown appeared in Lewis’s eyes. He stood quite silent and motionless for a moment, and then he said abruptly to Ismay, ‘As I’m going upstairs to see Anne you may as well come with me. I’ll show you your room and introduce you to the girls,’ and he strode off without waiting to see whether she followed him or not.

  Ismay smiled apologetically at Mrs. Kynoch and went out in his wake. She found him standing at the bottom of the staircase looking rather impatient, her suitcases in either hand, and as soon as he saw her appear in the hall he started up the stairs.

  Ismay hurried to follow him. When he reached the head of the stairs he turned left and walked down a long corridor. At the second door from the end he dumped her suitcases down, merely saying, ‘This is your bedroom,’ and immediately walked to the door at the very end of the corridor which he flung open.

  Ismay followed and found herself in a big airy room with windows overlooking the garden. In the nearest twin bed lay a small thin teenager with dark brown hair scooped back behind her ears, her pale face seeming to consist mainly of two huge blue eyes. She smiled as soon as she saw who had come into the room and held out her arms.