Hospital in the Highlands

by Anne Vinton

  “Frankly it wasn’t intended to be,” the other smiled. “Our mother was rather fond of Daphne du Maurier’s book.” She laughed at his express. “Michael, come off it!” she urged, feeling more relaxed. “If you came here to scold us as a family you must remember that we’ve years and years of paganism behind us. My paternal grandfather left Grandma and ran back to India. I believe he was very happy. Mother used to drive us off to Sunday School because there was no room in the flat for us and our toys and Father’s friends.” She lowered her eyes a moment. “That’s not exactly a Christian upbringing, is it, Michael?”

  He shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter, Meg. It honestly doesn’t matter. There’s sweetness and charity in you, and the talks we’ve had ... I’ve enjoyed them.” His eyes suddenly glowed. “I’ve enjoyed them immensely. You’re very honest as a family. So many people pretend, you know.”

  “Yes, we’re honest, I suppose,” Meg mused. “Often brutally so. Sometimes I don’t think honesty is kind. For instance, Pixie told me once that a girl at her old school thought I was her mother. I didn’t appreciate her frankness at the time. It made me feel awful.”

  “To the teenager twenty-five is middle-aged,” Michael smiled. “But simply adding years to one’s age can be extremely frustrating. Life must be full of experiences, grave and cheery, if one is to mature as our Maker intended. I have been feeling frustrated lately, Meg. I’m going away, you know.”

  “Oh, Michael! I—I didn’t know,” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry. No—I don’t mean I’m sorry, exactly. I think I’m absolutely staggered. I—I can’t believe it. Why are you going? Where?”

  “I’ve been studying for work in foreign missions. I was preparing before you came to Glen Lochallan.”

  “Foreign missions?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” His voice was tight now: unreal in his ears. “I’m going out to Sikkim: bordering India and Tibet. Mainly Buddhist territory.”

  “Oh, Michael!” she wailed, and put her hands up to her face.

  “Meg! Meg, darling!” he was on his knees now, tearing down her hands and watching her blue eyes weep for him. “Do you care?”

  She sniffled, felt for her handkerchief and then smiled through her tears.

  “I—I don’t know what we’ll do without you,” she replied.

  “You—yourself?” he insisted.

  “I’ll have to—get used to the idea of your going, won’t I?”

  “Not necessarily. You could come with me, as my wife.” Now there hung a silence heavy with the fateful words that had been spoken: a thickness of emotional ectoplasm through which a decision must be cut, one way or another.

  “I suppose I could, if you asked me,” Meg said dazedly, “and before I begin to look for the many and obvious snags that will prevent it happening, my inclination would be to say I’d love to come with you, Michael, as your wife. I can’t conceive living on here in Glen Lochallan without you, frankly.”

  The following embrace was lone, fervent and finally relaxing. Sinking down together on the old sofa the new lovers had so much to tell, such a lot to confide.

  “You don’t know about Keith, do you?” Meg asked at length.

  “I think I do, dearest. Pixie—or rather—Rebecca, called him your ‘old flame,’ and you’ve been seeing a lot of him again lately.”

  “How did you know that? Pixie again?”

  “No. I’m afraid I’ve been guilty of hanging around your house lately, sometimes just spying, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. When I caught glimpses of you and him I was sick with misery and jealousy. I still can’t believe all this isn’t a dream.”

  “Well, Keith asked me to marry him yesterday for the second time. He jilted me the first, you know. I thought when I heard him saying those words again that I’d be as happy as I was before, but just nothing happened to me. It was as though Keith was simply saying ‘Good afternoon’ or something equally unimportant. I told him no and he wouldn’t believe me. I could hardly believe myself. Keith made such a hold in my life I thought only he could fill it again.”

  “And did he accept his dismissal finally?”

  “No.” Meg looked down. “He told me to think about it and let him know this evening when he comes. After he’d gone I was glad things weren’t irrevocable, because I began to feel happier and almost triumphant. It was as though Keith’s proposal had restored my lost youth, I couldn’t consider marriage with him. It was suddenly as though in accepting Keith I would be losing a wonderful world, not gaining it. I couldn’t put a name to any of it, darling, until you came in here and broke the news that you were going away.” Meg closed her eyes in remembrance. “You were the world I would have lost if I’d married Keith Bexley. I’m glad now that my mind was settled on his score before you made your outrageous suggestion to me.”

  “What outrages you in the idea of Christian marriage?”

  “Nothing. It’s outrageous that you should expect me to accompany you to Sikkim, or wherever it is, though. How about the heathen right here in Glen Lochallan? Weren’t you doing all right with us? What about Pixie—that is—Rebecca? I suppose we take her along to Sikkim, too?”

  “You’re not Rebecca’s mother, my darling, no matter how mistakenly you give that impression to her school friends. Her future will be assured somehow. She has other sisters. I refuse to allow you to sacrifice yourself to your family now that your heart has spoken on my behalf.”

  “Oh!” Meg snuggled down like a cat on a silk cushion that has just been offered cream. “You’re going to be awfully good for me, Michael, I can see. Already I feel I haven’t a care in the world, or a problem that cannot be solved. Will it always be like this?”

  “I’m prepared to tackle problems, Meg, with you beside me. I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Oh, Michael.”

  There is a time for everything, and this was a time simply to love, and overcome bewilderment in the realization of great joy.

  It was Meg Lamont’s first truly happy day in years, and it had surely been worth the waiting.

  Pixie was of an age when she demanded less of life and still found it blissful. This was the fourth week of school holidays, and it was summer. Beneath her sandalled feet soft green turf stretched out into infinity to make up the nine-hole golf course, which was the private property of the laird and adjacent to “the big hoose” as the tradesmen called the house of Glen Lochallan.

  Pixie was cheerfully acting as caddie to Hamish Strathallan on the understanding that later he would show her “a thing or two,” Already she had been a willing pupil and now knew a No. 2 iron from a putter, and had even shamed her mentor on two occasions by following the flight of the ball accurately beyond his own ken. “Get some glasses, Hamish!” she cheerfully adjured.

  “I don’t need glasses, ye saucy wee Sassenach,” he retorted sharply. “I lost it in the tree there.”

  From the direction of the house came the yodel of a woman’s voice.

  “That’s Jenny,” Hamish said, pocketing his ball and ramming the niblick unceremoniously back into the bag that Pixie was hauling around. “Lemonade time. Must you come?”

  “Of course I must come,” Pixie retorted indignantly. “Jenny likes me if you don’t. Besides, I haven’t had ma lesson yet.”

  “You’re never away from here nowadays,” the youth complained. “Once we were a happy bachelor establishment. Now we’re cluttered up with other folks’ kids, etcetera.”

  “I’ll tell Jenny what you said,” Pixie threatened.

  “What did I say? Nothing against Jenny or Miss Purdie. They’re invited guests.”

  “If I’m ‘other folks’ kids’ they must be the ‘etcetera’ you mentioned, invited or not. One of these days I’ll really get mad at you, Hamish Strathallan, and you’ll unleash all the fury of a woman scorned.”

  “Really?” He turned to regard her, weighted down by the golf bag as she was. “Shall I carry that?” he asked.

  “No. Ye’ll no’ get o
ut o’ your obligations by doing the work I’m asked to do in return for your tutorial services. When Jenny asks how you did, remember to tell her you took seven at the fourth.”

  “I took six.”

  “You nudged, and that counts as a stroke.”

  “I did not nudge. I was merely addressing the ball.”

  “You left your calling card,” Pixie joked, “and who has the best eyes?”

  On the terrace Jenny Huntingford rose from a wicker-work chaise longue at the youngsters’ approach.

  “I could hear you arguing a mile off,” she smiled. “Come and sit next to me, Pixie. Purdie’s just gone in for ice.”

  Pixie sat down on a deckchair and turned her toes in blissfully. Though Pixie would one day be a beauty in her own right and had beautiful sisters, Jenny Huntingford was the ultimate of all that was exquisite in femininity in Pixie’s eyes at the moment. Hero-worship glowed in her like love as she watched Jenny’s hands pouring lemonade, passing delicious shortbread.

  “I thought I might call at Rowans this afternoon,” the admired one now suggested gently. “I saw your sister at the hospital the other day and didn’t know her, of course. She’s not like you, darling, is she?”

  “No,” Pixie said apologetically, “but Flo’s my favorite sister. She’s the nicest of the bunch.”

  “Is she now?” Was Jenny Huntingford’s voice just a shade cooler? “You shouldn’t have favorites in a family, you naughty thing! Anyhow, do you think your dear Flo would let me come to tea? Robert tells me she’s having a few days away from work.”

  “She is. Do come, Jenny!” urged Pixie. “You and Miss Purdie, both. Hello!” she suddenly beamed as another female wearing large horn-rimmed spectacles appeared with a jug of ice-cubes. “I was just saying you must come and have tea at Rowans, Miss Purdie. Meg likes company. Even Hamish can come if he wishes.”

  The younger Strathallan snorted ungraciously.

  “Sweet of you, honey,” said Kate Purdie in her Canadian-accented voice. “I’m just loving it here.”

  “Purdie’s got some typing to do, unfortunately,” said Jenny regretfully. “After all, my pen does earn my living and she is my secretary. I’m a slave-driver, am I not, Purdie?”

  “I’ll say, Mrs. Huntingford!” smiled the Canadian, grimacing at her employer. “I’ll hold you to that invitation another day, young Pixie.”

  The ice tinkled in the glasses and the sun began to shine with real warmth on the south terrace.

  “But you’ll come, won’t you, Jenny?” Pixie asked adoringly, forgetting to empty her mouth of shortbread crumbs. “Of course you won’t see Flo today, but—”

  “Why won’t I?” asked the other, smoothing the girl’s breeze-ruffled hair.

  “Because she’s gone off with Jim for a couple of days. Jim’s her fiancé, you know.”

  “Oh? Is Jim nice?”

  “Smashing. He brought me a real sarong in Chinese silk from Malaya. Meg got slippers and Fay sold the silver hairbrush he gave her for five pounds straight away. She’s saving up to go to the festival, you know.”

  “Will she be getting married soon?”

  “Fay isn’t even engaged. She’s only nineteen. She tells everybody she’s twenty-one, though.”

  “I meant Flo, dear.”

  “Oh, I dunno. Maybe that’s what they’re talking about up there.”

  “Up where?”

  “At the Eagle Hotel, halfway up Ben Allan.”

  “I shouldn’t think there’s much to do halfway up the Ben.’! Pixie giggled conspiratorially: “I shouldn’t think they’ll want to do much. After all, they haven’t seen each other for nearly two years.”

  “You naughty little thing!” Jenny said admiringly. “I’ll bet you could tell some tales about your family if you would!”

  “Ay, I could,” agreed Pixie, “but Flo doesn’t tell me much so that I canna gossip.”

  “Very wise,” said Kate Purdie heartily.

  Jenny Huntingford looked at her secretary quickly but the wide smile was immediately disarming.

  “I think we’d better come to Rowans another day, Pixie, when you’re all available. I’ve heard such a lot about your sister at the hospital that I’m really anxious to meet her along with the others. I can understand that just now she’s concerned with her own affairs, and I do sincerely hope she’s very happy. Oh, I do indeed!”

  Pixie adored her more than ever for this, though Kate Purdie put her tongue in her cheek and industriously cleaned her spectacles.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sun came out and rolled the mists away during the second day of Flo and Jim’s short stay at the Eagle Hotel. Actually they had cleared their own mists after dinner the previous evening.

  It was quite simple really; not only had Flo’s affections strayed during their separation, but Jim’s had also. The young sister of his senior executive at the mine had come out to housekeep for a time, and Jim had felt himself more and more attracted at each encounter with Jill Boscombe. When he denied himself the pleasure of the girl’s company he suffered all the more. Often he had written letters to Flo, trying to explain what had happened, but he had always torn them up in the end and sent dutiful accounts of his activities instead.

  “I did notice,” Flo said drily.

  “I couldn’t hurt you, Flo,” Jim said miserably. “I remembered how we had been, you and I, and I hated to think of you—like Meg—when that rotter...” and Jim had paused, horror-stricken at the picture he conjured up.

  “But you can tell me now,” Flo said rather bleakly.

  “I know. I had to. I knew the minute I saw you that you wouldn’t want half of me—or anybody. You’re a girl who has to suffer the whole hog, Flo, or enjoy it. But if you want us to go on—you come first. I want you to know that. I would never respect myself, otherwise.”

  “There’s Jill to be considered, isn’t there?”

  His face twisted with pain.

  “She’s biding—waiting your decision. By the way, Flo, don’t hate Jill. It’s not her fault. It isn’t anybody’s. I had only to see her to know I loved her, but I swear by Almighty God there has been nothing between us, only words. I’m a man of principles, and I wouldn’t make love to any lassie, while another wore my ring.”

  “But she’s in love with you, too?”

  “There are ways of knowing.” Jim’s sigh was long and hard. He thought he was imagining the cheerfulness in Flo’s voice when she spoke again.

  “You had better go to the expense of a cable tomorrow, Jim, and put Jill out of her misery. It’s all right. Of course we can’t go on putting our duty first when our hearts are elsewhere. What sort of a marriage would that be? Here! take your ring with my blessing for the future. God bless you both!” and Flo leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, but without passion.

  Jim took the small ring with its half hoop of not very good diamonds, and his hand trembled.

  “You’re sure, Flo?” he asked. “You don’t bear any ill will?”

  “None. I’m glad you’re as human and frail as I am, Jim. Sometimes living up to you was hard work.”

  “What do you mean, as frail as you are?”

  “I tried to tell you earlier, but our confessions were pouring out so thickly one of us had to shut up and hear the other out. While I wasn’t wearing that ring, I met someone else and it happened, that’s all.”

  “What happened?” Jim demanded.

  “The same thing. We fell in love!”

  “Goodness gracious!” Jim lit his pipe and looked almost put out all over again. “This is a nice state of affairs I must say! Supposing I hadn’t met Jill and had come halfway across the world to hear you tell me we were finished? Has that side of the business occurred to you?”

  Flo shrugged.

  “As I didn’t know of Jill’s existence it was the only thing I had to think of. But I wouldn’t have given you marching orders, or kicked you out like last year’s hat.”

  “Thank you very
much. Do you think I would want my wife to be in love with somebody else?”

  “No. But you haven’t exactly fought to hold me these two long years, have you? If Jill could go out and housekeep, why couldn’t I?”

  “Because when I went out there was an emergency in Malaya and we weren’t encouraged to take women.”

  “I would have thought you’d have wanted me to be first woman out as soon as the ban was lifted.”

  “What was the point for a few months?”

  “You and me—we were the point, Jim. Once we were in love. Now look at us. Those few months broke us asunder. As it happened you weren’t the only one to find someone who made you feel less lonely. I’m sure you weren’t intending to fall in love?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Well, neither was I. Falling in love just happens. In the circumstances I refuse to apologize, Jim. You can’t have your cake and eat it; transgress and be outraged at another’s transgression. I prefer not to be brokenhearted over you, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s all right, Flo, but when I think...!”

  “You should be thinking you’re well out of it. You’ve got your ring back, a new sweetheart and no fuss. What exactly do you want, Jim?”

  He exhaled fragrant smoke thoughtfully.

  “It’s all been too easy. I’ll tell the truth. I miss your being sorry about—about us. I thought you would be shattered, somehow.”

  “Six months ago I would have been. Now go and send your cable.”

  “No. I’ll wait until tomorrow. By the way, who is the man you’re keen on?”

  “I’m not telling.” Flo dimpled over her coffee cup.

  “Why? He does exist? You’re not just—just making him up to save your face?”

  “I never realized you were such an egotistical bore before, Jim Darvie. You refuse to believe a girl can stop being in love with you once she has been involved. Yes, he does exist. I’m not a very good actress and I couldn’t save my face from a third degree like this no matter how hard I tried. I don’t want to name him because my affair doesn’t look like having as happy an ending as yours, but when he kissed me you and Malaya were pushed a thousand miles farther away. That’s when I begged you to come home.”