by Anne Douglas
She wasn’t worrying. Not really. But tomorrow, maybe, she’d try to catch him. Perhaps in his office, when she could take something in as an excuse, and just say … Maybe she wouldn’t decide what to say in advance. She’d just let the words come when she saw him. When she saw him, she would know what to say. Of course she would.
But that night, after she’d taken her decision what to do, she hardly slept at all.
Thirty-Nine
The following morning, when she arrived early for work and saw the door to Grant’s office closed, Isla knew that this was the time. The time she’d been waiting for. The time to find out – whatever it was she must know.
Some sixth sense told her he was there, behind that closed door, probably doing some paperwork, probably not wanting to be disturbed – though only a short time ago, she knew she’d have had no qualms about disturbing him. She was different from the rest of the staff; he would never have turned her away. Yet that morning, with no real evidence of change, she found herself gazing at his closed door and feeling afraid to raise her hand to knock.
Come on, she told herself, get on with it, will you?
Folk will be arriving any minute to begin work – this is the time, the only time there might be. Just knock on the door! So easy, so hard. Strange, how much courage was needed to do something so usual, so routine!
‘Trying to catch Doctor Revie, Nurse?’ came the voice of Sister Francis, who had just come hurrying in. ‘Ah, he’s the elusive one!’
‘Just want to ask him about Mr Kinnaird’s leaving date, Sister, as I’m seeing Mr Kinnaird first thing—’
‘Go ahead, then, I’m sure he won’t mind. Always use an opportunity when it comes up, Nurse.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ said Isla, and with a sigh she hoped could not be heard, she finally tapped on Dr Revie’s door.
‘Come in!’
There was his voice, so mellow, so pleasant, a voice that had come to mean so much to her over the past weeks she suddenly could not believe that it would be used to say things she would not want to hear. She’d been wrong, must have been – there would be some simple explanation for their not meeting – so go ahead, she ordered her still reluctant self, go in and find it!
‘Why, Isla!’ he said, when she was standing before him, his door closed behind her, her gaze on his face, ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’
‘Why not?’ she asked huskily. ‘I’ve often come to see you in your office.’
‘Did you have something you wanted to ask me about?’
‘You mean to do with work?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’
He was moving papers on his desk and, with sharpened gaze, she saw that his hands were very slightly trembling and knew he was nervous. It did not please her, for if he was nervous, there must be something for him to be nervous about, and with renewed apprehension, she guessed what it was. Just then, just hearing his voice, she’d had a little rush of confidence, let herself believe for a moment or two that she had nothing to worry about. But here was that same voice suggesting she wanted to see him about work.
About work?
Oh, no, she wanted to cry, I don’t want to see you about work. It’s love I want to see you about; it’s love we have to talk about!
But she didn’t say that, of course. Only cleared her throat and said, ‘It’s not about work, Grant, and I think you know that.’
‘Isla, this isn’t the time or place to—’
‘Yes, it is. It’s just the time and place.’
He waited a moment, still moving papers on his desk.
Then, without looking at her, he said, ‘Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you, but the thing is, I’ve had a lot to do – more than usual. Doctor Lorne’s taking a few days off – not going away, but not working.’ Grant hesitated and moved another paper on his desk. ‘He wants to spend time with his daughter, you see. Miss Lorne is just home from abroad.’
Isla was silent, her eyes never leaving Grant’s face, while her hands trembled like his and her heart increased its pace, as his words hung in the air between them.
Wants to spend time with his daughter, she seemed to hear again. Miss Lorne is just home from abroad.
Suddenly, everything was becoming plain; what had been dark and mystifying was now exposed and seen in a most powerful and terrible light.
Grant had stopped seeing her; Miss Lorne had come home.
Oh, so clearly, Isla could now understand how the two events were connected. Why had she not realized before what might have happened? What had, in fact, happened, just as Boyd had predicted, in words that had seemed so cruel at the time.
‘He’s the sort,’ he had said of Grant, ‘who’ll only want someone who’ll be of help to him. And what,’ he had asked Isla, ‘can you offer?’
What indeed? Compared with Magda, who was not only beautiful but the daughter of Dr Lorne, what had Isla to offer? Nothing at all. Dr Lorne was the director of the hydro; he had money and standing. As a father-in-law, he would be perfect for an ambitious young doctor. Whereas Isla could bring nothing from her own dear father; all she could offer was herself alone. Apart, of course, from her love, which she’d been foolish enough to think Grant might want. Already, her time of thinking that seemed very long ago.
As her thoughts flooded her being with an intensity she had never experienced before, she found herself trying desperately to clutch at a last straw. Supposing she’d been wrong? Supposing Grant was not after all making a play for Dr Lorne’s daughter and was really genuinely too busy to see Isla? That he did care for her, after all?
‘If Doctor Lorne’s on holiday, I can see it’s difficult for you, Grant,’ she said, making a brave effort to sound as though her world was still intact and not crumbling around her ears. ‘But you must get some time off. Couldn’t we meet then?’
‘It’s not so easy, Isla. Doctor Lorne’s arranged with Doctor Morgan to come in if I need him – he’s the retired doctor Doctor Lorne knows locally – but he really hasn’t much experience of hydropathy. I think I’d prefer to crack on myself.’
‘Well, what about our lunch hour?’ she asked desperately. ‘Just so that we can talk – see each other. I miss that so much.’
For some moments, he looked down at his desk without speaking. Finally, he raised his blue eyes to give her a fleeting glance before lowering them again.
‘Oh, God, this is so difficult,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t really know how to put it.’
‘What? Put what?’
‘Well, I’ve really loved being with you, Isla – you must believe that. You’re a very attractive girl and we’ve had some good times, haven’t we? But it was never a permanent thing, was it? I mean, you probably realized that, just as much as I did – all good things come to an end, they say … and maybe, you know, we’ve got to that stage.’
The blue eyes were now looking everywhere, except at Isla’s face which had turned very pale.
‘That stage?’ she repeated. ‘You mean, saying goodbye? Is that what you’re meaning, Grant?’
‘Well, we’ll still see each other around. We’ll still be friends, won’t we? I wouldn’t want to lose you as a friend, Isla.’
Wouldn’t want to lose her as a friend … She smiled a little, would have liked to laugh and throw back the offer in his face, except that any laugh might end in shameful tears. Even just realizing that the last straw she’d tried to clutch had broken in her grasp was a dangerous source of breaking down, and whatever happened, she wasn’t going to break down in front of Grant Revie.
‘I … think I’d better go,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘I really only came in to ask about Mark Kinnaird.’
‘Mark Kinnaird?’ Grant repeated, rising from his desk and looking at her at last with amazed eyes. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s very keen now to go home. Could you make an assessment some time? I’m seeing him this morning, if you want to fix a time.’
‘Yes. Yes, do that.’
Grant was still floundering at Isla’s sudden change of subject from their love affair to work. ‘It’s true he does seem better, but, of course, we can’t be sure how he’ll be away from here. I’ll have to explain to him that we’ve broken the cycle, but there may be a return of symptoms.’
‘I’m sure he understands that. When will you see him, then?’
‘Could you tell him … about eleven this morning?’
‘I’ll tell him.’
They faced each other for a long, tight moment, each holding themselves stiffly as though ordinary posture was not possible, scarcely seeming to breathe, until Isla turned and moved to the door.
‘Isla,’ Grant cried hoarsely, ‘may I just say—’ But she was already on her way, closing the door behind her, walking fast, not looking at anyone about, but straining every nerve to let no feelings show as she made for the lift and her waiting patient.
Forty
Mark was in his room, rising hastily to his feet when she came in, his eyes bright, his questions ready.
‘Isla, good morning! Did you see him – Doctor Revie? Is he going to let me go?’
‘Hello, Mark,’ she replied, keeping her eyes down, as though that meant he wouldn’t notice how she was looking. ‘Let me get my breath.’
‘Of course, of course. Sorry, I’m absurdly over-excited.’
‘I did see him,’ she began. Then she stopped, her face still lowered, her lips trembling. She’d had such good intentions, coming up here. No tears, no revelations, everything to be just as usual. Until she’d had to say she’d seen him, seen Grant, and the so-recent memory of what had passed between them was too much. Too much for her to hold back when it was Mark she was with, and not Sister Francis or any of her colleagues, for with him, in spite of herself, she could let go.
And she did let go. Not dissolving into tears, but beginning to shake like a leaf and losing all the self-control she’d managed to achieve on the way up to Mark’s room, while he, horrified, put his arms around her and held her close.
‘Isla, what is it?’ he kept asking. ‘What’s upset you like this? What’s happened?’
‘You … asked me if I’d seen him,’ she answered, catching her breath. ‘Seen Doctor Revie. And I had.’
‘Oh, God, Isla, you’ve had a row? Look, it’s not worth being upset like this. It’s not the end of the world—’
‘There was no row.’ Making a great effort, she left his arms. ‘But you mustn’t hold me. You’re my patient.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. It was just instinctive – I wanted to help.’
‘You did help, you’re helping now. I’m the one who should be saying sorry; I shouldn’t have broken down the way I did. Look, I’d better get on with taking your temperature—’
‘To hell with my temperature! Tell me what’s happened, Isla.’
She swallowed, looked away, looked back and gave a slight shrug.
‘Grant has given me up, that’s all. That’s all that’s happened.’
‘Isla, no!’ Mark’s eyes were so large on her face, so filled with sympathy, that she had to look away again. She resolutely shook down her thermometer.
‘Open wide, Mark! We must stick to routine, even if you’ll soon be away. Doctor Revie is coming to see you at eleven o’clock this morning; he might give you the all-clear to go. But there is a proviso.’
‘Never mind about me, Isla; just tell me—’
‘No, you must listen, Mark, it’s important. The doctors think you are much better, but there’s no guarantee that away from here the symptoms won’t return.’
‘I’m aware of that, I’m prepared,’ he said impatiently. ‘But I’m well at present and I want to get home. I can’t stay here for ever. Now, will you tell me why Doctor Revie has done … what you say he has. I mean, why should he? I’d have said he did care for you very much. Just to see you together—’
‘All moonshine, whatever you saw, Mark. Didn’t mean anything. He loved being with me, he said, I was a very attractive girl, we had some good times … only we always knew, didn’t we, it wasn’t permanent? But we could still be friends, couldn’t we?’
At the memory of the words, Isla’s face twisted and Mark grasped her hand.
‘How could he hurt you like that?’ he murmured. ‘How could he? He must have known how you felt about him.’
‘Didn’t want it, did he? Didn’t want what I felt about him. But I am never going to be a friend of Grant Revie’s, and he doesn’t really want that either.’
‘What the hell does he want?’
She paused, wondering whether to tell Mark of her thoughts about Grant and Miss Lorne, but decided against it. No need to go into something she didn’t know for certain, even if she was sure in her own mind that it was so.
‘Not me, anyway,’ she said at last. ‘But he can be sure I’m not staying around to see him every day. Not when I feel so bad, Mark – as though I’ve cheapened myself for wanting him when he doesn’t want me. And everyone will be looking at me—’
‘Surely very few people know about you and Grant, Isla? There won’t be anyone looking at you.’
‘Well, the thing is, just lately I’ve had the feeling that some folks did suspect there was something between him and me. These things come out, Mark, I don’t know how.’ Isla shook her head. ‘But they’ll all be sorry for me now, won’t they? Thinking I’ve thought too much of myself, capturing Doctor Revie! Well, I’m not staying to see that, either. I can get a job in Edinburgh again; I needn’t stay here.’
Mark suddenly tightened his grip on her hand.
‘Isla, listen to me. What you must do now is weather this storm. Let people see you don’t care as much as they might think. Keep going as though everything was normal. Before you know it, the whole thing will be forgotten.’
He smiled, keeping his eyes on hers, and pressed her hand, and she knew he was willing her to do as he wanted and that probably she should, but just the thought of it made her flinch and shake her head. It wasn’t possible, she couldn’t do it; the pain was too much.
‘I know you think you can’t,’ he told her, ‘but believe me, Isla, it will be best. Running away won’t help – you’ll only take it all with you and have to live with the knowledge that Grant has won. So look at me, and tell me that you still want to choose that.’
As she stared at him, amazed by the strength of his voice and his air of decision, it came to her that this was the real Mark, the one so often overshadowed by his illness, and through the mists of her misery, she decided to do as he said. It was right, anyway, that she should just weather the storm, as he put it, so that those around might even believe that the storm was of no importance. Lots of people had to face heartbreak – they just had to come through it, as poor Joan Elrick appeared recently to be doing. She was certainly looking better – but, oh God, how long before Isla herself could be like her?
Putting aside that inner cry and the dull ache that seemed now a part of her being, she said quietly, ‘You’re right, Mark, I shouldn’t run away. I’ll stick it out, however I feel.’
‘Take one day at a time,’ he told her. ‘Each day, you’ll feel a little better, until one day you’ll be really better and the world will be yours again. That’s the way it goes.’
‘You know about these things?’
‘I’ve had my share of disappointments.’
She stared in surprise for a moment, once again discovering another facet of this man she didn’t know as well as she’d thought, then relaxed and managed a smile.
‘I’m going to miss you, Mark,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll always be grateful for your support.’
‘Haven’t gone yet,’ he answered cheerfully, releasing her hand. ‘But if anyone’s been supportive, it’s been you, Isla. And I’m the grateful one.’
They exchanged long, thoughtful looks before Isla, remembering her duty, finally took his temperature.
‘Normal,’ she told him. ‘That’s good. I’m sure you’ll be leaving us soon. Now, I�
��ve got to go.’
‘You’ll look in this evening?’
‘Of course.’ But her look was sombre. ‘By then, I’ll probably have seen Boyd. And some time, I must see my mother and my dad. Tell them my news …’
‘They’ll be very understanding.’
‘They’ll say, I told you so. Should have listened to them, shouldn’t I?’
With last long looks, they moved to the door.
‘Till this evening,’ said Mark, and she smiled and was gone.
Forty-One
Sticking it out at the hydro, as Isla had agreed to do, proved no easier than she’d thought it would be, especially after Grant Revie had given his permission to Mark to return home. Not immediately, but for the following week, which meant that after only a few days, Isla would be without Mark’s comforting presence.
Although both Boyd and her mother were truly sympathetic, with Boyd at one point threatening to punch the doctor’s jaw, and neither of them actually saying I told you so, Isla couldn’t help feeling a certain awkwardness with them, when they had been so right about Grant, and she had been so wrong. Which meant that though she always felt free to express her feelings to Mark, she tried to soft-pedal them to Nan and Boyd, especially in the case of Boyd when Trina was with him. For who would want to admit to being jilted in front of her pitying smile? Not Isla.
As for her colleagues, there had been no pitying smiles from them so far, but there were certainly plenty of thoughtful glances coming her way, and she still had her suspicions that they knew about her relationship with Grant. And now, somehow, its ending.
Anxious to know the truth, after she’d told Sheana and Ellie that it was all over between her and Grant, she did venture to ask if they’d ever let slip about the relationship to anyone else. Which, of course, only caused an immediate flare-up of denials and cries of disappointment that she should ever have thought such a thing.
‘It’s a bit hard you should ask that!’ declared Sheana. ‘Especially when we’ve been so careful, haven’t we, Ellie?’
