by Anne Douglas
‘Could come in a couple of days’ time, or maybe four.’
‘Then I hope it’ll be sooner rather than later. All the time, Mark’s strength is slipping away and he needs all he can to come through.’
‘He’s young, Isla – that’s a plus – and there’s something else that counts—’
‘What?’
‘He wants to. He wants to come through. For you.’
‘Oh, Margie!’
‘Yes, you can tell – the way his eyes follow you, the way he’s looking around for you till you come.’ Margie smiled a little. ‘I know about patients, Isla, I can read their signs, and I know Mark will fight this to be with you.’
‘I’d better go back to him,’ Isla said softly. ‘He may have woken up.’
He hadn’t. Though breathing harshly, he was still asleep, and Isla was able to lean close and whisper, ‘If it’s true you want to come through for me, please, Mark, let it happen. Fight for us both. Never give in.’
And then his eyes opened and he said her name, and for some time she stayed by his side, holding his hand, until his eyes closed and he slipped back into sleep.
Two days later, when Dr Wynn paid his early morning visit, he took Mark’s temperature as usual, but then glanced sharply across at Isla who was on her own, as Margie was preparing to go to bed after night duty.
‘It’s rising,’ he said shortly. ‘The temperature. I think this may be it, Nurse Scott.’
‘The crisis?’ Her heart was thumping in her chest.
‘I believe so. We must be prepared; it will reach great heights. You’ve had experience of it, of course?’
‘Oh, yes, often, Doctor.’
But never with one she loved, she thought, beginning to summon up all her reserves of strength. If Mark must be strong, so must she, and she reached out and pressed his hand, already burning like a brand.
Seventy-Three
The hours that followed were like a bad dream. Dr Wynn was there, and Margie, who had left her bed. Mark’s father, too, who kept in the background, while Mrs Fernie went in and out, unable to do more than stand by as others supported Mark in his struggle, all working through the dream.
As his temperature rose, it was terrible to see him, the sweat pouring from him in rivers, his eyes wide with the knowledge that this was happening to him, yet uncomplaining, as they flung open the windows for the fresh air on which they set such store, and sponged him down and moistened his lips. It seemed impossible that he could withstand the forces that came from within, turning him into a furnace, yet sometimes his eyes would meet Isla’s and he would try to speak, but then he’d lie back and they would try to soothe him, as they waited – had to wait – for a miracle.
‘Oh, God, I can’t stand this,’ whispered Mr Kinnaird suddenly. ‘I’ve seen it before – my little brother long ago – but this is my son. It’s too much – too much—’
‘Wait,’ ordered Dr Wynn. ‘There’s a change.’
A change? Yes, a change, but pointing which way? For here was the turning point, here was the time when things could go either way. Isla had begun to shake, reaching for Margie’s protective arm, as Dr Wynn once more took Mark’s temperature and turned his eyes on the watchers. Oh, God, when would he speak?
‘It’s down,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘Too early to say if this is really a sign, but it’s down, thank God, it’s down!’
‘Oh, Isla, it’s good news,’ Margie cried. ‘I know it, you know it! This is what happens when the patient wins!’
‘Quiet, Nurse,’ Dr Wynn said sternly, as Margie and Isla clung together, but Mr Kinnaird was already leaning at the foot of Mark’s bed, offering up thanks, and Mrs Fernie was openly sobbing with relief.
‘Is it true, Doctor?’ Isla whispered, her eyes on Mark. ‘Oh, please, has it gone his way?’
‘Yes, he’s easier,’ Dr Wynn told her, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘He is coming through, as the lucky ones do. And when his fever has passed, I think we’ll find that he makes a good recovery. Such has been my experience.’
With trembling hands, Isla and Margie sponged Mark down again, changed his pyjamas, and gave him a little water, while the heat gradually left him. His eyes rested on their faces, moving at last to his father who was now too overcome to speak.
No one knew what time it was, for they felt time had stood still during the battle, but Mrs Fernie said she would now make everyone tea or coffee or anything they wanted and bustled away, leaving the others to collapse into chairs, with even Dr Wynn admitting his legs didn’t feel his own.
‘Doctor, I can’t thank you enough,’ Mr Kinnaird eventually managed to say. ‘Or you girls – I can’t tell you – I’m so grateful—’
‘No need for thanks,’ said Dr Wynn. ‘Just doing our job. It’s Mark you should be thanking – he’s the one who saved himself.’
Everyone looked at Mark, but he was too exhausted to speak, and only his expressive eyes told them all how he felt at being returned to the promise of life, finally resting on Isla who went to him.
It’s true,’ she told him, kneeling by his bed, the bad dream fading around her, relief and unbelievable joy taking hold. ‘It’s true what Doctor Wynn says, Mark. You saved yourself. Only you could have done it – oh, I’m so grateful …’
As her voice cracked and trailed away, all he wanted now was to look at her, but even as he improved, with his temperature falling all the time, weakness overcame him, his eyelids fell, and he lay still.
‘Come away, my dear,’ Dr Wynn said gently, helping Isla to her feet. ‘You know that rest now is the best thing for him. I suggest we all have a cup of Mrs Fernie’s tea. It’s been a tough day.’
‘And I’ve remembered what day it is,’ Margie said, yawning, for she’d had no sleep. ‘Tomorrow will be Christmas Eve.’
Christmas Eve? It seemed quite remote, nothing at all to do with them, yet Isla’s thoughts went to her parents, who would be without her. Thank heaven, Boyd was going to be with them!
‘If Mark recovers, I want no other Christmas present,’ Mr Kinnaird suddenly declared, gazing round at everyone, his face very pale but his eyes bright. ‘In fact, I doubt if I will ever want a present again.’
Nor me, thought Isla, her eyes returning to Mark’s sleeping face, knowing she would go further. If Mark were really spared to those who loved him, she was inwardly promising that she would never ask for anything more. For what else could she want?
In the past, she had always said she wanted things to be clear between herself and Mark, and she was sure now in her heart that he wanted that, too. Only something was obviously holding him back. If he were really well again, were really spared to her, she’d try to sort things out, for he would want it as much as she. But for now, all that mattered was his recovery. And that the miracle should continue to work.
Seventy-Four
Two weeks later, on a January afternoon heavy with lowering cloud, Mark and Isla were sitting together in the Gloucester Place drawing room. They’d just had tea and were holding hands as they gazed at the cheerful fire in the grate of the handsome chimneypiece. All seemed pleasant, very tranquil, except that the memory of Mark’s illness was still raw for both of them, and Isla couldn’t help glancing at him from time to time, just to make sure he was still there.
‘I’m all right, you know,’ he said, smiling as he caught one of her quick looks. ‘Doctor Wynn said I’d make a good recovery after the crisis, and I have.’
‘You’re a miracle,’ she said softly, and they quietly kissed.
The last two weeks had been so hectic. Isla was still reeling, first with the euphoria of Mark’s recovery, and then with the stream of visitors who wanted to see him. Boyd and Magda, Dr Lorne, Bob Woodville, legal colleagues Isla didn’t know, neighbours and – to her own special delight – Will and Nan. They’d been overcome at seeing Mark, and afterwards had been so welcomed by Mr Kinnaird and Mrs Fernie that they’d said they didn’t know what to say, they really didn’t.
> ‘Oh, Isla, that poor young man!’ Nan had cried, hugging Isla later. ‘To think you nearly lost him, eh?’
‘He’s not actually mine, Ma,’ Isla had told her, but Nan had only smiled and said wasn’t it lovely about Boyd and Magda? Seemingly, they’d finally admitted that they weren’t just friends, and in fact were bringing forward the date of their wedding, which was to be as soon as Boyd finished college. After what had almost happened to Mark, Boyd had asked, who could be sure of how much time they had? He and Magda had decided to be happy while they had the chance.
‘Very wise,’ said Isla.
A few days after New Year, before Margie moved on to another client, Isla had taken the opportunity to go back to the hydro, to give news of Mark and also to find out what was happening.
Nothing yet, Sheana and Ellie had told her, but changes were in the pipeline and they had decided to leave anyway to be married. They’d be two folk Dr Revie wouldn’t have to sack.
‘You’re really getting wed?’ Isla cried. ‘Congratulations, then, and don’t forget to invite me to the wedding, will you? Oh, this place won’t be the same without you two!’
‘Won’t be the same, full stop,’ said Ellie. ‘But how about you, Isla? Are you really coming back here?’
‘That’s the plan,’ she said lightly.
‘For the moment,’ they laughed, and said no more.
Later, Isla had slipped in to see Grant, still glad to thank him for his help that terrible night when she’d had to go to Mark.
‘Of course, I know you think I’m a monster for changing Lorne’s, Isla, but the truth is I’ve no choice,’ he’d told her. ‘Bookings truly are down, and if we don’t get clients, we’ll have to close. At least, my way, we can keep the place open, and there’ll still be some hydropathy, you know. I’ll still want to be a doctor.’
‘Oh, I understand, Grant. It’s just a bit sad for me, that’s all.’
‘But surely, you won’t be here? You’ll be Mrs Mark Kinnaird and living in Gloucester Place, won’t you?’
She’d hesitated, flushing. ‘I’m coming back here next week.’
‘For how long, I wonder?’
‘I’m not sure.’
He shrugged and smiled, and as she moved to the door, he went with her. ‘Thought not. But, Isla, may I just ask before you go – you don’t think so badly of me after all, do you? I’m a reformed character now, you know.’
‘Maybe you are,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ll always have my thanks, anyway.’
He’d held the door for her, and she passed through, smiling. Putting him from her mind, she hurried from the hydro to snatch a cup of tea with her mother before returning to Gloucester Place and Mark.
Seventy-Five
Dear Mark, who was beside her now on the chesterfield that had been his mother’s. Mark, whose look was so tender and whose hand was still in hers. Mark, who would listen to anything she had to say.
Is now the time? she asked herself, her heart beating fast. Did she dare take the risk of maybe spoiling what they had? Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and there couldn’t be a better time than this, she decided, to try to make things clear between them. There were just the two of them before the crackling fire, Mark was so much more himself, and she herself felt that the time had come to put aside the past and reach forward to the future. Slowly, she loosed her hand from his.
‘Mark, would you mind if I said something to you?’ she asked, her voice still under control. ‘Something you’ve never said to me?’
His eyes widened a little, but he said at once that Isla could say anything she liked to him, anything at all.
‘Well, it’s not the done thing for a woman to say, you see, and you may not approve.’
‘Isla, I’ve said, you can say anything to me.’ He laughed. ‘I’m not going to disapprove of anything you want to say.’
‘It’s this then.’ She swallowed, sat up straight, looked away towards the fire. ‘This is what I want to say. Mark, I love you.’
There was a long silence, during which she gradually turned back to him and, raising her eyes, saw that he was just as astonished as she’d feared he would be, but that his smile on her was radiant.
‘Isla,’ he whispered, but she held up her hand.
‘No, wait, Mark, there’s more. I have to say it quickly before I lose my nerve. I’m acting like a man here, you see; I’m pretending I have the right.’
‘I don’t understand – what right? My darling, what are you trying to say to me?’
‘I’m asking you to marry me,’ she said quietly. ‘Because I love you and I know you love me, but something always holds you back. If there’s anything wrong with me, tell me, please, but don’t let’s go on as we have been up till now, loving each other and getting nowhere. Life’s so short. It’s like Boyd says: we must be happy when we can – if we’re spared.’
There was a short silence, as Mark bent his head and held his brow. Finally, in a low, hesitant voice, he spoke.
‘Oh, Isla, dearest, this is all my fault. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect, and I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you at the hydro. I know you didn’t realize that and I didn’t want you to, for what good was I ever going to be to you? A patient, an invalid? I had no right to expect anyone to love me.’
‘Mark, that’s not true! That’s crazy! Where did you get such an idea?’
He raised his head and looked at her sorrowfully.
‘It was what I thought – still think now, in fact. The worst thing was when I had to stand back and see you falling in love with Grant Revie, so handsome, so fit – nothing of the invalid about him! And when it all went wrong, and you were so broken-hearted, all I could do was sympathize.’
Sighing, Mark paused, once again putting his hand to his brow.
‘When I had to leave the hydro,’ he went on at last, ‘I pretended I was glad, knew I had to cut myself away. I did send you a Christmas card—’
‘It was so beautiful!’ Isla cried. ‘I was so touched.’
‘Were you?’ Mark smiled slightly. ‘Well, I thought any patient might do that, but all the time I was promising myself I wouldn’t get in touch with you. And that was a promise I might have kept – if we hadn’t met, at the time of the miners’ strike. That’s when all my promises went out of the window.’
‘Yes, and it was wonderful,’ Isla said softly. ‘Wonderful. That was the true beginning for me, you see. We’d always had an affinity, but it was when we met again in Edinburgh that I began to fall really in love with you.’
‘I didn’t know if you were, or not,’ he murmured. ‘I hoped – oh, God, I hoped – but I didn’t know.’
‘It was something that grew stronger, Mark, grew stronger all the time. The sort of love that’s real, not built on romantic ideas.’ She paused. ‘That lasts.’
‘But I shouldn’t have let it happen, Isla. You were worth something better than me. I always felt that, but I was selfish, I didn’t want to give you up, so I monopolized you and didn’t offer you the love you knew was there.’
His long sorrowful gaze never left her face.
‘You were right, weren’t you, when you said I’d never told you in so many words that I loved you. You knew I did, but I never said it, so, poor girl, you began to think something was wrong with you – when, all the time, I was the one who was wrong for you.’
‘No!’ Isla cried, and drew him into her arms. ‘You’re not wrong for me, Mark. You’re right because we’re right for each other. I understand now how it was for you – you’ve explained it all – but you must see that I don’t mind if you have problems from time to time. Plenty of people have problems, but it doesn’t stop them from being loved. And I’m a nurse, so I can help.’
‘That’s just what I never wanted, my darling – that you should think I’d marry you to have you look after me. Oh, God, I’d never ask that of you!’
‘You’re not asking, Mark. I’m offering. And who says you’ll need me, a
nyway. You’re stronger than you think – look how you came through the crisis! I’m going to get you better!’
‘And you won’t go back to the hydro?’
‘Only to give my notice.’
‘You won’t miss it? You were happy there once.’
‘I was, and I learned a lot. But it’s all going to be different now.’
‘And you really won’t mind leaving?’
‘When I can be with you? What do you think?’
For a trembling, joyful moment, they stared at each other, wondering if it were true that, after all the trials and the heartbreak, they had come through to harbour. As though they’d been struggling on choppy seas, giving up hope, and then saw the lights ahead and knew they were finally home.
For some time, they clung together, kissing and caressing, and revelling in their love that could at last be put into words, until Isla finally drew away and laughed because they were almost in the dark and had switched on no lights.
‘Who needs lights?’ asked Mark, rising to make up the fire, but Isla, after smoothing her hair, only laughed again and went about switching on lamps. At the window, she paused to look out.
‘Oh, look, Mark, it’s snowing!’
‘Snowing?’
He came to stand with her at the window, looking out at the snow quietly drifting down, so white, so perfect, as it always was at first. Then they kissed again, long and passionately.
Only when they parted, did Isla say, ‘By the way, Mark, what was your answer to my question, then?’
‘Question?’
‘You haven’t forgotten already, have you? Didn’t I ask you to marry me a little while ago?’
‘So you did. But I think it’s my turn now. Isla, will you marry me?’
Once again, she moved into his arms, but neither of them felt this time that words were needed.
