Highland Interlude

by Lucilla Andrews

  Having met other formidable ward sisters, once I was up to registering her type I found her as reassuring as she was awe-inspiring. She seldom talked, but her silence was restful. She approved of Martha’s as a nursing training school. ‘Maybe you get too used to a load of fancy gadgets, but I’ll say this for the London teaching hospitals, lass ‒ they teach you how to work. How’s that? Back to sleep, and don’t let me find you awake when I come round in half an hour.’

  ‘No, Sister,’ I said obediently, and went to sleep.

  I slept most of the time. The huge, portly middle-aged physician I had now identified as Dr MacAlistair, the Medical Superintendent, never listened to my chest without announcing I was the finest wee dormouse to cross the Border. Often I woke to find him sitting on my locker, watching me through the transparent walls with his small, very deep-set grey eyes. When he smiled, as he did frequently, his eyes nearly disappeared. ‘Don’t stir yourself, lassie. I’m just taking the weight off my poor feet. Would you like to come up the bed a wee bit? Ach, I’ll not bother the nurses. Just let me get my arms in the sleeves ‒ there.’ He heaved me up the bed very gently and as easily as a child. ‘No, you’re no weight, Miss Wade! We’ll have to be feeding you up shortly. You put me in mind of my daughter, Isobel. She’s another skinny, long-legged lassie and training as a nurse in Edinburgh. I’ll be showing you her photo another time.’

  ‘I’d like that, Doctor.’

  ‘Watch yourself before you make a statement of that nature, Miss Wade, or I’ll be back in here with a three-hour supply of family photos. My wife says I’m a terrible bore about our four bairns. A fine doctor I’ll be to cure your chest and then kill you with boredom!’

  He was a good doctor as well as a very kind man, and I was ready to run a Dr MacAlistair fan-club long before I was out of my tent. I liked everything about him, and particularly his voice. It had the depth of gentle thunder, and he attacked every word with throat and tongue and roared out the ‘r’s like machine-gun bullets. On another occasion I asked if he came from Gairlie.

  ‘Ach, no, lassie. Glasgow. You’ve heard of Glasgow? The Gorbals, of course?’

  ‘Yes, but also Celtic and Rangers.’

  ‘You’re not telling me you’re a football fan?’

  ‘Frankly, Doctor, no. I once had a boy-friend who was.’

  He frowned hideously. ‘And which team did he fancy?’

  ‘I honestly can’t remember, Dr MacAlistair.’

  He heaved his bulk off my locker, smiling. ‘If there’s one thing I like to see it’s a lassie with tact! You’ll do, Miss Wade. You’re doing very nicely.’ He turned as the door opened. ‘Ach, not more flowers, Staff Nurse! What have we in here? A trained nurse, or a pop singer in disguise?’

  Nurse Craig had come in with the daffodils and mimosa.

  ‘Wee Gordon’s just asked me the same, Doctor. He’s thinking to ask Miss Wade for her autograph.’ She added another envelope to the small stack on the top shelf of my locker. ‘These’ll be from Mr MacDonald again.’

  Archie was still in Gairlie, and when not sending me flowers and chocolates was writing me notes. According to Craig, he was daily badgering Dr MacAlistair to be allowed to visit me, but Dr MacAlistair was badger-proof. That suited me, as though I was grateful to Archie, I was still in no hurry to pick up the threads. It suited me even more when Maury’s flowers arrived. Craig said. ‘She wanted to see you, but Dr MacAlistair does not want you tired, so I’d to send Mrs Valentine away. I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’

  Dougal provided me with another supply of flowers, fruit, and shortbread from Mrs Pringle. He remained my one visitor for a couple of days after my tent was removed. Dr MacAlistair knew his job. It was not until my third day out that I bothered to wonder precisely why Dougal alone was allowed to ignore the ‘No Visitors’ notice I had seen hanging on the outside of my door when it was pushed open too wide. As Craig had become my mate, I asked her.

  Craig was one of the two day staff nurses in Women’s Medical, and for a period had been my day special nurse. She was a local girl, and had returned to Gairlie last year after training in Dundee. She was very chubby, and though not exactly pretty, her colouring was glorious. She had auburn hair, dark-blue eyes, a wide sexy mouth, and a highly complicated love-life. She was also a very good nurse.

  I had never seen her look embarrassed until I asked that question. ‘Have you forgotten Professor Grant’s occupation, Elizabeth?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it? I’m not suffering from a tropical bug.’ Then I caught on. ‘Of course! As I’ve no relative to be next-of-kin, since Grandfather died the Matron of Martha’s has always acted as that for me. As I was Dougal’s guest and he’s up here, she must have fixed with him to act proxy. Poor old Dougal! Talk about being right lumbered.’

  Craig was still pink in the face over my lack of relations. ‘I’d not say the Professor regards it in that light.’

  ‘Come off it, love! Though he’ll be far too polite to admit it, he must be finding this bedside vigil ploy one hell of a bloody bore. You ever met the medic who didn’t shudder at the prospect of a busman’s holiday? I haven’t.’

  ‘Elizabeth! Don’t forget you were not only a guest in his house when you became ill, but came up to Gairlie to do him a personal favour. I’ll not pretend Professor Grant has enjoyed seeing you ill, but naturally he must feel responsible for you. He is. You were his guest.’

  I groaned loudly. ‘Until death us do part! Honestly, Craig, if you’re going to jump on this honour band-wagon, I’ll start longing for the night and Little Miss N. herself!’

  She laughed, then looked primly down her nose. ‘You wouldn’t be referring to Staff Nurse Smith?’

  ‘You mean her name isn’t Nightingale?’

  ‘Och, Elizabeth! You’re a wicked girl!’ She looked round as someone knocked on the door. ‘That sounds like the Professor. And your bed’s all untidy ‒’

  ‘Relax.’ I straightened the top while she did the bottom. ‘He’s seen me in bed before.’

  ‘He has? Oh, you mean in here!’ She opened the door. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting ‒ it’s you, Mr MacDonald! Has Dr MacAlistair given permission?’

  ‘He has.’ It was Dr MacAlistair’s voice from the corridor. ‘For ten minutes, and not one minute more!’

  Archie came in slowly. ‘Elizabeth, honey! Don’t do these things to me!’ He kissed me warmly, which gave Craig nearly as much pleasure as it did me. ‘How are you? Just tell me that. How are you?’

  ‘Much better now, thanks. Thanks for all those wonderful flowers and sweets ‒ now, tell me all. How about you?’

  Craig had pushed forward the armchair before vanishing. Archie preferred the locker seat. ‘Real cosy.’ He held my hand in both of his. ‘Elizabeth, I have so much to say to you, but as I have promised Doc. MacAlistair to take this nice and easy, I guess most will have to keep. Okay?’

  I was relieved. ‘Those threads could wait. ‘Fine. I’m enjoying being a fragile flower. What’ve you been doing?’

  ‘Walking. Fishing. I now ask for a dram when I want a Scotch, and never, repeat never, ask for it on the rocks.’

  ‘Time you get back to London you’ll enjoy warm beer. By the way, your notes never said, did you have to fly back or did you get that business finished?’

  ‘I stayed right up here.’ His smile had grown guarded. ‘Any idea how long they’ll keep you here?’

  ‘None. That’s the worst about being a patient. No one ever tells one anything.’

  I had used that cliché unintentionally, but from its effect on Archie it was obviously a Freudian slip. He turned a deep purple, but did not try to avoid the issue. ‘Maybe I had that coming. Mad at me?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Not now?’

  ‘God,’ I said wearily, ‘I dunno. Right now I honestly don’t know much about anything, apart from being glad to see you. If you think that means I’m after your lolly you’d better get the first fast
plane down from Inverness.’ He was silent. ‘Are you really a millionaire? A proper one?’

  ‘Sure. Loaded.’

  ‘Bully for you, chum.’

  He played with my fingers. ‘Aren’t you going to ask why I held out on you?’

  ‘Why bother? Obvious.’

  ‘That so?’

  ‘Well, isn’t it?’

  ‘I would not say that, Elizabeth.’ He looked up. ‘Honey, we should not be talking this way. You have gone so white, and I promised that doc, and then I make you all tuckered out ‒ I am truly sorry.’ He stood up, anxiously. ‘Shall I call the nurse?’

  ‘Archie, don’t be a moron! Of course I’m white. I’ve been in a tent. It’s a flaming wonder I’m not growing a fungus all over me. Sit down and stop acting as if I’m about to have the vapours.’

  ‘You are mad at me!’ He was sunk in gloom. ‘You figure I did not trust you.’

  I was too tired to figure anything. I didn’t tell him since he would probably have bellowed for Sister if I had. ‘It’s all right, Archie. Forget it.’

  He said he could not do that. He was still beating his breast when Craig removed him and insisted I either had an immediate snooze or she’d summon MacAlistair.

  Dougal paid his morning call while I was asleep. He asked Craig to tell me he was spending the day in Inverness with the twins and would be in some time during the evening. The night staff were on when he arrived.

  Staff Nurse Smith stood at the foot of my bed and sniffed. ‘Anyone would think this place was an hotel. Professor Grant’s in the corridor, I suppose you want to see him?’

  ‘Thanks, if it’s all right with you.’

  ‘Huh! Nothing to do with me! I’m just the night staff nurse in charge of the women’s side. I suppose you want me to bring him some coffee when you have your milk?’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t expect that, Staff Nurse. He’ll understand this is a busy time of the night for you.’

  ‘A doctor’ll understand how hard nurses actually work? That’ll be the day!’

  Nurse Smith was a slight young woman with pale brown hair, too sharp features, and a thin mouth. Another few years and she wouldn’t have any lips at all. She had trained in a large London non-teaching hospital, and providing one was ill enough her nursing was fairly good. She didn’t like nursing women, the teaching hospitals, or trained nurses as patients, and had told me so herself. Since I couldn’t win with her, I didn’t try it.

  She said, ‘I suppose you don’t want your pillows done?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Then I’d better let your ‒’ She paused, deliberately. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, Wade. Is Professor Grant some sort of relation?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But isn’t he your next-of-kin?’

  ‘Acting.’

  ‘Why only acting?’

  She had been off duty for my first four nights, so it was possible she really didn’t know. I told her the truth briefly.

  ‘How picturesque!’

  I had had a good many varying reactions, but not that one. It amused me in a macabre way. ‘One way of putting it.’

  ‘You are a cool customer! I suppose some people don’t feel things like others.’

  ‘Quite.’

  She shrugged. ‘Better let him in, then.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  Dougal glanced back after she ushered him in. ‘Have I upset that girl by coming so late?’

  I said I thought Smith was merely suffering from an attack of night nurse’s haemadementia and changed the subject to Inverness. He took the hint, sat in the armchair, and talked about his day, the twins, and Robin’s prowess at the climbing school for the next ten minutes. He had risen to leave when I thanked him for taking me on as next-of-kin. ‘Your idea, or my Matron at Martha’s?’

  ‘Actually mine, though I did consult with her. I hope you’ve no objections?’

  ‘None, apart from wishing this hadn’t had to involve you in so much extra on my account.’

  ‘I’d have been no less involved without the official sanction this provides. Surely you appreciate that?’

  ‘Yes.’ I also appreciated his present sensible, but not insensitive attitude to the subject in hand. ‘As this is too far from London for one of my old friends to fly up and I’ve no handy relative, temporarily, you’ve no alternative. No’ ‒ he looked about to interrupt ‒ ‘you haven’t. Another type might try and wriggle out from under. Not a responsible citizen ‒ which you are.’ I shifted my shoulders, as my pillows felt like sandbags. ‘Responsible citizens always get lumbered.’

  He came up to the bed and stood over me, his arms folded. ‘Though grateful for those kind words, honesty forces me to remind you that if responsible citizens are responsible it is because they basically enjoy responsibility. Or call it by the less attractive word, power.’

  I smiled. ‘Got a power-complex, Dougal?’

  ‘I prefer your former euphemism.’ His smile was self-derisive. ‘Whichever is used, there’s no doubt that I’m attending to my own ego as well as to your affairs.’ He looked over his shoulder at the door, then back at me. ‘And since I now have your official approval of my temporary status and you look exceedingly uncomfortable in that position, but I suspect would prefer me not to ring for that young woman with a chip the size of the Ben, I’m going to do something about those pillows.’

  ‘There’s no need, honestly. But how did you know she’s got a chip?’

  ‘Och, Elizabeth! Have you forgotten I’m even more accustomed to hospitals and nurses than yourself? And I’ve seen one or two medical patients in my time. I’ve even made a few beds, particularly in Africa, when very often the only nurse was the witch-doctor’s untrained second cousin twice removed, and a laddie at that. Come on. Stop trying to argue with the doctor, dearie.’ He slid a hand under my arm and sat me forward carefully, then correctly supported me with the back of his shoulders while fixing the pillows. ‘That’s better. Dig your heels in. Up you go.’ He smoothed the pillow directly behind my head. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Splendid, thanks. I mean that. You’d make a good nurse ‒ But didn’t I tell you that when I was in my plastic bag?’

  ‘So you did.’ He straightened and tucked in the top bedclothes, but left the turn-down of the top sheet loose.

  I flicked the sheet with a finger. ‘A very professional touch, Professor.’

  He smiled down at me. ‘A man of many talents.’

  Momentarily I thought back to my week in his house, that night on the hill, and then that sunrise. Many talents and many sides. It seemed a pity one had to be struck down with exposure or serious illness to discover the pleasant ones. Yet whichever side he had yet shown me, one element remained unchanged. He still made me feel sexless, and though that no longer irritated me as much as previously, that was only because I still felt too weak to be really human. That was why Archie’s brief visit had so exhausted me. But, breast-beating and all, I wanted to see Archie again, and soon. I quite, enjoyed Dougal’s visits, but I wouldn’t mind overmuch if he didn’t turn up. I realized that was selfish and ungrateful, but since there is nothing like a bad illness for bringing both these qualities to the surface, neither seriously disturbed me yet.

  Nurse Smith did. Half an hour after Dougal had gone she woke me from a deep sleep to give me my hot milk and sleeping tablets. The tablets took some time to work. I watched the darkness and thought about Dougal and Maury, and then of all she had said that afternoon on the plateau. After that I was very glad Staff Nurse Smith was such an eager Little Miss Nightingale.

  Chapter Eight

  A PATIENT’S-EYE VIEW OF HOSPITAL

  The ‘No Visitors’ sign came off my door, and my fellow patients from Women’s Surgical, as well as Women’s Medical, started paying me visits. They said I’d been on their minds since admission, and they feared it must be terrible lonely for a stranger from England to be shut in a wee room away down the corridor, but they hoped I appreciated poor Dr M
acAlistair had had no alternative. ‘There was not an empty ward bed the day you came in, and with no hospital nearer than Inverness it was either in here or on the floor. And you could maybe have carried in the scarlet fever.’

  I assured them I liked my room, did not consider myself the victim of racial discrimination, was delighted to meet them, and offered them Archie’s candies and Mrs Pringle’s shortbread. We exchanged brief life and detailed medical histories. It did not surprise me at all to discover they knew very much more about my pleural rib than I did. They advised me not to waste my breath trying to persuade MacAlistair to let me up. ‘Until it’s quite clear he’ll do no more than let you sit out of bed while it’s made. But you’re doing well. Maybe you’ll be up for a wee stroll down the corridor in a week.’

  They were right.

  The early mornings between six and eight were particularly sociable. My room became the recognized meeting-point for the bath queue, second-cup-of-tea drinkers, and refugees from Nurse Smith. My fellows were more charitable than myself. ‘There’s no denying she’s a hard worker,’ said young Mrs Ferguson, of Bed 2, Women’s Surgical, ‘and she could be a lot worse. She knows her job, even if she’s no time at all for a body that’s not dying. What she needs is a man.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed the two other dressing-gowned ladies present. ‘That’s a fact.’