Air Ambulance (5 page)

“So you know what’s wrong with it?” the old sailor mused. “Ay, we’re
li
vin’ in great times, they say! Flyin’ boats an’ atom bombs an’ all the rest o’ it but men aren’t a lot different when you get down to the bottom o’ it all. They still kill and destroy, an’ hate an’ love, I’m thinking—just as they always did an’ always will do! Ye can’t change human nature, even if you think you’ve changed the world!”

Andrew tugged at Fergus Blair’s hand.

“Please, if the plane won’t go, could we take Alison to Heimra Beag?” he asked.

Blair made a brief gesture of dissent.

“There wouldn’t be time, Andy,” he pointed out. “The plane is going off again in half an hour. But we could ask her to have a cup of coffee with us at the inn, seeing that we can’t do very much to help with the Heron.”

Alison supposed that it would be the kindest thing for her to accept. Ronald Gowrie would not join them. He would work on the plane as swiftly as he could, hoping that he and Ginger could put right the small defect as quickly as possible, and he would work best without them there.

“Is it far to the inn?” she asked.

“Only across the
mackar
.”

She saw Blair glance at the state of the tide as they walked away.

“You’ll no’ be too long?” Sandy asked uneasily. “It’ll be slack water in half an hour.”

“I won’t keep you waiting, Sandy,” Blair promised.

“If you’d rather get away at once,” Alison offered, “I shall understand. I know the tides are difficult between the islands.”

Fergus Blair raised questioning eyebrows.

“You’ve been on Heimra before—apart from the ambulance run?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “The pilot told me about Coirestruan.”

“I remember him vaguely,” Blair said. “He’s changed a lot. There were two Gowrie boys. My brother knew them better than I did. He was, by right, Blair of Heimra. The name is only a courtesy as far as I am concerned. Andrew is his son.”

Then she had been right, Alison thought. Poor, crippled little Andrew was the real Blair of Heimra. She looked up at the proud, aloof face of Fergus Blair, wondering what he really thought about it all. Even if he had a family of his own—a son to inherit his name—he did not seem the type of man who would harbour any sort of grudge, yet he could easily have been excused for showing resentment and bitterness.

“Here we are,” he announced when they came to the door of the inn. “I’ll see what Mrs. Mac
I
ver can do about some coffee to warm us up. Will you have milk, Andrew?”

“Could I have coffee, too?” the child asked, clinging to Alison’s hand. “Just this once, please?”

“Coffee made with milk!” Fergus Blair conceded with a smile which utterly transformed his face.
“
Just this once!”

He was fond of the child, although he would not treat him as an invalid, Alison mused. He was bringing Andrew up to discount his crippled state, teaching him to live his life fully on Heimra Beag, to do most of the things that a boy in his position would do in the normal way, to fish and swim, perhaps, and learn some sort of craft which would make the long days pass more swiftly for him in the future. Then, when he was old enough, perhaps he would be able to administer the estate with a certain amount of confidence and success. He would be handicapped, but he would still be Blair of Heimra. At least he could take a pride in his name.

A lump rose in her throat as she watched Andrew struggling with the storm doors of the inn. Blair had gone round to the back of the house in search of the proprietress, but Andrew seemed to know his way into the parlour, and thought that Alison, as their guest, should be ushered in that way.

She did not help him with the door, and soon he had pulled it open and was leading the way through a small, dark hall to a room whose oriel window overlooked the sea. For a moment she stood in silence, looking across the narrow neck of water which separated them from Heimra Beag.

“You’re happy here, Andrew?” she asked involuntarily.

“Oh, yes,” the child said simply. “It is my home. Everyone is happy except my mother.”

Alison’s hand went to her throat. It was the first time, to her knowledge, that he had spoken about Margot Blair, and she could not think what to say.

“She does not like people to come to the island—strange people,” Andrew went on carefully, as if he were repeating a lesson. “Sometimes she does not see anyone but my Uncle Fergus for a very long time.”

Alison stood quite still, staring out at Coirestruan between the long lace curtains which framed the window, seeing the narrow stretch of sunlit water as the absolute barrier to the other island, the boundary which Fergus Blair had marked as the dividing line between his home and the outside world.

In spite of herself, she could not help wondering what lay beyond Coirestruan, and when Fergus came back to join them she turned round to face him almost guiltily.

Was he immured over there by an old tragedy, she wondered, and then she knew that he was too vigorous for that. Whatever sadness and regret Heimra Beag held for him, he had not cut himself off completely. He was very much the active laird of both islands.

Heimra Mhor was the larger community, and he seemed to administer all sorts of justice on the island.

“I wish I could have a word with you about this new extension to my kitchen,” Mrs.
MacIver
said diffidently when she brought in their coffee. “Malcolm Murdoch is wanting to charge me double what you said it should cost.”

“That won’t do,” Blair decided. “I’ll have a look at what he’s done for you so far, Mrs.
MacIver
, and get him to give you a definite estimate for the remainder of the work.”

“I knew you wouldn’t mind me asking,” Janet
MacIver
said as she laid down the tray. “Being a widow woman seems to make you fair prey for some folk!” she added indignantly as she withdrew.

“You’re going to get good weather for the remainder of your trip,” he observed. “How long will you remain with the air ambulance?”

“I think I’m going to like the work,” Alison said eagerly, “so it will be up to Matron to decide. A good many of our nurses are eager to be on the rota, of course. It’s amazing how much enthusiasm there is for the work.”

“I don’t know what the islanders would do without you people,” he said with a smile. “A good many lives must have been sacrificed to their isolation before these desperately ill folk could be brought safely to the big hospitals. I miss the life,” he added abruptly, “although I suppose I have found compensation enough on Heimra.”

She had not expected him to make such a confession quite so openly, and she ventured to say:

“I remember you at the Victoria.”

His smile deepened.

“I was a very junior houseman then,” he recalled. “I remember you, too. You were the probationer who never seemed to be able to keep her hair out of her eyes!”

“I didn’t think you would remember,” she told him, feeling that his admission had made it easier to talk to him. “You left for Edinburgh soon after I came.”

“Yes, that’s true.” His thoughts seemed to go beyond her, beyond the present, deep into the past. “That was my first step in the direction of Heimra,” he admitted. “I learned a lot about spastics in Edinburgh.”

Alison longed to ask him what he had meant about Heimra, but Andrew came to stand beside her, no longer absorbed in the case of stuffed birds at the far end of the room which appeared to have fascinated him as soon as he came in.

“Would you like some more coffee?” Blair asked.

She shook her head.

“I suppose I ought to go,” she said reluctantly. “I don’t think there was anything very serious wrong with the plane, and we haven’t a lot of time to spare.”

“I wish you could come to Heimra Beag,” Andrew said wistfully as Mrs.
MacIver
came into the room.

“Some day, perhaps I shall,” Alison said, thinking that she never would.

“That Murdock man’s there now, Mr. Blair,” Janet
MacIver
said. “Maybe you could have a word with him before you go?”

Blair looked at Alison.

“I shouldn’t be many minutes,” he said. “I’m sure Andrew will want to see you off.”

Andrew stood hesitating, torn between his desire to follow his uncle and an equally strong desire to stay where he was.

“Will you not go before we come back?” he asked breathlessly at last.

“No,” Alison promised, “I’ll wait, Andrew, if you’re not going to be too long.”

He went after Blair and Mrs.
MacIver
began to collect the coffee cups on to her tray.

“He’s a fine man is Fergus Blair,” she observed. “I knew him when he was no more than Andrew’s age. He used to come over here from Garrisdale House with his father and sit and stare at the stuffed birds there just the way the boy does now. He never liked the idea of them being dead—shot and shut up in a glass box. He used to purse his wee mouth and ask who put them there, and my man used to say he felt glad
he
hadn’t done it! There’s a bird sanctuary over on Heimra Beag now, and maybe Mr. Blair got the idea from that very case over there in the corner.” She regarded Alison speculatively for a moment. “You’re new to the Ambulance,” she said. “You’ll not know much about the islands or about Mr. Blair. Some folks would have it that he’s a ruthless man and a stern landlord, but I’ve seen too much of his kindness to be agreeing to that. He’d have to be hard to be dealing with some of the folks round here, or they’d make a fool of him. They’re lazy, some of them, and don’t want to work. They got away with a lot when his brother was the laird. Gavin Blair was a weak man. He let people overrule his decisions because he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was always like that.”

She paused in the doorway, as if unwilling to let Alison go. The island was remote. It was not every day that she had the pleasure of an audience, and this lovely girl with the bright auburn hair and gentle eyes had appealed to her on sight, quite apart from the romantic aspect of her sudden descent from the clouds in the Air Ambulance, which they watched so often passing over the islands on its way to the Outer Hebrides.

“Yes,” she repeated, as if she were determined to convince the stranger in her house of Blair of Heimra’s worth, “Mr. Blair is all right. He’s not got his sorrows to seek, though, with that one over there on Heimra Beag!” she added darkly. “She’s not going to forget she was Blair of Heimra’s wife before Gavin Blair’s death put an end to it all! She never lets Mr. Fergus be, and she won’t abide anyone over there—just her and her own little kingdom. We’re sorry for her, of course,” she added as Alison followed her
out into the dimness of the narrow hall, “and sorry for the wee laddie. It’s a terrible cross he has to bear all his life, but his mother isn’t making it any easier for him the way she’s going on.”

Alison wanted to get away. She felt that she was listening to something she had no right to hear, a most intimate part of Blair of Heimra’s life. Only it seemed now that he was only Blair of Heimra by proxy.

“I must go, Mrs. Mac
I
ver,” she said. “Will you tell Mr. Blair that I’ve gone down to the landing strip?”

The Heron’s engines were revving up, and she knew that Ronald Gowrie would be waiting for her with considerable impatience by now, wondering what could have delayed her at the inn. He had his schedule to maintain, and already half an hour had been lost from it.

Automatically she glanced at the sky, but it was still fair and blue. Why, then, were her thoughts—her heart—her mind— so heavy?

“Wait!” Andrew cried behind her. “Please wait till we catch up with you!”

She turned to find Fergus Blair striding by his nephew’s side, and suddenly her heart caught on a little pain of longing. She would never see them again.

It was Andrew, of course. Andrew, with his solemn little ways and half apologetic smile, who had twined himself relentlessly round her heart. She had helped to nurse him through a small emergency in his life, and she wanted to go on seeing him. That was all. Yes, she assured herself rather desperately, that was all.

“If you
did
come to Heimra again, would you come to Heimra Beag?” the child persisted as they drew near to the group of village people on the landing strip who still hovered about the reverberating Heron.
“
If
you did?”

“I’d have to be able to send you word, Andrew, because of Coirestruan,” she pointed out. “And that might be difficult. We are called out on the ambulance at any time of the night or day.”

“You could land on Heimra Beag,” he suggested eagerly. “The Silver Strand would be all right for a plane. Captain Gowrie said so. It’s a good airstrip going to waste.”

Alison flushed. Ronald Gowrie had said far more than that, but possibly Andrew had failed to grasp the full significance of his bitter criticism.

Fergus Blair had not spoken, and she had not really expected him to second Andrew’s impulsive invitation. Heimra Beag and its naturally sheltered airstrip was forbidden ground.

Ronald Gowrie turned to face them as they pressed through the group of onlookers.

“So you’ve come back?” he observed dryly, making a point of looking at his watch. “It’s almost twelve o’clock.”

“I’m sorry,” Alison apologized immediately. “Can we make the time up? It’s a lovely clear day.”

“I dare say.” His tone was still dry, and he refused to look in Fergus Blair’s direction, although he made a point of saying goodbye to Andrew. “Cheerio, nipper! See you sometime again, perhaps. Maybe you’ll fly a plane one day on your own!”

Alison had turned towards Fergus Blair, and she saw that the careless words had struck him as if they had been a blow deliberately aimed above his heart. His face looked taut and drawn and his grey eyes were full of bitterness.

“You’re a native of Heimra, Gowrie,” he said suddenly. “How do you feel about coming back to the islands?”

“Not if you offered me Heimra a thousand times over!” Ronald’s face was as grey as his own. “I’ve had enough of the islands.”

“I see,” Blair said. “I thought perhaps there might come a time when you wouldn’t be able to fly. You do need to lay off sooner or later, I believe, and I need a factor over here.”

He paused, but Ronald shrugged indifferently.

“This is a milk run,” he said briefly. “There’s no reason why I should crack up on it—sooner or later.”

“No,” Blair agreed smoothly. “Perhaps not.”

He had given the older man one brief, penetrating look, a professional sizing up, Alison realized, but after that he let the matter drop. He could, she supposed, get another factor for the asking.

“Goodbye!” Andrew said heavily. “I wish I
could
see you again, Alison!”