Hospital in the Highlands (17 page)

Robert smiled helplessly, whimsically. Actually Jim Darvie was a medical patient, though the surgeon had been asked to set the fractured leg.

“As you wish, Bexley,” he granted.

“
Of course Strathallan must come along,” Sir Felix said stiffly. “He invited me here.”

“Well, this man’s
my
patient,” Keith blustered. “I’m only conforming to medical etiquette.”

“Medical poppycock!” snorted the older man, and Flo felt immediately compassionate for the fool who stepped in where angels feared to tread. “If you want etiquette, read Debrett, man. If you’re interested in medicine barge in wherever you can, even under the Consultants’ noses. Beg, borrow and steal your knowledge, but don’t take medical etiquette seriously until you’re my age and have had your behind kicked as often. Why, this lad here”—he put an arm affectionately on Robert’s shoulder—“was a pupil of mine for a time, and he probably knows more about the human brain than you suspect exists, Doctor. Are you still going to leave him out of the party?”

Keith’s countenance resembled a beetroot.

“Certainly not, sir, when you put it like that.”

Matron said pacifically, “Doctor Bexley’s only a locum here, you know. He’s leaving us next week.”

Sir Felix’s brief, acknowledging glance implied, “Good news for The Glen!” though he didn’t speak.

Jim was sitting up in bed looking alert and cheerful. When he saw Flo in the party he smiled in her direction and said, “Hello, darling!” in a
s
wift aside.

Sir Felix made his examination to the accompaniment of a commentary on various X-ray plates clipped on the portable viewer Sister Jamieson brought in.

“That’s where you got your bump, young man,” he explained, pointing to an area which looked lighter than the rest of the picture. “There’s a slight depression in the temporal area, which is why we want to keep you quiet in bed for a few weeks—”

“A few weeks?” Jim asked, dismayed. “I’ll lose my job in Malaya, and it’s a good job! This—this is awful!”

“And could be worse if you throw a fit about it,” scowled Sir Felix. “I must insist on quiet and calm, Mr. er—Darvie. After all, you’ve got your lassie.”

“Yes,” smiled Jim, quickly, “I’ve got her. I was dreading saying goodbye. Three years is a long time.”

“Be thankful for small mercies. Have you any pain?”

“My leg aches—”

“I mean in your head, man.”

“No, sir. I feel dizzy when I sit up sometimes, and rather vague.”

“You’re doing fine,” Sir Felix insisted. “The rest will fix you up in every way. I should write your firm, explaining...”

“I think my
fiancée
has done that.”

“She asked me to write a letter in medical terms,” said Robert Strathallan swiftly. “I explained all that had happened, Darvie. I shouldn’t think anyone would victimize you for an accident.”

“Perhaps not.” Jim looked more reassured. “Did you get m touch with the shipping line, Flo?” he asked, worrying afresh. “I should get a refund if you’re quick.”

“Which line is that, Jim?” she asked blankly.

“The Far Eastern, of course. I’m due to sail from Newcastle tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“So you’re fine, m’boy, fine,” said Sir Felix, “and damned lucky.”

He edged his way out of the room followed by Keith, who still insisted on elbowing Robert out of position where he could, then Matron, Robert and finally Sister Jamieson with the X-ray screen.

“Flo!” Jim called, opening his arms.

“Just a minute, Jim,” she said, keeping her distance and wishing her heart wouldn’t palpitate so. “I must see Sir Felix off and hear what he has to say about you. I’ll be back.”

She made her escape and leaned against his room door for a moment, collecting herself.

Sir Felix mustn’t leave without knowing what she now more than suspected. She ran the party to earth once more in Matron’s office.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said urgently, looking tense. “I have something I wish to say which may be considered impertinent unless I prepare you.”

“Go ahead, Sister,” the Consultant invited.

“Well, I don’t agree Mr. Darvie is as well as you appear to think. He—he seems to me to be suffering from a certain amount of amnesia.”

There was a telling little silence.

“Really, Sister—!” Keith protested at length. “You might as well tell Sir Felix he doesn’t know his job and have finished with it!”

“I can bear somebody else’s opinion, thank you, Doctor, if it’s intelligent.” Keith subsided afresh. “This lass knows her lad, better than you or I do, and she obviously has a reason for making her pronouncement. Carry on, Sister. Only I will interrupt or question you while you’re unburdening yourself.”

“There has been something about Jim, since he regained consciousness, that I haven’t been able quite to put my finger on, Sir. But now it’s more definite. He gave his mother similar instructions to those he gave her two years ago, and he was worrying in her presence about his inability to sail on Friday.”

“What has this—?” Keith ventured, but was quelled by a single glance from the specialist.

“Do go on, Sister.”

“You heard him just now, fearing he might lose his job, and asking me to get a refund from the Far Eastern Line? Well, he has now held this same
job down for almost two years, and given every satisfaction, so it’s hardly likely he’ll be sacked, is it? He sailed out two years ago on a Friday, but this time he was due to fly back, starting Wednesday. In my opinion, sir, those two years he spent in Malaya, up to and including his accident on the Ben, have been erased from his memory.”

Sir Felix dared anyone else to speak at their peril while he considered these revelations.

“You haven’t questioned the lad openly, Sister?”

“No, sir. I realize one has to be careful in a case of amnesia.”

“Wise girl! You may be right, you know. The way he’s been nattering about going out to Malaya could fit in with an initial assault
or
a return from leave. I might have gone away quite happily leaving the poor chap driving you all up the wall before it eventually came out in the wash. Well, Sister,” he suddenly twinkled, “he hasn’t forgotten
you
!”

“No, sir.” She lowered her eyes, knowing that as she still retained Jim’s devotion, so must he be unaware of their new relationship and Jill’s very existence. It was like living a lie with him, and yet what could she do?

Sir Felix told her and everyone else.

“I won’t go back and see Darvie again today,” he decided. “We don’t want him to think there’s something queer. Let’s get rid of the shock first, and allow this depression to fill up naturally. Meanwhile I think Sister, here, should be detailed to nurse him.” He turned to Matron. “She can find out then, without direct questioning, exactly what he does remember. One or two names of his contacts in Malaya, for instance, could be dropped for bait. There’s no surgery and no skill can help in
a case of this sort; only patience. I’ll come and see him again on Saturday.”

“What shall I tell Mrs. Darvie, sir?” Flo asked, having seen that lady arrive a few minutes ago. “Jim’s mother.”

“What sort
of a body is she?”

“He’s her only child and she’s extremely devoted to him, sir.”

“Then we’d best get her as far away from him as possible. I’ll speak to her if you like.”

For which Flo was extremely grateful.

She was not so filled with gratitude, however, when Robert Strathallan attempted similar consolation a little later that day.

“Don’t look so down in the mouth, Sister,” he advised. “Darvie will be as good as new in time, you know.”

“Naturally I hope you’re right, sir,” she said, wondering if he ever remembered the time when they could not be near one another with an awareness of overwhelming attraction between them. “I am convinced that this state of affairs should not continue for long, however.”

“Oh, come!” he encouraged. “You couldn’t have a more affectionate young man! As Sir Felix observed, thank your lucky stars his
amnesia
didn’t affect his remembrance of you!”

“He would have had to go back to being a boy
of sixteen to oust me entirely from his recollection,” she said sarcastically. “I knew him when he was content to call me Fido, because I reminded him of his pet dog.” She dared him to laugh.

“Well!” he regarded her. “Fido, indeed! A good name for any faithful friend,” and away he went without another backward glance.

“What can I do?
”
she pleaded desperately that evening, fresh from Jim’s possessive, enveloping arms. “I’ll go mad if he makes love to me like this every day! It’s all over. Why doesn’t he know?

Why can’t he tell?” She held her head as it began to ache, for though she had worked only for a few hours the fact that Jim was her patient proved more of a strain than she had bargained for.
“
If
Ji
ll
knew what was going on she would hate me. She sent him home to straighten things out with me and the whole thing’s in a greater tangle than ever. I wonder what she will think when she reads Robert’s letter? At least I’m not mentioned in it, thank God! It’s purely a medical report. But if I was Jill I would come and see for myself. I wonder if she’s a girl like me in some ways, sane as anything one day and madly impulsive the next? Ah, well! I’d better go home and see how my family is faring now, I suppose.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

J
enny Huntingford, exquisite in a suit of shantung silk, ruffled Pixie’s curls as that young lady squatted on the humpty beside her.

“At last we’ve run your elusive sister to earth!” she decided triumphantly, smiling across at Flo who—Pixie felt—was not looking
Her
best in a plain skirt and light sweater, and who was also still covered in bruises from her unfortunate adventure, one of these lying below her left eye like a dark blemish.

“I’m certainly glad you could come, Mrs. Huntingford, and you, too, Miss Purdie,” smiled Flo, passing the feather-light cakes she had persuaded Janet to make in a hurry. “I must apologize for being so busy in the garden when you arrived that I hadn’t time to change.
”

“That’s the way I like to find people. Unprepared,” Jenny said blandly. “That way you see the person you came to see, not some dressed-up framed portrait dolled up for the occasion.”

Kate Purdie gave a small, nervous laugh.

“What a queer thing to say, Mrs. Huntingford! You always hate to be caught unawares. And doesn’t it give you an unfair advantage catching other people unprepared for visitors when you have so obviously taken such pains to prepare yourself?”

After a telling moment Jenny Huntingford laughed merrily. “Shrewd old Purdie!” she said affectionately. “Do you know, Sister Lamont,
I
think it’s a mistake to employ somebody who used to be in love with one’s husband! They do know rather a lot about one, because obviously they’ve made it their business to find out, if only to discover what it is you’ve got that they didn’t have. Do you agree?”

Flo, aware of Kate Purdie’s scarlet embarrassment, looked away deliberately.

“Are you writing a new novel now, Mrs. Huntingford?” she asked.

“I am. But it was a mistake to return to Glen Lochallan—for some things. Not all, of course. I was a girl here. This is where Robert and I grew up together and were sweethearts.”

“Saccharin?” Miss Purdie offered, sweetly. “You’re watching your weight, Mrs. Huntingford, remember?”

“I remember.” Jenny leaned towards Flo as though about to indulge a confidence. “My secretary’s one of the reasons why I can’t get on with my book, dear. She’s a rabid Scottish Nationalist by association with my husband, of course. Actually her own roots were Polish on her mother’s side.”

“And Lowland Scots on my father’s,” reminded Kate Purdie, “and there’s nothing rabid about me, Mrs. Huntingford. I am proud to be a Canadian, and I’m also keen on all aspects of history. Your husband encouraged me there.”

“But not in other ways, eh, Purdie?”

Flo was shaken by the naked malice in the atmosphere. It was as though Jenny Huntingford was determined to expose a human heart and its pain and suffering, providing it was not her own. Even Pixie, who had been viewing her admired one aghast, now shook her head free of the caressing fingers and resolutely carried the humpty alongside Kate Purdie.

“Would you care to see my garden, Miss Purdie?” she now invited. “I’ll give you a bunch of my roses if you like.”

“Really?”

The two went out hand in hand.

“I’m sorry for Purdie,” said Jenny Huntingford, “which is why I keep her on, I suppose. She was my husband’s secretary and so obviously doted on him. She even loved him enough to accept me and carry on working for
me after his death. I suppose in a way, because I was his, she loves me, too.”

“Love is a precious, precious gift,” Flo pronounced solemnly.