Air Ambulance (14 page)

“You’ll be coming over for something hot to drink after the service, Mr. Blair?” she asked. “You’ll all be needing it before you go back across Coirestruan.”

“The children look forward to it,” Fergus agreed as he stood aside to let her go through the gate before him. “And I dare say Miss Lang will be grateful for a cup of coffee.”

They were too near the church door for Alison to reply. The beadle and the minister were waiting for them, and as they shook hands and she dropped her offering into the wooden plate, she was aware of a glow and a warmth which she remembered from earliest childhood. When they had been very young her mother had taken her and her brother every Sunday morning to church on the island of Arran, where they had stayed for several years with an aunt who ran a small hotel. It had been like Heimra, peaceful and fresh, with no traffic on the road, and it had seemed then that the sun never ceased t
o
shine. A childhood fancy, no doubt, but so like this golden day on Heimra that her heart was young again.

The service was short and simple. Fergus read the lesson, and came back afterwards to sit in the Garrisdale pew by her side, and the children sang lustily, if not always strictly in tune.

When it was time to go the benediction held a new meaning for her as she walked out into the sunshine ahead of the congregation by Fergus’ side.

They walked in silence until they came to the
MacIver
’s doorway, which stood hospitably open. Somehow, without their noticing, Janet
MacIver
had come on ahead.

Coffee and hot chocolate were ready for them in no time, and, before they left, Fergus offered to have a look at the repairs that had already been done.

“He thinks of everything!” Janet
MacIver
acknowledged with a sm
il
e in Alison’s direction. “We heard all about your accident, Miss Lang and about that nice young man who pilots the plane. We were hearing that he is badly hurt over yonder on the far side of Coirestruan.”

She paused for confirmation of the rumour, and Alison satisfied her quite natural curiosity as best she could.

“He has an injured skull and something wrong with his arm,” she explained. “But Mr. Blair feels now that it might not be quite so serious as he first suspected.”

“He’s a wonderful doctor, they say,” Mrs.
MacIver
reflected.
“
It’s a great pity he has such a cross to bear over there on Heimra Beag. Have you met young Mrs. Blair yet?”

“Yes.” Alison felt this could only be dangerous ground. Margot was not well liked on either island, it would seem. “I have had tea with her.”

“She would be looking to see if you were plain enough for her liking,” Janet
MacIver
said bluntly. “Even though she did know that you were fond of the young airman.”

Alison flushed scarlet.

“Mrs.
MacIver
!” she tried to laugh. “However did a story like that get about?”

Janet smiled as she collected the children’s cups.

“You’ve no idea how news gets about in small communities!” she declared. “My brother’s wife has a sister in Glasgow who has a daughter who works at your hospital. And besides, Rory Gowrie was born here.”

“But even so, there’s no truth in it!” Alison objected, painfully aware of her heightened colour and the small, nervous quiver in her voice. “I’m fond of Captain Gowrie—we’ve worked together quite a bit on the Air Ambulance—but there’s nothing else between us, Mrs.
MacIver
. I assure you.”

“Ah, well, as you say.” Incredulity was written large on Janet’s pleasant face. “If it’s not so, you’ll have to be heeding my warning about Garrisdale.”

Alison laughed, dismissing the subject with a shrug, although she was far from feeling indifferent.

“I won’t be here very much longer, Mrs.
MacIver
,” she said. “I shall be going back to the mainland quite soon.”

Janet
MacIver
looked beyond her through the half-open door.

“A pity,” she said, as Fergus’ voice came through to them from the direction of the kitchen. “A great pity. Mr. Blair could be doing with someone like yourself on Heimra Beag, I’m thinking.”

Alison did not know what to say to that.

“He has quite a lot of help,” she pointed out. “Mrs. Pollock runs
Garrisdale admirably and there’s Hannah at Monkdyk
e—
”

“Ay, poor Hannah!” Janet exclaimed. “She’s chained to Margot Blair with a peculiar sort of loyalty that neither you nor me might be able to understand. She was her foster-mother.”

“Oh!” Alison sounded aghast, for Margot had treated Hannah like a servant. “I had no idea.”

“It’s true enough. Hannah brought her up,” Janet said indignantly. “But when she married Gavin Blair, Margot Holmes would have none of her humble origin. It was only when she needed help, when she wanted someone who would put up with her tantrums, that she sent for Hannah. She’s been there ever since.”

The faithful watchdog, Alison thought. The ever-willing slave! She felt thankful when Fergus came back into the room, for this final revelation about Margot Blair seemed to have tarnished her golden day.

Try as she would, she could not forget about Hannah and Margot and their surprising relationship. It meant, of course, that Hannah would go to any lengths to serve the girl she had nurtured in childhood. To any lengths!

When they had all climbed on board the launch again, Sandy steered it towards the open sea.

“We’re going round the other way,” Fergus explained, “to show you the north end of Heimra Beag and to let the children see the birds. On a calm day we always do it as a special sort of treat.” He sat down in the deep well beside Alison, and the launch streaked away across the sound, leaving a white froth of wake behind it in an ever-widening arrowhead until they reached the southern buttress of Heimra Beag and were beyond it on the wide Atlantic swell.

All along the coast they came level with little bays of pure white sand where Alison longed to land. They would have been an enchantment and a lure at any time, but today, as she saw them for the first time with Fergus by her side, they were all that and more. He named them for her with an amused half smile curving his mouth, pointing out the haunts of the seals and a row of porpoise fins breaking the surface just ahead of them.

He had come near to do that, leaning close, and once again she smelt the scent of a good tobacco as she had done that morning when he had put his coat about her shoulders for protection against the elements.

That had been the beginning of her loving, she thought wistfully, and now it seemed a hundred years away.

“
Rudha nan Gael
,
” he said, pointing to a savage face of red gneiss ahead of them. “The Point of the Stranger!” He mused over the translation for a moment. “It seems a very long time since you came to Heimra, Alison.”

“It does to me, too,” she was forced to confess. “Perhaps islands are like that. They claim one very quickly. Or so Ronald says!”

He leaned back, fumbling in his pocket for his pipe, and when he had lit it he seemed to have withdrawn again to a safer distance of friendship. The old remoteness was there, like a visor drawn down over his handsome face, and she gazed up at
Rudha nan Gael,
thinking that it was indeed his home.

On this rugged northern bastion of the island nothing could alight but the great sea-birds, their powerful wings thrashing the air till they found a foothold, and she watched them in fascinated silence as the launch sped past, so near to the cliff face that she could have stretched out her hand and touched it.

Then, with a suddenness which almost took her breath away, they were back in the sun again, sailing round a smiling green headland into a sheltered bay.

“There’s Monkdyke!” one of the children cried. “Over there beside the trees!”

All the colour fled out of Alison’s cheeks. Somehow she had not quite expected this. Yet, if she had given their voyage a moment’s thought, she would have realized that their return to Monkdyke’s secluded bay was inevitable. They had come right round the island.

The launch was still fairly close inshore, and, as they sailed across the shallow bay, the house came into full view. The windows behind the terrace were open, the gaudy golf umbrella was up, and Margot sat beneath it in a yellow dress.

They were so near that her features were almost visible and she must have seen the launch, yet she made no sign. She sat curiously upright, her hands on the arms of her wicker chair, her knees still covered by the tartan rug, and her head bent a little, as if she were reading. Yet there was no book in sight.

To Alison the peculiarly strained attitude looked suddenly dark and brooding, and when she lifted her hand to wave she hardly expected an answering salute in return.

None came. Margot continued to sit where she was, and the launch passed on and out
o
f sight of the house.

It was as if the sun, too, had gone. When they rounded the end of the bay they were in the shadow of a headland that guarded the Silver Strand, and their adventure was over.

“You’ll come back to the house with us for lunch?” Fergus invited. “I’ve told Isobel to expect you, and Mrs. Cameron will take it for granted. She never cooks on a Sunday. It’s an old Scottish tradition and she sticks to it to the letter!”

What could she say? She did not want to refuse, yet all the way to Garrisdale she felt uneasy, unable to put the memory of Margot Blair out of her mind.

When the meal was over she followed Isobel through to the kitchen to help with the washing-up. There were two young maids at Garrisdale, but they were allowed Sundays off to spend with their people on the neighboring island, so that Isobel accepted Alison’s help willingly. As she rolled up her sleeves and began to collect the cutlery she said:

“Will you go up and have a word with Ronald before you go back to the lodge? I think he’s fretting having to lie flat on his back all the time. He’s so essentially the active type. He takes badly to any form of confinement.”

“I’m glad he’s got you to look after him, Isobel,” Alison said impulsively as they stacked plates into the cupboard above the sink. “Although I shouldn’t wonder if he won’t be something of a trial once he starts to get better.”

“I shall be able to deal with him!” Isobel laughed. “On you go up to the bedroom, and I’ll follow you with something for him to drink. It’s a couple of hours since he had his beef tea.”

Alison mounted the stairs and as she entered the bedroom Ronald said, “Hullo, stranger! Can’t you get me out of here? I thought you were a good nurse!”

“Good nurses obey doctor’s orders!” she smiled back. “You look heaps better.”

“Don’t bother with the pep talk,” he advised. “Tell me how long I’m likely to be here—honestly.”

“For a
w
eek or two, at least.”

“On my back, like this?”

“That will depend on Sir James’ next visit, so Fergus says.”

“ ‘Fergus’!” he mocked. “I had no idea it had got as far as Christian names!”

She looked away from his probing eyes. She could not tell him about Fergus and Margot.

“We’re calling Isobel by her Christian name too,” she pointed out evasively. “I suppose living on an island brings one into closer contact with the people one meets. It pulls down all sorts of barriers.”

“Isobel’s not the sort of person to erect barriers,” he mentioned reflectively. “She’s an altogether easy person to get to know, and as staunch as they come. She’s like a rock,” he added generously. “Blair would do well to marry her.”

Alison turned sharply away, crossing to the window to look out so that he might not see her face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, sensing that something was wrong. “Are you in love with him?” His voice was suddenly harsh. “All right, you needn’t answer that,” he added. “It’s Margot, isn’t it? She’ll make sure of him, somehow. She doesn’t mean to be done out of Heimra and the soft life she has living here—not if I know Margot. She’ll wring some sort of promise out of Blair before long, or I’m a Dutchman! And after that—well, he’s not the sort of man to go back on his word.”

His bitter condemnation of the woman he had once loved fell into the heavy silence of the room, and for several minutes it seemed that neither of them could break it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, at last, all the bitterness gone out of his voice, “if I’ve hurt you, Alison, but I know Margot so well.”

Alison turned from the window. Was he still in love with Margot, she wondered, in spite of all his angry protests to the contrary?

“It won’t do any good worrying about it,” she tried to say evenly. “I think Fergus has already made his choice.”

“Not to marry her,” he said sharply. “Isobel says it would be unthinkable at the present moment. He’ll go on looking after her, of course, till the end of time, just as long as she’s as helpless as she is now.”

Alison could not bring herself to tell him that there was no hope of recovery for Monkdyke’s lovely invalid. She could not say that Fergus had given Margot a thousand-to-one chance of walking again and that she had refused it because failure would have meant death.