Hospital in the Highlands (7 page)

“No. I presume you didn’t want her to know.”

“That’s right,” Flo breathed her relief. “I think it’s best to keep it quiet.”

Fay drew on her cigarette.

“She may find out, as I did,” she observed. “We can’t keep her chained up at home forever.”

Flo looked keenly at Doctor Bexley.

“I’ve asked Keith not to contact her. We both know how she reacts to this business, don’t we?”

“Anybody would think I was typhoid,” Keith said crossly.

“I suppose it was you who told Fay about the librarian’s job?” Flo questioned him.

“Yes. It was. The girl was bored. Also she happens to be rather keen on the Big Chief, the Great I Am, call-me-sir Strathallan. I like to help romance along where I can.”

Flo flushed and could hardly bear to follow this up for one reason and another.

“Fay was extremely rude to Mr. Strathallan at first. She couldn’t stand him—his dress—anything about him.”

“He’s improved,” Fay decided sweetly. “Not only is he fairly presentable, under all that hairy tweed and tartan, but he is the big bug in these parts. Also, to his great credit as far as I am concerned, he is a serious musician. He plays the piano and the organ with a certain amount of ability. The Edinburgh Festival is an annual must for him. By the time he gets that great lout of a brother of his off his hands I’ll be just about ready to be Mistress Strathallan, so naturally I have to start paving my way to the altar. Doing good works at the hospital was one way of accomplishing just that.”

Keith laughed delightedly.

“Isn’t she the limit?” he asked. “I bet she does it, too. D’you think we ought to warn him?”

Flo was not amused, however.

“My sister has a one-track mind outside of her music,” she said sharply, “but she seems to have discovered a confidant in you as credulous as her suggestions are outrageous. Mr. Strathallan will pick his own wife, if he ever marries. Now hadn’t you better continue your good works, Fay, in Maternity? They read, too, when they get the chance.”

CHAPTER NINE

Th
e
ceilidh definitely appealed to the elder Lamont girls, and
b
oth Meg and Fay were fairly well off for clothes, which they had kept from the days when their father had held parties at his studio, and also accepted invitations from the other shining lights of the bohemian set in Edinburgh. Flo felt the occasion merited the expense of a new dress, though she didn’t take the others into her confidence about it. She was looking at herself in her long cheval mirror, wearing the dress, when Pixie came barging in unceremoniously.

“How about going back and knocking, darling?” Flo said rather sharply.

The youngster looked taken aback.

“That sounds just like Meg,” she decided in a hurt little voice.

“Does it?” Flo didn’t feel this was meant to be a compliment exactly. “Well, manners are manners, you know. You’ll never learn if your own folk don’t keep nagging them into you. Now what was it you wanted?”

“Och, it doesn’t matter,” Pixie said despairingly, flopping down into a chair. “Nobody has any time for me.” As Flo didn’t respond she proceeded, “New dress? It’s smashing.”

“No,” Flo said off-handedly, telling herself it was better to fib than have her sisters thinking she placed any importance on Saturday evening’s event. “I was just seeing if it wanted altering anywhere.”

Pixie assessed her appearance gravely.

“I’ve never seen you in white before, Flo. It’s not supposed to be soph—soph—smart, is it? Meg’s wearing her royal blue velvet and Fay will probably wear black. She likes to look older than she is. You’d better keep away from her on Saturday or you’ll look like an advert for whisky!” Pixie laughed heartily at her own joke, then she sighed and lapsed into depression again. “I wish I was going,” she mused. “I feel like Cinderella.”

“You’ll grow up, darling,” Flo assured the youngster, “then you can be sure these invitations will come your way, too. You know how sleepy you always get after nine p.m.! How many times have you stayed up at Hogmanay and been fast asleep before ten?”

“True,” smiled Pixie. “I’ll accept my minority with a good grace, as Hamish says. Anyway, he isn’t invited, either, and he’s seventeen.”

Colonel and Mrs. MacGregor’s invitation was duly accepted with thanks by the three elder Lamont sisters, and Flo informed the laird that they would be attending the ceilidh and were therefore relying on him for transport.

On Friday evening when she got home from the hospital she heard his voice in the sitting room and crept past to go to her room and change before meeting him face to face. For one thing it had been a hard day and she was tired. As she was not expected back on duty until Monday morning, there had been instructions to give the Sister who was taking charge in her place, and also Mrs. Lindsay had been launched happily off on her week’s “second honeymoon” with her husband. Tam Lindsay was in Mr. Strathallan’s confidence, and now knew that his young wife was not only seriously ill but under sentence of death. He was like a man on another planet when he was not with his wife, groping for a foothold, something to cling to and lean on. Nobody could give him help or comfort. He had not only to keep the tragic news from Annie but discover some inner source of strength within himself to bear what must be borne for them both.

Mrs. Lindsay, however, was all radiance as she prepared to leave the hospital.

“Ah told you Ah’d make it, Sister!” she declared. “Ah’m going to have the time o’ ma life. You never appreciate anything until you’ve been deprived o’ it, an’ by jingo Ah’m going to appreciate ma Tam in future. He’s taken a wee bungalow for the both o’ us at Murrayhead, an’ Grandma is bringing the weans out for a day on the sands. You’ll think o’ me enjoying myself, Sister?”

"I will, Annie,” Flo said sincerely. “Do have a lovely time!”

So Tam had taken his wife away, and Flo was determined to think of nothing but that Annie Lindsay had been happy and would wish to be remembered thus when worse befell.

She changed into a plain dress of powder blue and did her hair, then she descended the stairs and went into the sitting room.

“So you’re back, dear,” Meg greeted. “I’ve given Mr. Strathallan a drink. What will you have?”

“Nothing, thank you. Good evening, Mr. Strathallan.”

“Good evening, Miss Flo.” He smiled as though he hadn’t seen her for days. Actually she had done the second round with him less than three hours ago. .

Flo was aware of a disturbing element in the room that had nothing to do with their guest. Fay was standing, looking very lovely, in a pool of light thrown by one of the lamps, and it was as though ice flowed from her and chilled the newcomer.

“You said you had the Mozart duets, Mr. Strathallan?” Fay now said clearly, obviously picking up the thread of a previous conversation.

Robert Strathallan was still looking at Flo, however, admiring the figure-loving folds of her dress and noting the shine on her brown hair: he was also impressed by the trimness of the ankles in their sheer nylons-and the shyness of the eyes that refused to meet his.

Fay dislodged a vase from near her elbow, and it smashed into a thousand fragments. It was the sort of thing she did deliberately on occasions to draw attention to herself, or simply as a kind of perverted self-expression when all was not going well with her.

Robert Strathallan rushed to help Flo pick up the pieces, and the pair of them were so obviously mutually engrossed that Fay snorted and stalked away.

“Has Miss Fay gone?” asked the visitor later when the job was done. He looked almost relieved.

“You were talking about Mozart with her,” Meg said, “and I think she wanted to play the duets with you sometime. Music’s her life,” she added.

“Well—” the laird obviously sensed the lack of harmony—“I think I’ll be going, now. Miss Fay and I can talk about duets some other time. Actually I just came to say I’ll call for you around seven-thirty tomorrow evening, and I hope you enjoy your first ceilidh.”

“I’m sure we will,” Meg assured him. “Shall I see him out or would you prefer to, Flo?”

Put like this the question would have done credit to Fay, for now Flo dared not obviously push herself into a situation where she might be alone for a minute with the surgeon.

Robert Strathallan, however, settled the question in his own way.

“I think I’m familiar enough with this place now to see myself out, Miss Meg,” he said easily, “but there was something I forgot to say to Sister earlier on at the hospital. I’ll wish you goodnight. You’ll speak for me to Miss Fay about the duets?”

“Certainly.”

Once again Flo found herself alone in the hall with him, brushing his sleeve as he took over the opening of the heavy door. Her heartbeat was unsteady and expectant, as though something was about to happen that would change everything.

“Yes, sir?” her voice spoke its inquiry, for she was having to struggle to hold on to normality. He had told Meg he had wanted to speak to her earlier at the hospital. It was something about a patient, that was all. It could be nothing more.

“A dark, moonless night,” he observed, breathing in the sharp, pine-scented air, “but I hope the fine weather lasts for the ceilidh. We dance out of doors whenever we can.”

“I—I thought you wanted to tell me something, sir.”

He was so quiet that she, thought he hadn’t heard, and she began to feel rather foolish.

“I did,” he said at length, “and now it doesn’t seem easy. Look, Miss Flo, no one is going to think anything of it if you do this thing, only me, and I would be darned proud, I can tell you. At the ceilidh I would like you to wear this—for me.”

He thrust a small flat parcel into her mystified hands.

“What is it, sir?” she asked blankly.

“I don’t know what you women call it. A band—a sash—a ribbon? It was my mother’s when she went dancing with the Strathallan who became my father. It’s my tartan in pure French silk.”

“Oh!”

In the darkness Flo’s cheeks flamed scarlet, and she was glad he couldn’t see what he had wrought in her by this gesture.

“Will you?” the laird persisted.

“Thank you. I’ll wear it.”

If he wondered why she suddenly darted indoors, it didn’t worry him, for he knew a girl like Flo was naturally shy in the best possible way. That she had consented to wear his tartan was sufficient to send the song of a blackbird whistling through his lips as he drove home, and he was like a child who has been promised a treat, finding twenty-four hours too long to wait for a promised delight.

Flo took the tartan sash up to her room and handled it with trembling fingers. What did wearing it imply in the Strathallan’s eyes? Would he, for instance, wish her to wear it if she prominently displayed Jim’s ring on her finger? She felt not, and yet she was surely hesitating over-long in mentioning her engagement to one who must now be considered an interested party in her affairs?

“I’ll tell him tomorrow at the ceilidh,” Flo willed herself, laying the tartan band across the simple white bodice of her new dress. “Nothing much can happen at Colonel MacGregor’s place because there’ll be so many people there. I’ll mention Jim, and then the wedding, and he’ll know I can only be friends with him in future. If he has presumed otherwise it’s not my fault.”

The more she thought about it, however, the less she liked the idea of bringing all the promise of this new relationship to nought.

Florence Nightingale Lamont’s immaculate world was threatening to turn topsy-turvy if she didn’t watch out.

Flo had forgotten that Fay’s room boasted a window that overhung the front door. When the window was open the room’s inmate could hear all that was said to the departing guest, and Fay—who had already decided her brown-haired sister was blossoming into a thunder-stealer—heard what transpired when the laird was leaving, and her brow grew even darker with fury.

Fay was used to being a spoilt pet, the center of attention, and only passed on to her family what she did not require for her own amusement.

After assessing the amenities of Glen Lochallan, she had decided its laird must be classed as one of these, and therefore he must be encouraged to dance to her string-pulling. She had heard someone playing the organ one day as she neared St. Stephen’s Church, and Bach’s Toccata and fugue in D minor were a sufficient draw to take her anywhere, even into church. When the grand music ended she was leaning, chin on her hands, rigid with ecstasy, and it was then she decided the Highland Chieftain was to be hers—all in good time.

She could be very charming when she wished to be, and there was no doubt that she had made great strides in impressing Robert Strathallan since that first brash, unfortunate encounter. She had really believed his visit to the house was on her account, for they had walked for an hour through his pine woods that same morning in perfect harmony, discussing the festival; various orchestras they had heard; folk music and so forth.

When Flo had entered the sitting room, however, the laird had lost all his interest in what they were talking about. He had eyes—from that moment—only for Flo, who had obviously dressed herself up for the occasion, and Fay and Meg and Mozart might have been exiled to a desert island for all he seemed to care.

Now he had asked Flo to wear something for him, in a stupid, breathless, love-sick sort of way, .and she—looking just as silly, no doubt—had run off into the house while he slammed his car
door and shouted “Yippee!” or something equally unedifying before roaring off down the drive.

“I'll
make them pay, both of them,” Fay promised" herself savagely. “Nobody shall share the same room with me and
ignore me
as long as I live—and get away with it!”