Under Gemini (24 page)

“You have a useless housekeeper,” she told him, bluntly. “You should get someone else to look after you.”

“Jessie does her best. It's just that she's been away. She had to go to Portree to see her mother.”

“When is she coming back?”

“I don't know. Tomorrow or maybe the next day.”

“Well, you should give her notice and find somebody else.” She felt brutal, but she was annoyed with him, because no man had the right to look so tired. “It's ridiculous. You're the doctor in this town. There must be somebody who'd help you. What about your nurse, the one who works in the surgery?”

“She's a married woman with three children to look after. She has more than enough to do.”

“But wouldn't she know somebody who could come and work for you?”

Hugh shook his head. “I don't know,” he said.

She had seen that he was tired, but now she realized that at this moment he not only didn't know, he didn't care, whether anybody could find him a new housekeeper or not. She began to regret having attacked him, nagging at him like some discontented wife.

She said, more gently, “You know, you surprised me just as much as I must have surprised you. Where did you suddenly appear from?”

He looked around for something to sit on, saw the chairs which Flora had piled in a corner, and went to pick one up and set it by the side of the table.

“Lochgarry,” he told her, settling back with his legs crossed and his hands in his pockets. “I've been to the hospital. I've been to see Angus McKay.”

“Is that the old man you told me about who lived up Loch Fhada? The one who fell down the stairs?”

Hugh nodded.

“He finally agreed to go to the hospital then?”

“Yes. He finally agreed. Or should I say, he was finally persuaded.”

“By you?”

“Yes. By me. The ambulance went out to Boturich and collected him this morning. I went over to see him this afternoon. He's in a ward with five other old men, all staring at the opposite wall and waiting for death, and he doesn't even know what's hit him. I dispensed the usual dose of hearty good cheer, but he just lay there and looked at me. Like an old dog. I felt like a murderer.”

“But you mustn't feel like that. It's not your fault. You said yourself that his daughter-in-law was at the end of her tether having to take care of him. And so far out in the country and everything. And he might have fallen downstairs again, or had some even worse accident. Anything could have happened.”

He let her say all this without interrupting. When she finished speaking, he was silent for a little, watching her from beneath his heavy brows. Then he said, “He's old, Rose. He's frail and confused and now we've uprooted him. That's a monstrous thing to do to any man. He was born at Boturich, his father farmed Boturich before him, and his grandfather. Angus brought his wife back to Boturich, and his children were born there. And now, at the end of the day, when we have no more use for him, we cart him off and stow him away, out of sight and out of mind, and leave him to be cared for by strangers.”

Flora was astonished that he, a doctor, should allow himself to become so emotionally involved. “But that's the way things are. You can't change things like that. You can't stop people's growing old.”

“But you see, Angus isn't people. Angus is part of me, part of my growing up. My father was a busy doctor, and he didn't manage to find much time to spend with a small boy, so on fine Saturdays I used to bicycle fifteen miles each way up Loch Fhada to Boturich to see Angus McKay. He was a tall, rangy man, strong as an ox, and I thought he knew everything. He did too, about birds and foxes and hares, and where to find the fattest trout, and how to tie a fly that not the wiliest salmon could resist. I thought he was the wisest being in the world. All powerful. Like God. And we'd go fishing together, or up the hill with a spyglass, and he'd show me where the golden eagles were nesting.”

Flora smiled, liking the picture of the old man and the boy together. “How old were you then?”

“About ten. A little bit older than Jason.”

Jason. Flora had forgotten Jason. She looked at her watch, and then, in a panic, began to untie the strings of the apron. “I must fly. I'm meant to be fetching Jason from school. He'll think he's been forgotten.”

“I was rather hoping you'd make me a cup of tea.”

“I haven't got time. I'm meant to be there at a quarter to four and it's twenty to now.”

“Supposing I call the headmaster and tell him to hang on to Jason for a bit.”

Such a reaction on his part was unexpected.
Why,
thought Flora,
he's really trying to be nice to me.
She laid down the apron. “Won't Jason mind?”

“He won't mind.” Hugh got to his feet. “They've a train set up at the school and if the boys are good, they're allowed to play with it. He'll jump at the chance of getting it to himself.” He went out into the hall, leaving the door open. Flora stood where she was, staring after him. She had discovered that it is disconcerting when someone whom you think you have neatly pigeonholed starts acting out of character. She heard him dialing the school. She turned to fill the kettle, and put it on to boil. Hugh's voice came down the hall.

“Hello, Mr. Fraser? Dr. Kyle speaking. Have you got young Jason Armstrong there? Would you be so kind as to hold on to him for another fifteen minutes or so. Antony's young lady's on her way to fetch him and take him back to Fernrigg, but she's going to be held up. Well, if you want the truth, she's just about to make me a cup of tea. Yes, she's here. Well, that would be very civil of you. Thank you. We'll be here when he comes. Tell him not to bother to ring the bell, but just walk in. We'll be in the kitchen. Very well. I'm obliged to you. Goodbye, Mr. Fraser.”

She heard him put down the receiver, and the next moment he appeared back in the kitchen.

“That's all settled. One of the junior masters is going to bring Jason down in his car and drop him off at the gate.”

“Does that mean he won't get to play with the train set?”

Hugh went to fetch a second chair from the corner. “I wouldn't know.”

Flora had found a teapot with a broken spout, a jug of milk in the fridge, and a couple of old, pretty Wedgwood mugs.

“I don't know where the sugar is, or the tea.”

He delved into some cupboard and produced them. The tea was kept in a very old tin with a picture of George V on the side. It was bent and most of the paint had gone. Flora said, “This looks as if it's been around for some time.”

“Yes, like everything in this house. Including me.”

“Have you lived here all your life?”

“Most of it. My father lived here for forty years, and it would be an understatement to say that he didn't believe in change for its own sake. When I came back to take over from him it was like stepping back into the past. At first I thought I'd make all sorts of alterations and bring the whole place up-to-date, but before long the famous West Coast rot had set in, and it took me all my time and effort just to get the surgery built. Once that was up, I forgot about the house. Or perhaps I just forgot to notice it.”

Flora felt relieved. At least he hadn't gone out and chosen the dining room furniture for himself. The kettle boiled. She filled the teapot and put it on the table. She said, politely, “It's a good solid house,” and it sounded like telling a proud mother that her baby looks healthy when you can't think of another thing to say about the wretched infant.

“Tuppy thinks it's dreadful,” said Hugh placidly. “A mausoleum she calls it. And I'm prepared to believe her.”

“There's nothing wrong with it.” She met his skeptical eye. “I mean,” she floundered on, “it has possibilities.” She sat down at the table and poured the tea. The atmosphere had become pleasantly domestic. Encouraged by this, she went on. “There's no house that can't be made very nice if you give it a little thought. All it needs is…” She searched for inspiration. “A coat of paint.”

He looked amazed. “Is that all it needs?”

“Well, it would be a start. A coat of paint can do wonders.”

“I'll have to try it.” He helped himself to milk and a generous amount of sugar, stirring the lot into a real workman's brew. He drank it, apparently without scalding his throat, and at once poured a second cup. “A coat of paint.” He set down the teapot. “And perhaps the blinds pulled up to let some sunshine in. And the smell of new polish. And flowers. And books and music. And a fire burning in the grate when you come back from work at the end of a long winter's day.”

Without thinking, Flora said, “You don't need a new housekeeper, you need a new wife,” and was instantly on the receiving end of a glance so sharp that she wished she had not spoken at all. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly.

But he did not seem to be offended. He put more milk and sugar into his tea and stirred it. He said, “You know I've been married.” It was a statement of fact, not an accusation.

“Yes. Tuppy told me.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“That your wife was killed in a car accident.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.” She felt impelled to stand up for Tuppy. “She only told me because she's so fond of you. She doesn't like to think of you living on your own.”

“After I got engaged to Diana I brought her back to Tarbole. The visit wasn't what you'd call a success. Did Tuppy say anything about that?”

“Not really.” Flora was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“I can tell by your face that she did. Tuppy didn't take to Diana. Like everybody else, she thought I was making a terrible mistake.”

“And was it a mistake?”

“Yes. Right from the very beginning, but I was so blinded by my feelings I wouldn't admit it even to myself. I met her in London. I was at St. Thomas's working for my F.R.C.S. I had a friend there, John Rushmoore—I'd know him at Edinburgh University. We used to play rugger together. Then he got a job in the City, and I met up with him again when I went south. It was through him that I first met Diana. She and John belonged to a world that I had never known, and like any country bumpkin, I was bedazzled by it. And by her. When I wanted to marry her, everybody told me that I was mad. Her father had no opinion of me at all. From the beginning he had me pegged as a hairy-heeled Scotsman after his daughter's money. My professor was equally unenthusiastic. I had another two years to go before I had a hope of getting my F.R.C.S., and he believed that I should put my career before my matrimonial aspirations. And of course my father agreed with him.

“It may sound strange to you, but my father's good opinion was the one that mattered most to me. I felt that if I had that, then the rest of them could go to hell. So I brought Diana home to meet him, and to show her off. It took some persuading to get her here. She'd only been to Scotland once before, on some grouse-shooting houseparty or other, and she didn't relish the idea of Tarbole. But I finally talked her into it, naïvely, imagining that my father and the friends I'd known all my life would be as besotted by her as I was.

“But it didn't work out. In fact, it was a disaster. It rained the entire time, Diana hated Tarbole, she hated this house, and she hated the country. All right, she was spoiled. And like so many spoiled women, she could be wholly charming and engaging, but only with people who amused or stimulated her. There wasn't anybody here who fitted that bill. She rendered my father speechless, and he wasn't what you'd call a talkative man at the best of times. He was immensely courteous and she was a guest in his house, but by the end of the third day we'd all had enough. My father brought it all to a head. He topped himself up with whisky, took me into his surgery, and told me he thought I'd gone out of my mind. He told me a lot of other things as well, but most of them are unrepeatable. And then I lost my temper and I said a lot of unrepeatable things. And by the time that session was over, there was nothing for me to do but bundle Diana back into my car and drive back to London. We were married a week later. You could say because of parental opposition rather than in spite of it.”

“Did it work?”

“No. At first it was all right. We were infatuated with each other. I suppose, if you were romantically minded, you'd say we were much in love. But our two worlds were too far apart and we had nothing in common with which to build any sort of a bridge. When we first met, I think Diana imagined herself as the social wife of a brilliant surgeon, but instead she found herself married to a struggling student who spent most of his waking hours at the hospital. It wasn't much of a marriage, but the fault was just as much mine as hers.”

Flora wrapped her hands, for warmth, around her mug of tea. She said, “Perhaps if circumstances had been different…”

“But they weren't different. We had to make the best of what we had.”

“When was she killed?”

“Nearly two years after we married. By then we were hardly ever together, and I thought nothing of it when Diana told me that she was going away for the weekend to stay with an old schoolfriend who lived in Wales. But when she was killed, she was in John Rushmoore's car, and he was driving. And they weren't going to Wales, they were going to Yorkshire.”

Flora stared at him. “You don't mean … your friend?”

“Yes. My friend. They'd been having an affair for months and I'd never even suspected. Afterward, when it was all over, it all came out. Everyone had known, it seemed, but no one had had the heart to enlighten me. It's a shattering thing to lose your wife and your friend in one fell swoop. It's even more shattering when you lose your pride as well.”

“Was John Rushmoore killed too?”

“No.” Hugh was casual. “He's still around.”