Tangled Autumn. Бетти Нилс

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      The Baroness was lying back in bed looking bored. As well she might, thought Sappha, with only one leg and one arm available. She bustled around with an exaggerated cheerfulness getting ready to bedbath her patient, and presently, while she was doing this, asked: ‘What else do you do—other than reading?’

      ‘Oh, crosswords—there’s nothing else with one hand…’ The Baroness spoke listlessly and Sappha made haste to say: ‘Uncle John is delighted with your progress—he wants you to do a few exercises each day, so that when your arm comes out of plaster it will be fairly strong. I’m going to get you out of bed and into a chair by the window—there’s a lovely view. I suppose you don’t paint?’

      Her patient looked surprised and faintly interested. ‘Yes, I used to—how did you know?’

      ‘I didn’t—but I was thinking if we could get hold of some paints and a canvas or some paper, you could amuse yourself.’

      The Baroness lifted eyebrows which reminded Sappha of her son. ‘With one hand?’ she enquired.

      ‘Why not? If I arrange everything within reach—we can find some way of keeping the paper steady, and I shall be on hand for a good deal of the day—would you like to try?’

      She had been wrapping her patient in a dressing gown as she spoke; now she pulled the chair alongside the bed and lifted the Baroness in her strong young arms into it and trundled her over to the window.

      ‘I’ll get you some coffee and while you’re drinking it I’ll see if Mrs MacFee can help about the paints.’

      Mrs MacFee, when appealed to, not only produced an elderly paintbox of her own but a sketching pad as well and spent half an hour with her friend discussing the best view to start on; while Sappha busied herself making the bed and tidying the room; with such success that Sappha was able to leave the two ladies together after lunch and take an hour or two off duty. She went first to the post office to send a hastily written letter to her mother and then explored the little town and its harbour. The day, which had started off in sunshine, had become overcast and windy, so that the waves beat against the lonely shore; only in the harbour was the water smooth although it looked cold enough.

      She was on her way back when she met Gloria, who fell into step beside her saying: ‘There you are—how nice. No good me asking you to come in for tea, I’m afraid—I’m just off to see a patient.’ She waved vaguely in the direction of the causeway and Sappha asked: ‘Where? You’re pointing out to sea.’

      ‘Well, she is in a way,’ said Gloria cheerfully. ‘At least, I have to be rowed over because the causeway’s in ruins—there’s a baby due any time now and a good thing it’s not later in the year, for there’s a terrific current and if it’s stormy the boat can’t make it—the locals think nothing of scrambling over the causeway when the weather’s bad, but I’m no mountain goat—even they hesitate a bit unless it’s daylight.’

      ‘Who lives there?’ asked Sappha, interested.

      ‘The family MacTadd—father’s a fisherman and there are Mum, Gran and a clutch of children. There’s a plan to rehouse them, but there’s nothing suitable for them at the moment, and besides, they don’t want to go. They’ve patched up the croft very nicely, though there’s no H and C and no electricity either. Hamish has tried to persuade Mrs MacTadd to go to hospital, but she absolutely refuses, so all we can do is to keep a sharp eye open and pray for fine weather.’ She grinned cheerfully. ‘I’m going down here—Mr MacTadd will be waiting for me—let me know when you’ve fixed your days off and I’ll pop up and see to the Baroness for you. ‘Bye.’ She turned away and then paused to say over her shoulder: ‘I’ve fixed Saturday for mine, so don’t have that.’

      Sappha took her day off on Friday; during the four days she had been at the Manse she had got the routine nicely settled, and in any case, she didn’t go until she had got her patient up for the day, arranged with Gloria for that young lady to call in after lunch and arranged with Mrs MacFee that the Baroness shouldn’t be left too long alone in case she moped. She then set out with the Mini. The weather was good; she suspected that before many weeks as the autumn settled into winter, she would have to spend her free day in Dialach—it seemed a good idea to explore as far afield as possible while she could. She took the road to Ullapool, where, Gloria had informed her, there was a rather delightful shop selling local handicrafts and tweeds. Besides, she intended to visit the garden at Inverewe—it wasn’t the best time of year to do so, but various of her friends in London had urged her on no account to miss it.

      She thought briefly of Dr van Duyren as she drove to Torridon—his mother, beyond mentioning that he had got home safely and was very busy, had offered no further information, although she had been voluble enough about Antonia, who, from all accounts, was not only very pretty but a little spoiled and wilful as well. Sappha stopped for a late cup of coffee at the Loch Maree Hotel, feeling breathless from the magnificent scenery she had just passed through, and eager for more. The day was going to be too short. She decided to press on to Ullapool, have lunch there, take a quick look around the town and then visit Inverewe on her way back. Even so, by the time she had reached Ullapool she knew that she would have to return, not once, but several times if she were to take her fill of the scenery.

      She lunched at the Caledonian Hotel, and for the first time since she had arrived in Scotland, felt almost happy. She supposed it was the magnificent country through which she had been driving which somehow had the power to make London and its pleasures seem a little unreal. She spent a pleasant half hour looking round the little town, quiet now after its summer season, but she was anxious not to miss the gardens and sped back through the forest land, resisting the urge to stop and gaze at the mountains around her. Next time, she promised herself, going downhill fast towards Gruinard, and then up the other side to Inverewe gardens.

      They were lovely even though there was only an aftermath of summer’s glory in the flower beds. She left reluctantly, promising herself that she would pay another visit in some distant summer, and stopped for tea in Aultbea, and then, pleasantly tired, took the road back to Dialach. It had been a successful day, made more successful by the friendly people she had met wherever she had stopped and the openly admiring glances of the young man in the deerstalker cap who had entered the hotel while she was having lunch, and had at once engaged her in conversation while he ate his own meal at a nearby table. It was only after they had parted in mutual friendliness that she felt a twinge of regret that they weren’t likely to meet again, for as far as she could see, there weren’t many men of her own age in Dialach—Dr MacInroy couldn’t be counted, of course, for he was Gloria’s anyway, and the Baron, with his peculiar eyebrows and bossy ways, certainly had no place in her thoughts. She spent several minutes convincing herself of this as she changed back into uniform and went to seek out her patient. And felt instantly contrite when she saw her; the Baroness was in bed—Gloria had seen to that before she had left at teatime—and turned a listless tear-stained face to Sappha as she went in; it took a few minutes of patient comforting on her part before she could induce her patient to speak. ‘I—I h-hope you h-had a lovely d-day,’ she sobbed, ‘and this is s-so s-silly, because I d-don’t know why I’m c-crying,’ and then contradicted herself by adding: ‘Rolf s-said he would t-telephone and he hasn’t.’

      ‘Perhaps he’s been too busy,’ said Sappha, who felt strongly that the telephone was a modern blessing which had its drawbacks. How many times had she sat by the wretched instrument in London waiting for Andrew to ring, and all the while… She jerked her thoughts back to her patient; it was really too bad of the tiresome man, he should have squeezed in a call whatever he was doing. ‘He’ll telephone later,’ she said with a conviction she didn’t feel, ‘and don’t worry about being a bit tearful, Baroness—remember СКАЧАТЬ