there was no Skye to be seen, but Andrew at least seemed to have derived some satisfaction from reaching his goal, if only for the reason that he would be able to tell the Baron about it later. They stopped for tea in Lochcarron, and although the hotel was empty the tea was delicious. Despite herself, Sappha relaxed and began to enjoy herself, Andrew could be an amusing companion and he was making great efforts to please her. They had almost finished tea when he said: ‘Sappha, you must know why I came to this outlandish spot…darling, I’m lost without you.’
‘What about Beatty?’ Sappha asked in a cool little voice which disguised the warm glow of excitement at being wanted again. She gave him a level look. ‘Did she find someone else?’
She watched Andrew grow red. ‘It was mutual—we weren’t suited. I suppose I was a fool.’ He caught her hand on the table and held it tightly. ‘Listen, darling, come back with me. Leave this awful godforsaken place, you don’t belong here. We could have such fun together.’
She stared at him across the table. It was lovely to be wanted; to be missed—London might be fun and perhaps he loved her very much to have come so far to say so. The uneasy thought that he hadn’t said so crossed her mind. She withdrew her hand gently and said:
‘Look, Andrew, don’t expect me to answer you now. I must have time to think about it.’ She saw the faint annoyance on his face. ‘My dear girl, what on earth do you have to think about? I’m doing you a favour—giving you a chance to escape.’
Sappha said quietly: ‘But I like it in Dialach. I didn’t think I should, but I do—and I can’t leave my patient just like that, where are they going to get another nurse at a moment’s notice? My patient has been very ill and she will need care for weeks yet.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Good lord, Sappha, stop being such a do-gooder. They’ll rub along, and she’s got that brigand who calls himself a doctor, hasn’t she?’
Sappha put down her cup with a hand which shook a little. ‘That’s a beastly thing to say. He doesn’t look in the least like a brigand.’ She felt guilty saying it, for had she not likened him to a brigand herself? She hurried on: ‘He’s good to her—he comes over from Holland every week or so and he helps the local doctor when he’s needed…’
Andrew was laughing at her. ‘More fool he. Are you a fan of his? Or perhaps you’ve fallen a victim to his charm?’
‘Neither,’ she snapped. ‘I—I don’t like him, but that’s no reason to be spiteful, and I won’t leave until another nurse is found to replace me.’
He smiled. ‘We’ll not argue about that now. We’ll go back and make ourselves comfortable round Mrs MacGregor’s fire and I’ll guarantee to make you change your mind.’
He gave her a look which sent the colour into her face but left her bewilderingly unexcited. She followed him out to the car in silence, puzzled at her lack of response. Three months ago she would have flown into his arms and now she felt herself moving away from the touch of his shoulder in the car. But he didn’t notice this nor her silence; he was talking about his future and how much money he intended to make, and not once did he mention her…
The journey back was tricky. The wind, now a gale, buffeted the car, while the rain, coming down in good earnest, made the windscreen-wipers useless. Even on a fine dry day the road needed care, and although Andrew was a good driver, he wasn’t a patient one. Sappha was glad when they skidded to a halt before the small brightly lighted inn. Inside it was warm and cheerful and a table had been laid for them in the little parlour behind the bar, and two comfortable chairs drawn up before the fire. Sappha took off her raincoat and scarf and hung them tidily behind the door, then followed Mrs MacGregor up the narrow staircase to one of the bedrooms so that she might tidy herself. The room was spotlessly clean and rather cold; its little window overlooked the houses lining the harbour, and she stood for a moment watching the boiling sea. There was a light twinkling at the end of the causeway and she wondered if Mrs MacTadd was all right. She wondered about Gloria and Hamish too; they surely wouldn’t be driving back in such weather, probably they would wait until the storm had quietened down or the morning light made the journey easier; listening to the wind howling outside, she didn’t blame them.
They had finished their sherry and Mrs MacGregor was in the act of placing two plates of steaming soup on the table when she was almost knocked over by a boy who darted in from the bar. He was so wet that the water ran in little rivulets down his arms and legs and formed pools on the matting, but even while Mrs MacGregor was scolding him he had pushed past her and handed Sappha a sheet of paper wrapped carefully in a scrap of plastic. She put down her glass and said in surprise:
‘For me? Are you sure?’
The boy nodded, ‘Aye, miss,’ and when she said: ‘Well, take off your wet coat while I read it,’ surprised her by saying: ‘Nay, I’ll not,’ and looked so beseechingly at her that she took the paper out of its sopping wrappings and began to read.
‘Sappha, Mrs MacTadd has jumped the gun. A shoulder presenting and well jammed. I’ll have to do a Caesar. Go to Gloria’s and fetch her midwifery bag, the gas and air, blood giving and taking sets and the vacoliter of blood in the fridge. Keep the boy with you, he’ll bring you back. Ask Glover if he’ll give a hand.’ It was signed R.v.D.
She looked up from it to find Andrew’s eyes on her. He said irritably:
‘Give the boy something and let’s get on with our meal.’
Sappha folded the paper carefully. ‘No, we can’t do that. Listen, Andrew.’ Almost before she had finished explaining he exclaimed: ‘But you’re not going, Sappha. The man must be mad. Why can’t he send the woman to hospital? He’s only a GP anyway.’
She answered him patiently. ‘How? There’s no ambulance in the village—how could she be brought over the causeway or put in a boat on a night like this, and then be driven miles?’ She added stubbornly: ‘He’s perfectly able to deal with it himself if he must.’ As she spoke she was astonished to find that she believed what she was saying.
She went to the door and took down her raincoat and started to put it on; Andrew strode across the little room and caught hold of her.
‘Sappha, you’re not to go. Let him manage as best he can.’ His voice held a faint sneer.
‘He wants your help,’ she reminded him as she evaded his hand and tied on her head-scarf. Andrew flung away and went to sit in one of the chairs. ‘I have no intention of going. I don’t even know that the fellow’s a doctor—after all, he’s a foreigner, supposing the woman were to die—my reputation—I have myself to consider.’
Sappha turned away without a word. It was funny to think that if this hadn’t happened she might have decided to go back to London, if not immediately, then in a short time, not because Andrew had wanted her to, but for some vague reason of her own which lurked somewhere at the back of her mind, and there was too much on that at the moment for her to give it a second thought. She had to help Rolf, of that she was certain. Not looking at Andrew she said. ‘Come along,’ to the boy and pausing only long enough to ask Mrs MacGregor to send a message to the Manse, she followed the boy out into the storm.
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