its blue light flashing, and Julia was uneasily aware that they were skidding from time to time. She opened the little window once more and said softly into Willy’s ear, ‘Is it freezing as well?’
He nodded without looking round.
‘Are we lost?’
She heard his chuckle and took comfort from the sound. ‘Not a bit of it, Nurse. We’re over the Border—we’ll be at the crossroads soon.’
‘Is Bert all right? Does he want to stop?’
She peered ahead, the visibility was down to about ten yards and that was obscured by driving snow.
Bert answered for himself. ‘I’m OK, Nurse. It’s not far now and I think we’d do better to keep going. It might clear.’
She agreed softly, knowing that he had said that to reassure her, and closed the window, observing for the benefit of her patient,
‘We’ve a dozen miles or so to go. Are you very hungry? I’ve some cream crackers here and there’s plenty of tea.’
But Mary was disposed to be difficult. She said rather peevishly,
‘I want a huge steak with lots of duchesse potatoes and creamed cauliflower and lashings of gravy and sauce, then Charlotte Russe with masses of whipped cream and a plate of petits fours—the gooey ones, and a huge whisky and soda—oh, and Kummel with my coffee.’
Julia felt sympathy with her patient. After all, she was very young; she would be on a fixed diet for the rest of her life. It was a pity that she was so spoiled that she refused to accept the fact, and anyway, once she was stabilised, the diet wouldn’t be too awful, for her parents were wealthy enough to give it the variety those in more straitened circumstances couldn’t afford. She said kindly, ‘You make me feel quite hungry too, but you’d pay for it afterwards, you know.’
The girl beside her scowled. ‘Who cares? That’s what you’re for—to see that I don’t die in a coma.’
Julia looked at her reflectively. ‘There’s always the possibility that someone might not be there…’
‘Oh, yes, there will,’ declared Mary, and sat up suddenly. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to stay with me—for ever, I mean.’
Julia smiled, feeling a little touched. ‘How nice of you to ask me. But I have to go home and look after my sister-in-law for a bit, then I thought I’d get a job abroad for a year or two—and I’ve still got my midwifery to do.’
‘Marry a rich man instead.’
‘Why rich? As long as he’s the right one, the money doesn’t matter very much, does it? You need enough to live on and educate the children.’
‘And pretty clothes and the hairdresser and jewellery and going to the theatre and out to dine, and a decent holiday at least twice a year.’
Julia said soberly, ‘Perhaps I’m not ambitious,’ and turned away to look out of the window again—a pointless act, for it had been quite dark for some time now.
When the ambulance at last stopped, Julia couldn’t believe they had arrived, for the last hour had been a nightmare of skidding and crawling through the blanket of fog and snow and now there was a gale blowing as well. She stepped out of the ambulance into several inches of snow and then clutched at her cap as a gust of wind tossed her backwards as though she had been a leaf. It was pitch dark too, but in the ambulance lights she could just see the beginning of steps leading upwards. She stood aside to let Bert and Willy get into the ambulance and asked, ‘Shall I ring the bell?’ and thought how ridiculous it sounded in this black waste of snow and fog and howling wind. But Bert said cheerfully enough,
‘OK, Nurse—up them steps, and look out for the ice.’
She advanced cautiously with the beam of her powerful torch guiding her: it wasn’t so bad after all—the steps ended at a great door upon whose knocker she beat a brisk tattoo, and when she saw the brass bell in the wall, she rang that for good measure. But there were no lights—she peered around her, unable to see anything but the reassuring solidarity of the door before her, and that hadn’t opened. She was about to go down the steps again to relay her doubts to her companions when the door swung open, revealing a very old man holding a hurricane lantern. She was still getting her breath when he spoke testily.
‘Ye didna’ need to make all that noise. I heard ye the fust time.’
Julia, who had nice manners, apologised. ‘Is this Drumlochie House?’ she asked through teeth which were beginning to chatter with the cold.
‘Aye—ye’ll be the nurse with Miss Mary?’
‘That’s right—could you turn on the lights, please, so that the ambulance men can bring her indoors?’
‘No lights,’ said the old man without annoyance. ‘Wind’s taken the electric—can’t think how ye got here.’
Julia couldn’t either, but it hardly seemed the right moment to discuss it. She said instead, ‘Then would you leave the door open and we’ll bring Miss Mary in.’
She didn’t wait to hear his reply but went carefully down the steps again.
She followed the two men, with the carrying chair and Mary in it, between them, back up again, shuddering at the possibility of a broken ankle or two added to Mary’s diabetes. But they achieved the entrance without mishap and went inside where the old man was waiting for them, his lamp held high. ‘So ye’re back, Miss Mary,’ he was, it seemed, a man of few words, ‘your room’s ready.’
He turned and started to walk across the hall towards the staircase discernible in the gloom, and the ambulance men, still with Mary between them, followed him with Julia bringing up the rear, shivering a little partly because she had got cold waiting at the front door and partly because her surroundings were, inadequately lighted as they were, a trifle forbidding. They seemed to walk a great distance before the old man at length opened a door and they entered Mary’s bedroom—a large apartment with a fire burning in its open fireplace and most pleasantly furnished. Julia, looking round her, heaved a sigh of relief. If their rooms were half as comfortable they would have nothing to grumble about.
‘Where’s the nurse?’ she asked the old man.
He stood and thought, his head on one side, for an aggravating moment. ‘The nurse? Weel, she’s to come from Edinburgh, but it’s been snowing a blizzard since daybreak hereabouts. There’ll be no nurse.’
‘No nurse!’ Julia looked at him with something like horror. ‘But I’m going back to London with the ambulance in the morning—I can’t leave my patient. Where’s the telephone?’
‘The wind’s had it.’
The wind, thought Julia bitterly, was answerable for a lot.
‘There must be some way of getting a message—to the village or a doctor—or the police.’
He didn’t even bother to say no, just shook his head. ‘Snow’s deep,’ he observed without emotion. ‘There’s Jane the cook and Madge the maid gone to Hawick yesterday to shop for Miss Mary’s return. They’ll not be back for twa days, maybe.’
Julia’s
