A Kind of Magic

It sounded a splendid idea, Rosie agreed. ‘But I’ll have to see how Granny feels about it,’ she reminded them.

She had been too hopeful. In the morning Mrs Macdonald declared that she intended to visit the hotel by the station where she had stayed years ago. ‘With your grandfather, dear—a sentimental visit I have long looked forward to.’ When Rosie said hopefully that she might like to be on her own there, she was told at once that probably the emotion stirred up by fond memories might upset her grandmother; it was essential that she had Rosie beside her.

Rosie watched the coach drive away once more and, presently warned by Jamie, the guide, as he got into the coach, that the train would leave in an hour’s time for Perth and Stirling, the pair of them walked the very short distance from the train to the hotel.

It had of course, changed hands. Which didn’t stop her grandmother insisting upon seeing round the hotel, pausing from time to time to make some blistering remark about the changes in the rooms. The owner was patient and courteous, but even his politeness wore thin when Mrs Macdonald criticised the colour scheme in the dining-room in no uncertain terms.

Time I did something, decided Rosie, and asked if they might have coffee.

They drank it in the pleasant lounge on the other side of the foyer and after a short time she said, ‘We should be going back, Granny, the train’s due to leave in ten minutes…’

‘I cannot be hurried, my dear. I intend to take a quick look at the gardens at the back of the hotel—five minutes only I promise you—and I wish to be alone. Wait here.’

Rosie paid the bill, and went to the hotel entrance. She could see the train clearly enough, five minutes would suffice to get her grandmother back on board. She knew that the schedule was strict, for the train had to fit in exactly with the normal timetable, and they had been warned in the nicest possible way by Jamie that if anyone missed it they would have to find their way to the next stopping-place. She glanced at her watch—her grandmother had been gone for five minutes and there was no sign of her.

The gardens behind the hotel were neatly laid out with a variety of shrubs and beds of flowers, petering out into rough grass hedged with gorse and broom, ferns and, later in the year, heather. She found her grandmother there huddled on the ground, one leg bent awkwardly. Mrs Macdonald’s face was paper-white, but she had lost very little of her brisk manner.

‘My leg,’ she explained ‘I tripped. The ankle…’

‘I’ll get help,’ said Rosie, who when necessary could be just as brisk as her granny, and sped back to the hotel, where she sent the owner and one of the waiters to carry her grandmother in, and then turned and ran back to the station.

Will, one of the stewards, was on the platform.

‘We’re off in just under five minutes, Miss Macdonald,’ he began.

Rosie told him what had happened, and before she had finished the train manager had joined them.

‘We shall have to stay behind,’ she told him. ‘We’ll never be able to get my grandmother on to the train, and she needs a doctor quickly. I know that you have to leave on the dot. Could someone pack our things and send them back here on one of the local trains? I can’t think of anything else to do…’

‘I’ll come to the hotel.’ The manager glanced at his watch, and began marching her back. ‘I’m so very sorry, but you do see that the journey can’t be delayed or altered…?’

‘Yes, of course. We shall be quite all right here, but I think that if it’s a sprain or a break we shall have to stay for a while until something can be arranged.’

They had reached the hotel, and found Mrs Macdonald laid out on a big sofa. She had lost her shoe when she fell, and the ankle was badly swollen. She opened her eyes as they reached her, and said peevishly, ‘I intend to remain here until a doctor has examined me. Rosie will make the necessary arrangements. Good of you to come.’

The manager was a nice youngish man; he said all that was proper and, with his eye on the time, wished her a speedy recovery, and promised that she would hear from him.

‘I’ll phone you from Stirling,’ he promised, ‘and I’ll see about your luggage. Has someone phoned for a doctor? There should be one at Crianlarich and several in Oban.’

‘Don’t worry, the hotel owner will know.’ Rosie added urgently, ‘Don’t, for heaven’s sake, miss the train.’

‘I hate to leave you both—’ he shook her hand ‘—but there’s nothing else for it.’

The train gave an impatient toot, and he turned and ran.

There were several people fussing around her grandmother, not quite sure what to do first.

‘Scissors, please,’ said Rosie, ‘a bowl of cold water and a napkin. How long will it take the doctor to get here?’

She took her grandmother’s hand and gave it a heartening squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry, Granny, we’ll have you comfortable in a little while.’ She was carefully cutting the black stocking, and easing it off the swollen foot.

‘I don’t know much about it, but I don’t think it’s broken. I’m going to lay a cold cloth over it. There…and if someone will help me we’ll put some cushions behind you; you’ll feel easier sitting up a little.’

One of the waitresses came in with a cup of tea, and the hotel owner came back to say that most fortunately Dr Finlay at Crianlarich had just returned from early-morning fishing, and was driving over. They were to make the patient comfortable, but were not to move her.

Rosie studied her grandmother’s pale face anxiously. ‘How far away is Crianlarich?’ she asked,

‘Twelve miles, but it’s a good road. He’ll be a wee while yet; ye’d best have a cup of tea while waiting.’

She drank her tea gratefully, applied more cold cloths, and made quiet, heartening small talk—to be interrupted suddenly by Mrs Macdonald.

‘We are so near home…’

‘Would you like me to telephone Uncle Donald, Granny? Perhaps we could…?’

‘Certainly not. When your father saw fit to let Donald have his family home I washed my hands of the whole affair.’

Rosie murmured a nothing. She knew that her grandmother had blamed her father for leaving Scotland, and that he had never told her how he had come to lose most of his capital and been forced to make the heart-rending decision to hand over the house to his prosperous cousin. Privately Rosie had never understood why her uncle couldn’t have lent her father the money to come about, but he was a hard man, made harder by the wealth he had acquired by marrying an heiress. She had never liked him anyway; years ago when she had been on a visit to his house she had come upon him beating one of his dogs. She had caught his arm and hung on to it and kicked his shins, calling him a brute, and then screaming at the top of her voice until several people came running to see what was the matter. He had never forgiven her for that.

Her grandmother was looking alarmingly pale. Rosie renewed the cold compress, persuaded her grandmother to take a sip of brandy, and prayed silently that the doctor would come soon.

Her prayers were answered; the slight commotion in the hotel entrance heralded the doctor’s arrival.

He came in unhurriedly, an immensely tall, broad-shouldered man, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a long straight nose and a firm mouth. He wasted no time.

‘Doctor Cameron,’ he stated. ‘Doctor Finlay was called to a birth, and he asked me to take over. What is the trouble?’

He gave Rosie a nod and a quick questioning glance; she could have been yesterday’s newspaper, she reflected with a touch of peevishness.

‘My grandmother fell. Her ankle is swollen and very painful…’

He took Mrs Macdonald’s hand. ‘A nasty shock for you, Mrs…?’

‘Macdonald,’ said Rosie. ‘My grandmother is eighty years old.’

He gave her a look which put her in her place. ‘Let’s look at it.’

He was very gentle, keeping up a steady flow of quiet questions as he examined the swollen joint. ‘A sprain—a nasty one, but I think nothing is broken. It will be best if you stay here in bed for a few days with your ankle bandaged, and when you are more yourself you must go to Oban and have an X-ray. You live in Scotland?’

‘Edinburgh. My granddaughter and I were taking the train tour of the Highlands.’ Mrs Macdonald opened her eyes and studied his face. ‘And where are you from, may I ask?’

He didn’t answer directly. ‘I’m staying with Doctor Finlay for some fishing.’ He smiled at her suddenly and with great charm. ‘Now I want you to rest quietly while that ankle settles down. I shall write you up for something to relieve the pain, and within a couple of days or so you should be well enough to go for an X-ray. If it is, as I think, a sprain, then there is no reason why you shouldn’t go home and rest there. Now I am going to strap it firmly, and later, when you may get up, a viscopaste stocking must be applied.’

Mrs Macdonald might be a crotchety, selfish old lady but she had courage; she uttered no sound as he attended to the ankle, and when Rosie said urgently, ‘Oh, Granny’s fainted!’ the doctor said calmly, ‘Good, pass me that crêpe bandage and let us get finished before she comes round.’ He gave her a quick look. ‘You have arranged to stay here?’

‘Not yet.’ She spoke sharply, ‘I’ve had no time.’

‘Well, see about it now, will you? Get a room, and I’ll carry Mrs Macdonald up, then you get her undressed and in bed, and I’ll take another look at her before I go.’

There were two rooms on the first floor, she was told, with a communicating door and, providing she was prepared to pay for it, fortunately room service was available.

‘Good, we’ll have them. Could someone get the bed ready for my grandmother? The doctor will carry her up…’

There were plenty of willing helpers; Mrs Macdonald was carried up to her room and laid on the bed, and a chambermaid stayed to help get her into bed, offering a nightie and extra pillows, and helping Rosie to arrange a chair at the foot of the bed so that the bedclothes might be draped over it.

The doctor nodded approvingly when he came to see his patient again.

‘Your grandmother will do very well,’ he observed. ‘I can see that you’re a sensible lass. From these parts?’

‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘Well, I was born near here but we live in England now.’

He stood studying her, looking down his long nose in a manner which she found annoying. ‘Married?’

‘No.’

He smiled. ‘A woman of refreshingly few words.’ Then he added to surprise her, ‘Are you all right for money?’

‘Why, yes, thank you. It is kind of you to ask.’

‘Nothing kind about it—common sense in the circumstances. It would have gone on the bill.’

She ignored this. ‘Will you come to see my grandmother again? She is old, it must have been a shock…’

‘I’ll be over tomorrow, in the morning.’ He stared at her, and added, ‘Unless you would rather Dr Finlay took over the case?’

‘Why do you say that? Granny is perfectly satisfied…’

‘Good.’ He spoke carelessly. ‘Perhaps by tomorrow you and I will like each other a little better. Good day to you, Miss Macdonald.’

He had gone leaving her bewildered and decidedly ill-tempered.

CHAPTER TWO

ROSIE was kept busy for the rest of the morning; she telephoned Elspeth and promised to ring again that evening, then she phoned her mother.

‘Are you going to let Uncle Donald know?’ she asked, ‘Inverard is barely a dozen miles from the hotel; you could go there…’

‘Granny won’t hear of it. Oh, Mother, I’d love to see it again, only not with Uncle Donald there, and I think Granny feels the same. She never did like him…’

‘Will you be all right? Is there anything we can do, Rosie?’

‘Nothing, Mother, for the moment. I’ll phone you tomorrow when the doctor’s been again.’

She spent the rest of the day with her grandmother, leaving her only for long enough to have a meal and answer the anxious enquiries of the train manager. Their luggage had been sent back to Bridge of Orchy in the late afternoon, and was there anything that he could do to help them? He added that the crew and passengers on the train sent their best wishes for Mrs Macdonald’s speedy recovery.

‘We shall be doing this same trip next week,’ he reminded her, ‘and if you are still at the hotel we shall call on you both. Perhaps you will leave a message if you depart before then?’

She thanked him; he had been kind and more than concerned for their welfare, although it had been no fault of his or his staff. She felt even more grateful when their luggage arrived, and with it a splendid basket of fruit for her grandmother with the train staff’s best wishes.

Dr Cameron had left sleeping pills for her grandmother so that the old lady slept for a good part of the night. All the same, she woke in the early morning wanting her pillows rearranged, a cup of tea, and Rosie’s company.

The hotel bedrooms had tea and coffee, sugar and milk arranged by an electric kettle. Rosie made tea for them both, and sat with her grandmother until that lady dozed off once more, enabling her to return to her own room, shower and dress, and do the best she could with a tired face.

Dr Cameron came soon after breakfast. Mrs Macdonald, refreshed after a wash, a changed nightie and a light breakfast, greeted him with a tart, ‘Well, young man, and what do you intend to do this morning?’

His expression remained professionally calm. ‘Merely a quick look at that ankle. How did you sleep?’

He glanced at Rosie standing on the other side of the bed. ‘Rather wakeful?’

‘I have had considerable pain,’ said Mrs Macdonald waspishly. ‘Rosie gave me tea—oh, about four o’clock this morning, I suppose, and another of your pills; I dozed off eventually.’

The old lady then asked her granddaughter, ‘At what time did you leave me, Rosie?’

‘Ten to six, Granny.’

Dr Cameron gave her a hard stare; that would account for her pallor and her cross face. ‘If I might see this ankle?’ he prompted gently.

The limb was inspected, pronounced as satisfactory as circumstances allowed, and made comfortable.

‘Quite satisfactory,’ pronounced Dr Cameron, ‘but I believe that you will benefit from a change of sleeping tablets. A good night’s sleep is essential.’ He forbore from looking at her heavy-eyed granddaughter as he spoke. ‘I have a busy day ahead of me; perhaps it might be as well if your granddaughter were to return to the surgery with me now, collect them, and return with me—I have to go further along the road to a shepherd’s croft on Rannoch Moor.’

He didn’t wait for Mrs Macdonald to object to this. ‘If you could come right away?’ he asked Rosie. ‘I have Finlay’s patients to visit…’

It would be simply lovely to have a breath of air. ‘You’ll be all right, Granny?’

‘It seems that I shall have to be. Tell someone that I shall be alone until you return; I can only hope that I shall not need your services.’

‘Try and have a nap,’ said Rosie, ‘I shan’t be long.’

She fetched a cardigan, and followed the doctor out of the hotel, to squeeze into the small, shabby car, hardly suitable for two splendidly built persons, and be driven away without more ado.

It was a bright clear morning, the country through which they drove was remote and grandly rugged, snow-capped mountains filled the horizon, late primroses carpeted the rough grass. The lonely moor was at their backs as they climbed to Tyndrum Upper and over the viaducts towards Crianlarich.

Rose sighed with the pleasure of it all, and the doctor asked,

‘You know this part of the world?’ He glanced at her. ‘You said you were born near here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you not like to return?’

‘Yes.’ She looked out of the window at the grandeur all around her; not a soul in sight, and they hadn’t passed a car, only slowed once or twice for a leisurely sheep with her lambs. She knew that if she got out of the car there wouldn’t be a sound—only the quiet breath of the wind and the birds. She wanted above all things to stay in this magnificent solitude.

‘Then why don’t you? I imagine you could get a job easily enough—the hotels are always short-staffed.’ He sounded uninterested, carrying on some kind of conversation out of politeness.

Rose said stonily, ‘I already have a job, and I live with my parents. Why did you ask me to come with you? There was no need; you could have handed in the pills on your way back, since you have to go and see a patient on the moor.’

‘You looked as though you needed a change of scene. Your disturbed night appears to have left you decidedly whey-faced and peevish.’

She said hotly, ‘I don’t like you, Dr Cameron.’

‘I dare say not. That’s only because you’re such a cross-patch. I think you must be quite a nice girl in kinder circumstances.’ He slowed the car as they reached the outskirts of Crianlarich—a scattering of cottages on either side of the road, and then the main street.

‘Do you want to come in?’ he asked as he stopped before a solid house opposite the church. ‘I’ll be a couple of minutes.’

‘Thank you, no.’ She turned an exquisite profile to him, and didn’t see his smile.

She regretted her words; he was all of ten minutes.

‘A small boy with a bead in his ear,’ he told her, squeezing in beside her again. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind, and his mother was upset.’

‘You got it out?’

His firm mouth twitched. ‘Yes. Take these, will you? See that your grandmother has one at bedtime; that should ensure that you both have a good night’s sleep.’

He dropped the small bottle of pills into her lap and started the car. He had very little to say after that, apart from the bare minimum of conversation good manners dictated.

She got out of the car at the hotel, and then poked her head through the window. ‘I’m sorry I was cross, and thank you for the ride.’

‘Think nothing of it, Miss Macdonald. In these sparsely populated parts it behoves one to offer a helping hand to all and sundry, does it not?’

She wasn’t sure if she liked being called ‘all and sundry’. She said starchily, quite sorry that she had apologised, ‘We shall expect you in the morning, Dr Cameron.’

He nodded coolly, and shot away, and she watched the car disappear along the lonely road.

She was in time to pour oil on the troubled waters of her grandmother’s insistence that she should interview the chef so that she might order exactly what she wanted for her lunch.

‘A light meal, Granny,’ said Rosie soothingly. ‘Dr Cameron told me that if you kept to a light diet for a few days it will make your recovery much quicker.’

She took the menu from the huffy chef’s hand. ‘There is salmon—now, poached salmon with a potato or two would be delicious, and I see there is clear soup…just right.’ She caught the man’s eye. ‘And perhaps the chef would be so kind as to make you a junket? If I were to have the same perhaps that would be less trouble?’

The chef went away appeased, and she sat down and regaled Mrs Macdonald with an account of her brief trip. Not that there was much to say, but she took care to make it sound as though she and Dr Cameron were on the best of terms.

Presently her grandmother dozed, and Rosie went down to the hotel lounge for coffee. There weren’t many people there. The guests at that time of year were for the most part walkers along the walkway between Glasgow and Fort William; they spent a night or stopped for a meal before taking to the road again. There was a party of them sitting on the hotel steps, resting their feet while they drank their coffee, and they called her to join them. They were a cheerful lot, and she envied them, going at their own pace, taking perhaps three days over the walk, stopping where they wanted to with the leisure to stand and stare as much as they wanted. The vague idea that perhaps she might manage a day to walk a few miles crossed her mind, although she had no idea how that could be arranged; it depended very much on how her grandmother progressed, and it was more than likely that as soon as she was fit enough to leave for a few hours she would want to go back to Edinburgh. She drank her coffee, wished her companions a pleasant journey, and went back to the invalid.

Mrs Macdonald was at her most pernickety. Nothing was right; she was too hot, too cold, bored, and then peevishly wishing to be left in peace and quiet. Rosie did her best to cope with this variety of moods; her grandmother, despite her age, was an active person, and to lie inactive in bed was almost worse than the pain of her sprained ankle. Rosie read until she was hoarse, listened to her grandmother reminiscing about the days of her childhood and youth, and ventured to suggest, not for the first time, that her Uncle Donald would visit her if she cared to let him know of her accident.

‘Certainly not,’ declared the old lady indignantly. ‘I’m surprised that you should suggest such a thing.’ She sounded wistful. ‘Your Uncle Donald never writes. I am, after all, his aunt, but he has cut himself off from his family.’

‘Did you quarrel?’

‘That is my business, Rosie.’

As she got ready for bed that night Rosie made up her mind to speak to Dr Cameron in the morning. Surely her grandmother was well enough to be taken back to Edinburgh? Elspeth and Aunt Carrie would be there and, if necessary, a nurse. She had phoned her mother that evening, making light of everything, assuring her that she would be home just as soon as possible. In any case, she reflected, she would have to go home at the end of two weeks; she would be needed at the office, and one week had gone already. She slept badly, and woke to a morning dark with tumultuous clouds racing across the sky, bringing a fine rain on a strengthening wind.

Dr Cameron came during the morning, examining the ankle, which was now all the colours of the rainbow, and pronouncing himself satisfied with it.

‘The swelling is going down nicely,’ he said, probing the joint with gentle fingers. ‘Another few days and you may get up—I’ll bring crutches with me when the time comes.’ He opened his bag. ‘You are sleeping, Mrs Macdonald?’

She gave a grudging assent as he took out his stethoscope. ‘I’ll just go over your chest,’ he explained and, at her look of surprise, added smoothly, ‘It is usual after a fall such as you have had, it may take a day or so before the shock of it wears off.’

He took her blood-pressure too, and although Rosie watched his face closely she could detect no change in its calm blandness.

Dr Cameron didn’t hurry away, but stood leaning against the door, his hands in the pockets of his elderly and excellently tailored tweed jacket, listening to Mrs Macdonald’s tetchy opinions of modern youth, fast food and microwave ovens. He gave her his full attention, and they parted, if not the best of friends, at least on speaking terms.

Rosie, intent on getting him alone, followed him out of the room. ‘I want a word with you,’ she told him urgently, ‘if you can spare a moment.’

His, ‘of course,’ was non-committal as he followed her down to the lounge, crowded with frustrated anglers and walkers because of the heavy rain. They found a table jammed up against a wall, and ordered coffee, and she began without preamble.

‘How soon can Grandmother go home? Could we get an ambulance or a car to take her to Edinburgh? She has a daughter living with her, and a splendid housekeeper, and I could arrange for a nurse if you think it necessary.’ At his faintly surprised look, she added, ‘I sound as if I want to get rid of her, don’t I? But, you see, I have a job at home, and I have to be back by the end of next week…’

Their coffee came, and she poured out and handed him a cup.

‘As far as the ankle is concerned there is no reason why Mrs Macdonald should not be taken back to her home. Unfortunately there is a complication. She has a heart condition, and the shock of the fall has made it worse. Rest in bed is absolutely necessary for several more days—even a week. Her blood-pressure is far too high, and she is not by nature a calm person, is she? A placid life is essential to her well-being. Ideally she should stay where she is. Perhaps the housekeeper or your aunt could come here and take your place?’