Tangled Autumn

Sappha said at once: ‘I’d like it if you would call me Sappha. Sister is a bit stiff, isn’t it?’ She looked at her patient. ‘Baroness van Duyren may wish to call me something else—’

‘Indeed no,’ said the little lady vigorously. ‘We’re going to be seeing a great deal of each other for the next few weeks, aren’t we? I’d like to call you Sappha if I may.’

This important point having been settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Mrs MacFee went away and Sappha pulled a chair up to the bed. ‘I’ve some marvellously clear instructions from Miss Perch,’ she said, ‘but as she has never been here all day I thought we might fill in some of the gaps between us and then I’ll bring you your supper and perhaps you would tell me what you would like to do until bedtime.’

The day’s routine was discussed at some length and minor points such as time off and free days for Sappha were settled too. It was at the end of this discussion that the Baroness said: ‘You wear very pretty clothes, my dear, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’m afraid you’ll not have many opportunities to go out here, though Ida did tell me that you have a car of your own. How clever of you to drive—I must confess that I have no idea as to what is under the bonnet. Did you not find the journey from London very tiring?’

‘No,’ said Sappha. ‘I stopped overnight on the way up and the roads are good except for the last twenty miles or so. I was stupid enough to run out of petrol coming up the hill from Inver Alligin, but some man came along in a Land Rover and filled the tank for me.’ She looked annoyed as she spoke, remembering the dark stranger who had been so coolly critical of her and her clothes.

‘Dear me,’ observed the Baroness, ‘he seems to have vexed you in some way. Do tell.’

‘He looked like the Demon King—you never saw such eyebrows,’ said Sappha with ill-humour. ‘He—he said that he might have known it was a woman…and he didn’t like my clothes. I think he was laughing at me.’

She was interrupted by a tap on the door and the man she was talking about came in, this time impeccably dressed in tweeds and exquisitely polished shoes. He seemed a great deal larger at close quarters and his eyes looked quite black. Sappha sat staring at him, the picture of consternation, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her eyes round with surprise. A surprise not shared by her patient, who looked from Sappha’s face to that of her son’s and said, so softly that neither of them caught her words: ‘Enter the Demon King—how very interesting life has suddenly become!’

CHAPTER TWO

THE Baroness shook out a lace ruffle, raised her voice and said pleasantly: ‘There you are, Rolf—how nice,’ and turned to smile at Sappha. ‘This is my son Rolf, my dear—he’s on a short visit from Holland—just to see how I am, you know.’ She gave Sappha just enough time to murmur politely before she went on: ‘Rolf, this is Miss Sappha Devenish who has come to nurse me back on to my feet again—all the way from London too. I daresay you remember, dear—I did mention…’ Her voice took on a vague note. ‘I believe you have already met…’

Sappha had gone a delectable pink. She said baldly: ‘Yes, we have, I was just telling you.’ She glanced across at the man standing so quietly in the doorway, her brown eyes snapping because she suspected that behind the politeness of his expression he was laughing at her. He walked across the room without saying anything at all, kissed his mother, said in a voice deeper than Sappha had remembered: ‘Yes, Mother, I remember very well,’ and turned to shake Sappha’s hand. At close quarters he seemed very large indeed and handsome in a dark sort of way. He enquired gravely how she did and when she looked at him she could see that his eyes were alive with laughter. He said: ‘I hope you will enjoy staying here, it is—er—a little quiet.’

He allowed his gaze to sweep over her well-turned-out person so that she made haste to say with a touch of haughtiness: ‘I shall be wearing uniform,’ and was instantly furious with herself for saying anything so stupid, for his mouth curved in a faint smile and the peculiar eyebrows lifted. ‘Of course,’ he said mildly, ‘what could have made you suppose I should expect anything else?’ He sat down carefully on the end of his mother’s bed. ‘Tell me, did you have a good journey? Which way did you come?’

‘The M1—from London, you know.’ Her voice had an edge to it. ‘And at Inverness I got on to the A832, through Garve and Achnasheen and Torridon—it was a good road all the way, excepting for the last few miles.’

‘Ah, yes.’ She was sure he was laughing at her again. ‘There are very few roads around here—just the one to Torridon. You will enjoy the walking, I have no doubt.’ His voice was silky and she had her mouth open to answer him back, but he went on smoothly: ‘Am I interrupting something? Would you prefer me to come back later?’ Which was so obviously a polite way of asking her to leave that she got to her feet at once with a remark that she would unpack.

She found her way down to the kitchen presently to fetch her patient’s supper, having disposed of her clothes and changed into a crisp white uniform and perched her Greggs’ cap upon her nicely arranged hair. It was a spotted muslin trifle, goffered, edged with lace and rather fetching. Mrs MacFee, helping in the preparation of the invalid’s supper, complimented Sappha upon it. ‘Such a refreshing change, my dear, after some of these odd styles—not,’ she added hastily, ‘but what you looked charming when you arrived.’ She set a steaming pipkin of soup carefully upon the tray and added its lid.

‘Now, dear, if you wouldn’t mind taking this up. I don’t feel that I should be telling you what to do, really I don’t, but I’m sure you will find your way around in no time at all, and then you must do as you think best for your patient. I expect Dr van Duyren is with her now?’

Sappha said, ‘Yes,’ and cast around for something else to say about him. She could, of course, have mentioned that they had already met, she could even have passed a remark about his satyr’s eyebrows, but Mrs MacFee might find that a little odd. Instead she asked: ‘Does he stay here? I mean when comes to see his mother?’

‘Oh, yes. Of course he’s been coming here ever since he was a very small boy—Mr MacFee thinks of him as a son—he comes and goes as he likes and he knows everyone for miles around. He keeps a Land Rover here and many’s the time he’s gone to some outlying croft when there has been an accident or a baby arriving too soon and we couldn’t get Hamish MacInroy.’ She paused for breath. ‘They’re good friends, anyway.’

Sappha, cutting toast into neat squares, agreed that it sounded most convenient, while the unbidden thought that Andrew—a great stickler for etiquette—would never have countenanced casual help from a colleague crossed her mind. Presumably it was a different kettle of fish in these remote parts. She picked up her tray and went upstairs to find that her patient was alone and looking rather downcast, so when she had arranged everything so that the Baroness could manage with her one hand, she said: ‘I want to write up your charts—do you mind if I sit here and do them while you have your soup?’

Her patient lifted her spoon. ‘Would you?’ she asked eagerly, ‘a new face is so refreshing.’ She spooned another mouthful. ‘You were quite right, Sappha—Rolf does look like a demon king—it’s extraordinary that I have never noticed it before.’

Sappha put down her charts. ‘I must apologise, Baroness. I should never have said that—I had no intention…’

Her companion nibbled toast. ‘Why should you be sorry?’ she asked. ‘I expect he was wearing some dreadful clothes and muddy boots and probably he hadn’t shaved. I believe he went out very early this morning—a broken leg near Ben Eighe and he would have to walk part of the way you know—it was off the road. Hamish was out on a baby case and one really can’t leave a person lying with a broken leg, can one?’

Sappha said dryly: ‘No, that would be rather unkind,’ and her patient nodded before continuing: ‘Really, I hardly recognise him sometimes. At home, of course, he looks exactly like a doctor.’ She waved a hand in an expressive gesture, ‘and naturally, being the eldest, he tends to throw his weight around—is that the right expression?’

Sappha smiled. ‘Yes, though perhaps it’s a little severe.’

‘Not nearly as severe as Rolf when he’s annoyed,’ retorted his mother with spirit.

‘All the same,’ commented Sappha, ‘you must be very glad of his support.’

‘Oh, I am, child, I am. My husband died when Rolf was twenty-five, and Antonia—the youngest—was only nine. The others are married now, which means that Rolf has more leisure, though he always has time for Tonia—they’re so fond of each other.’ She smiled a little wistfully. ‘She is such a dear child and I do miss her. She’s at school and I had hoped that she would be able to come over for a day or so—it’s so long to Christmas, but anyway, I shall be home before then.’

Sappha took the empty soup bowl. ‘Good gracious, yes,’ she said bracingly, ‘but surely she could fly over for a weekend? There’s an airfield at Inverness…’ She stood deep in thought. ‘We could at least make a few enquiries.’

‘That would be lovely, but I believe Rolf thinks that it would be unsettling for Tonia—she has her studies…’

‘Oh, pooh,’ said Sappha inelegantly, ‘she can do some extra homework to make up for it—shall I talk to Doctor van Duyren and see if he will change his mind?’ She was on her way to the door and didn’t see the Baroness’s face which held an expression of mischief mixed with anticipation.

When Sappha returned after a few minutes with a fricassée of chicken and an egg custard, and having placed these delicacies before her, poured a glass of wine and put it within her reach, her patient said: ‘What a great deal of work I am going to give you, Sappha.’

‘Indeed you won’t—in hospital I ran around all day except when I had to sit at a desk and fill in forms and answer the telephone.’

The Baroness speared a morsel of chicken and asked: ‘Will you not be bored just with me to look after?’

‘Not in the least.’ Sappha spoke with a conviction which wasn’t quite genuine, for she had her private doubts on the subject; not only would her working day be far less exacting, her private life was going to be very different too. No more going out on her evenings off duty to the theatre or dinner and dancing or to the cinema. She tried to remember where she had seen the last cinema on the way to Dialach. Probably one had to go back to Inverness, or at least Achnasheen or Garve. Her speculations were brought to an abrupt end by the realisation that even if she were in London there would have been no theatres or cinema or dinners—not with Andrew, at any rate. She said rather abruptly: ‘I’ll fetch your coffee,’ and when she got back her patient had finished her supper and was lying back against her pillows, deep in thought, she roused herself, however, to say pensively: ‘Of course, you’ll have our Gloria—she’s about your age. Such a pretty girl—I expect you know that she’s engaged to Hamish—a dear boy, your uncle thinks very highly of him.’ She watched Sappha pour the coffee and then obediently swallowed the pills she was offered. ‘Loathsome things,’ she muttered crossly, and Sappha laughed and said encouragingly:

‘Yes, but think how much worse everything would be if you didn’t have them.’

‘Since no one has told me what they are or why I am taking them, how can I possibly agree with you?’ her patient wanted to know, and then on the same breath and with a suddenness which took Sappha by surprise: ‘Why are you not married or at least engaged? You’re a pretty girl, young—twenty-three or four?—intelligent and well dressed.’ And when Sappha didn’t reply: ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m just a curious old woman.’

Sappha managed a smile, ‘You’re not old, nor are you rude. I’ll tell you one day, but just for now I’d rather not talk about it.’

She went downstairs, outwardly calm, but inwardly a little ruffled. She had, after all, come several hundred miles in order to be free from just such questions as the Baroness had asked.

Mrs MacFee was in the sitting room, sitting before the fire, and Mr MacFee was standing in the window, engaged in conversation with Dr van Duyren. They paused as she went in, however, and came over to the fire.

‘You two have met, I understand,’ remarked Mr MacFee cheerfully. ‘Well, now you can sit down for a few minutes and get better acquainted.’

‘Just as though,’ thought Sappha crossly, ‘we can’t wait to tell each other how pleased we are to meet again.’ She sat down, accepted a glass of sherry and was instantly affronted by the manner in which Dr van Duyren walked as far away from her as possible, saying: ‘Oh, we shall have time enough for that, I imagine. I’m sure Nurse would prefer to rest a little.’

She gave him an open-mouthed, indignant look while Mrs MacFee observed: ‘Why, of course—such a long journey—how thoughtless we are. You must be worn out, my dear, although I must say that in that uniform you look so fresh and efficient.’

Sappha, murmuring politely, looked up and caught Dr van Duyren’s dark gaze bent upon her and it was obvious that he was laughing. She lifted her rather determined chin, nettled at his lack of interest coupled with his implication that she was a useless creature who needed a rest, or worse, that she looked as though she needed one. And calling her ‘Nurse’ too, she hadn’t been called that for eighteen months or more.

Reading her thoughts with an uncanny accuracy, he said smoothly:

‘Forgive me—I have been guilty of demoting you. You were a Ward Sister, weren’t you?’ He looked apologetic, although she was sure he wasn’t, and when he continued: ‘I shouldn’t have any idea what to call Gloria,’ the remark somehow made things seem worse because it reminded Sappha that she was a stranger in a small community where apparently everyone knew everyone else. She wondered rather wistfully if they would accept her, and then, catching his eyes on her again, unsmiling now, decided that it didn’t matter in the least.

She treated him with a cool politeness throughout supper and when that meal was over, asked him if he would spare her a few minutes as she had something to discuss with him, to which he replied that he would be delighted although she saw that he was a little surprised too, if his eyebrows were anything to go by.

Mr MacFee had urged them to make use of his study; a small dark room, cluttered with old copies of the Statesman and some dusty volumes which looked like encyclopaedias and probably were. It was furnished with a large desk upon which were laid paper, pens and a great deal of blotting paper—her host’s sermon, waiting to be written, thought Sappha as she preceded her companion into the room and took a remarkably uncomfortable chair pushed up against the wall. The doctor had the good sense to rest his bulk against the desk, from which he regarded her without speaking.

She folded her hands tidily in her lap and said austerely: ‘I should be glad of your co-operation, Doctor,’ and watched the eyebrows arch once more.

‘So soon? I am amazed—I thought that that would be the last thing you would wish.’ He sounded mildly amused.

Sappha suppressed a desire to answer him back, knowing that it would get her nowhere. She closed her pretty mouth on the words which bubbled to her lips and was silent for so long that he enquired, still very mild: ‘You wanted me to co-operate, I believe. How?’

‘Your mother is anxious to see your sister—Antonia—she feels that you wouldn’t approve because of her studies. Surely it could be arranged for her to come over by air, even for a day or so?’

He said coldly: ‘Antonia’s schooling is important. She is doing very well—probably she will go on to a university.’

‘Oh, fiddle,’ said Sappha rudely and quite out of patience. ‘Surely she can do some extra homework or something—your mother’s peace of mind is much more important.’ She shot him a sharp glance. ‘Your sister will probably marry before she even gets to university.’

His cold voice became icy. ‘Probably, but as you yourself are aware there is many a slip between the cup and the lip when it comes to marriage.’

Sappha sat very still, staring at him. She had gone rather white even though she appeared quite composed. She hadn’t realised that the man standing in front of her would know about her and Andrew, but of course Uncle John would have told him. She felt humiliation, so bitter that she could taste it, well up within her. She took her lovely eyes from his face and focused them on the wall above his head, and said quietly: ‘We are discussing your mother, I believe,’ and heard his voice, wonderfully kind and gentle saying: ‘I beg your pardon, that was unforgivable of me. I am afraid I have no excuse, only the unsatisfactory one of always having my own way with my family and taking it for granted that no one will gainsay me.’

He crossed the space between them and caught her by the shoulders so that she came to her feet, willy-nilly. ‘Forgive me—if you will, I’ll arrange for Tonia to come over whenever you say.’

Sappha studied his face; his eyes, now that she saw them so close, weren’t black at all but brown, and at that moment they looked warm and friendly. She said uncertainly: ‘I say pretty breastly things myself sometimes—and I forgive you without the bribery—or is it blackmail?’

‘Whichever you like, I’ll take the blame for both.’ He smiled at her so that his face changed completely and just for a second she caught a glimpse of someone quite different, but only a glimpse, not enough to stop her saying: ‘It’s rather difficult to put into words, but I think we should understand that…’ she paused so as to get it quite right, ‘some people don’t get on very well—I think perhaps we are all like that.’

‘Ah,’ he said blandly, ‘mutual dislike and so forth—is that what you mean? It has been known. Well, in that case, we must conceal our true feelings for each other under the guise of good fellowship, mustn’t we?’ He walked a little away from her. ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult, for I go back to Holland tomorrow and you will have plenty of time to practise a friendly approach before I return. Now, shall we go back to the drawing room? I usually spend half an hour with Mother at this time if you have no objection. I’ll be gone early tomorrow morning, so you won’t need to strain your friendly approach.’

It wasn’t until they had parted with outward goodwill and she was sitting with the MacFees that she came to the conclusion that he had been laughing silently when he had made that last remark.

Sappha had expected to spend a wretched night; leaving London had been a wrench, and the peace and quiet she had anticipated in the Highlands had been strangely ruffled by her meeting with Dr van Duyren. She went to bed prepared to lie awake, and promptly slept, to awaken only when Meg, the little daily maid, came in with her morning tea.

‘It’s a fine bright day, Miss,’ she observed as she drew the curtains, revealing a glimpse of the sea and the rugged coastline beyond the rooftops. ‘The Baron left with the sun on him.’

Sappha sat up, tossed her hair over her shoulders and yawned. ‘Baron who?’ she enquired, not quite awake.

Meg turned a surprised face towards her. ‘Why, miss, the Baron, ye ken, though maybe ye call him the doctor, but here in the village he gets his rightful title.’

Sappha sipped her tea. ‘Oh, Dr van Duyren, the Baroness’s son.’

Meg nodded. ‘The Baron,’ she stated simply. ‘Breakfast is at half past eight, I was to tell you.’ She went away, leaving Sappha to ponder this titbit of information. She had never met a baron before; she supposed, after due thought, that he was very like a baron should be—the very name conjured up a swashbuckling, high-handed gentleman, for ever shouting down his inferiors and being charming when it suited him. She got up and dressed rapidly, reminding herself the while of everything about him that annoyed her.

Her patient was awake after a good night and very ready to talk while Sappha performed the few necessary tasks prior to bringing up her breakfast. Her son, she told Sappha, had left at first light to board a plane at Inverness and she wasn’t at all sure how long it would be before he would be coming again, for as well as running a practice with his two partners, he lectured in Groningen.

‘Ah, yes—somewhere in the north of Holland, then,’ said Sappha, shaking down the thermometer, and was taken back when the Baroness said touchily: ‘Not North Holland—our home is in Dokkum, which is in Friesland. Groningen, of course, is not.’

Sappha begged her pardon, made a mental note to have a look at an atlas when she got downstairs, and besought her patient to open her mouth.

Uncle John came later that morning and spent a long time examining his patient, and a still longer time talking to Sappha about her. He was pleased with the results of the operation he had performed; the tumour had been removed before it could do lasting damage and the bones were hardening once more with the increased calcium, moreover the renal failure was improving at a heartening rate, but he warned Sappha of the depression which was bound to attack the Baroness from time to time—the aftermath of her rare disease. ‘But we’ll pull her through, I have no doubt’, he said cheerfully, then asked without pause: ‘I suppose Rolf has gone?’

Sappha gave her uncle a level look. ‘You mean Dr van Duyren—or should I say Baron van Duyren?’

He returned her look with an innocent one of his own. ‘My dear, how should I know? Everyone around here calls him Rolf—the people in the town address him as Baron, I believe, but I hardly think he would expect you to address him as such. Don’t you like him?’

Sappha pinkened faintly. She said crossly: ‘How ever should I know, Uncle John? I’ve hardly spoken to him.’ She picked up a batch of forms and went on in a businesslike way: ‘Shall I fill these in for you to sign? I expect you’re taking them with you.’

Dr McInroy arrived just as her uncle was preparing to leave. He was a sturdy man in his early thirties, of middle height, and with good features and bright blue eyes. After he had greeted the specialist, he turned to Sappha with a warm smile, saying: ‘Miss Devenish—I’ve heard all about you from Gloria and I’m delighted to welcome you to Dialach.’ He sounded so genuinely pleased to meet her that Sappha found herself smiling widely as she shook hands, but even as she did so, she had a fleeting recollection of her meeting with Dr van Duyren, who hadn’t greeted her at all…but there was no time to indulge her own thoughts; the two doctors began to discuss their patient, and as they seemed to take it for granted that she should stay with them, she concentrated upon the subject in hand, so when she was drawn into their conversation from time to time she was able to join in in a manner which caused Dr MacInroy to look at her with something like respect and remark:

‘You know a great deal about osteitis fibrosa cystica—have you seen one before? It’s a rare condition.’

Sappha shook her head. ‘No, never, that’s why I read up all I could about it before I came—I picked a few brains too.’ They all laughed and presently she left them to return to her patient.

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.’