‘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