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  ‘Och, it’s just that she’s just not interested in anybody but herself. See what you think, anyway, when you meet her.’

  Also see what the poor new patient is like, thought Isla, rising to rinse her cup. Cheering him from his depression obviously would not be easy unless they were successful with his treatment, and that would not be known for a while. They would just have to do their best for him, seeing as he’d been so unlucky. A comfortable background, maybe, but so little chance to enjoy it. Poor Mr Kinnaird.

  Fifteen

  Having a little time to spare before she need expect to see Mr Kinnaird on the following day, Isla looked in on Boyd. It was quiet in the gym – patients were finishing lunch, after which they might rest or have appointments – and she found Boyd busy with his paperwork, a job he disliked and put off when he could. For some days, she’d thought he must be keeping out of her way, for she hadn’t seen him around, but now he leaped up with alacrity and seemed delighted to see her.

  ‘Isla! Nice to see you! I was just going cross-eyed, doing my books. Fancy a go on the parallel bars?’

  ‘No, thanks. I just came in for a minute – to see how things were.’

  ‘By which you mean has Trina been to look round the gym?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘The answer is, yes, she has. Thought it was grand.’

  ‘I was just, you know, wondering what was happening.’ Isla hesitated. ‘Have you asked her out or anything?’

  ‘Or anything? No, I … well, I wanted to, but I didn’t have the nerve.’

  ‘Didn’t have the nerve? I thought sure you’d have fixed to take her out somewhere, before Damon beat you to it.’

  ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten him. She never mentioned him, though, and I did find out that she has no other young man around at the moment. No sweetheart, you might say.’ Boyd shook his head. ‘Apart from me being chicken, the other snag was that there were too many people about when she came, which was about five o’clock – a popular time. I just couldn’t speak to her on her own.’

  ‘So you’ll try some other time?’

  ‘You bet I will. Whatever you think, Isla, I know Trina’s the one for me and I’m not going to lose her. Even if Damon Duthie thinks he’s a rival, I’ll be the one she wants.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Boyd’s look was defiant. ‘I do think so.’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to keep out of it, I suppose.’ Isla glanced at the watch pinned to her uniform. ‘But now I’ve got to go. Boyd, just be careful, eh? Don’t get too worked up and maybe disappointed.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.’ He gave her a long level look. ‘Just leave my life to me, all right?’

  She nodded, sighing, and hurried away, anxious not to be late in greeting Mr Kinnaird.

  In fact, when she reached Reception, he still hadn’t arrived, but from the long windows next to the desk, she could see Dr Lorne’s car drawing up and, a moment later, saw him get out and open the door for his passenger, a beaming smile on his kindly face.

  ‘Miss Guthrie,’ Isla whispered, ‘is that Miss Lorne arriving?’

  ‘Where, let me see!’

  Noreen Guthrie was swinging round, her eyes excited.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s Magda, all right. Goodness, her school blazer’s a bit small for her, isn’t it? Bet she can’t wait to get out of that. Watch out – they’re coming in.’

  ‘Here we are, my dear,’ Isla could hear Dr Lorne saying, as he entered the hall with the tall young girl spinning her Panama hat in her fingers at this side. ‘Back home again!’

  ‘Not for long,’ she replied coolly, standing just inside the door, her eyes slowly moving over the wide reception hall, taking in Miss Guthrie at her desk and Isla in her uniform, before finally returning to her father.

  Isla, fascinated, was aware that she was staring at the new arrival but couldn’t seem to look away. Such a lovely girl, with eyes of vivid green, an imperious little nose – straight, of course – and glossy dark hair, expertly cut. There was no doubt that she was very like the photo of her mother, with just a trace of her childish looks, but so composed, so sure of herself, she seemed hardly like the schoolgirl she had so recently been. Was she as careless of others as Sheana had reported?

  Seemed so, for when Dr Lorne introduced Isla to her, she scarcely bothered to produce a smile and let her green eyes wander. Even when her father told her that Isla’s brother was the young man who’d once shown her round the gymnasium, she merely nodded, though after a moment did remark that she was surprised.

  ‘Is he still here? I should have thought he would have moved on by now.’

  ‘Why should he?’ asked Isla. ‘He likes it here.’

  ‘Oh, well.’ Magda Lorne, making no effort to elaborate, shrugged and began to walk away, as her father arranged with Miss Guthrie to have Tam, the porter, move his daughter’s luggage to his flat at the rear of the building.

  ‘Nice to have met you,’ Magda suddenly called over her shoulder.

  Isla was so astonished, she took a moment or two to call back, ‘And nice to have met you, Miss Lorne!’

  ‘You waiting for a patient, Miss Scott?’ Dr Lorne asked, pausing for a moment.

  ‘Yes, Doctor Lorne. Mr Kinnaird.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Doctor Woodville told me about him. As a matter of fact, I think I see his taxi now.’ Dr Lorne was beginning to hurry after his daughter. ‘I’ll leave him in your good hands, then, Nurse Scott.’

  As a tall, thin young man wearing a dark suit but no hat paid off his driver and turned to look up at the hydro’s façade, Isla ran to open the door for him. Mr Mark Kinnaird had arrived.

  Sixteen

  His eyes were a warm brown, his features strongly defined, his smile pleasing, yet there were signs of strain obvious to Isla’s practised gaze. Clearly, the new patient was having trouble with his breathing, even as he arrived.

  ‘Mr Kinnaird?’ Isla took his case. ‘Welcome to Lorne’s Hydro. I’m Nurse Scott and will take you up to your room. There is a lift – no need to worry.’

  ‘I don’t mind stairs,’ he answered quickly, his Edinburgh accent most agreeable. ‘But, here, do let me take that.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble – we’ll be using the lift, anyway. Miss Guthrie, will you let Doctor Woodville know Mr Kinnaird is here?’

  ‘Of course, Nurse Scott.’

  ‘Thanks so much. This way, Mr Kinnaird. The lift’s just across the hall.’

  Walking at his pace, Isla and the patient made their way to the lift where, as she pressed the button, Isla gave an encouraging smile.

  ‘You’re on the third floor; it would have been a long way up by the stairs, you see. But you have a nice view of the Edgemuir hills.’

  As the lift came fast and they were able to take their places, he gave a rough, hacking cough and took out his handkerchief. ‘Sounds … nice.’

  They didn’t speak again until they were in his comfortable room, where he had a beautifully made bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers, an easy chair and a wash basin, as well as the view to the hills Isla had promised. This at once drew the new patient to the windows and brought another smile to his face as he turned back to her.

  ‘This is splendid, really splendid.’

  ‘Glad you like it, but please, Mr Kinnaird, take a seat and rest while I unpack your case. The doctor won’t be long.’

  ‘I’m not so good today,’ he murmured, coughing again and wiping his lips with his handkerchief. ‘Have good days and bad days. Too many bad days, maybe.’

  ‘You’re going to get better here,’ she told him firmly. ‘You must believe that.’

  ‘I have high hopes.’

  For a little while, they were silent as Mr Kinnaird sat in his chair, watching Isla deftly put away his clothes, hang up his dressing gown and place his toiletries in a cupboard beneath the wash basin.

  ‘The bathroom’s just next door, Mr Kinnaird,’ she finally said. ‘Not far to go, but if you’d prefer it, we could move you
to a room with bathroom attached.’

  ‘No, this will be fine, thank you,’ he was replying when a knock sounded on his door and Dr Woodville breezed in, his hair on end, his smile wide as he bent to shake his patient’s hand.

  ‘Mark, how are you? It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Nice to see you too, Bob.’

  Mark Kinnaird made to rise from his chair, but the doctor gently made him sit again.

  ‘Don’t get up, please. I’ll just perch on the bed – don’t report me, Nurse Scott! – and have a chat about your treatments. First, a word or two about your medical history – I know all about your early symptoms and I have your own doctor’s report on your present symptoms, but I see he also mentions smoking being a contributory factor. You have, I hope, given that up?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Bob.’ Mark Kinnaird’s expression was rueful. ‘I suppose I should have realized it wasn’t going to do me any good, but you know how it was in the war – I only had a desk job, but everyone around me smoked and I did, too.’

  ‘I understand.’ Dr Woodville shook his head. ‘Had to have something to get us through it, and we were the lucky ones; we did come through. But smoking’s past history now, eh?’

  ‘Certainly is.’

  ‘Right, well, I don’t suppose you know what we do here, but for chest cases, we find that water as steam can be very successful. You know how a steaming kettle helps you? Well, it works on the same principle, loosens everything up. So, we’ll be looking at saunas for you, Mark, plus moist warm wraps, massage and hot fomentations, and see how we go. OK?’

  ‘Oh, yes, the steam idea sounds just the thing.’

  ‘Right, well, next we’ll take you down to meet Sister Francis who’s the head nurse in the treatment rooms, and the routines will be explained and you’ll be given a conducted tour. After that, it’ll be time for a cup of tea!’

  ‘Sounds excellent.’ Mark slowly rose from his chair. ‘Can’t tell you how it helps to have someone I know explaining everything to me.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I’m leaving soon – taking over Dad’s practice as he’s not up to it now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mark’s face fell. ‘That’s a blow.’

  ‘It is,’ Isla said with feeling. ‘We’re all so sad.’

  ‘Enough of that!’ Dr Woodville cried. ‘Let’s just get to the lift.’

  Seventeen

  While Mark Kinnaird was enjoying a rest and a cup of tea after his conducted tours, Boyd was still trying to think of a way to get Trina on her own and ask her out. He had to know where he stood, what hope there was for him, and, if none, how he would adjust. Maybe he wouldn’t adjust at all, which was a crazy idea when he remembered what he’d had to face during the war – things so terrible he couldn’t speak of them. What was being rejected compared with that? Somehow, though he felt bad about it, he knew that to ask that question wouldn’t help at all.

  In the end, he decided, as Isla had decided before him, that the way to catch Trina was before a meal in the patients’ dining room when she would be setting the tables. The waiters didn’t do that, which meant Damon wouldn’t be around, and as dinner was not too far away, it was possible she was busy in the dining room at that very moment. Too bad if Daisy or someone else was there – as long as it wasn’t Damon, he could successfully snatch a few words with her. Enough to seal his fate.

  As Larry was busy with his steam baths, Boyd couldn’t ask him to stand in for him, but he hung another of his notices on the door of the gym – Back in Twenty Minutes – which was optimistic but would have to do, and with his heart in his mouth, he left for the patients’ dining room.

  He put his head round the door. Was she there? Oh, God, she was, Daisy as well, both chatting as they flitted about, setting out cutlery and water jugs, putting fresh flowers into little vases to brighten each table.

  Go in, he told himself, for God’s sake, get it over! Never mind what Daisy thinks. This was his chance – better not mess it up!

  ‘Hello there!’ he called, striding in, hoping to look confident. ‘Daisy – Trina.’

  As Daisy stared and Trina smiled, he went on quite openly, ‘Trina, could I have a word?’

  She turned her great eyes on Daisy and gave a little shrug, as Daisy moved away, concealing a laugh

  ‘Don’t mind me! I’ve work to do.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Trina. ‘What is it, Boyd?’

  ‘Just wondering …’ His lips were so dry when he spoke, it seemed to him that he was mumbling and he cleared his throat. ‘I was just wondering … if you’d care to … go to the pictures with me sometime? In Edinburgh?’

  ‘Go to the pictures? You mean, in the evening?’ She raised her fine brows. ‘Not easy, Boyd, seeing as I work here in the evenings.’

  ‘Not every evening.’

  ‘True, we’ve a rota for our evenings off.’

  ‘We could fix something up, then.’

  ‘What about you? Don’t you work in the evenings, too?’

  ‘I have one free every week. We could make sure we got the same one. If you want to, that is. You haven’t said yet.’

  ‘Well, there might be a problem. With someone.’

  His eyes never leaving her face, he braced himself for the name, then spoke it aloud himself.

  ‘You mean Damon Duthie?’

  ‘He has asked me out, too.’

  ‘And did you go?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She smiled. ‘We managed Sunday afternoon together. Went for a walk.’

  Determined not to let her see the effect her words had had on him, he laughed.

  ‘Sounds exciting.’

  ‘It was very pleasant.’

  ‘So pleasant that you don’t want to go out with me?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. But there are the difficulties. I mean, arranging a time.’

  If he hadn’t wanted to let her see the pain she had caused, he didn’t mind letting her see the relief, which he knew must be showing in his eyes.

  Grasping her hand, he said huskily, ‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll work it out and I’ll speak to you again. All right?’

  ‘If you’ll just let go of my hand, Boyd. I do have to get on with my work. Look at poor Daisy, having to do it all!’

  ‘Oh, yes, poor Daisy. Sorry.’ Turning away and keeping the smile from his face with effort, he called to her. ‘Sorry, Daisy!’

  ‘That’s all right, I understand.’

  And I bet she does, too, he thought, not minding, not caring – about anything, really, except that Trina had not turned him down.

  ‘I’ve to get back to the gym,’ he declared, moving to the door, taking one last look at Trina, who was already setting another table, not watching him go, which didn’t matter to him in the slightest. She wouldn’t say she didn’t want to see him, which meant, of course, that she did, and that was all that mattered. All the way back to the gym, everywhere seemed full of sunshine, and even when he found an irate retired general fuming over being kept waiting outside, there were no clouds in Boyd’s sky.

  Eighteen

  The days began to speed away, bringing Dr Woodville’s departure nearer, as well as Dr Revie’s arrival, which was only a worry. It was unlikely that he would have the personality of the man they were all going to miss, and might make so many changes at the hydro that the nursing staff wouldn’t know where they were. Of course, Dr Lorne would have to approve of all he did, but the new broom might still be able to raise too much dust.

  So thought Sheana and Ellie, though Sheana did admit that they must just wait and see how things turned out – there was little point in trying to look into the future. At least, they could be grateful that Magda had departed for Switzerland, so they’d be free of seeing her about the place and knowing she didn’t even know who they were.

  ‘Poor Doctor Lorne,’ sighed Ellie. ‘He’s going to miss not having her for the Easter holidays this year.’

  ‘Just like Joan Elrick’s going to miss Doctor Woodville,’ said Sheana with a mischievo
us glint in her eye, causing Isla to stare in surprise.

  ‘Whatever do you mean, Sheana? Aren’t we all going to miss him?’

  ‘Oh, not like Joan. She’s had her hopes of him ever since he came, they say, but here he is, going, and has never made a sign!’

  ‘I really don’t know how you can know what she feels,’ Isla declared. ‘She’s never shown anything when I’ve seen her with him.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve just not been looking!’ cried Sheana. ‘But you know what they say – love and a cold can never be hid?’

  Sheana’s comment turned Isla’s thoughts to Boyd. He can’t mention Trina’s name without his mouth beginning to smile, and after he’d taken her to the pictures, which he’d told Isla he was planning to do, he would probably be worse. Better not ask him about it, Isla decided, just in case things didn’t go well.

  There was probably no way they could have gone as well as Boyd had hoped, for his idea that spending time with Trina in a darkened cinema would be unalloyed bliss was never very realistic. Of course, at first, he’d been confident that what they were to see would be of no interest to either of them. He’d never found that watching a screen with people mouthing words you couldn’t hear was anything but odd, and no doubt Trina would feel the same. There might be subtitles and a pianist thundering away in the pit, but she’d find them simply irritating, as he did, just something to be disregarded like the picture itself, while the main thing was that she and he could be together.

  To his dismay, however, Trina seemed truly lost in another world, as she stared up at the screen showing The Pleasure Garden, an Alfred Hitchcock film about the loves and setbacks of two chorus girls, scarcely seeming even to notice when Boyd took her hand. This so doused his joy at being with her that he let her hand go and sat like a stone until the film ended.

  ‘Oh, wasn’t it lovely?’ Trina cried, her beautiful eyes blinking, as the lights went up. ‘Didn’t you think Virginia Valli was wonderful? She’s American, you know – a very famous star.’