Snow in April

  Speechless with crying Jody nodded again. Behind Oliver, the dining-room door quietly opened and shut again. He turned and saw Liz standing there. She said to Jody, “Why didn’t you go back to London?” but he saw the anger in her face and he wouldn’t answer. “You said you were going back. Your sister said she was taking you back.” Her voice was suddenly shrill. “She said…”

  Oliver stood up, and Liz stopped, as though he had turned off a tap. He turned back to Jody. “Who brought you here?”

  “A m-man. A man in a van.”

  “Go out and wait with him. Tell him I’ll be out in a moment…”

  “But we have to hurry.”

  Oliver raised his voice. “I said I’d be out in a moment.” He turned Jody round, gave him a push. “Go on, scoot. Tell him you’ve found me.”

  Dejected, Jody went, struggling with the handle of the big door and slamming it shut behind him. Oliver looked at Liz. He said, “The reason they didn’t go to London was because Jody wanted a last chance of finding his brother. And now Caroline’s ill. That’s all there is to it, I’m sorry.” He crossed the hall to collect his coat. Behind him Liz said, “Don’t go.”

  He turned, frowning. “But I have to.”

  “Phone the doctor in Strathcorrie, he’ll take care of her.”

  “Liz, I must go.”

  “Is she that important to you?”

  He started to deny this and then found that he didn’t want to. “I don’t know. Perhaps she is.” He began to put on his coat.

  “And what about us? You and I?”

  He could only repeat himself. “I have to go, Liz.”

  “If you walk out on me now, you don’t ever need to come back.”

  It sounded like a challenge—or a bluff. Either way it did not seem to be very important. He tried to be gentle. “Don’t start saying things you’ll only regret.”

  “Who says I’ll regret them?” She wrapped her arms across her chest, holding her upper arms so tightly that the knuckles on her brown hands showed white. She looked as though she were suddenly very cold, as though she were trying to hold herself together. “If you don’t watch out, you’re going to be the one with the regrets. She’s going to be married, Oliver.”

  He had put on his coat. He said, “Is she, Liz?” and started to do up the buttons and his calm drove her over the edge of her own control.

  “She didn’t tell you? How extraordinary! Oh, yes, she’s getting married on Tuesday. In London. To a very up-and-coming young stockbroker called Hugh Rashley. It’s funny you never guessed. But of course she didn’t wear an engagement ring, did she? She said it was too big and that she was frightened of losing it, but that seems a little farfetched to me. Aren’t you going to ask me how I know all this, Oliver?”

  Oliver said, “How do you know it?”

  “My mother told me. On the telephone yesterday morning. You see, Diana Carpenter is just about her dearest friend, so of course my mother knows it all.”

  He said, “Liz, I have to go.”

  “If you have already lost your heart,” she told him sweetly, “take my advice and don’t lose your head as well. There’s no future in it. You’ll only make a fool of yourself.”

  He said, “Explain to your father for me. Tell him what’s happened. Tell him how sorry I am.” He opened the door. “Goodbye, Liz.”

  She could not believe that he wouldn’t turn and come back to her, and take her in his arms and tell her that none of this had happened, that he would love her as Charles had loved her, that Caroline Cliburn could take care of herself.

  But he didn’t. And then he had gone.

  The man in the van was a large, red-faced individual in a checked cloth “bunnet.” He looked like a farmer and his van smelt of pig manure but he had waited patiently for Oliver to emerge and kept Jody company into the bargain.

  Oliver put his head in at the window. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  “Nae bother, sir, I’m no’ in any hurry at all.”

  “It was very good of you to bring the boy, I’m most grateful. I hope you didn’t have to come far out of your way.”

  “Not at all. I was on my way down the glen from Strathcorrie in any case. I’d just dropped in for a dram when the wee boy asked me to bring him to Cairney. He seemed a wee bittie upset, and I didna like to leave him there on the roadside.” He turned to Jody, patted his knee with a large hamlike hand. “Ach, but you’ll be fine now, laddie, now you’ve found Mr Cairney.”

  Jody got out of the van. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there and been so kind.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it. Maybe someone’ll do the same for me one day, when I’m on shanks’s pony. I just hope you’ll find your sister weel. I’ll say good night, sir.”

  “Good night,” said Oliver. “And thank you again.” And, as the tail-light of the van disappeared around the curve of the drive he took Jody’s hand in his and said, “Come along now. We’ve no more time to lose.”

  Out on the road, with the headlights probing the racing darkness and every turn and curve a familiar one, he said to Jody, “Now tell me.”

  “Well. Caroline was sick again, and then she said she had a pain, and she’s all pale and sweaty and I didn’t know … the telephone … and then…”

  “No. From the beginning. From the letter Caroline wrote. The one she left on my desk.”

  “She told me we were going back to London. But I said she’d promised to wait till Friday, that Angus would maybe be back on Friday.”

  “That’s today.”

  “That’s what I said. Just wait until today. And she said that it was better for everybody if we went back to London and she wrote you that letter, but then at the last moment she … gave in. And she said we’d go to the Strathcorrie Hotel just for one night, just last night, and then today we would have to drive back to London. So I said all right, and we went to Strathcorrie and Mrs Henderson gave us rooms and everything was all right until breakfast, because she felt awful and said she couldn’t possibly drive. So she stayed in bed, and then she tried to eat lunch, but she said she was going to be sick, and she was, and then this awful pain started.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Mrs Henderson?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking maybe Angus would get back and everything would be all right. But he didn’t come and Caroline just got worse. And then I had to go and have supper by myself because she said she didn’t want any, and when I went upstairs she was all sweaty and she looked as though she was asleep but she wasn’t and I thought she was going to die…”

  His voice was becoming hysterical. Oliver said levelly, “You could have phoned me. You could have looked up the telephone number.”

  “I’m frightened of telephones,” said Jody and it was some measure of his distress that he would admit to this. “I can never hear what people are saying and I always put my finger into the wrong hole.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I ran downstairs and I saw that kind man coming out of the bar and he said he was going home and went outside, and I went after him and told him my sister was sick and told him about you and said would he take me to Cairney.”

  “And I wasn’t there?”

  “No. And the kind man got out of his car and rang bells and things and then I thought of Mrs Cooper. So he took me round to her house and she gave me a huge hug when she saw me and she told me you were at Rossie Hill. And Mr Cooper said he would take me, though he was in his braces and slippers, but the kind man said no, he would, he knew the way. So he did. And I came. And I’m sorry about spoiling the party.”

  “That didn’t matter,” said Oliver.

  By now Jody had stopped crying. He sat forward on the edge of his seat as though his very attitude would make them go faster. He said at last, “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

  “But I was. I am here.” He put out his left arm and pulled Jody close.
“You did very well. You did everything right.”

  The road poured away. Up and over the hill they went. The lights of Strathcorrie twinkled far below, tucked into the folds of the dark, quiet mountains. We’re coming, he told Caroline. We’re coming, Jody and I.

  “Oliver.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think is wrong with Caroline?”

  “At a rough layman’s guess,” said Oliver, “I would say that she has an appendix that needs to be removed.”

  8

  His diagnosis proved perfectly accurate. Within ten minutes the Strathcorrie doctor, hastily summoned by Mrs Henderson, arrived, confirmed the appendicitis, gave Caroline a shot to ease the pain, and went downstairs again to call the local Cottage Hospital and ring for an ambulance. Jody, with what might have been a rare display of tact in one so young, went with him. But Oliver stayed with Caroline, sitting on the edge of the bed, and holding one of her hands in both of his.

  She said, already sounding faintly dopy, “I didn’t know where Jody had gone. I didn’t know he’d come to find you.”

  “You could have knocked me over with a feather when he suddenly appeared. I had you both safe and sound and back in London.”

  “We didn’t go. At the last moment I know I couldn’t go. Not when I’d promised Jody.”

  “Just as well you didn’t. An appendix blowing up halfway down the Motorway wouldn’t have been much of a joke.”

  “No, it wouldn’t, would it?” She smiled. “I suppose that’s what’s been wrong all this time, feeling so sick, I mean. I never thought of an appendix.” She said, as though the idea had just occurred to her, “I’m meant to be getting married on Tuesday.”

  “That’s one appointment you won’t be able to keep.”

  “Did Liz tell you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should have told you. I don’t know why I didn’t.” She amended this to, “I didn’t know why I didn’t.”

  “But you know now?”

  She said, hopelessly, “Yes.”

  Oliver said, “Caroline, before you say anything more, I think you should know that when you do get married, I don’t want it to be to anybody but me.”

  “But aren’t you going to marry Liz?”

  “No.”

  She considered this, her face grave. “Everything’s such a muddle, isn’t it? I always make such a muddle of everything. Even getting engaged to Hugh seems to be part of the muddle.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Caroline. I don’t know Hugh.”

  “He’s nice. You’d like him. He’s always around, and organized and very kind and I’ve always been so fond of him. He’s Diana’s younger brother. Did Liz tell you that? He met us off the plane when we got back from Aphros, and took charge of everything, and somehow he seems to have been taking charge ever since. And of course Diana encouraged the idea of our getting married. It appealed to her sense of order, having me marry her brother. It kept everything all neat and tidy in the family. But still I’d never have said I’d marry him except for that miserable business with Drennan Colefield. But when Drennan walked out on me I felt as though I would never properly fall in love again, and so it didn’t matter whether I truly loved Hugh or not.” She frowned. “Does that make sense?” she asked him, muzzy and confused.

  “Perfect sense.”

  “Then what am I going to do?”

  “Do you love Hugh?”

  “In a way, but not that way.”

  “Then it’s no problem. If he’s a nice guy, and he has to be or you’d never have said you’d marry him, then it would be very wrong to saddle him, for the rest of his life, with a halfhearted wife. In any case, you won’t be able to marry him on Tuesday. You’ll be far too busy sitting up in bed, eating grapes and smelling flowers and reading large, glossy magazines.”

  “We’ll have to tell Diana.”

  “I’ll do that. As soon as they’ve taken you off in the Black Maria, I’ll call her.”

  “You’re going to have an awful lot of explaining to do.”

  “That’s what I’m best at.”

  She moved her hand, lacing her fingers into his. She said, contentedly, “We only met just in time, didn’t we?”

  There was a sudden, unaccountable lump in Oliver’s throat. He leaned over and kissed her. “Yes,” he said, gruffly. “We ran it pretty close. But we made it.”

  * * *

  By the time they had seen her off, accompanied by the ambulance men and a plump and kindly nurse, he felt as though he had already lived through a lifetime of days. He watched the tail-light of the ambulance away, down the empty street and under the little stone archway, and so out of sight, and he breathed a silent prayer. At his side, Jody put a hand into his.

  “She’ll be all right, won’t she, Oliver?”

  “Of course she will.”

  They went back into the hotel, two men with much accomplished.

  “What do we do now?” asked Jody.

  “You know as well as I do.”

  “Ring Diana.”

  “Right.”

  He bought Jody a Coca-Cola, installed the boy at a table just outside the telephone booth, incarcerated himself in its stuffy interior, and put the call through to London. Twenty minutes later, with long, involved and exhausting explanations over, he opened the door and called Jody in and handed him the receiver.

  “Your stepmother wants to talk to you.”

  Jody said, in a whisper, “Is she angry?”

  “No. But she wants to say hallo.”

  Jody, gingerly, put the dreaded instrument to his ear. “Hallo? Hallo, Diana.” Slowly a smile spread over his face. “Yes, I’m fine…”

  Leaving him, Oliver went to order himself the largest whisky and soda the hotel could muster. By the time it arrived Jody had said goodbye to Diana and rung off. He emerged, beaming, from the booth. “She isn’t a bit cross and she’s flying up to Edinburgh tomorrow.”

  “I know.”

  “And she says I’m to stay with you until then.”

  “Is that all right?”

  “All right? It’s fantastic.” He saw the long glass in Oliver’s hand. “I’m suddenly feeling terribly thirsty. Do you think I could have another Coke?”

  “Of course you can. Go and ask the barman.”

  * * *

  He had imagined that they had reached the end of the road. That there was nothing more to be done, that the day could not possibly turn up any more surprises. But he was wrong. For, as Jody went in search of his drink, there came the sound of a car driving up the street and stopping outside the hotel. Doors opened and were slammed shut; there was a blur of voices, footsteps, and the next moment the half-glassed doors from the street flew open, and in came a small grey-haired lady, very chic in a pink-and-white suit, like icing sugar, and shiny crocodile shoes. She was immediately followed by a young man, hung about with tartan covered suitcases, bumping his way through the swinging door, because he hadn’t a free hand with which to hold it open. He was tall and fair, his hair worn long, his face strangely Slavonic, with high, bumpy cheekbones and a wide curving mouth. He wore pale blue corduroy trousers and a large shaggy coat, and as Oliver watched he carried the suitcases over to the reception desk, dumped them on to the floor and reached out a hand to ring the bell.

  But he never rang it. For just then Jody came back from the bar. It was like a film, stopping in its tracks. Their eyes met and they were both still, quite motionless, staring at each other. And then, with a click and a whirr, the film moved again. The young man shouted “Jody!” at the top of his considerable voice, and before anyone could say another word, Jody had catapulted himself across the hall and into his brother’s arms.

  That night, they all went back to Cairney. The next afternoon Oliver left the brothers together, and drove, on his own, to Edinburgh, to meet Diana Carpenter off the London plane. He stood in the glass-walled arrivals lounge at Turnhouse Airport, watching the passengers come down the gangways, and as soon as she app
eared, knew that it was she. Tall, slender, dressed in a loose tweed overcoat, with a little tie of mink at her neck. As she came across the tarmac, he moved forward so that he would be there to greet her. He saw the frown between her eyebrows, the anxious expression. She came through the glass doors and he said, “Diana.”

  She had blonde hair wound up in a thick knot at the back of her head and very blue eyes. She at once looked relieved, some of the anxiety went out of her face.

  “You’re Oliver Cairney.” They shook hands, and then, for some unknown but obviously good reason, he kissed her.

  She said, “Caroline?”

  “I saw her this morning. She’s all right. She’s going to be fine.”

  * * *

  He had told her everything last night on the telephone, but now, roaring northwards over the Forth Bridge, he told her about Angus.

  “He arrived last night, just when he said he was going to. With this American woman he’s been chauffeuring around the Highlands. He walked into the hotel and Jody saw him and there was a tremendous reunion.”

  “It’s marvellous that they even recognized each other. They haven’t seen each other for years.”

  “Jody’s very fond of Angus.”

  Diana said, in a small voice, “I realize that now.”

  “But you hadn’t before?” He was careful not to sound reproachful.

  She said, “It’s difficult … it was difficult, being a stepmother. You can’t be a mother and yet you have to try to be more than just a friend. And they weren’t like other children. They’d virtually brought themselves up, running wild, barefoot, entirely free. And while their father was alive, it worked, but it was different after he died.”

  “I can understand.”

  “I wonder if you can. It was like being on a razor’s edge, not wanting to suppress their natural instincts and yet feeling that I had to give them some sort of a sound basis for living their separate lives. Caroline was always so vulnerable. That’s why I tried to talk her out of going to Drama School and trying to get a job in the theatre. I was so afraid she would get discouraged, and disappointed, and hurt. And then, when all my fears were realized, it was so marvellous when she started to be fond of Hugh, and I thought that, with Hugh to look after her, she wouldn’t ever have to be hurt again. Perhaps I did … manipulate it a little, but I do promise you it was only with the best intentions in the world.”