‘Rag?’ Luc gazed at her blankly.
‘Temper. I lost my temper, and I said some things that were rather dreadful. Even if they were true,’ Sheila said, remembering indignantly the high-handed way her former employer had spoken to her. ‘He reminded me that I was a servant, and he said that things had come to a pretty pass when the laird of the manor had a servant lecture him on what to do. I couldn’t ignore that.’
‘No,’ Luc said with a ghost of a smile.
‘It’s not funny. I told him that he was living in the past, and that clinging on to Glen Massan even though it wasn’t his anymore was making things frightfully hard for Lady Carmichael. And I told him that if he thought Alex would have ignored the needs of the villagers then he didn’t know his son at all. And that’s true, Luc, but it was an appalling thing to say. He went quite ashen then, and showed me the door. I tried to apologise, but it was too late. I think I’ve well and truly burned my bridges there. I don’t expect I’ll even get a reference. Not one I can use, anyway.’
‘What on earth did you suggest to provoke such an extreme reaction?’
Sheila stared down at her feet. ‘You know that hypothetical case I mentioned? Well, it wasn’t strictly hypothetical. It’s Ronnie and Shona Oliphant’s wee boy.’ Unable to restrain herself, she launched into a description of the child’s condition. ‘Oh, Luc, it would break your heart to see him, and his parents are at their wits’ end.’
‘
Attends!
Wait a minute. You mean you have already spoken to them, made promises to them?’
Luc jumped to his feet, swearing heavily. ‘You had no right, quite apart from the fact that you are not qualified to make any sort of clinical judgement.
Sacre bleu
, are you so frightened that I might try to kiss you that you go behind my back like this? You undermined my authority. You also ignored my advice that the laird would be implacable on the subject. I thought we trusted each other, if nothing else. Did it not occur to you that we could have done a better job of persuading the laird together, once I had been able to form a view on whether surgery was even possible?’
‘As you’ve just so forcefully reminded me, the laird can’t be persuaded.’
‘If only you had let me see the boy first. If I could have operated, then shown the laird the proof...’
‘Can’t you see,’ Sheila said despairingly, ‘that’s exactly what I was afraid of. I know you. You would have operated, despite it being against the rules. And then we would both have been dismissed. I couldn’t allow you to risk your career like that. I know how much it means to you.’
‘You should have consulted me, Sheila. You should have trusted me.’ Luc sank onto the window seat, rubbing his eyes. ‘I am sorry. I thought that we had sorted matters between us, but I see that we have not. We can’t continue like this.’
It was what she believed. It was what she’d come to tell him, but hearing him confirm it was so much more difficult to bear. ‘No,’ she said sadly, ‘we can’t.’
‘I will leave,’ Luc said heavily.
She thought she had misheard him. ‘What?’
‘I can go back to France. There is a big demand for surgeons with my skills. This is your home. I cannot drive you from it.’
‘No!’ Now it was Sheila’s turn to jump to her feet. ‘You wanted to get away from France. You wanted to make a new life here, Luc. Anyway, the laird won’t allow me to stay, I’ve told you that. And besides, Glen Massan isn’t...’ She tailed off, because that wasn’t true. Glen Massan was her home. It would be painful to leave it, now that she had redrawn her place in it, to start somewhere without family or friends. Without Luc.
She steeled herself. ‘No. It’s not your fault. I do find it impossible to work with you, but not for the reasons you think. There is something I haven’t told you.’
And it was surprisingly easy, after all this time, to tell him. Mark Seaton mattered so little now. ‘I was not long arrived in France,’ Sheila began. ‘The end of 1915. I’d done well in my training, and I thought I knew a lot more than I did. I wanted to do more than mop floors and wash sheets, though I didn’t shirk doing plenty of that, too. I thought it was because I was talented, that he favoured me. I was too naive to realise that doctors didn’t request VADs to help them, too full of myself to notice that his asking for me was putting the nurses’ nose out of joint, to say nothing of what my sister VADs were thinking.’
Sheila risked a glance at Luc. ‘His name was Dr Mark Seaton, do you know him?’
He shook his head, his gaze not wavering from her face. She rushed into speech, anxious to have it over with. ‘It was forbidden for VADs to be alone in the company of officers, but that was part of the fun then, flaunting rules. He was handsome and fun and I didn’t need much persuading to think myself in love, and not much more persuading to show him how I felt,’ Sheila said.
She could feel her cheeks heating, but she was determined to finish now. ‘I thought he loved me, too. Turns out, once he’d got what he wanted from me, he didn’t even want me in his operating theatre anymore. And when I made it clear I thought we had a future, he virtually laughed in my face. He had plans for a career in Harley Street after the war, and the likes of me didn’t fit in with those plans. He accused me of gold-digging, and warned his colleagues to steer clear because, though I was free with my favours, it would cost them dear in the long run. You can imagine, in a hospital, the kind of gossip that generated.’
‘He sounds like a complete bastard,’ Luc said.
‘But one with influence. He had me transferred, which was actually the best thing he could have done. I worked doubly hard, and I made sure no one did me any favours. It was easy to get over him—in fact, it was easy to keep well clear of any man—but it wasn’t so easy to get over the consequences. You can see now why I was so appalled when it turned out you were to be my boss.’
‘You thought I was like this man?’ Luc exclaimed in horror.
‘No! But I didn’t know anything about you save that you were a surgeon. I couldn’t take the risk.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
‘I was embarrassed. I was determined to prove myself to you first. I was going to tell you that day on the hill, but then you told me about Eugenie.’
‘So why tell me now?’
Sheila swallowed. ‘Because I need you to understand. Mark made me realise how important it is to me to stand on my own two feet, to have people respect me, for me to respect myself, and to do that, I need to be honest.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m in love with you, and it’s not going to go away, and it’s going to get in the way, so that’s why I have to go.’
She risked a glance at him. His eyes were glazed. He looked—oh, God, he looked horrified. ‘You said it yourself, it won’t work. You don’t want any distractions, and I certainly don’t want to be the kind of woman who sits at home out of the way, waiting.’
‘I don’t want a woman to sit at home waiting for me.’
‘I know. So—’ Sheila fumbled in her pocket ‘—I’ve put it in writing for the board. I’ve put all my papers in order. I thought it best if I went straight away.’ She thought she was going to faint. Or lose her breakfast. It was the strangest thing, this feeling that she had to get out of there as quickly as possible, and the languor that seemed to be keeping her pinned to the spot. She wouldn’t cry, and she wouldn’t change her mind. ‘Goodbye, Luc.’
‘Sheila, wait.’ He grabbed hold of her. ‘You can’t just...’
She had to get out of here. ‘Goodbye, Luc.’ She grabbed the door, threw it open and fled.
* * *
Three hours later, Luc stood outside Mrs Fraser’s cottage. Sheila’s mother—unmistakably Sheila’s mother, with her fair hair and brown eyes—didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him.
‘I’ll fetch her,’ she said, disappearing up a narrow flight of wooden steps. Returning a few minutes later, she picked up her shawl and draped it over her shoulders. ‘I’ll be back in an hour, no more. I warn you, whatever you’ve got to say, it had better not make her even more upset. You might be charming and you might be a miracle worker, but Sheila is my daughter.’
‘What do you want, Luc?’
Sheila was hovering at the foot of the stairs. She glared at him, though he could see in her eyes what it cost her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her pain away, but he knew her too well to think she would allow that. He needed to do this properly.
‘Won’t you sit down?’
She pulled out a chair at the scrubbed wooden table, and he sat opposite her. ‘Well?’ she said.
‘I’ve just come from Mr Oliphant’s house. We’re going to have the boy in for some preliminary examinations next week.’
‘Luc! For heaven’s sake, did I not warn you...’
‘You said a great deal, and I listened, and now I want you to listen to me.’ The urge to pace the room was strong, but he repressed it. ‘I’ve spoken to the laird. It seems your tirade didn’t miss the target entirely. I persuaded him that you were right.’
‘How on earth did you do that?’
‘By threatening to resign if he didn’t agree, of course.’ He shook his head reassuringly. ‘It would never have come to that. You had already done the spadework and pricked his conscience. “Shook me to the bones and made me take a good look at the self-pitying excuse of a man I’d let myself become” is what he actually said.’ Luc grinned. ‘Not only did he agree to the Oliphant boy’s surgery, but he says he will put a proposal to the trustees to establish a clinic for the village based at the hospital.’
‘Luc, that’s wonderful news.’
He was pleased to see the light return to her eyes. ‘That is not all. It seems your remarks about Lady Carmichael also hit home. The laird has had a bit of an epiphany all round. He will be making plans for them to leave Glen Massan and settle in London. That, I am sorry to tell you, is not wholly down to you. He has just received a telegram telling him that he is expecting his first grandchild.’
‘Flora?’
‘The eldest son, Robbie, and his wife.’
‘Oh, Luc, you’ll think me silly, but a new life, a new generation, it’s...’
‘Symbolic. The laird seems to think so, too. “Time for us all to move on and leave the past behind.” A sentiment I heartily endorse and the real reason I’m here.’ He couldn’t stay still any longer, and pushed the chair back, coming round to the other side of the table to sit beside her. ‘I love you, Sheila. I think I have been in love with you for weeks, only I have been too stubborn to admit it. Only when you told me that you were leaving did I realise that nothing was more important than being with you.’
‘Oh, Luc. Don’t say it just because you feel responsible or feel sorry for me.’
‘I have never meant anything more in my life. I love you.’
‘But your career, the hospital...’
‘Our hospital. That’s the point,
chérie
. It can be a joint endeavour,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I thought I had to choose, but I realise now I was wrong. Only—only this is not just about me. You need to want it, too.’
‘I don’t know what you’re actually suggesting,’ Sheila said.
He laughed. ‘Nor do I. I have no idea at all what I’m suggesting, except that I love you, and I want to be with you, and whatever that means, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen, but just, please, tell me that you will have me, because if you don’t...’
She threw herself into his arms, laughing, crying, shaking. ‘I love you so much, you can take me pretty much any way you want.’
He kissed her then, and she kissed him back, twining her arms around him. He pulled her onto his lap, and their kisses deepened. ‘If we don’t stop, then I might find myself quite literally taking you right here,’ Luc said, tearing his mouth free.
Sheila laughed and scrabbled to her feet, turning the lock in the door. She held open her arms. ‘Take me, Luc, I’m yours.’
And with a low growling laugh, he did just that.
* * * * *
Historical Note
I
have endeavoured to make the historical element of these stories as faithful to the facts as possible. Any errors are entirely my own, and I apologise in advance for them—because experience tells me that someone, somewhere, will point out at least one!
My reading list for this story was huge, but I’d like to single out two books that were a great source of inspiration. First of all, Vera Brittain’s
Testament of Youth
. I first read this many years ago, and reread it as part of my research. It has dated. To modern eyes, Ms Brittain can at times seem, frankly, a bit of a whinge, but for me it’s still one of the most moving personal accounts of the War I’ve read. Vera before the War was the inspiration for Flora; Laird Carmichael’s fear of telegrams stems from a line of Vera’s that every ring of the doorbell could be one of
those
telegrams; and Vera’s tragic account of the Christmas leave when she waited in vain for the return of her fiancé, Roland, inspired my happier reunion between Sylvie and Robbie at New Year. The second book is Lyn MacDonald’s amazing
The Roses of No Man’s Land
, which gave me a wonderful insight into the life of the VAD and inspired Sheila’s story. To Ms MacDonald, I owe the description of Armistice Day in Boulogne, as well as the background to the Harvard hospitals and their associated teaching schools where Luc learned so much.
Glen Massan House doesn’t exist, nor did the Argyll War Hospital. Glen Massan, for those of you who enjoy insider detail, is a real place in Argyll, a beautiful river flowing through a valley that is full of trout, with some icy cold pools where I used to go swimming as a child. Flicking through Ian Gow’s excellent
Scotland’s Lost Houses
made me realise how many of Scotland’s stately homes were requisitioned at the beginning of the War, and sadly how many of them were lost to the families forever. The Great War made white elephants of stately homes and the aristocratic lifestyle, and the army, unfortunately, left the buildings that had been requisitioned in a bit of a state.
Both Robbie and his brother, Alex, join the Argyll and Southern Highlanders, which happens to be the regiment associated with my own home county, and hence also theirs. Robbie joined the Argyllshire Battalion, which was sent to France in May 1915 and merged with the Highland Division. All of the action mentioned in his story was that seen by the Highlanders. He had just returned from the Battle of Ancre, part of the Somme initiative, in November 1916 when he first wrote to Sylvie. In fact, the Highlanders surrendered to the Germans at the end of this battle—one of the few facts I’ve changed. The final action in Robbie’s story was part of the Battle of Arras, in which Sylvie’s brother also saw action with the French army. Alex I assigned to one of the Renfrewshire Battalions of the Argylls. They were posted to Gallipoli in 1915 and arrived at the Western Front in April 1918 following a lengthy period in Egypt.