Loe raamatut: «A Familiar Stranger»

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘HE’S back, you know.’

Janna paused, her hands on the bandage motionless but for a small, almost undetectable tremor. It wasn’t necessary to say who ‘he’ was—Finn’s return to the fold was the talk of the community, and it seemed everyone was delighted.

Everyone, that was, except Janna. As far as she was concerned it was a disaster of monumental proportions. She tore off a piece of tape and secured the end of the bandage, then answered, ‘So I hear. You’ll be glad to have him home after so long.’

‘Oh, aye,’ Jessie McGregor agreed with a wistful sigh, and then added, ‘I doubt I’ll be alone.’

Janna met her eyes at last, her own wary, and saw understanding and sympathy, and something else—something that could have been a plea.

She put on Jessie’s stocking and stood up, brushing her hands over her skirt to distract from their trembling.

‘It’s over, Jessie. It scarcely started, but it’s been over and done with for years.’

‘Over it might be, but done with? I think not, lass. Certainly not for Finlay, and not, I think, for yoursel’ either.’

Janna cobbled up the paper bag with the old ulcer dressing in it and busied herself tidying.

‘You’re wrong, Jessie. Finn’s a friend now. Nothing more.’

‘If you say so, my dear,’ Jessie said calmly, setting her foot back on the ground and struggling into her slipper. ‘Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’

Janna always had a cup of tea with Finn’s mother, but just now, today, she thought she would choke on it. Anyway, Finn could walk in at any time …

‘I won’t, thank you,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ve still got more to do—visitors to go and see—and it’s Dr MacWhirter’s farewell do tonight, so I mustn’t be late.’

She stooped and kissed Jessie’s soft, smooth cheek, then, gathering her things, she left, closing the door softly behind her and resisting the urge to run to the car and drive off into the sunset.

Instead she set her bag carefully on the floor of her old diesel runabout, slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition. It was difficult, she reflected wryly as it clattered to life in a cloud of black smoke, to flee romantically in something as down-to-earth as Betsy!

She headed back towards Port Mackie and her next call, several miles away over the indifferent roads and twisting, hilly terrain. She would have preferred a four-wheel drive vehicle, rather than the sensible little runabout so suitable for her city colleagues, but district nurses in the Highland region didn’t get allowances that stretched to Discoverys or Shoguns, even though they often needed something more robust.

Janna was lucky. She could have had a newer car—even the Discovery that would have been perfect for the job—but her grandmother’s legacy sat patiently in a building society account, waiting until Janna was able to buy her dream house. Then and only then would she spend her carefully hoarded money, although she was often tempted to replace Betsy, especially in the winter.

There were times when Janna thought she spent longer in the car, wrestling with the difficult terrain, than in her surgery or with patients, but every time she was tempted she thought of the barn in Camas Ciuicharan and the house it would become if only old MacPhee would sell, and so she struggled on with the old rattletrap. At least it was reliable.

Anyway, the time spent in the car was in many ways a bonus. The countryside was beautiful, and she was happy with her own company. Solitude gave her time out from the pressures of life, and allowed her to find a measure of contentment—a contentment that was just now feeling sorely threatened.

She saw her patient: a visitor to the area with a bad head and a touch of gippy tummy from too much haggis and ten-year-old single malt—an unhappy combination. All he required was a sachet of electroyte replacement and a little sympathetic reassurance that he wasn’t going to die, and then Janna was able to head home.

She didn’t go straight there, though, turning off instead for Camas Ciuicharan—the Bay of Laments.

It had got its name from the sighing of the wind between the rocks, supposedly a Highland lass mourning the death of her loved one, and it suited Janna’s mood exactly. Here was where she would live, in the little barn with its wonderful views over the sea, and only the sheep for company. There was another car there, a dark green Discovery with Edinburgh plates, but no sign of anyone in the bay. Probably a holidaymaker gone for a walk. She parked her car beside it, then strolled down over the grassy dunes on to the rocks of the foreshore.

A small crescent of clean white sand lay curved in the lee of the bay, and the crystal-clear water was turquoise in the sunlight. It looked inviting, as it always had. Many times she had swum here with Finn and the others in her childhood, and again that summer …

With a quick glance round to make sure she was alone, she slipped off her shoes, wriggled out of her tights, tucked up her uniform skirt and walked knee-deep into the water. It was cold, of course, being the North Atlantic, but blissfully refreshing, and for a mad moment she considered ripping off all her clothes and diving headfirst into the gently lapping waves.

It wouldn’t have been the first time, but now modesty forbade her—modesty and a very real appreciation of what such a scandalous act would do to her reputation in this very tight-knit and highly moral Highland community. Once she hadn’t cared, to her parents’ utter humiliation, but she was, after all, no longer fifteen, and it was still broad daylight!

With a sigh of regret she turned back along the beach, paddling at the water’s edge and staring out across the sea at the islands floating in the low mist that swept across the water. A little sloop was moored in the bay, rocking gently in the swell, its mast gilded by the sun. She could hear people talking and laughing on board, their voices carrying clearly in the still, clean air.

She loved the evenings here, the glorious colours of the sunset, the changing sea and sky, the gradual darkness that enveloped the pleated land and laid it to rest.

A ripple of laughter came to her over the water—the occupants of the boat enjoying each other’s company.

A sharp stab of loneliness pierced her, and with it dread. How would she cope with Finn’s return? He had meant—still meant—so much to her. Did he have any idea how hurt she had been by his casual dismissal of their love?

It had been seven years ago, and they were both older and wiser now. Would it hurt less? She didn’t think so. Jessie was right, it was over but it wasn’t done with. Not by a long way—at least not for Janna. Finn had left it behind him years ago, which was the trouble, of course. If only she could let it go too, perhaps she might heal, but the pain of his rejection and indifference was with her daily. They could have had so much, and yet they had nothing, their love swept aside by his sudden and inexplicable return to their long-standing friendship.

He had come back at Christmas, months after her birthday, after their loving, after his promises, and had treated her exactly as he always had, as if the summer had never happened. She had been so shocked and hurt that she had avoided him all that holiday, and ever since she had gone out of her way to avoid him.

Well, she wouldn’t be able to now. They were stuck with each other, working together, and she was going to have to put on the acting performance of her life to survive it.

For a long time she stood motionless, staring out over the water, and then with a sigh she turned and walked back towards the rocks.

As she did so she felt a sudden prickle of awareness and glanced up. There was nothing there, of course. It was just because she was thinking of him, in this place which had been so special to them that summer. She was conjuring his presence out of thin air, an extension of her night-time fantasies, her dream lover come back to haunt her. And yet the prickle was still there …

She scanned the area again. Nothing. All she could see were the sheep, grazing around the ruins of McPhee’s derelict barn—the barn where she and Finn had lain together seven years ago and promised each other eternity.

Then she saw him, silhouetted in the doorway, tall, broad, his dark hair touched with red by the sun, an old T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, tucked into snug jeans, faded and ancient and clinging lovingly to his narrow hips and long, lean legs. Nothing changes, she thought in despair. He was exactly as she remembered him, and the effect he had on her was just the same.

She stood transfixed, her heart thrashing in her chest, desperately trying to swallow the lump in her throat as he threaded his way surefootedly over the rocks towards her.

She couldn’t move, her feet rooted to the sand, but it didn’t matter because he came to her anyway, moving with an easy grace as he sprang lightly down off the rocks and came to rest a few feet away.

‘Janna.’

Just the one word, but it took her breath away. His voice hadn’t changed at all—deep, soft, slightly husky, it sent shivers racing over her skin and turned her resolve to mush.

With a superhuman effort she dragged air into her lungs and met his clear blue-grey eyes, navy-ringed around the iris and able to see clear through to her heart—or so she had once thought. They hadn’t seen her pain, though, so apparently they were just ordinary eyes after all, if one discounted how incredibly beautiful they were …

‘Hello, Finn.’

He studied her for a moment, his head tipped to one side, and then clicked his tongue.

‘You’ve lost weight.’

She gave a strained little laugh. ‘I needed to.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘You were perfect just as you were. Oh, Janna, it’s good to see you again.’

Without warning he took the last step forward and enveloped her in a huge, bone-cracking hug. Her nostrils were assailed with the familiar scent of his skin, and for a second she allowed herself the luxury of returning his hug, her arms sliding round his big ribcage, her hands involuntarily flattening against his smooth-muscled back.

His body was warm under her palms, warm and lean and solid, bigger even than she remembered. She ached to hold him, to stand there in the shelter of his arms and hang on for dear life. For a moment, it almost seemed as if they were lovers again, as if her love was returned by the man in her arms …

She was deluding herself. Dropping her hands back to her sides, she straightened away from him. He let her go, his large hands cupping her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length while he studied her face, his own creasing in a frown.

‘You look tired,’ he told her bluntly.

‘I am. It’s the height of the summer season. All the visitors are here, and we seem to have a particularly stupid lot this year.’

Laughter touched his eyes. ‘They can’t be that stupid. They chose the most beautiful place in the world to have their holidays.’ He released her and turned towards the sea, gazing out as she had done, his eyes reflecting the islands and the changing clouds in the sky. ‘I’ve missed it so much—the sea, the gulls, the people—and you, Janna.’

She swallowed and turned away, refusing to be lulled by the sincerity in his voice. ‘Me?’ she said with a fragile laugh.

‘Does that seem so strange?’ he asked softly.

Strange? Why should it be strange that he should vow to love her for all time and then forget about it for seven long, aching, miserable years until it was convenient to amble back into her life? Did he really expect her to believe he had missed her? Hardly, surely!

And, just because he was back, did he imagine they could pick up where they left off?

‘It’s been a long time, Finn.’

‘Twelve years since I left.’

And seven since their summer. ‘I’ve changed,’ she told him.

‘I would hope we both have. That doesn’t mean we have to forget the things that were once important to us.’

Did that include her? Her heart, always the optimist, jerked against her ribs, but then common sense reasserted itself. No, she was just simply available, a passably attractive woman—and an old lover, to boot—still unattached in an area where there were only a handful of young people and most of those still at school. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t try to take advantage of her availability. Janna knew that, just as she knew how easy it would be to turn back to him, to hold out her hand, to lead him up the hill to the barn and there——

No! She wouldn’t allow him to use her as a convenience—even if he did only have to crook his little finger before she wanted to run to him.

Bending, she scooped up her shoes and tights. ‘I have to go—another visit on the way home,’ she lied.

‘Will I see you at Bill MacWhirter’s do tonight?’ he asked.

She stopped in her tracks. Of course, he would be there too. He was taking over from the old doctor. From now on he would be everywhere. Every time she turned round or looked up or breathed in, he would be there. Could she cope?

She would have to. She would be strong, and hold him at a distance, and then he would leave her alone. He must. Please, God, he must …

‘Yes,’ she told him evenly. ‘I’ll be there.’ Then she walked away, and with every step she could feel his eyes burning into her spine.

As she reached the car he called her name.

She turned back towards him. ‘Yes?’

‘If you’re going on a visit you might want to do something about your skirt,’ he said with a grin, and she glanced down to see with horror that her skirt was still tucked into her knicker-legs like a little girl’s. Blushing furiously, she tugged the thing down and slid behind the wheel, dusting the worst of the sand off her feet before shoving them into her shoes without the tights. It didn’t matter. There was no visit, anyway.

Hands shaking so badly that she could scarcely fasten her seatbelt, she started the car and drove a little way, before pulling over and sagging over the steering-wheel with a sigh of frustration. How was she going to cope with him? He would drive her crazy—that megawatt charm and wicked, wicked grin undermining all her good intentions.

‘Damn you, Finlay McGregor,’ she muttered. ‘Damn you for coming back and messing up my mind!’

Shoving the protesting lever into first gear, she swung back out on to the road without checking her mirror. There was a screech of rubber, and the unmistakable tinkle of breaking glass.

She stopped, her heart sinking, and got out.

Finn was just climbing out of the cab of a dark green Discovery with Edinburgh plates, propped gently against a rock by the side of the road.

‘Trying to run me off your territory, Janna?’ he asked mildly.

She gathered her wits. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Aye—by a miracle. That and the fact that I was already slowing down to see if you were all right. I gather you’re not, or you wouldn’t be driving like that.’

She started to shake. How could she have been so careless? If only he hadn’t come back …

‘It’s your fault,’ she told him unreasonably. ‘You taught me to drive!’

He grinned infuriatingly. ‘So I did. Clearly I have only myself to blame. Perhaps you’d better go on to your next visit and I’ll follow at a safe distance.’

She drew herself up. ‘You do that—give me half an hour’s start!’

‘I intend to,’ he said drily, and got calmly back behind the wheel and reversed back on to the road, then got out again to check the damage.

‘Send me the bill,’ she called back to him.

‘My pleasure. Now, perhaps we’d both better move so John-Alec can go about his business?’

Janna looked up and saw the farmer in his Land Rover, waiting patiently up ahead of her. She muttered a rude word under her breath, started her car and left the explanation to Finn.

‘So, Janna, what do you think about this young scallywag, grown up and taking my place, eh?’

Old Bill MacWhirter had an arm flung affectionately around both Janna and Finn, and she found it impossible to avoid seeing Finn’s mouth soften in a smile.

‘Scallywag, sir?’ he challenged.

‘Scallywag. Best damn salmon poacher I ever met—barring your father as a young man, God rest him.’

Finn chuckled. ‘There were more than enough fish.’

‘Oh, aye, laddie, and you were a joy to watch, the way you could tickle them almost into a coma.’

They all laughed, Janna politely and a little distractedly, because she was remembering the first time Finn had kissed her, lying on the banks of MacWhirter’s burn and laughing while her first tickled salmon trout flapped beside them on the bank. ‘Clever girl,’ he’d said, and then suddenly the atmosphere had changed and he had leant over, his cool, wet fingers steadying her chin as his mouth lowered to taste hers. She had been fifteen, and Finn twenty, fully grown, her childhood idol turned with a single kiss into the subject of her adolescent fantasies …

‘So, Janna, answer the question. It can’t be a surprise to you.’

She shrugged. ‘He always said he’d be back,’ she said simply. ‘I hear he’s a good doctor—no doubt our patients will be quite safe. They seem happy enough.’

‘And what about you?’ the old doctor asked.

Janna laughed. She wouldn’t be safe—not by a long way. Finn haunted her every waking moment, and joined her in her dreams. No, she wouldn’t be safe, and for that reason she couldn’t allow herself to be happy. ‘I dare say I’ll make the best of it,’ she replied lightly, and was surprised to see a flicker of hurt in Finn’s eyes before he disguised it with a laugh.

She felt a softening, a weakening of her resolve, and excused herself to slip outside and spend a few overdue minutes shoring up her defences. If she allowed herself to start feeling sorry for him she was lost, and she knew it.

No, Finn had been the transgressor, Finn the one who had turned his back on their love, and Janna was damned if she was going to let him back into her heart on the strength of one tiny flicker of hurt.

She closed her eyes and leant back against the wall, inhaling deeply to soak up the mild, dark night. Why had he come back? Her life was tolerable here, empty of love, but full in many other ways.

Damn him, she had been content until today. Now she was a seething mass of confusion.

The hair prickled on the back of her neck, and she opened her eyes to see him standing a few feet away, watching her thoughtfully.

It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t heard his approach. For all he was a big man, he was lighter on his feet than anyone else she had ever met. Nor did it surprise her that she had known he was there. She had always had a sixth sense where Finn was concerned. She spread her hands out over the wall behind her, drawing strength from the rough-hewn stone of the old schoolhouse.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked softly.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

She saw his big shoulders shrug slightly in the gloom. ‘No particular reason. You looked a little strained, that’s all. I wondered if you were ill.’

He moved closer, the grass whispering under his feet, and stood just inches away, so that the scent of his soap teased her nostrils and caused an ache low down in her body—an ache only Finn could cause, or ease.

His hand came up, fingers curved so that his knuckles brushed lightly over her cheek. Her lips were suddenly dry and she tucked them in, running her tongue over them and then standing, mesmerised, as his thumb caressed their soft fullness, dragging gently on the newly moistened surface.

A tiny moan rose in her throat, and then it was too late to protest because his body, warm and hard and strong, was cradling hers as his mouth came down and settled against her lips in the softest, gentlest caress.

She wanted to cry out, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, to draw him down with her on to the soft grass and let her love take its course, but some vestige of common sense made her stand still, silent and unresponsive, as his lips sipped and brushed and cajoled.

She ached to open to him, to taste him again, to see if he was still as sweet and potent as he had been that long, hot summer. His tongue swept over her lips, probing gently, and she felt her knees threaten to give way. But she couldn’t give in—she mustn’t.

She turned away slightly and the pressure eased, leaving her empty and unfulfilled as he lifted his head, his expression veiled by the dimming light, but she heard him sigh softly as he stepped back.

The silence stretched, broken only by the muted laughter from the building behind them and the fragmented sound of her breathing. ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked in a strangled whisper. ‘Why couldn’t you leave things alone?’

He sighed again, a deep, ragged sigh full of regret. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t come out here with the intention of kissing you. Forgive me, Janna.’ His hand came up to cup her cheek, but she jerked her head back and hit it against the hard stone of the wall.

A little cry escaped from her lips, and then his gentle fingers were in her hair, finding the tiny abrasion and soothing it with whisper-soft caresses that made her want to put her head down on his chest and cry.

He tutted gently, her name a breath on his lips, teasing her hair. ‘Silly girl,’ he soothed, but it didn’t soothe her, just made the need to cry even stronger.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she wailed softly into his shirt. ‘Why can’t you leave me alone? Why did you have to come back?’

‘You knew I was coming back,’ he said. ‘It was hardly a secret.’

She gave a rude snort and pulled away, more cautiously this time. ‘No. And, of course, you always keep your word.’

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ he replied, irritation colouring his voice. ‘Damn it, Janna, what am I supposed to have done wrong?’

‘Done?’ she exclaimed, her hands pushing feebly at his massive chest. ‘Apart from vanishing for years and then coming back and expecting me to be all over you like a rash? Get real, Finn!’

He sighed again and released her, ramming a large hand through his hair and ruffling the already unruly locks. ‘What do you want from me, Janna?’

She bit her tongue to stop the plea from coming out. ‘Nothing,’ she said instead. ‘Nothing at all. Why should I?’

Finn sighed again, turning to stare out across the sea, gleaming in the last rays of the late sunset. ‘I thought there was something between us once.’

‘There was—seven years ago. That’s rather a long time to carry a torch, Finn.’

He turned back towards her, his eyes hooded and unrevealing in the dusk. ‘I had no job, no clear idea of where I was going to live. You were just starting your training—anything between us would have been impossible then.’

‘You said you were coming back,’ she mumbled.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘It took you long enough—and what about all the time in between?’ She straightened up, moving away from him in case she gave in to the urge to throw herself into the comfort of his arms, and made herself meet his eyes again. ‘You can’t really expect to disappear from my life so comprehensively and then waltz back in as if you own me!’

‘I didn’t disappear! Every time I’ve been back while you were here you’ve had to go away, or been busy, or some feeble excuse. I haven’t been avoiding you, Janna, you’ve been avoiding me! It’s hardly my fault if I finally took the hint and left you alone.’

Was that true? Had she driven him away herself? Was it possible she’d really read him all wrong? Perhaps the change in him that Christmas hadn’t been so significant; perhaps he had been just the same old Finn that he always was, even though he’d been her lover.

No. He had been different before her birthday, before he went away. Perhaps he’d just regretted it. Her father had talked him out of his impulsive urge to marry her on the spot—perhaps his arguments had been too convincing?

Janna sighed. ‘Maybe we just took each other for granted, Finn.’

‘So what now, Janna?’ He reached out for her, then dropped his hands and rammed them into his pockets. ‘Look, we can’t talk about this here. Let me take you home when this do is over, so I can talk to you, just for a while. There’s a lot we need to say.’

‘I hardly think that will look very good—you coming home with me your first day back.’

He laughed. ‘With your parents standing guard like chaperones? Not even in this part of the Highlands are they that fanatical about propriety.’

‘What have my parents got to do with it? I don’t live at home any more. I haven’t for the past year.’

He looked astonished. ‘Where do you live, then?’

She waved over her shoulder. ‘There—the Nurse’s House, of course.’

He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘I’m sorry, I just assumed——’

‘Well, you shouldn’t, Finn. You shouldn’t assume anything about me any more—nothing at all. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and see off our guest of honour.’

Drawing in a steadying breath, Janna tipped up her chin, straightened her shoulders and somehow found the strength to walk away.

That Friday night signalled the end of Janna’s hopes that working with Finn would mean a return to the easy, casual relationship of their childhood.

Once she had resented that treatment from him—now, perversely, she longed for it. Finn, however, obviously had something more in mind, and Janna didn’t know how to deal with it. So she took her usual action in the face of Finn’s inconstancy—she avoided him.

On Monday morning Finn took the usual branch surgery, held at the Nurse’s House in Kilbarchan, and although he said nothing Janna could see from his eyes that he wanted to talk to her and wouldn’t rest until he had.

Fine. She wasn’t at all convinced that she was strong enough to deal with him once he really turned on the charm, and dragging up all her old fears and disappointments would upset her. The last thing her pride needed was Finn reducing her to tears of disappointment and confusion. What a weapon!

No way was she handing him that on a plate. She was polite, courteous, but distant—and out of a room whenever he entered it.

It worked—to a point. By eleven-thirty, however, he’d had enough, and came and tracked her down in her room where she had just finished with the last patient.

‘All done?’ she asked brightly.

‘No, I’ve got to put some stitches in a nasty leg wound—one of our visitors slipped on a hill path this morning on the dewy grass and cut his leg on a bit of old rusty iron sticking out of the ground. I wondered if you could give me a hand?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ At least with the patient between them things couldn’t get too personal, she reasoned.

She had reckoned without her response to his presence. It was enough that Finn was in the room. He didn’t have to look at her or talk to her or touch her—all of which he did, of course, while he was working. Nothing personal, all strictly professional, but it was enough to drive her to distraction.

Finally they were finished, and Mr Gibbs was asked to come back on Wednesday to have the stitches checked and the dressing changed.

Janna quickly cleared up, then headed back to her room, leaving Finn organising a prescription to be delivered that afternoon from the dispensary at the main surgery in Craigmore.

She was about to escape when he reappeared in her doorway, lounging comfortably against it and cutting off her retreat.

‘What now?’ she asked, a little shortly.

His eyebrows rose. ‘Sorry, am I holding you up on your visits? I just wanted a word about Betty Buchan. She seems to be getting more and more confused.’

‘She is,’ Janna agreed. ‘Her neighbours worry about her, but they keep tabs on her and let me know if they think anything’s wrong. She reports to them daily on the phone.’

‘If she could remember what time of day it was,’ Finn said drily. ‘I gather she woke the shop in the middle of the night again to order her groceries.’

Janna had heard about that. It was getting more difficult to see the funny side of Mrs Buchan’s confusion now, and Janna was increasingly worried about the elderly lady’s safety.

‘I’ll go and see her again,’ she told Finn quietly. ‘I think it’s maybe time she went into some sort of care. I’ll see if I can persuade her.’

‘Won’t her family mind if you interfere?’

‘What family?’ Janna scoffed. ‘They don’t give a damn. Someone has to take responsibility, and her family won’t.’

‘Or can’t?’

‘Won’t,’ Janna said firmly. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Yes—Janna, have I got something contagious?’

Her smile faded. ‘Contagious?’ she said in mock innocence. ‘You tell me.’

‘Janna, stop it. We need to talk.’

‘No, Finn,’ she corrected, ‘you need to talk. What I need is to get on with my rounds. Please lock the door on your way out.’

And with that she walked away from him for the third time. She wondered how many more times she would get away with it.