Air Ambulance by Jean S. Macleod Read Free Book Online Page A

Heimra. She looked up at the proud, aloof face of Fergus Blair, wondering what he really thought about it all. Even if he had a family of his own—a son to inherit his name—he did not seem the type of man who would harbour any sort of grudge, yet he could easily have been excused for showing resentment and bitterness.
    “Here we are,” he announced when they came to the door of the inn. “I’ll see what Mrs. Mac I ver can do about some coffee to warm us up. Will you have milk, Andrew?”
    “Could I have coffee, too?” the child asked, clinging to Alison’s hand. “Just this once, please?”
    “Coffee made with milk!” Fergus Blair conceded with a smile which utterly transformed his face. “ Just this once!”
    He was fond of the child, although he would not treat him as an invalid, Alison mused. He was bringing Andrew up to discount his crippled state, teaching him to live his life fully on Heimra Beag, to do most of the things that a boy in his position would do in the normal way, to fish and swim, perhaps, and learn some sort of craft which would make the long days pass more swiftly for him in the future. Then, when he was old enough, perhaps he would be able to administer the estate with a certain amount of confidence and success. He would be handicapped, but he would still be Blair of Heimra. At least he could take a pride in his name.
    A lump rose in her throat as she watched Andrew struggling with the storm doors of the inn. Blair had gone round to the back of the house in search of the proprietress, but Andrew seemed to know his way into the parlour, and thought that Alison, as their guest, should be ushered in that way.
    She did not help him with the door, and soon he had pulled it open and was leading the way through a small, dark hall to a room whose oriel window overlooked the sea. For a moment she stood in silence, looking across the narrow neck of water which separated them from Heimra Beag.
    “You’re happy here, Andrew?” she asked involuntarily.
    “Oh, yes,” the child said simply. “It is my home. Everyone is happy except my mother.”
    Alison’s hand went to her throat. It was the first time, to her knowledge, that he had spoken about Margot Blair, and she could not think what to say.
    “She does not like people to come to the island—strange people,” Andrew went on carefully, as if he were repeating a lesson. “Sometimes she does not see anyone but my Uncle Fergus for a very long time.”
    Alison stood quite still, staring out at Coirestruan between the long lace curtains which framed the window, seeing the narrow stretch of sunlit water as the absolute barrier to the other island, the boundary which Fergus Blair had marked as the dividing line between his home and the outside world.
    In spite of herself, she could not help wondering what lay beyond Coirestruan, and when Fergus came back to join them she turned round to face him almost guiltily.
    Was he immured over there by an old tragedy, she wondered, and then she knew that he was too vigorous for that. Whatever sadness and regret Heimra Beag held for him, he had not cut himself off completely. He was very much the active laird of both islands.
    Heimra Mhor was the larger community, and he seemed to administer all sorts of justice on the island.
    “I wish I could have a word with you about this new extension to my kitchen,” Mrs. MacIver said diffidently when she brought in their coffee. “Malcolm Murdoch is wanting to charge me double what you said it should cost.”
    “That won’t do,” Blair decided. “I’ll have a look at what he’s done for you so far, Mrs. MacIver , and get him to give you a definite estimate for the remainder of the work.”
    “I knew you wouldn’t mind me asking,” Janet MacIver said as she laid down the tray. “Being a widow woman seems to make you fair prey for some folk!” she added indignantly as she withdrew.
    “You’re going to get good weather for the remainder of your trip,” he