Ring in a Teacup. Betty Neels

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      MILLS & BOON

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      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE SUN, already warmer than it should have been for nine o’clock on an August morning, poured through the high, uncurtained windows of the lecture hall at St Norbert’s Hospital, highlighting the rows of uniformed figures, sitting according to status, their differently coloured uniform dresses making a cheerful splash of colour against the drab paintwork, their white caps constantly bobbing to and fro as they enjoyed a good gossip before their lecture began—all but the two front rows; the night nurses sat there, silently resentful of having to attend a lecture when they should have been on their way to hot baths, unending cups of tea, yesterday’s paper kindly saved by a patient, and finally, blissful bed.

      And in the middle of the front row sat student nurse Lucy Prendergast, a small slip of a girl, with mousy hair, pleasing though not pretty features and enormous green eyes, her one claim to beauty. But as she happened to be fast asleep, their devastating glory wasn’t in evidence, indeed she looked downright plain; a night of non-stop work on Children’s had done nothing to improve her looks.

      She would probably have gone on sleeping, sitting bolt upright on her hard chair, if her neighbours hadn’t dug her in the ribs and begged her to stir herself as a small procession of Senior Sister Tutor, her two assistants and a clerk to make notes, trod firmly across the platform and seated themselves and a moment later, nicely timed, the lecturer, whose profound utterances the night nurses had been kept from their beds to hear, came in.

      There was an immediate hush and then a gentle sigh from the rows of upturned faces; it had been taken for granted that he would be elderly, pompous, bald, and mumbling, but he was none of these things—he was very tall, extremely broad, and possessed of the kind of good looks so often written about and so seldom seen; moreover he was exquisitely dressed and when he replied to their concerted ‘good morning, sir,’ his voice was deep, slow and made all the more interesting by reason of its slight foreign accent.

      His audience, settling in their seats, sat back to drink in every word and take a good look at him at the same time—all except Nurse Prendergast, who hadn’t even bothered to open her eyes properly. True, she had risen to her feet when everyone else did, because her good friends on either side of her had dragged her to them, but seated again she dropped off at once and continued to sleep peacefully throughout the lecture, unheeding of the deep voice just above her head, explaining all the finer points of angiitis obliterans and its treatment, and her friends, sharing the quite erroneous idea that the occupants of the first two rows were quite safe from the eyes of the lecturer on the platform, for they believed that he always looked above their heads into the body of the hall, allowed her to sleep on. Everything would have been just fine if he hadn’t started asking questions, picking members of his audience at random. When he asked: ‘And the result of these tests would be…’ his eyes, roaming along the rows of attentive faces before him, came to rest upon Lucy’s gently nodding head.

      A ferocious gleam came into his eyes; she could have been looking down into her lap, but he was willing to bet with himself that she wasn’t.

      ‘The nurse in the centre of the first row,’ he added softly.

      Lucy, dug savagely in the ribs by her nervous friends, opened her eyes wide and looked straight at him. She was bemused by sleep and had no idea what he had said or what she was supposed to say herself. She stared up at the handsome, bland face above her; she had never seen eyes glitter, but the cold blue ones boring into hers were glittering all right. A wash of bright pink crept slowly over her tired face, but it was a flush of temper rather than a blush of shame; she was peevish from lack of sleep and her resentment was stronger than anything else just at that moment. She said in a clear, controlled voice: ‘I didn’t hear what you were saying, sir—I was asleep.’

      His expression didn’t alter, although she had the feeling that he was laughing silently. She added politely, ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ and sighed with relief as his gaze swept over her head to be caught and held by the eager efforts of a girl Lucy couldn’t stand at any price—Martha Inskip, the know-all of her set; always ready with the right answers to Sister СКАЧАТЬ