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“Louisa gave you my message?”
She gazed at him with astonished eyes. “Message? No—how could she?”
“Easily enough.” He was staring at her hard. “I took her out last night.” He frowned. “She told me that you knew.… No, don’t trouble to think up an answer, I can see for myself that she didn’t tell you.” He frowned down at her. “There was no intention of secrecy, Emily—she begged so prettily to be taken, I hadn’t the heart to refuse.” The frown disappeared and he smiled. “I didn’t want to refuse, anyway.”
Emily conjured up an answering smile. “You make me sound like an elderly aunt! Why should I object to Louisa going out?” Suddenly her calm deserted her. “And she can make what friends she likes,” she said peevishly. “I’m not in the least interested—not in any of them.” She gave a small snort. “And now, if you don’t mind, Professor, I have some treatment to do.”
She flounced away, her head very high, and he watched her go, a quite different kind of smile tugging at his mouth now.
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.
Winter Wedding
Betty Neels
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS snowing outside, and the pallid faces of the night nurses coming off duty looked even more pallid in its glaring whiteness. Emily Seymour, one of the last to go, traipsed down the stairs from the top floor, where she had been in charge of the Ear, Nose and Throat wards, yawning widely, longing for her bed and knowing that it would be some time before she could get into it; it would be even longer today, she decided gloomily, glancing out of a landing window. The snow had settled and cycling through the streets would be a slow business. A pretty girl in staff nurse’s uniform, bounding up the staircase towards her, paused to join her at the window.
‘Lucky you, Emily,’ she exclaimed cheerfully, ‘going home to a nice warm bed. Had a busy night?’ She glanced at her companion with sympathy. ‘No, don’t answer, I can see you did. What happened?’
‘Terry had to have a trachy at two o’clock this morning. I got Mr Spencer up—or at least, I rang his flat when Night Sister told me to—and she couldn’t be there because the Accident Department was going hell for leather—and he brought Professor Jurres-Romeijn with him.’ She paused, staring out into the freshly whirling snow. ‘I had everything ready, he did it in seconds flat.’
The pretty girl rolled a pair of fine eyes. ‘Oh, him. He’s the answer to every girl’s dream; such a pity that no one knows anything about him and that he’s not going to stay for ever. I must think up some good reason for going along to ENT this morning and see if I can soften him up a bit. I daresay…’ she paused, listening. ‘Oh, God, that sounds like Sister Gatesby trundling our way. ‘Bye, love, be good.’
And when have I ever had the chance to be anything else? thought Emily, going on her way once more.
She met Sister Gatesby at the bottom of the second flight and that lady, stoutish and almost due to retire, seized on her at once. ‘Just the girl!’ she breathed happily. ‘Just run back for me, Staff Nurse, and get the keys off the hook in Sister Reeves’ office in ENT, will you? You can leave them at the Porter’s Lodge as you go out; Theatre Sister wants them.’
She turned and wheezed her way down again, leaving Emily to trail all the way upstairs once more, muttering darkly under her breath. But she had finished her muttering by the time she had reached the top floor; for one thing she was a little short of wind and for another she had just remembered that her nights off were due in two days’time; she occupied the last few yards in making plans, then opened the swing doors and went through, into the landing which opened into the two wards, the kitchen, Sister’s Office, the dressing room and the linen cupboard. The keys would be in Sister’s Office, the first door on the left. She could hear the nurses in the ward, already well started on the day’s routine; by the time Sister came on everything would be as it should be. She crossed the landing and then stopped with her hand on the door; Mr Spencer and Professor Jurres-Romeijn were in the dressing room, their backs towards her. She could see Mr Spencer’s bald patch on the back of his head about which he was so sensitive because he was still quite a young man, and she could see the Professor’s iron- grey cropped head, towering over his companion, for he was a vast man and very tall. He was speaking now, his voice, with its faint Dutch accent, very clear, although not loud.
‘Good lord, Harry, am I to be fobbed off with that prim miss? Surely there’s another nurse…?’ He sounded annoyed.
Mr Spencer put up a hand to rub the bald patch. ‘Sorry, sir—she’s first class at her job…’
‘I take your word for that—we are talking about the same girl, I suppose? A small, plump creature who merges into the background from whatever angle one looks at her.’
Mr Spencer chuckled. ‘That’s our Emily—a splendid worker and marvellous with children. You’ll find that she grows on you, sir.’
‘Heaven forbid! The only females who grow on me are beautiful blondes who don’t go beetroot red every time I look at them.’
Emily forced herself to move then and in direct contradiction to the Professor’s words, her face was chalk white, not red at all. She went silently into Sister’s Office, took the keys and went back down the endless stairs, the Professor’s words ringing in her ears. She had the nasty feeling that she was never going to forget them for as long as she lived, and through her tired brain the beginnings of a fine temper began to flare.
She was prim, was she, and plump and given to blushing, something which the Professor, loathesome type that he was, found both amusing and tiresome! She gained the Porter’s Lodge, slammed down the keys in old Henry’s astonished face and pranced out of the hospital entrance. Well, he had made it known all too clearly that he didn’t want her for some job or other; she would make it just as clear to him that she wasn’t going to oblige him. Let him find another nurse to wait on him hand and foot; someone with blonde curls and blue eyes… Emily, in the cupboard-like room by the bicycle shed where the nurses who lived out were expected to change, tore the cap off her own unspectacular brown hair, coiled so neatly, and began to race out of her uniform. Presently, buoyed up with her rage, she got her bike from the shed and oblivious of snow and slush, pedalled home.
Home was a small semi-detached villa on the very outskirts of the town. Emily, giving up a good post in London, had searched desperately for some months until she had found both a large hospital and a home close by. The hospital was one of the new ones, magnificently equipped, destined to take the overspill from London, ten miles away, and still a source of some astonishment to the inhabitants of the small town where it had been built. It took her ten minutes to cycle home, but today, because of the snow, she took a good deal longer and arrived at the wrought iron