Nurse Angela (10 page)

“Kirkwhite. How far away, and long ago that seems.” Angela thought suddenly that they were like two strangers trying to make polite conversation. She gave herself a mental shake.

“Simon, tell me your news. How have you been faring?”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up suddenly. “I’m onto something at last, Angela,” he said eagerly. “I took your advice and went out to see that fellow again. As you thought, he
did
have more news and I finally traced Albert Poiret in Montparnasse.”

“And did you get all the proof you needed?” she asked excitedly.

He smiled faintly. “Not perhaps in black and white. Friday was the celebration of the Day of Liberation. After the parades and the speeches in the city, some of the old comrades of the Resistance met in a cafe in Montparnasse for a celebration of their own. Georges Dumont, the man who first helped me, told me about the meeting, so I went along hoping to find the man I wanted. Those Frenchmen were certainly making a night of it.” He smiled at the recollection. “They were laughing, shouting and drinking, and singing all the old songs of the Resistance as though the liberation had happened only yesterday. I waited patiently, hoping to get some clue to which man was Albert Poiret. I didn’t want to start making inquiries. I thought it best to remain as inconspicuous as possible. By nature, the French are friendly people and I didn’t want anyone to start talking to me, asking my name. The mention of it might have caused trouble. Being in patriotic moods they might even have turned me out. You see, the real identity of Resistance leaders who were making a pretense of being collaborators was usually known to very, very few, otherwise, the enemy might have found out. An indiscreet word here, a certain look there, or even just an attitude would have given him away. The genuine scorn, derision and hatred of the people for the collaborator was essential for success.”

“How they—men like your father—must have suffered,” Angela murmured. In the face of such stern realities, her own problems seemed trivial
.

Simon seemed almost not to hear her. He went on, “Eventually—and by this time many of the patriots were pretty well ‘lit up’—I managed to catch the name, Poiret, addressed to a middle-aged, quiet-looking man in one corner. I went up to him. I said, ‘Are you Albert Poiret?” He looked at me closely. ‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘I know your face. Used to know you very well in those days.’ He was pretty tight when I first spoke to him, but suddenly, his eyes flashed and he seemed to jerk sober. ‘Michel, Michel LeFeure!’ he said in a sort of awed voice. I think he thought he was seeing a ghost. ‘I’m Simon, his son,’ I said. You should have seen his face. At first, he just stared. Then a smile of pleasure spread across his face like a burst of sunshine. He stood up, put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Simon LeFeure, son of Michel,’ he said in an incredulous voice. ‘Ah, my boy, you should be proud to be the son of such a man.’”

Angela felt tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Simon,” she said huskily. “That must have been a wonderful moment.”

“It was. He called the waiter to bring a bottle of wine, then gathered some of his companions together. ‘This is Simon, the son of Michel LeFeure,’ he told them in a vibrant voice. ‘We must drink a toast. A toast to one of the best and bravest patriots of the Resistance.’ Then he began to tell me stories of some of the wonderful things my father had done, how time and time again, he had outwitted the enemy. He talked until past midnight. Then, he and everyone else were beyond talking. They just sang one song after another until it was almost daybreak.”

There was silence for a while. Angela was picturing the scene that Simon had so vividly described, and Simon was reliving it.

After a while, Angela asked, “And are you satisfied now? Do you really feel you have done what you set out to do?”

“I’m satisfied for my own sake, yes. But what I would like to do is clear my father’s name in a wider sphere. If I could get one or two photographs, letters and other documents from Albert Poiret and ask a newspaper to print an article or series of articles—”

“Simon, I have an idea!” she put in excitedly. He looked inquiringly at her. “One day in Montmartre, I met your mother who introduced a young man called Philip St. Charleot. He’s a journalist. He would write your articles. I feel sure. Does Albert Poiret have letters and things, do you think?”

“I’m not sure. It was difficult to pin him down to anything definite after a while. He was quite drunk. But I managed to get his address and an invitation to visit him.”

“You haven’t visited him yet?”

“No. I arranged to see him tomorrow night. Would you come with me?”

“I’d love to. We could ask Philip to come along and probably
your mother too. Then Philip could piece everything together. It will make a wonderful story, Simon,” she finished enthusiastically.

He smiled and looked at her with an expression of delight and wonderment. “You’re a marvel,” he said. “We’ll do that. Between my mother and Albert Poiret, there should be enough material for quite a few articles. And now, tell me, how many more young men did my mother introduce to you?”

“One more,” she said nonchalantly.

“Indeed. Well now, come on now. I want a detailed account of all you’ve been up to while you’ve been out of my sight.”

She laughed and sketched over some of the places she had visited. “I was in Montparnasse one evening.”

“You didn’t go into any of those cafes alone?”

“Of course not. Philip took me. We went to dinner at the Tour d’Argent first.”

Simon gave her an odd look. “How romantic.”

“We didn’t get romantic, I assure you, but it’s a wonderful place. After that, I felt I’d like something more simple, so Philip took me to a place where I would see some of the real people of France—one of the little cafes in Montparnasse.” She hesitated, then said, “I saw you there.”

His eyes widened. “You did? I didn’t see you. Why didn’t you come and speak to me?”

“You had Paulette with you.”

“Why did that prevent you?” he asked quietly.

“I ...
it didn’t seem right to butt in. You left after
a
little while.”

“Paulette and I have known each other since childhood. We went to school together.”

“Like Roger and me,” she said on impulse.

“Not quite.”

“Oh. She’s ... very beautiful.”

“Yes, she was always fond of clothes, dressing up and so on. As a child she could never quite make up her mind whether she wanted to be an actress or a model. She was always rather fond of the limelight and could change her mind as often and as easily as she changed her clothes. She seems to have all she wants in modeling—excitement, travel. She’s flying to the United States tonight to model in New York.”

He sounded oddly tired. With an almost insane desire for self-inflicted pain, Angela asked, “What does Paulette think of marriage?”

His face clouded and Angela was quick to notice it. “Paulette?" he said after a momentary pause, “Paulette is in no hurry to marry. But let’s talk of something else.”

There was a look of pain in his eyes and Angela felt anguish and despair sweep over her. So Paulette really did mean everything to him but was reluctant to give up her career.

They had sat for a long time over their meal, and it was almost nine o’clock when Simon suggested that they go along to the floodlit gardens of Champ de Mars.

Silent and withdrawn, he drove there in his own car. The garden, bathed in light, had a touch of unreality. This was altogether an enchanted city, and she somehow sensed danger in this atmosphere of scented flowers, starlight and soft night air. She forced herself to think of realities.

“By this time next week, this will seem like a dream,” she said.

“And like all dreams, it will fade,” he replied harshly.

“Yes,” she answered almost in a whisper. “I suppose so.” They came to a dim, secluded spot and suddenly he put his arm around her and half turned her toward him.

“Angela, be a little kind to me just for a while,” he murmured urgently. “It need only be make-believe.”

No, no, Simon, her heart cried out, but the words remained unspoken as he kissed her fiercely like a man desperately in need. His arms tightened about her and in a mixture of anguish and joy her arms went suddenly about his neck.

To Angela, the rest of the time in Paris had a more dreamlike quality than ever. She and Suzette, along with Simon and Philip, visited the house of Albert Poiret. Philip took notes half the night, and then that business was finished. She and Simon spent every minute of the remaining time together. Paulette was away and Angela lived only for the present, grasping what happiness was offered and putting off the moment of awakening, which she knew
would come all too soon. Simon said no more about Paulette and their marriage, and Angela asked no more questions. If his gaiety seemed a trifle forced and his happiness of the transient kind she pretended not to notice. On their last night in Paris they danced and dined at the Lido on the Champs Elysees. Angela wore the lovely, nylon and net evening dress she had brought with her and many eyes turned in the direction of the beautiful woman in the lovely dress dancing with the tall, handsome young man. They looked so obviously in love and all Paris loves a lover. Angela struggled to remember that she was a nursing sister and that Simon was a doctor and her chief. But the dreamworld overshadowed the real one.

It was not until Simon was driving up the street where she lived that Angela knew the awakening had come.

CHAPTER NINE

Simon
stopped the car and sat for a moment at the wheel without speaking. Angela glanced at him and he turned to her abruptly. “Well, here we are—back to normal, everyday life again.” He sounded almost relieved, Angela thought with a pang. Not trusting herself to speak she stretched out her arm to open the car door.

“Angel—
”

She halted. “Yes?”

“I ...
hardly know what to say or how to say it. To say merely, ‘thank you’ for all you’ve done for me personally and for the past week sounds terribly inadequate.”

Angela felt suddenly cold and unaccountably miserable.

She forced a smile. “Simon, don’t let us start exchanging polite thanks. You have done what you went to Paris to do and I have had a wonderful holiday. Let’s leave it at that. Today brings down the curtain; tomorrow it will rise on a new act.” She gave a brittle laugh. “In fact, I can hardly wait to get back on duty now. I’m already wondering if Mrs. Taylor and John Baslow have gone home yet.”

She wanted to forget their time in Paris, if that were ever possible. It could have been a wonderful memory, but to him she had been merely someone who had helped him over a difficult patch. Now, he would be only too anxious to resume their professional footing. She began to gather together her small packages preparatory to going into the house. Simon, who had been staring at the road ahead, jerked into action and went around to the other side of the car to open the door for her.

“You go in. I’ll bring the heavy cases,” he said.

She thanked him, and carrying the small luggage, pushed open the gate and went up the path to the house. The banging of the gate brought someone to the door and Simon turned from the car with her suitcases in time to see her clasped in Roger’s arms. “Darling, how wonderful to have you back.”

For a moment Simon stood quite still, an unutterable loneliness engulfing him. Then he saw Helen Lindsay, tall and gracious standing on the doorstep, smiling a welcome. He walked forward carrying the cases, saw mother and daughter embrace each other and Roger Cameron coming toward him to shake hands. “Have a good journey?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Let me take the case.”

“No, no. It’s all right.”

“Welcome, Simon,” said Helen Lindsay, “and thank you for bringing my daughter home. Come inside and have some supper.” She and Angela preceded the two men into the house. Simon was about to make a formal protest and polite refusal to Helen’s invitation but something in her eyes as she turned briefly to smile at him forbade it. He put the cases down in the tiny hall and followed Angela and her mother into the cheery sitting room.

It was becoming dark now and a little chilly. Helen had lit a fire and drawn the rich, red velvet curtains against the autumn gloom. In Paris it had been summer, Angela thought. Now, it was suddenly autumn.

“I thought you would be hungry after your journey,” Helen said, “so I’ve set the table for a proper meal in the dining room. By the time you and Simon are rid of your travel stains it will be ready. Then afterward we can settle down in here and talk. You must have heaps to tell and I want to hear all about everything.”

Angela replied at random. “I see you’ve put the winter curtains up.”

“Yes, I took the chintz ones down while you were away. The evenings are drawing in now, and the velvet ones are so cosy.” She gave her daughter a puzzled glance before disappearing into the kitchen. Angela showed Simon the bathroom and went to her own room to deposit some of her packages. Already, Paris seemed part of another world, an enchanted world. A barrier had sprung up between her and Simon. She could hear Roger asking him about the journey, the mileage and running qualities of his car and so on. Roger was in fine spirits, but Simon answered him abruptly, almost in monosyllables. What had happened to him? She sighed, and presently, hearing Simon go back into the lounge, she went into the bathroom to wash, afterward slipping on a favorite dress of light turquoise corduroy.

As she walked into the sitting room, both men got to their feet. Roger took her hand and drew her to the fire, his eyes appraising her. Angela dropped into a chair and Roger immediately sat on the arm of it, his arm around her shoulders.

Angela leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes wearily. Roger looked down at her, smoothing her fair hair.

“Tired, darling?”

“A little,” she confessed. She longed to ask him not to show her so much affection, especially in front of Simon, but she had hurt Roger so much already and Simon was, in actual fact, nothing to her in spite of the past few days. She was thankful when she heard her mother’s voice from the dining room asking them to come and take their places at the table.

The presence of Helen Lindsay seemed somehow to bring a warmer and more cheerful atmosphere. She kept up a flow of interested questions and comments about the two weeks in Paris. Simon responded and seemed to thaw a little. He talked about his mother and how she had expressed a desire to visit England.

“I don’t think for a moment that she is contemplating coming to England to live, but I think meeting Angela made her want to see the old country again.”

“Has your mother any relatives or friends in England?”

“With the exception of one or two distant cousins, no, she hasn’t.”

“Well, if she wants to come to England for a holiday, she could come and stay here with me. I would love to have her. Do you think she would come?”

She smiled across the table at Simon, and Angela was mildly surprised at the way her mother had taken to him. She didn’t as a rule, open her heart quite so quickly, still less, her home.

Simon’s face lit up in pleased surprise. “Why, Mrs. Lindsay, how extremely kind of you. I’m sure my mother will be delighted.”

“Good. Then I will write and invite her. You’ll leave me her address before you go, won’t you?”

When the meal was finished, Helen ushered her guests back into the sitting room for coffee. Roger offered, though rather reluctantly, Angela thought, to carry the tray in and went into the kitchen with Helen.

“That was very good indeed of your mother,” Simon said as they settled themselves before the fire.

Angela smiled. “It’s an extremely good idea, and I shall look forward to seeing your mother again.”

They fell silent. Simon gazed into the fire, an odd sort of tired look on his face. Angela saw it, but felt too emotionally weary herself to try to interpret his expression or to assess her own state of mind. Both were glad when Roger breezed in with the coffee, Helen following close behind.

“And when are you due back on duty, Simon?” Helen asked as she handed around the coffee.

“In the morning,” he answered.

Helen looked at him covertly. “It’s astonishing how quickly holidays fade, isn’t it?”

Simon gave her a swift glance. “Some holidays do, Mrs. Lindsay.”

There was a sudden, sharp silence. Then Roger asked, “When are you on duty, Angela?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

“You’re sleeping here tonight, aren’t you, darling?” her mother asked.

“Yes.”

“You look very tired, my dear. In fact, you both do, you and Simon. I think I must be very firm and send you all off to your various roosts immediately after coffee. That goes for you too, Roger,” she added as she saw the look of disappointment on his face.
“
Yes, I know you were hoping to drive Angela back to Lockerfield with you, but she has had enough traveling for one day.”

Angela felt grateful to her mother. She wanted to be alone, away from Simon’s set face and Roger’s loving attentions. Above all, she wanted to get back into uniform and normal living as soon as possible. Perhaps when the emotions and excitement of the past two weeks had faded, she would be able to look back on her stay in Paris with real pleasure. She felt too exhausted to want to think of it at all at the moment.

Simon must have been feeling much the same, she conjectured, for almost as soon as he had finished his coffee, he got up to take his leave.

To her surprise, her mother said, “Now please feel free to come here at any time, Simon. I shall always be happy to see you. And of course, you must definitely come when your mother is here, that is, if she comes.”

Simon assured her that Suzette would, and thanked Helen for her invitation. Then he said good night to Angela. A fleeting smile touched his lips as he gave her a questioning look. But it was Dr. LeFeure who said, “Well, tomorrow will see us back in harness.”

“Yes.”

Helen saw him to the door and stood on the doorstep as he started his car.

Roger gathered Angela to him. “Darling, it’s wonderful to have you back. If only you knew how I’ve missed you.”

Too tired and spiritless to protest, she submitted to his kisses, knowing that her mother would be returning in a moment.

“Now then, Roger,” Helen said briskly when she returned. “Off you go now, there’s a good fellow. Angela is exhausted.”

Roger laughed good humoredly. “All right, I can take a hint. I’ll give you a call about 11 tomorrow night, Angela. You’ll be through the rounds and such by then, won’t you?”

She nodded and accompanied him to the door.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Good night, darling. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Roger.”

When she went back into the sitting room her mother looked at her closely.

“What happened in Paris, darling?” she asked quietly. Angela turned a startled glance on her mother.

“Happened? What do you mean, Mother? I had a lovely time.” She outlined the holiday briefly. “Of course, I didn’t see Simon every evening. He wanted to make some inquiries about his father. It was a very full two weeks. I shall probably be telling you little bits of it for a long time.”

“I hope you will, dear. Now, I can see you’re tired, so off you go to bed and I’ll bring you a drink.”

Thankfully, Angela went, feeling rather like a child who has eaten too much and had too much fun at a party. Now, the party was over and all that was left was a vague, indefinable ache.

And after she had gone, Helen Lindsay sat for a long time gazing into the fire. Then she got out her writing case and wrote a letter to Suzette LeFeure.

“Well, Sister, did you have a good holiday?” Matron asked as Angela, once more in uniform, stood before her desk ready to take the report.

“Yes, thank you, Matron.”

Matron looked at her shrewdly. “I understand you went alone. Weren’t you lonely?”

“No, not at all.”

“Hm. You’re about as communicative as Dr. LeFeure. We don’t even know where he went. In fact, his holiday doesn’t seem to have done him much good. He was almost rude this morning when I asked him about it.”

Angela felt her heart begin to beat uncomfortably and was glad when she saw Matron shrug her shoulders, dismissing the subject, and drop her eyes to the report book.

“Well, I
e
xpect you’ll soon get to know the new patients, Sister. There are quite a few new children, but there’s nothing seriously wrong with them. Most of them are from the Royal and are convalescent. I’ve asked the day sisters to leave the new case sheets out for you. Oh, and by the way, I’ve been busy on the change list while you’ve been away. There’s a rough draft in my drawer if you want to look at it. I shall want your report on your present staff.” She rose. “Well, good night, Sister. Dr. LeFeure will be on the night round and I wish you luck.”

Angela smiled. She had ceased to be shocked or surprised at Matron’s lack of professional ethics.

“Good night, Matron. I only hope he gives me time to do a proper round. It will take me a little longer tonight.”

When Matron had gone, Angela read the report and made a few notes, then started off on her round. It was a full, but enjoyable one. The nurses seemed pleased to see her back and all asked interested questions about her holiday. So also did those of the patients whom she knew. Mrs. Taylor, the heart case, had gone home and John Baslow, the case of osteomyelitis who had been discovered to have diabetes, was up and about, helping the night nurse give out drinks.

“Well, John, how goes it?” she asked. “I see you’re rid of the splint.”

He grinned. “Yes, rather. That’s cleared up now. And thanks to you, I don’t need insulin for the diabetes. That is, if I stick to my diet, which I shall do. I’m going home day after tomorrow. I’m glad I’ve seen you before I go.”

“It’s been a long time, John.”

“Yes, I know. But you can’t hurry these things if you want a decent future.”

“Very sensible. I wish all patients thought like that. And what about your job? Do you have one to go back to?”

He shook his head. “But I’m young, Sister. I shall soon get going again. Actually, I had just passed my A.E. Mech. I exam when this trouble started. And I’ve managed to save a little money, strangely enough. It’s astonishing how you can save when attending school almost every night.”

“No girlfriend?”

His eyes wrinkled into a new smile. “Oh, yes, rather. We had a night out about once a week. She was going to night school too, that is, in the winter. She’s interested in languages—works in a travel agency.”

“Well, good luck to you both, John, and I’m very glad you’ve done so well.”

The two operation cases of that morning were fairly comfortable and it looked like a quiet night ahead, but one never knew. When she reached her office again, Simon was sitting in the small armchair in the corner smoking his pipe. He smiled and half rose as she entered.

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Doctor,” she said. “But of course, being away, it took me longer than usual to do the round.”

He waved her apology aside. “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ve not been waiting long. I’ve read the report. There’s nothing particularly exciting is there?”

“No, not really.” She stood by the desk, uncertain.

“Do sit down ... Angela,” he said quietly.

She avoided his gaze, feeling somehow unnatural and awkward in his presence after those last few days in Paris. When she spoke, her voice sounded cool and distant.

“It feels very good indeed, Doctor, and there are some aspects of Paris I would very much rather forget.”

As the last words came out, she was surprised herself. It was as if they had sprung unbidden from some hidden recess in her brain. The muscles around Simon’s mouth hardened and the hand holding the pipe stiffened, showing white at the knuckles.

Then the telephone shrilled and when she lifted the receiver, Roger’s voice reached even Simon’s ears quite distinctly over the wire. He turned and strode out of the office leaving his tea untouched.

“Are you there, Angela?” came Roger’s voice.

“Yes, yes, I’m here.”

“Oh, you were so quiet, I thought you’d gone somewhere,” he laughed.

“Actually, Dr. LeFeure was still here. You’re a little early aren’t you?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s 11 and you’re usually finished by now. Anyway, surely Simon doesn’t mind my phoning now that you’re friends?”

“But we’re not.”

“Why is that. Have you had an argument or something?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just
that ...
well, we’re back on duty now, that’s all.”

“Oh, well, I must say your profession is beyond me. Even you’re beyond me at times, darling. But when am I going to see you, that’s the main thing.”

“Not tomorrow, Roger. I hardly ever feel up to going out after my first night on duty.”

He did not reply immediately, then she heard voices and he muttered, “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Debbie and Milly have just come in. I’
ll
give you a call tomorrow, darling. Same time. Bye—”

She was going to ask him to wait until she phoned him, but hearing Debbie’s affected voice, she changed her mind and just bade him good night.

When Angela went off duty the next morning, she decided to give Roger a call from the public telephone in the residence, choosing a time when everybody was on duty and the place virtually deserted.

Roger was surprised. “Hello, darling. Is there anything wrong? I was going to call you tonight.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong, and I expected you would call tonight, but I didn’t want you to phone while Simon was in the office. Not that you would do it deliberately, of course,” she said hastily, feeling that she was making heavy weather of it. “But I didn’t want to take the risk.”

“I don’t understand. Does it mean you don’t want me to phone you at nights at all now?”

“No, of course it doesn’t. But I don’t want Simon—and I must start calling him Dr. LeFeure again—to think I’m presuming on our rather forced friendship in Paris.”

“Darling,” Roger said in a puzzled voice. “Surely he hasn’t been making things ... well, awkward for you since you came back? It all seems to me like a lot of fuss about nothing.”

“Roger, you don’t understand,” she said desperately. “It’s a matter of professional etiquette, that’s all.”

Roger laughed briefly. “Well, all I can say is, I hope I never do understand it.” He paused. “When is your night off?”

“Next Monday, and Tuesday, of course.”

“Oh, what a pity you haven’t one this week. I have two complimentary tickets for the ballet. It’s on this week at the Empire.”

“Sorry, Roger. This week is hopeless for me. Why not take Milly?”

“Um, I don’t know. I wanted to take you. When can you come to the apartment? It seems ages since I saw you properly. Couldn’t you come to tea, if you go to bed right now? In fact, if you give me a call when you wake up, by the time you’re ready, I can be around to pick you up.”

“That’s good of you, Roger. Thank you. I’ll do that.”

She had a bath and got into bed, putting out a notice to be called at four-thirty. Having had no sleep the previous day, she fell asleep immediately and did not open her eyes again until the maid brought her a tray of tea—a privilege accorded to her as night sister, which she so appreciated. She took a few sips to waken her, then phoned Roger as promised.

She was walking down the drive toward the gate where Roger had arranged to wait when she caught up with Sister Hughes. “Good afternoon, Sister. Is it your day off?”

Sister Hughes gave her a brief, cool glance before muttering, “Afternoon.”

Her lips barely moved, and Angela looked at her in surprise. She knew Grace Hughes had no great liking for her, but her attitude at the moment amounted almost to a snub.

Angela had been about to offer her a lift into town in Roger’s car, but Sister Hughes quickened her pace as if to shake her off. They were nearing the gate, so Angela let the thought pass. Roger was waiting and the unfriendliness of the older woman was forgotten in the midst of his gay, infectious humor.

“Well?” he said as they drove along. “Has Paris finally settled your craving for excitement?”

“Who said I had any craving for excitement?” she protested laughingly. “I merely went for a holiday. In fact, I think it would be a good idea to go abroad for a holiday every year,” she finished defiantly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so,” she mimicked, adding “I need to broaden my outlook.”

Roger laughed wickedly. “You can broaden your outlook right here in Lockerfield. You need only mix with some of the gang. And there’s me—”

“Wolf! I said broaden my outlook, not my mind. In any case, there’s nothing any of your ‘gang" can teach me that I really want to know.”

“Ho, ho
—
”

“Roger, I didn’t mean—”

“Darling, I know you didn’t. They’re not a bad crowd, really. A bit unconventional, perhaps, but—”

“Debbie and Milly came around to the apartment last night, didn’t they?”

“Yes. I like Milly, but
Debbie ...
well, she was particularly catty last night.”

“What about?”

“Your trip to Paris mostly.

Angela gave him a look of inquiry, but he was staring straight ahead and made no attempt to elaborate.

“Did it upset you?” she asked.

“No, not really. But, of course, I’m madly jealous of Simon LeFeure.”

She laughed. Roger’s refreshing honesty always seemed to take the sting out of things.

“You surely aren’t serious about that?”

He looked at her. “I suppose not, really. From what you said on the phone this morning, I gather I don’t need to be any longer.”

“No, you
don’t ...
even if you ever did,” she said, a queer ache in her heart.

At the apartment, Roger showed her some new drawings—humorous ones to illustrate an unusually witty article in a magazine. Among them were some serious ones of Milly.

“Just practice,” he told her. “You know, Milly might have gone to Paris with you if you’d asked her.”

“Did she say so? I wish I’d thought of it, but it never occurred to me.”

It was not until he drew up outside the hospital gates in time for Angela to change into her uniform for duty that he said, “Simple but serious question coming up, Angela. Are you going to marry me, and if so, how soon?”

Angela caught her breath. She had not thought to have to make this decision so quickly.

Roger put his hand on hers. “You don’t have to answer this minute. I’m going away for a day or two. If you could see me next Monday evening and let me know then?” He stared ahead for a minute. “I know you’ve been undecided, but I think the time has come to know one way or the other. I’m not finding it easy, and I’d rather know the
worst ...
or, I hope, the best.”

“Of course. Roger. I understand.”

He looked at her. “Still not sure, are you?” he said wryly. “Well, I’ll call for you about one o’clock Monday. All right?”

“Yes. And thank you, Roger. You are a dear, really.”

He gave her a long, quizzical look, then gave her arm a gentle squeeze and said good night.