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She had yet to meet the man who was her destiny, she felt. But he could be waiting around the very next corner ...

A woman's light, carrying voice and a man's deep
drawl in response shattered the serenity of the afternoon. Gillian glanced towards the pub as Mark Barlow emerged into the sunshine, drinks in hand, following a girl who made her way towards some chairs set in the shade.

He must have removed that ovarian cyst in record time, Gillian thought, surprised to see him. But a glance at her watch showed that it was almost an hour since she had left Greenvale and his fast car could cover the short distance to the pub in moments.

It was time for her to go back to work but she was reluctant to abandon the quiet garden and the lovely day. No doubt he was free for the rest of the afternoon. Free to dance attendance on the girl in the floral silk dress who looked as though male admiration and attention were nothing new to her.

She was very lovely, Gillian admitted fairly. Jet black curls, expertly cut, made her own ash-blonde fairness seem insipid. Limpid brown eyes smiled on Mark Barlow with encouraging warmth. She had a classic beauty in face and figure, and a golden tan that she could not have acquired in England during an uncertain summer.

The surgeon was very attentive. Gillian was intrigued. For his brusque manner and arrogant attitude had made her wonder if he liked women at all. He obviously liked this one. Observing them, Gillian discovered that he had a smile that was particularly warm and attractive when he was setting out to charm rather than to alienate.

The girl was very confident. Her manner was proprietorial, just a little autocratic. Gillian was amused. It was unexpected that a man like Mark Barlow should so tamely come to heel for any woman, even such a beautiful one.

Louise Penistone.

The name leaped at her out of the blue. She couldn't possibly overhear their conversation from the far end of the garden. Yet she seemed to know the girl's name. She wrinkled her forehead, puzzled.

Mrs Maddox, she recalled suddenly. Talking about the surgeon and Hugh Penistone's daughter. She knew that Hugh Penistone was the businessman who had founded Greenvale—very wealthy, very successful. If that lovely girl really was his daughter then obviously she would know Mark Barlow just as well as her manner seemed to imply.

Was
he ambitious?
Did
he plan to marry the boss's daughter, in a manner of speaking? With or without love? She wouldn't put it past him, Gillian thought dryly. He had struck her as being particularly coldblooded for all the sensuality of those striking good looks. She had felt that he was ruthless without knowing anything at all about him. He would certainly have an eye to the main chance, she decided with a flicker of contempt.

He didn't see her as she crossed the garden on her way to her parked Mini. He only had eyes for the lovely, laughing girl at his side. Gillian was relieved. She might have to work with him but she didn't want even the smallest of social contacts with the man.

Gillian
dismissed Mark Barlow and his girlfriend as she drove back to Greenvale. She was very tempted to park her Mini in its former place but it would be a hollow victory if he had no intention of returning to the clinic that afternoon.

Mrs Maddox had been returned to her own room. She was sleepy and confused after a morphine injection to relieve post-operative discomfort and unaware that the operation was over. She thought that she was still in the ante-room.

Gillian's afternoon was spent in routine observations of the patient's condition, regular checks of the saline drip and drainage tubes and in ensuring that Mrs Maddox was comfortable. Because of her heart condition, she was wired up to a monitor and the 'bleep' of the machine provided a steady and reassuring accompaniment to her work.

Another nurse arrived punctually to take over when Gillian was due to go off duty. Making a mental vow not to be late the next morning, come what may, she took off cap and apron in the locker room and admitted to feeling tired. She looked at herself in the wall mirror and saw that she was pale and that there were faint smudges of weariness beneath her eyes. She thought with longing of a hot bath, a lazy evening and an early night. It was her first day of nursing since she had been ill, she reminded herself. And she had spent a few hectic days moving into the flat and getting acquainted with her new surroundings.

She was unlocking the Mini when she heard her name, confidently called. She turned to see the auburn-haired anaesthetist approaching, very sure that she would be pleased to see him. Dressed in casual clothes, his hair rumpled where he had pulled an Aran sweater over his head, there was a warm smile in his blue eyes. He was attractive, reassuring.

Gillian smiled at him, wondering why she didn't resent that assured approach. Perhaps because it was accompanied by a genuine friendliness and a pleasing warmth of personality, she decided.

'Just going home?' he asked in his easy way.

She nodded. 'End of first day,' she said lightly.

'How did it go?'

'Very well, actually. Better than I really expected. Everyone is
so ...
relaxed.'

His eyes twinkled. 'You're used to working under pressure, Gillian. Don't be misled by our easy-going attitude. We're a highly efficient team and we can match Kit's or any other general hospital for results any day of the week.'

'I don't doubt
it .. .'

'Yes, you do. But I'll let you off as you're a very new girl. And a pretty one,' he added, his smile deepening.

Gillian dropped a mock curtsey. 'Thank you, sir, you're very kind.' She opened the car door and leaned over to put her bag on the passenger seat, a gentle hint that she didn't have the time or the inclination to stand about in the car park making idle conversation, no matter how nice or how friendly he seemed. 'I suppose you're on your way home, too,' she added in a further hint.

'This
is
home, love.' He took in the entire Greenvale complex with an expansive wave of his hand. 'I'm a resident anaesthetist and that means just what it says. I've a couple of rooms in the staff annexe. Theoretically I'm on call twenty-four hours a day. In actual fact, there are two of us and we cover for each other. We don't have too many emergencies and the job doesn't interfere too much with my golf—or my love life.' He smiled at her suddenly. 'Jeff is covering for me this evening. Why don't we have that drink?'

She hesitated. 'Could we make it another time?'

'Sure—whenever you like.' He spoke lightly but there was the hint of disappointment, the beginning of reserve.

'It isn't a brush-off,' Gillian told him with her usual frankness. 'It's just that I'm dead on my feet.'

He looked down at her steadily. She had the almost translucent skin of the true blonde but he observed the pallor of weariness. The sparkle that he had so admired in the vivid blue eyes had faded. She was a slight girl, neat-waisted and slim-hipped with small, tilting breasts. The pale green of the Greenvale uniform suited her ash-blonde colouring and its expert tailoring emphasised the attractive lines of her slender figure. She was a pretty girl. She was a nice girl, too. Steve knew that he liked her and wanted to know her better! He hoped that they were going to be friends. He felt a slightly protective concern for the girl with the sweet face and fragile appearance and the apparent lack of stamina that was so surprising for a Kit's nurse.

'Too much excitement for one day,' he said easily. 'Coming to Greenvale, meeting me ...' His eyes twinkled. 'I prescribe a quiet evening with your feet up in front of the telly and a meal on a tray. How about a Chinese? There's a very good take-away in Market Street. I'll buy the food if you'll supply the plates. I am house-trained, by the way—and I come with excellent references,' he added reassuringly as Gillian sent him a swift, doubtful glance.

Gillian wasn't sure that she wanted to become so involved so soon. But he was very easy to like. She yielded, laughing. 'I suppose you know where I live?'

'Mary Kenny told me you'd taken a flat in Church Row,' he agreed simply.

'Number eighteen, ground floor.' Gillian got into the car, switched on the ignition. 'Seven o'clock suit?'

'Fine...'Steve looked after the little car, smiling.

Gillian drove through the narrow streets that were congested with the evening traffic and thought about the good-looking Steve Palmer and his eager interest. She wondered if it had been wise to be so encouraging. But a girl had to trust to her instincts and he had felt like a friend from their first moment of meeting. She needed all the friends she could find now that she was so far from Kit's and everyone she knew and loved.

Steve seemed harmless. She felt she could trust him. In any case, she was not a naive teenager without experience in handling amorous young men, she thought dryly—and she mustn't fall into the trap of supposing that every man had only one thing in mind. She knew that men regarded her as attractive, sexually desirable. Five years of warding off amorous young doctors and medical students had hammered that home. She firmly believed that any relationship depended on the girl's attitude to it. It shouldn't be necessary to go to bed with a man to hold him—and if it was, then he just wasn't worth bothering about!

If she made it quite clear at the outset that she wasn't interested in anything but friendship then she shouldn't have any problems with Steve, she decided confidently. He was very nice and probably dependable and she liked his light-hearted attitude to life. No doubt he had plenty of girlfriends, none of them very serious/Through Steve she would meet lots of other people, and wasn't that just what she needed?

It was good to turn the key in the lock and enter the welcoming flat. The sun slanted through windows that she had washed with eager enthusiasm when she moved in. Her books and records and pictures, and a few treasured pieces of porcelain turned it into home.

There were letters on the mat. One from home, one from Babsi. Gillian glanced through them and then tucked them into a drawer to savour at a more leisurely moment. Going into the bedroom, she unbuttoned the soft green frock with its darker collar and cuffs and put it away in the wardrobe. She kicked off the flat-heeled brogues that were easy on the feet but didn't do much for a girl's legs. Then she put on her dressing-gown and went to make tea while she waited for the slow-running hot tap to fill the bath.

She drank her tea and nibbled a biscuit to stave off the hunger pangs until Steve should arrive with the. promised meal. She realised that she hadn't eaten enough that day. That was a mistake. It wasn't surprising that she felt so tired—almost drained. Home Sister at Kit's had always drummed into the juniors that it was very important for a nurse to eat well and regularly. Nursing was hard work and being rushed off one's feet ensured that one didn't put on any inches for all the stodginess of the meals served in the nurses' dining-room.

Putting on weight had never been a problem for Gillian. She felt that she was inclined to be too thin. Slender, small-boned, fair-haired and fair-skinned, she realised that she looked delicate and knew that her seniors in the past had often doubted her ability to cope with the demands of nursing. But looks were deceptive in her case. While other girls had gone down with colds and 'flu and other infections, Gillian had seemed to have a natural immunity to germs. In five years she had never spent a day in sick bay. So perhaps she had been ripe for that severe^ bout of pneumonia, she thought wryly. Certainly she wasn't as strong as she had been, although she had been passed as perfectly fit to return to work. >

Fortunately, Greenvale wasn't going to be very demanding ...

Steve was on time, announcing his arrival with a rhythmic punctuation of the bell that took her to the door with a smile in her eyes.

He smiled too. She was wearing a black silk kimono decorated with vivid flowers. Her pale, pretty hair was knotted at the back of her head and secured with a spray, of artificial flowers. 'I like it,' he said warmly, in greeting.

Gillian laughed. 'I know it isn't Chinese but it's as near as I could get. It is Oriental, anyway. A friend brought it from Japan.'

'This friend has brought the food from China—or as near as I could get to it,' he told her lightly, presenting her with the cartons from the take-away restaurant.

'And some
sake.'
He produced a bottle of wine from behind his back.

Gillian looked at it doubtfully. 'That's very potent stuff, isn't it?'

'Only if you drink more than two thimblefulls, I'm told,' he said, straight-faced.

They laughed together.

'I'll see if I can find some thimbles,' she promised, heading for the kitchen.

Steve looked about him with interest. He walked across to read the titles of her books, and glance through the pile of records, to examine one or two of her ornaments.

'Nice place,' he commented as she came back into the room.

'I think so,' she agreed lightly. 'I was very lucky to find it. Did you see my garden?' she added with pride.

He walked to the window, looked out.'
"A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot
',' he quoted, amused. 'Until the grass wants cutting!'

'It does, doesn't it? There's a rusty old mower by the back door but I'm afraid it might fall to bits if I touch it.'

'I'm getting the message. Loud and clear,' he said, grinning. 'No wonder you invited me for supper.'

Eyes dancing, Gillian wrinkled her nose at him. 'You invited yourself for supper and must take the consequences!'

Steve gave a mock groan. 'Do I mow the lawn before or after we eat?'

'Oh, I couldn't impose on you like that ...' she began.

'Yes, you could,' he said glumly.

She chuckled. 'Yes, I could,' she agreed blithely. '
After
we've eaten, don't you think ... ?'

They were as easy with each other as old friends, she thought happily, liking him. Meeting someone like Steve on her very first day at Greenvale was an unexpected bonus—and it certainly made up for having to work with someone like Mark Barlow.