The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,119

containing the needle. Dr McKay picked it up, his eyes fixed on the narrow point as he gently thumbed the plunger. ‘Now, this may sting a bit . . .’

Dora gritted her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on the wall as the needle went in.

‘There, all done.’ Dr McKay put the needle back on the tray. ‘You were very brave, Miss Doyle.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’

As Dora reached the door, he suddenly said, ‘She will turn up, you know.’

She turned back to look at him. ‘Your sister,’ he said. ‘She’ll come home as soon as she gets hungry. I dare say it’s just a silly prank.’

He smiled encouragingly, and Dora smiled back. ‘Yes, I expect you’re right. Thank you, Doctor.’

But even as she said it, she knew she didn’t mean it. There had been nothing high-spirited about the look on Josie’s face earlier that day.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

MILLIE SAT DOWN on the pavement, took off her shoes and massaged her stockinged toes. Standing for hours for a glimpse of the royal procession had been almost as hard on her feet as a twelve-hour shift on the ward.

But she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. It felt as if the whole of London had gathered to celebrate the King’s Jubilee. Crowds lined the streets between Buckingham Palace and St Paul’s Cathedral, old and young, families with their children perched on their shoulders to see the glittering ranks of guards on horseback and the carriages containing the Royal Family. The King was decked out in all his military finery, while Queen Mary looked as regal as ever in a plumed hat, her shoulders shrouded in pale fur. Their sons followed behind in another open carriage together with their wives, all waving as they drove past.

Millie and her friends had managed to find themselves a good spot on the stands close to Admiralty Arch, where they could watch the whole event.

‘Isn’t the Prince of Wales handsome?’ Georgina Farsley sighed, as the carriage rattled past. ‘But he looks so lonely, doesn’t he? His brothers have their wives, and he has no one.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ grinned Sophia’s fiancé David. ‘He’s certainly not short of female company from what I hear.’

‘Mrs Simpson sees to that,’ Seb added.

Millie had heard her father discussing Wallis Simpson with her grandmother. The future king’s romance with ‘that wretched American’, as the Dowager Countess called her, was the talk of high society. Everyone had hoped that she might prove to be nothing more than a distraction, like Thelma Furness and Mrs Dudley Ward, and that the Prince would eventually grow weary of her. But a year on, her hold only seemed to grow stronger.

‘I can’t see the attraction myself,’ Seb said. ‘She always looks rather cruel to me.’

‘And we all know you prefer blondes!’ Sophia joked. Seb blushed. Georgina tossed her raven locks and looked furious.

‘Daddy says if he doesn’t come to his senses soon it might affect the succession,’ Millie observed.

‘I don’t see why,’ Georgina huffed. ‘He should be allowed to marry whoever he likes.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Sophia explained patiently. ‘Our King can’t marry a divorcee.’

‘Then the rules should be changed,’ Georgina said firmly.

‘If she really loved him, she’d give him up and allow him to do his duty to his country,’ Millie said.

Georgina glared at her. ‘Wallis Simpson is an acquaintance of my mother’s,’ she said. ‘And believe me, she isn’t ready to give up anyone.’

Millie caught Sophia’s eye as Georgina turned her adoring gaze towards Seb. Poor Seb. Georgina Farsley was just as determined to get her man as Mrs Simpson.

Millie looked around, enjoying the spectacle of the crowds below them, and caught a glimpse of a familiar face across the road. Lucy Lane sat perched high in the stands opposite, beside a very stylish-looking woman in a fitted blue coat – her mother, Millie guessed. Their miserable faces were a stark contrast to all the cheering and waving going on around them.

Millie was waving her handkerchief and trying to catch her eye when Sophia grabbed her arm. ‘Everyone’s following the procession to the palace,’ he said. ‘Let’s go up The Mall and watch the King come out on to the balcony.’

Afterwards they joined hundreds of other revellers in St James’s Park. It seemed as if no one wanted the party to end. All over the park, people were having picnics, playing games or just lazing on the grass together.

‘Look at you,’ David laughed, as Sophia carefully unpacked the wicker picnic basket. ‘How domesticated you look. You’ll make