The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,127

her perfectly. It was made from a soft, fluid fabric that flowed sensuously over her slim body in a way she had never thought possible in the stiff cottons and sensible wools her mother always made her wear.

‘Are you sure it’s quite decent?’ she whispered, unable to take her eyes off her reflection.

‘Of course it is. My grandmother would never let me wear anything that wasn’t the height of modesty,’ Millie said primly. ‘Now take it off again and go and wash your face. Then I’ll put some lipstick and powder on for you– don’t worry, I won’t make you look like a tart!’ She laughed at Helen’s fearful expression, and clapped her hands in joy. ‘Oh, this is so exciting, isn’t it? Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!’

Chapter Forty

WHEN HELEN HURRIED outside ten minutes later, William and Charlie were leaning against the car, chatting like old friends.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ She rushed up to them, still smoothing down her dress. They both turned to look at her.

‘Oh, my.’ Her brother let out a long whistle. ‘I didn’t recognise you, Hels. My sister scrubs up rather well, wouldn’t you say, Charlie?’

Helen watched Charlie’s face anxiously. She was still worried that she was overdressed, but the admiring look in his eyes told her she’d got it just right.

‘I’ll say,’ he said. He smiled at her. He looked very attractive himself in a suit and tie, his sandy hair neatly brushed back from his broad, handsome face. Helen felt a tingle of anticipation. This was really happening. She was actually going on a proper date with Charlie Denton!

‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to it.’ They both tore their eyes away from each other to look momentarily at William. ‘Have a pleasant evening. And see you look after her, Denton, or you’ll have me to answer to.’

‘I will,’ Charlie promised.

‘And you,’ William whispered to Helen as he got into his car. ‘You see you look after him, too. You’ve got a good one there, Hels. And there aren’t too many of them around.’

He drove off, leaving them alone. Suddenly Helen felt rather awkward and self-conscious, standing there in her borrowed dress, all done up with lipstick and powder. Especially as Charlie didn’t seem able to take his eyes off her. She touched her nose, wondering if she still had a smudge of oil there.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said softly.

‘Thank you.’

‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to come. When you were late I thought you might have changed your mind.’

‘I thought you’d change your mind and decide not to wait for me,’ Helen confessed.

Charlie grinned. ‘Never! I’ve waited three months for this. So where do you want to go?’

‘Wherever you like.’ Helen shrugged happily.

‘Well, I’m not much for dancing at the moment, but we could go to the pictures, or I could treat you to tea?’ His blue eyes searched hers anxiously. For the first time it struck Helen that he was as nervous as she was.

‘It’s a lovely evening. Why don’t we just go for a walk in the park?’ she suggested. ‘If you’re up to walking, that is?’

‘I reckon the exercise would do me good. But are you sure? I know most girls would expect a fellow to spend a bit of cash on them, show them a good time. I know my Sally . . .’ He stopped. ‘Anyway, I don’t want you going back to that nurses’ home and telling them all I don’t know how to treat a girl properly,’ he mumbled, blushing.

‘I promise I won’t,’ Helen reassured him. ‘It’s far too nice to sit in a stuffy old cinema.’

He grinned. ‘The park it is, then.’ He crooked his arm. ‘You’ll have to walk this side of me, I’m afraid. I know a gentleman should walk next to the road, but I need that hand for my stick. If you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind.’ Helen put her hand under his arm and they walked slowly along the street together. He seemed to be managing very well, walking with only a slight limp.

‘How are you coping with the prosthetic?’ she asked. ‘You’re not in any pain or anything?’

He sent her a wry sideways look. ‘We’re not in hospital now, remember, Nurse Tremayne?’

‘Sorry.’ Helen smiled apologetically. ‘Old habits die hard, I suppose.’

‘Yes, well, you’re my girl now, not my nurse.’

My girl. Helen savoured the words as they crossed the road and strolled through the ornate wrought-iron park gates. It was a fine early summer’s evening, and

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