The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,143

you and that other young nurse here to hold the fort by yourselves? Shame. That’s not right, is it?’

‘It’s the way of the world for us students, unfortunately.’ Millie worked as quickly as she could, applying the dressing pad and pinning the bandages in place. ‘There, that’s done. How does it feel?’

‘It feels fine, Nurse. You’ve done a good job there.’ As he smiled up at her, Millie tried to drag her gaze away from the faint silvery line running the length of his cheek. ‘And you can be sure I’ll be having words with that sister of yours about leaving you here on your own,’ he said, as Millie pushed back the curtains.

Five minutes later Dora followed her into the sluice room. ‘Shall I take those dressings down to the stoke hole for you?’ she offered.

She really was in a good mood, Millie decided. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged her down to the basement otherwise.

While Dora was gone, Millie went into the kitchen to prepare the drinks. The box of matches was damp, and she was struggling to light one when a voice behind her said, ‘Allow me.’

She turned around. William took a box of matches out of his pocket, struck one and lit the gas.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘I’ve brought you a present.’ He handed her a cake, delicately iced in pink. ‘I thought if you couldn’t go to the party, then the party should come to you.’

‘We’re not allowed to eat on the ward, remember?’ Millie turned away from him to fill the kettle under the tap. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you give it to your girlfriend Hollins?’

She hadn’t spoken to William properly since the night of Sophia’s wedding, when she’d seen him kissing Amy Hollins. But it was common knowledge that they were stepping out together now. Amy hadn’t stopped bragging about it in the nurses’ home.

He gave her a maddening smile. ‘It’s not serious between us.’

That’s not what she thinks, Millie thought. ‘It’s of no consequence to me, I’m sure.’

She put the kettle on to boil and set about preparing the drinks, aware all the time of him watching her. Finally, she could stand it no longer.

‘Was there something else you wanted?’ she asked rudely.

He shrugged. ‘Not really.’

‘Then why are you still hanging around?’

‘Because I can’t stay away from you.’

She swung around to face him, ready to give him an angry mouthful. But he wasn’t smiling or flirting any more. His dark eyes were desolate.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I know it’s wrong of me, and unfair on you and Amy, but I can’t help it. I just can’t seem to stop thinking about you.’

‘William—’ She took a step towards him but he backed away.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to be honourable and do the right thing, but if you come any nearer I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself kissing you.’

‘Who says I’d want you to stop?’

She took another step towards him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, just as Dora appeared in the kitchen doorway.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said. ‘But have you seen Mr Abbott?’

Lucy Lane sat in the hospital dining room in her pretty new dress, eating her lunch as fast as she could and trying not to cry. This should have been the best day of her life, and it was turning out to be one of the worst.

Her award lay on the table beside her, a shiny plaque bearing the Nightingale crest, and underneath it her name and the words 1935 Best First Year Student engraved in curly copperplate.

It had been such a proud moment for her. She had thought of little else for days, imagining the applause ringing in her ears as she stepped forward, as graceful as a debutante, to collect her award from Mr Enright, the Chairman of the Trustees. She thought about how she would turn to face the onlookers and pick out her mother and father, sitting in the front row, watching her with pride. She would meet her father’s eye, and he would smile and nod approvingly.

Except it hadn’t happened like that. Her father had cancelled at the last minute, saying he had to fly to Paris for an important business meeting.

‘I’m sure there will be other prize givings, darling,’ he’d said, his rich, deep voice echoing down the telephone line. ‘And I’ll bring you something special home to make up for it. A gift from Cartier, perhaps?’

Lucy tried to sound enthusiastic, but she found it hard to speak