The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,173

want you to finish your training first,’ he added. ‘Because I reckon you’re a wonderful nurse, Helen, and you deserve to do it.’

There was a long silence. Someone sighed on the other side of the cafe. Out of the corner of her eye, Helen could see Antonio wiping away a tear with his grubby apron.

She and Charlie both turned to look at her mother. Mrs Tremayne sat ramrod-straight. Helen saw the icy look in her eyes and realised with a feeling of creeping dread that she was going to put Charlie firmly in his place.

‘We’ve heard a great deal about what you want, young man,’ she said in a clipped voice. ‘Have you considered asking my daughter what she might want?’ She turned to Helen. ‘What do you have to say about this?’

Helen looked from Charlie’s beseeching face to her mother’s stony expression. She could feel him silently urging her on, willing her to speak her mind.

She swallowed the dry lump of fear that clogged her throat. ‘I don’t want to go to Scotland,’ she managed finally. ‘I want to stay at the Nightingale and finish my training.’

She steeled herself to look at her mother, waiting for the thunderclap of rage to crash over her head. Constance’s face remained impassive.

‘Very well,’ she said.

Helen and Charlie looked at each other. ‘Do you really mean it?’ Helen whispered. She was sure it couldn’t be that easy.

‘Of course. Surely you didn’t think I was going to frog march you off to Aberdeen without your agreement, did you?’ Constance looked incredulous. ‘If you would rather stay at the Nightingale, then I will speak to Matron and arrange it. I’m sure she will have something to say about the matter, but no doubt we will come to some sort of understanding.’ Her lips thinned. ‘But I expect you to work very hard during your final year. And if I hear anything to suggest otherwise,’ she sent Charlie a stern look, ‘I will be forced to reconsider.’

‘Yes, Mother.’ Helen could feel happiness bubbling up inside her. She wanted to hug her, but didn’t think Constance would welcome such a public display.

Or perhaps she would. Five minutes ago she would have been certain that her mother was going to send Charlie packing and probably banish Helen to a convent for even daring to think about elopement. But here she was, calmly accepting it all.

Helen reached for Charlie’s hand under the table and held on to it tightly. She couldn’t imagine what might have brought about her mother’s change of heart, but she was grateful for it. The waitress brought over their tray, and set down the tea in front of them. Constance put her hand against the side of the pot, testing it.

‘You haven’t warmed this pot, have you?’ she snapped. ‘I told you, I can always tell. Take it away at once.’

Helen smiled to herself. It was good to see her mother hadn’t changed completely.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

‘THE DRINKS ARE on me!’

Alf Doyle looked around the public bar of the Rose & Crown, feeling like the Pearly King of Bethnal Green. He’d had a big win on the horses, he had money in his pocket and everyone in the pub was his friend.

‘You’re a lucky man, all right Alf,’ Len Pike raised his pint to him. ‘First the gee-gees and then that lovely missus to go home to. I’m telling you, if I had a smashing looking woman like that waiting for me at home, I wouldn’t be wasting my time drinking beer with us ugly mugs!’ He grimaced. ‘As it goes, I have to get sozzled before I can go home and face my old woman!’

Alf laughed, but he wasn’t thinking about Rose. Granted, she was still a nice looking woman, and she looked after him a treat. But she had turned forty, there was grey in her hair and she just didn’t do it for him any more.

Not like Josie . . . He smiled and wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue at the thought of her.

He downed his pint, bade goodbye to his friends and stepped out of the pub into the cool evening air. He weaved his way slowly home past the docks, nipping down the shadowy little alley the locals called Cutthroat Lane. The name didn’t bother him. He often staggered home that way, and he’d never had any trouble. He could take care of himself, anyway. He was a big bloke, and not many men were brave enough to