A Star Looks Down

“How unpleasant that sounds! You consider that I have reached an age when a suitable marriage is all that is left for me?”

“Heavens, no. I’m not sure exactly how old you are, but William said thirty-five—that’s not in the least old—just right, in fact.”

“But I do not wish to make a suitable marriage, Miss Partridge—a tepid love and a well-ordered life with ups and downs. I would wish for fun, a few healthy quarrels and a love to toss me to the skies.”

He turned to look at her, smiling, so she knew that his words weren’t meant to be taken seriously.

“Would you consider yourself to be a suitable wife for me, little Partridge?”

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of BETTY NEELS in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

IT was going to be a lovely day, but Beth Partridge, tearing round the little kitchen, hadn’t had time to do more than take a cursory look out of the window; on duty at eight o’clock meant leaving the flat at seven-thirty sharp, and that entailed getting up at half past six—and every minute of that hour filled.

She worked tidily as well as fast; the flat looked pristine as she closed its front door and tore down the three flights of stairs, ran smartly out of the entrance and round the corner to the shed where she kept her bike. A minute later she was weaving her way in and out of London’s early morning traffic, a slim figure with long legs, her titian hair, arranged in a great bun above her neck, glowing above the blue sweater and slacks. It took her exactly twenty minutes this morning; ten minutes, she thought with satisfaction, in which to change into uniform and take a quick look round the Recovery Room to make sure that everything was just as she had left it the evening before. She rounded one of the brick pillars, which marked the entrance to St Elmer’s Hospital, going much too fast and before she could stop herself, ran into a man; fortunately a large man, who withstood the shock of a bicycle wheel in his back with considerable aplomb, putting out an unhurried hand to steady her handlebars and bring her to a halt before he turned round.

She had put out a leg to steady herself, and now, the bike slightly askew, she stood astride it, returning his calm, unhurried examination of her person with what dignity she could muster. He had a nice face; a little rugged perhaps, but good-looking, although the nose was too beaky and the mouth too large, even though it looked kind. His eyes were kind too, blue and heavy-lidded under thick arched brows a shade darker than his pale hair.

‘Oh, dear!’ she was breathless. ‘I am sorry—you see I was on the late side and I didn’t expect you.’ She smiled at him, her rather plain but pleasant face suddenly pretty, her astonishing violet eyes—her one beauty—twinkling at him.

‘If it comes to that,’ said the man, ‘I wasn’t expecting you, either.’ He smiled back at her. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

She was already a few yards away when she wheeled back again. ‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘If you are, I’ll take you along to Cas. and someone will have a look at you.’

His mouth twitched. ‘My dear young lady, yours is a very small bicycle and I, if you take a good look, am a very large man—eighteen stone or so. I hardly noticed it.’

She beamed her relief. ‘Oh, good. ‘Bye.’

She was off again, pedalling furiously for a side door, and because she was going to be late, she left her bike down the covered passage which led to the engineer’s shop; she would ring them presently and ask one of them to take it round to the shed where the nurses were supposed to keep their bicycles; it wouldn’t be the first time she had done it.

She still had some way to go; through the old part of the hospital, across the narrow alley separating it from the new wing, and then up several flights of stairs; she arrived at the swing doors which led to the theatre unit only very slightly out of breath, her face, with its small high-bridged nose and wide mouth, flushed by her exertions.