He was coldhearted and arrogantâ¦and she loved him to distraction.
Sarah had been happy working at the hospitalâuntil Radolf Nauta interfered and left her jobless. Forced to find other means to support herself, she was totally unprepared when she ran into the domineering Radolf againâand he hadnât changed one bit! The only problem Sarah had? She soon realized that her heart now belonged to him, and there was nothing she could do to fight it.
She knew at once who it was, for her nose was within an inch of a vast expanse of waistcoat which could belong only to the Professor.
She said crossly, âOh, noâ¦â and then, aghast at her own rudeness, âGood afternoon, Professor Nauta.â
She detected mockery in his âGood afternoon, Miss Fletcher,â and his slow appraisal of her person. âWell, well, it would be rude to say that I scarcely recognize you, wouldnât it? Would it be appropriate for me to quote Chaucer? âAnd she was fair as is the rose in Mayâ¦ââ
Sarah eyed him with dislike. âRoses have thornsâShakespeare said thatâand good day to you, Professor. You are not only rude, you are unkind, too.â
She looked up at him with her pansy eyes and met his hard gaze unwaveringly, and then was totally disarmed by his sudden smile. It was kind and friendly and contrite.
âForgive me, Sarah. I am not sure what prompted me to speak to you like that. I wonder why, when we meet, I feel the urge to annoy you?â
âI have no idea,â said Sarah, trying to ignore the smileâ¦.
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. Bettyâs 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, and her spirit and genuine talent live on in all her stories.
CHAPTER ONE
SARAH SAT BEHIND her desk and watched the first of the patients for Professor Nautaâs clinic come in through the swing-doors. Led, as usual, by old Colonel Watkins, recovering for the third time from a stroke and eighty if he was a day. The Professorâs clinic started at half-past eight and it had become Sarahâs responsibility, although she wasnât sure how it had happened, to come on duty early in order to check his patients; the other two receptionists, married ladies with homes, husbands and children to cope with, were adamant about leaving exactly on time and not a minute later, just as they arrived exactly when they should and not a moment sooner. So that Professor Nautaâs clinic, held weekly at eight-thirty, invariably fell to the lot of Sarah, who, being single, living alone and therefore from their point of view without cares, was the obvious one of the trio to come early or stay late.
The Colonel was followed by Mrs Peach, who had been coming for years, and hard on her heels came a pair of teenagers, giving their names with a good deal of giggling, and after them a steady stream of people, most of whom Sarah knew by sight if not by name. She bade each one of them good morning, made sure that the new patients knew what was wanted of them, and ticked off her neat list. There were five minutes to go before the half-hour when the last patient arrived, and exactly on the half-hour the Professor came through the swing-doors, letting in a great deal of chilly March air. Sarah took a quick look at him and decided that he seemed no more impatient and ill-tempered than usual. He was a very big man, tall and broad-shouldered and good-looking, with fair hair already grey at the temples, a high-bridged nose and a thin mouth. His eyes were pale blue which turned to steel when he was annoyedâwhich was quite often, although it was conceded by those who worked for him at St Cyprianâs that he was invariably kindness itself to his patients, however tiresome they were.
He went past Sarahâs desk with a snappy, âGood morning, Miss Fletcher,â and a glance so brief that he couldnât have noticed if she had been wearing a blonde wig and spectacles. She would have been very surprised to know that he had taken in her appearance down to the last button as heâd gone past her. Small, a little too thin, pleasant-faced without being pretty, beautiful pansy eyes, a thin, delicate nose, a wide mouth and a crown of hair which took her some considerable time to put up each morning. He had noted her sparkling white blouse, too, and the fact that she wore nothing which jangled, only a sensible wristwatch. A sensible young woman, he reflected briefly, as neat as a new pin and not given to chat. Not all that youngâlate twenties, perhaps, although she had the freshness of a young girl. He reached his consulting-room, greeting the nurse waiting for him, and sat down at his desk, dismissing Miss Fletcher from his mind without effort, listening to Colonel Watkinsâ tetchy old voice complaining about the treatment he was having at the physiotherapy with a patience and sympathy at variance with the cool manner he demonstrated towards the hospital staff.