âIf I were James, I should come after you and marry you out of hand, Miss Pennyfeather.â
âWhy? And why do you call me Miss Pennyfeather?â Julia said, still absorbing what Ivo had just said.
âYou donât like it? But I always think of you as the magnificent Miss Pennyfeather. You are, you know, and youâre not only quite beautiful youâreâalive.â
He stopped the car in front of the house, turned toward her, slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her hard.
When she had her breath again, she said with a kind of stunned politeness, âThank you for a very nice evening, Ivo.â
His face was only an inch or two from her own and he was smiling a little. âI havenât enjoyed myself so much for a long time,â he said softly.
He got out, walked around the car and opened the door for her. She went inside the house without saying anything more, only a quiet good-night as she went up the stairs.
VIEWED FROM the comparative comfort of the ambulanceâs interior, the M1 looked uninviting. Miss Julia Pennyfeather, too occupied with her patient to have bothered overmuch with the passing scenery, now realised that the motorway was becoming more and more shrouded in fog, which, coupled with the fast darkening sky of a December afternoon, boded ill for their chances of reaching their destination as early as they had hoped. She pulled her cloak closely around her, cast a quick look at her dozing patient and peered out once more. There seemed to be a lot of traffic surging past, at great speed and in a confusion of lights, a sight which made her thankful that she wasnât called upon to drive the ambulance. She frowned in thought, then, moving cautiously, opened the little glass window behind the driving seat and said softly to the man sitting beside the driver, âWillyâthe fog, itâs getting worse, isnât it?â
The man the back of whose neck she had addressed turned a cheerful face to answer her. âProper thick, Nurse, but itâs not all that far. Weâre coming up to Newcastle now; itâs about sixty miles to the Border and another twelve to the crossroads where we turn offâand the house is another ten miles or so.â
âItâs nearly four oâclock,â said Julia. âWe shanât get there much before nineâ¦â
âJust in nice time for a bit oâ supper, Nurse, before we âands over the patient and goes to our warm beds.â
They were off the motorway now and almost clear of Newcastle; two hoursâ steady driving would bring them to the Border, and once they were in Scotland⦠She broke off her speculations as the girl on the stretcher asked, âWhere are we, Nurse?â
Julia told her, adding in a determinedly cheerful voice, âWe shanât be long nowâthree hours at the most, perhaps less. I expect youâd like a drink, wouldnât you?â She unscrewed a vacuum flask and poured the milkless tea into a mug. âAs soon as we arrive, you shall have your insulin and your supperâIâm sure theyâll have it ready for you, for your nurse will have arrived some time this afternoon.â
âI hope I like her.â
Julia glanced at her patient. âIâm sure you will,â she replied in a soothing voice, and privately hoped that she was right. Miss Mary MacGall hadnât been the easiest of patientsâeighteen years old, pretty and spoilt and a diabetic who somehow never managed to achieve stabilisation, she had been a handful the Private Wing of St Clareâs Hospital had been glad to see go. In the two short weeks she had been there, having an acute appendix removed, and then, unfortunately, peritonitis, which naturally played havoc with the diabetes, she had been rude to the Matron, flirted outrageously with the young housemen, and exasperated the consultant staff; only with Julia was she amenable, and that was something neither Julia nor her fellow workers could fathom, unless it was that Juliaâs dark and striking beauty was such a magnificent foil to her own blonde prettiness. And Julia didnât fuss, but treated her with the pleasant calm that a well-trained nanny might have shown to a recalcitrant child. Not that Julia looked in the least like a nannyâindeed, just the opposite, with her almost black hair and great brown eyes with their preposterously long lashes. Her mouth was a little large perhaps, but beautifully shaped and her nose was straight, with the merest hint of a tilt at its tip. She was well above average height, nicely rounded and refreshingly and completely natural. She was just twenty-two and had achieved State Registration only a few months previously. And only the day before she had left the hospital where she had spent several happy, busy years, not because she had particularly wanted to, but to look after her sister-in-law who had just had a second child and was suffering from depression. It had been, therefore, a happy chance that Mary MacGall should have demanded to be sent home by ambulance, and also demanded, at the same time, that Julia should go with her on the journey. Julia was due to leave anyway, and it would give her a couple of daysâ respite before she went home.