‘I already have,’ he murmured.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘HAVE YOU HEARD the news?’ Daisy asked.
‘Of course I have,’ Jess replied. ‘It was on the wireless last night. The Japanese have taken Singapore.’ It was all anyone was talking about on the ward. ‘It’s terrible, isn’t it? All those poor people. I wonder what will happen to them?’
Daisy screwed up her nose. ‘Not that! They’re having a dance in the village hall. What should I wear, do you think?’
Jess smiled to herself. Only Daisy Maynard could think her social life was more important than the progress of the war.
‘Nurse! Nurse!’ They looked at one another.
‘Here she goes again,’ Jess sighs.
‘Do you want to go, or shall I?’ Daisy said.
‘It’s my turn, I think.’
Mrs Flynn was sitting up in bed, propped against her pillows, with one of her favourite romance novels in her hand. She went through them voraciously. Her sister came to visit her twice a week, bringing yet more from the library.
‘When’s the doctor coming, Nurse?’ she asked.
‘Dr French isn’t due to do his rounds until half-past ten, Mrs Flynn.’ Jess fussed over her pillow. ‘Why? Are you in any pain?’
‘I might be … Yes, I think I’ve got a pain here.’ She passed her hand over her flannel nightgown in the vague direction of her belly.
‘I see. Perhaps you just need a hot water bottle?’
‘No, I think I need to see the doctor,’ Mrs Flynn declared firmly. ‘Maybe you should get Sister to telephone him?’ she said.
No sooner had she said it than the doors flew open and Dr Drake came flying through, white coat flapping, his long nose buried in his notes as usual.
‘Well, that’s a bit of luck, isn’t it?’ Jess smiled. ‘He must be here to check on another patient. I’ll fetch him for you …’
‘No, don’t.’
Jess frowned at her. ‘But I thought you were in pain?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to see that one. I want to see the other one. The nice one. The one who looks like Errol Flynn.’
Mrs Flynn spoke so loudly it would have been impossible for Dr Drake not to hear as he walked towards her. But he gave nothing away as he crossed the ward to talk to Sister Allen.
Poor Dr Drake, Jess thought.
‘So will you ask Sister to telephone Dr French?’ Mrs Flynn looked at her hopefully.
Jess tightened her lips before she burst out with something she’d regret. ‘Let me fetch you that hot water bottle, and then we’ll see how you are,’ she muttered.
She went to the preparation room, where Daisy was putting together an ice cradle.
‘Honestly, that woman is the giddy limit!’ Jess fumed.
‘Oh, dear, what’s she done now?’
Daisy giggled when she heard the story. ‘Well, you can’t blame her, can you? I must say, I’d rather have Dr French fussing over me than Dr Drake!’
‘Dr Drake is a good doctor,’ Jess insisted.
‘Yes, but he isn’t nearly as charming as Dr French, is he?’
Jess thought about New Year’s Eve, when Dr French had refused to attend poor little Pamela Jarvis. She had no doubt the child would have died if it hadn’t been for Dr Drake’s skill. She knew who she would rather have treating her, and it wasn’t suave Martin French.
‘Charm isn’t everything,’ she said. ‘Besides, there’s nothing wrong with Mrs Flynn. I’m sure she wouldn’t have her mysterious pain if she didn’t eat toffees all day long!’ She was fuming as she set about making the hot water bottle. ‘I wouldn’t blame Dr Drake if he prescribed her a strong aperient. That would teach her a lesson!’
Daisy sent her a knowing look. ‘If you ask me, I think you’ve got a soft spot for our Dr Drake.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Jess dismissed this. ‘I just feel sorry for him, that’s all. Everyone prefers Dr French, and he doesn’t deserve it.’
‘Dr Drake shouldn’t be so stand-offish then, should he?’
‘He’s just shy, that’s all.’
Daisy laughed. ‘I was right! You do have a soft spot for him. I’ll have to write to Sam, tell him to watch out. While the cat’s away …’
‘Stop it,’ Jess snapped. ‘I’m not interested in him like that. But I reckon people would like him just as much as Dr French if they gave him a chance.’
‘You should invite him to the dance then, if you feel like that?’
Jess knew Daisy meant it as a joke, but she said, ‘Why not?’
Daisy laughed nervously. ‘You’re not serious? We wouldn’t want a stuffed shirt like him hanging around. Besides, he’ll only say no.’
‘How do you know, if no one ever asks him?’
Daisy stared at her open-mouthed. ‘Go on, then, ask him,’ she said. ‘I dare you!’
‘All right, I will,’ Jess replied. ‘If he’s still there when I’ve finished making this hot water bottle, then yes, I will ask him.’
Of course, she didn’t really think he would be. So she was horrified when she returned to the ward with Mrs Flynn’s hot water bottle, only to find Dr Drake filling in a patient’s notes.
‘Go on, then,’ Daisy hissed behind her. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Jess thrust the hot water bottle into her hands. ‘Here, take this to Mrs Flynn,’ she said.
Dr Drake didn’t look up from the notes he was scribbling as Jess tiptoed towards him.
‘Yes, Nurse?’ he enquired, head still bent.
Jess shot a quick look at Daisy. She must have told Mrs Flynn what was about to happen because they were both watching keenly. ‘I – um—’
‘Spit it out. What is it?’ He finally looked up, his pale grey eyes fixed on hers. They were the colour of ice, thought Jess.
She took a deep breath. ‘There’s a dance at the village hall on Friday,’ she said. ‘I wondered if you’d like to come?’
The pale eyes narrowed to silver slits. ‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’ he said coldly.
‘No! Honestly, I thought you might like to come.’
‘I suppose your friends put you up to this again?’ he interrupted her, looking around. His gaze fell on Daisy and Mrs Flynn, giggling together. ‘Ah, yes, just as I thought. Well, I’m sorry, Nurse, but I’m far too busy for your pranks.’
‘But it wasn’t a prank,’ Jess tried to say. He was already striding off. He walked so quickly that he tripped over his own shoelaces. Jess winced as Daisy shrieked with laughter.
‘Oh, Jago, now do you see what a hopeless cause he is?’ she said pityingly. ‘Give up on him, for goodness’ sake!’
Jess stared at the double doors. Daisy was right, of course. It was none of her business. She didn’t even know why she’d taken it upon herself to try to help him, when he clearly didn’t want it.
Poor Dr Drake. It might be better if she stayed out of his life, thought Jess. Every time she tried to bring him out of his shell, she only seemed to drive him further back into it.
Grace sat at the kitchen table, watching Max through the window. He was in the back yard, chopping firewood.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He had stripped down to his vest, and the muscles flexed under his golden skin as he swung the axe, bringing it down on the block with easy strength. Sweat had darkened his blond hair, plastering damp strands to his face.
He looked up and caught her staring. Grace glanced away sharply, back to the hearts she was cutting from newspaper.
What was the matter with her? Ever since Max’s birthday, she had suddenly become very conscious of him. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t even be in the same room as him without blushing like a schoolgirl.
She had never been so disturbed by a man’s presence as she was by his. Her awareness of him crept under her skin.
He finished chopping the logs and carried them in armfuls to the woodshed. She heard him come into the kitchen but kept her head down, snipping away at the ne
wspaper feverishly as he closed the back door.
‘I’ve put the logs away,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s no problem.’ He paused. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Making paper hearts. Mrs Huntley-Osborne wants them strung around the village hall for the dance, as it’s Valentine’s Day.’
She allowed herself to glance at him, and immediately felt her stomach tighten as she saw him shrugging on his shirt.
‘Are you going to the dance?’ he asked.
‘I’ll say.’ Grace laughed a little too loudly. ‘I’m helping to serve the refreshments.’
He didn’t say anything. He was standing close to her, just behind her shoulder. If she breathed in, she could smell the musky male scent of him. She held herself tense as he picked up one of the paper hearts, turning it round and round between his fingers. The air between them seemed to swell, the pressure building.
He cleared his throat. ‘Grace …’
‘I suppose you’ll be going to the dance with Daisy?’ she broke in desperately. She had the horrible feeling that if she allowed him to speak, something would happen from which there would be no going back.
The door opened and Daisy walked in. Grace almost cried with relief.
‘Max? What are you doing here?’
‘He came to chop some wood for us,’ Grace said. ‘Wasn’t that kind of him?’
The door hadn’t been closed and a sudden gust of wind blew in, picking up the paper hearts in a little whirlwind.
‘Daisy! Shut the door.’
‘Sorry.’ Her sister closed it as Grace scrabbled round on the hearth, gathering up the fluttering hearts. One drifted down like a snowflake and landed on the fire. Grace watched it curl up and blacken, consumed by the flames.
A heart, shrivelled to nothing. She knew how it felt.
Chapter Thirty-Four
JESS PRACTICALLY HAD to drag Effie to the dance. She trailed behind her and Daisy into the village hall with a face like a wet weekend.
‘I wish we hadn’t bothered to bring her!’ Daisy complained. ‘No one’s going to ask us to dance with her hanging around. That face is enough to put anyone off!’
‘Leave her be, she can’t help it. You’d be just the same if your boyfriend jilted you.’ Poor Effie, she’d been so down in the dumps after all that business with Kit.
In Jess’s opinion, she was well rid of the selfish swine. But Effie was pining for him.
Harry came towards them, looking very smart in his Royal Canadian Air Force dress uniform. ‘Hello, ladies,’ he greeted them smoothly. ‘You’re all looking very beautiful tonight, I must say.’
‘Where’s Max?’ Daisy asked.
‘He’s around somewhere … Oh, there he is. Over at the refreshments table.’
Jess peered through the crowd. ‘Is that your sister with him, Maynard?’
‘Yes, poor thing. Mrs Huntley-Osborne has got her running around as usual. I suppose I’d better rescue Max before Mrs H tries to take him over, too!’
As Daisy slipped through the crowd, Mrs Huntley-Osborne herself appeared, resplendent in a gold brocade get-up.
‘So that’s the famous Mrs Huntley-Osborne, is it?’ Harry remarked as she swanned past. ‘She doesn’t look much like a dragon to me.’
‘You wait until she starts breathing fire in your direction!’ Jess said.
‘I’m not sticking around for that.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘C’mon, let’s dance.’
He started to pull her towards the dance floor, but Jess held back. ‘I’m not really one for dancing. Why don’t you dance with Effie instead?’ She glanced at her friend, standing sullenly by. But Effie shook her head.
‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m not dancing either.’
‘Come on.’ Harry tugged at Jess’s hand. ‘Live a little. Life’s too short not to have fun.’
Harry was a very good dancer, and he whisked her around the dance floor to the fast music. Jess was glad he’d persuaded her to dance as he swung her round, lifting her until she was breathless with laughter.
Then the music slowed down and he pulled her closer, his arms circling her.
‘I bet you wish you were with Sam right now, don’t you?’ he whispered.
Jess pulled away from him, staring blankly at his face. ‘What? Why do you say that?’
‘Relax, honey, I didn’t mean anything by it.’ He grinned. ‘I just meant, I bet you’d rather be dancing with your boyfriend right now than with me?’
Jess blinked back the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes. ‘Yes, I do,’ she whispered. ‘More than you could imagine.’
‘I wish you were my Hannah, too.’ He pulled her closer, his hands around her waist. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we both close our eyes and pretend, just for a minute?’
‘I’d like that.’
So Jess closed her eyes and suddenly she was in Sam’s arms, swaying to the music and feeling the heat of his body pressed against her. And for a moment, everything was all right with the world.
Effie watched the dancers whirling around the floor and wished she could be one of them. She had told Jess she wasn’t going to dance, but now she was here she realised how much she missed being spun around to a lively tune. And the band was playing all her favourites tonight, much to her annoyance.
Jess had insisted that coming to the dance would cheer her up. But Effie felt even more miserable if that was possible, surrounded by so many happy couples dancing and falling in love around her.
Kit was always such a good dancer, she thought with a longing sigh. So quick and graceful, all the girls wanted to be his partner.
She looked around the crowded village hall. She had half hoped he might be here, but there was no sign of him. Not that she really knew what she would do or say if she saw him.
And in a way, perhaps it was better that he wasn’t there. Effie wasn’t sure she would be able to face seeing him spinning another girl around the dance floor the way he used to do with her.
‘Look at you, all on your own in the corner like a wallflower!’
She turned around slowly. Just as she’d thought the evening couldn’t get any worse, there was Connor Cleary.
At least he was looking smart for once. He’d swapped his old work boots and trousers worn with braces for a suit, and his dark curls had been cropped.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Same as you, I imagine. Except by the looks of you, I reckon I’m having a better time doing it. Slainte.’ He raised his glass to her in mocking salute.
Effie glared at him. They had been avoiding each other for the past couple of weeks, which suited her very well. Mrs Flynn and the other women on Allen Ward might miss his constant presence, but Effie didn’t.
‘Where’s your man this evening?’ he asked, looking around.
So news of Kit jilting her hadn’t reached him yet, she thought. That was something, at least. Listening to Connor teasing her about Kit would have been like a great big handful of salt rubbed into her wounded heart.
‘He’ll be here later,’ she lied, not meeting Connor’s eye.
‘Liar. He’s not coming, is he? You’re here all on your own.’
‘As a matter of fact, I’m here with my friends …’ She looked around for them. Jess was still on the dance floor, and Daisy had disappeared with Max. ‘Anyway, you’re on your own too,’ she accused.
‘What do you mean? My dance card happens to be full for the whole evening, I’ll have you know. But,’ he leaned in confidingly, ‘I could make room for you, since I feel so sorry for you.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Effie snapped. ‘It’ll be a bad day indeed when I’m reduced to dancing with you, Connor Cleary!’
‘Suit yourself.’ He shrugged. ‘Go on standing there like a wallflower.’
‘Stop calling me that. I’m not a wallflower!’
Connor made a big show of looking around him. ‘Well, I don’t see many fellas queuing up to have a dance with you.’ He gri
nned. ‘Just like being in Kilkenny again, isn’t it? Do you remember how none of the lads would dance with you because you were too tall for most of them?’
‘How could I forget?’ He had never missed a chance to tease Effie about it.
‘I was the only one who could make you look dainty.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Come on, let’s take a turn around the floor for old time’s sake, what do you say?’
She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand reluctantly. ‘But you’d better not dance an Irish country jig and embarrass me,’ she warned as she followed him.
‘Oh, I think I can do better than that.’
He was a surprisingly good dancer. Not as good as Kit, but better than Effie remembered.
‘Where did you learn to dance?’ she asked, as Connor swung her round and dipped her low to the ground.
He gave her an enigmatic look. ‘Oh, I’m full of surprises.’
‘You’re better than you were in Kilkenny,’ she said.
‘So are you.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Even for a big spindly wallflower?’
‘Can I tell you a secret? I was actually glad you were so tall, because it meant I was the only one who could dance with you.’
Effie glared at him, bracing herself for the inevitable punchline. Any second now he would laugh in her face, tell her he was joking, make an eejit out of her again. But for once the look in his blue eyes was deadly serious.
Before Effie could take in that revelation, there was a tap on her shoulder and a familiar voice drawled, ‘Excuse me, do you mind if I cut in?’
She looked over her shoulder, following Connor’s stony gaze to where Kit was standing.
‘Kit!’ He looked so handsome, Effie could feel herself melt at the sight of him.
‘Hello, darling.’ He gave her a lazy smile, then turned to Connor. ‘Do you mind, old chap?’
She felt Connor’s grip tighten around her for a moment as he and Kit eyeballed each other. Then he released her abruptly.
There was so much Effie wanted to say, so much she knew she should say. She should muster her pride, turn her back on Kit. But she couldn’t help herself. She abandoned Connor and slipped straight back where she wanted to be, in Kit’s arms.
Nightingales Under the Mistletoe Page 23
