Bloody Good. Georgia Evans
was a good man. At least to all appearances so far. If he had harsh judgments, he kept them to himself. Maybe the tart doctor would mellow. Maybe not.
He hefted the now heavy hod with both hands. Whatever happened, he’d cope.
“The wc’s down the hall if you want to wash off the coal dust,” Howell Pendragon said as Peter put the hod down beside the boiler.
“Want me to make the boiler up first?”
“Thanks, lad.”
Boiler topped up, Peter nipped out the door. On the right was a closed door, presumably the parlor kept for high days and holidays, and on the left, under the stairs, was a small and chilly wc. But the water was warm. He washed his face and looked at himself in the narrow mirror. No smuts on his face. Hands clean.
He really should thank the old man and continue his tour of the village. He couldn’t impose on his day much longer.
Howell Pendragon had other ideas.
“Best we nip along and meet Nurse Prewitt before you go. She’ll be wanting to talk to you. You can put money on it that Helen Burrows told her you’re in the village. Now you don’t want her to feel slighted after you’ve spent half the day nattering with me.”
A bit of an exaggeration, but Sergeant Pendragon had a point. “Alright then, but I don’t want to impose.”
The old man smiled and reached for his jacket and cap.
As they walked through the village, Peter began to suspect the doctor’s grandmother and the sergeant had concocted a scheme to introduce him to half the village population. Would have been smashing if he had an earthly chance of remembering their names, but whatever the plans, he had sense enough to be grateful.
The nurse lived in a small flint cottage at the far end of the village. A well used, but very well maintained, Hercules bicycle stood propped by the back door. He’d need to get himself one Peter thought—or perhaps one came as part of the job. He was about to ask when Howell Pendragon announced, “Best we go in,” and opened the gate and made for the back door, which he opened without knocking.
“Nurse Prewitt?” he called and a young, female voice answered, “Come in. I just made some tea.”
He opened the door wide and stepped in. “Brought someone for you to meet: Peter Watson, your new assistant.”
“Wonderful! Come in.” She was medium height and slim with short red hair and dark, intelligent eyes, and she held out her hand in welcome. “I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have help. Between the evacuees and the workers up at the big hush-hush plant on the heath, we’re up to our necks.” As she smiled her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was a nice-looking woman with an open, honest face and strong, hardworking hands. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Take off your coat and sit down.” She moved aside as they both stepped into the kitchen. “Look who’s here, Alice.”
“We’ve met.”
Dr. Alice Doyle sat at the end of the table, clutching the handle of a pink-flowered china teacup. Her eyes were as blue as ever, but held not one iota of welcome.
Chapter 8
Alice couldn’t believe her eyes. He was here. Standing in the doorway of Gloria’s kitchen. His hair as dark as ever, his brown eyes clear and penetrating, and the same air of quiet confidence. He should be skulking in, tail between his legs, instead of smiling. And darn Howell Pendragon was grinning as if he’d won the pools.
“Ladies,” he said, “we just dropped in to see Nurse Prewitt and I find you both here. Couldn’t be better. Wanted to introduce you to your new assistant.” He turned and smiled at the man. “Peter Watson. First aid specialist.”
Gloria grinned. “Good heavens! I never really thought it would happen. You are real, aren’t you?” she asked, putting down the teapot on the draining board and crossing the kitchen. “We really need another pair of hands.”
“I hope I’ll be useful.”
“It used to be even busier. Quite a few evacuees went home over the summer, but I think they might trickle back now the bombing has started.” She smiled at Sergeant Pendragon. “Can you both stop for a cup of tea?”
The sergeant accepted for both of them, then turned to her. “And this,” he said, “is Dr. Doyle. You’ll be working with her most, I imagine.”
Peter Watson met her eyes and smiled. Well, almost smiled. Before he could come close enough to offer his hand, Alice said, “We’ve met.”
She should have kept quiet.
“Well I never,” the sergeant said, looking from her to Watson and back again.
“And you never told me,” Gloria said, sounding a trifle peeved. “Kept the good news to yourself, did you?”
“Mr. Watson was part of an ambulance crew when we met.”
“When?” Gloria asked.
“I was called out to Brytewood earlier in the week to pick up an injured man,” Watson said.
“Who was that?”
Gloria would not let go.
“An injured man who disappeared on us.” Having said that, she had to go on and explain the whole ridiculous incident.
“Which day was that?” the sergeant asked.
“Monday. I was on my way back from delivering Melanie’s twins.”
“Odd,” Gloria said, then turned to pick up the teapot again. “Hang your coats up and have a seat. I’ll have this ready in a jiffy.”
They peeled off their jackets and hung them on the pegs by the door. Peter Watson, either by design or chance, took the chair directly opposite Alice. Oh well, dammit, she was going to have to work with him, but she didn’t have to like him, did she? But why, oh why, did a measly conscie have to come in such an attractive package?
“When do you start?” Gloria asked.
“Monday. I was due a day off so I took a bus in to look around. Then I ran into Mrs. Burrows, who took me down and introduced me to Sergeant Pendragon. He, very kindly, brought me down here to meet you.”
“Good of him.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Doctor,” Sergeant Pendragon said. “Wasn’t it Monday night you found your dog dead?”
“Yes.” Trust Gran to tell the world. “That was strange. She’d slowed down a bit but wasn’t ill. Or so I thought. Must have been her heart gave out. I’ll miss her. Daddy gave her to me.” She shook her head to chase away the thought. “Mustn’t get maudlin. She was good dog and had a darn good innings and heck, I can’t get upset over a dog when people are dying.”
“Doesn’t stop you missing her, though, does it?” Watson asked.
Darn, how dare he be so understanding? “No. When I went downstairs this morning, I found myself listening for the sound of her claws on the kitchen floor.” Why the blazes was she agreeing with him? Accepting his sympathy? Yes, he was right on the nail but…
“Here you are.” Gloria handed around cups. “Sorry I don’t have any biscuits to offer. I meant to get down to Worleigh’s but things got so busy.”
“Don’t worry about it, dear. Besides, if you had, odds are he’d have not had any. Not this late in the week.”
Sergeant Pendragon left unsaid that Samuel Whorleigh had plenty of everything, off the ration and under the counter.
“Never mind, Gloria. As long as we have a nice cup of tea.” Heaven help her, she was sounding like Gran but, as Alice sipped the still-too-hot drink, she decided it was pretty much the truth. Of course while the caffeine perked you up, the