Bloody Awful. Georgia Evans
refusing all offers of wheelchairs or trollies, striding across the place as if he owned it, and putting her on the first free bed before drawing the curtains around her. “I’ll make sure someone sees you right away,” he said, and disappeared, with a rattle of curtain rings.
Didn’t he realize patients were seen in strict order according to the severity of their injuries? If he knew, he obviously didn’t care. Darn him! She was absolutely in no condition to get up and run after him and to top it off, the bright lights overhead let her see just how muddy and disheveled she was. He hadn’t even stopped to take her shoes off before covering her with a blanket. Yes, the warmth was welcome but honestly!
“Let’s have a look at her,” a voice said as the curtains were pulled back. “You have a seat over there, sir. We’ll let you know how she is in a jiffy.” A doctor she didn’t recognize crossed to her bed. “What happened to you, then?”
“I fell off my bicycle in the blackout.” She’d leave off the little detail about Andrew cutting too close. “I landed in a ditch. Luckily Mr. Barron found me and brought me in. I think my ankle’s broken.”
He was about to make some comment about patient diagnoses—she could sense that from the look on his face—when he noticed her crumpled and muddy uniform. “District nurse?”
“Yes. I’m Gloria Prewitt from over in Brytewood. I was on my way home from making a visit when this happened.”
“Let’s have a look at the damage.” Didn’t take much more than a look, and a few winces on her part, as he took off her shoe, for him to concur. “We’ll have you off to X-ray and get it set for you. You won’t be riding that bicycle for a few weeks, nurse.”
They had wheeled her down the hall, Andrew, ignoring the orderly’s disapproving glare, following close behind, when the first ambulances arrived.
Gloria understood. A mere broken ankle ranked a long, long way behind air raid casualties. Andrew wasn’t too impressed at her being shunted into a corner. She calmed him down by telling him she was better off forgotten. If someone remembered her, they might take the bed from under her. Her ankle was beginning to ache and she was only too glad to have it propped up and supported.
Andrew chafed at the delay. “Surely I can get someone to take you up to X-ray. For two pins, I’d wheel you up there myself.”
“They will. Once things calm down.” Assuming there wasn’t another raid. “Andrew, would you be really kind and see if you can scrounge a cup of tea?”
He nipped off and returned bearing a tray, two brimming enamel mugs of tea, two bowls of soup and slabs of bread and dripping. “I told the woman in the canteen I was on my way to take my girlfriend out to dinner when she fell and broke her ankle. She took pity on us.”
“So I see.” Gloria wasn’t too sure about the “girlfriend” bit but…“Thanks.” She took a long swig of tea before balancing the bowl of soup on her lap. “I’m famished and if the casualties are bad, we could wait all night.” The soup was cooled and too salty but full of onions and potatoes and even chunks of meat. It would keep her going, but surely he needed more than bread and soup for dinner. “Mr. Barron, do you want to go on home?”
“And leave you here? Good lord, no!”
“We could be hanging about all night.”
“Won’t bother me.” He gave her a grin. “Of course, I’d much rather you called me Andrew. After all we are sharing a bed.”
She almost spluttered her soup over the aforementioned bed. It was on the tip of her tongue to make some sharp comment until she met his eyes. Seemed after all, she was very glad he was keeping her company sitting on the end of her bed. They could be here ages and waiting with him was better than being alone. Far, far better.
Andrew wasn’t too sure what to make of it all. The second his cheeky comment was out of his mouth, he regretted it. Until she smiled. A lovely, wonderful accepting invitation of a smile.
Yes, dammit, he was very happy to be sitting on her bed. Even if it was only a sterile, iron hospital bedstead. What sort of bed did she sleep on at home? A romantic four-poster with curtains? Unlikely in her little cottage. A lush divan with silken cushions? Perhaps a classic mahogany one, with a high curved head.
“Soup’s not bad is it?”
“Eh?” Fast switch called for here. She wanted to discuss vegetable soup and he’d much rather picture her in a bed with silken hangings and linen sheets. Or no hangings at all. No sheets even. Dammit, dispense with the bed. “Yes, pretty good.”
“Yes, thanks for getting it. I enjoy a good bowl of soup.”
Self-possessed, confident Nurse Prewitt was fumbling for conversation. Could be the shock and pain but maybe she was feeling what he was. “It’s good but the company makes it smashing.” She blushed. Not much of a blush, just a little pink across her cheeks, but he found it totally wonderful.
He was nuts: he’d half-killed her and now he was making passes.
“Mr. Barron. Andrew,” she said, her voice severe but a little smile quirking her mouth. “You’re flirting.”
“Would you rather talk about hospital soup?”
She chuckled. A deep, sexy earthy chuckle as her green eyes glinted. “We could talk about bread and dripping.” She barely finished the sentence before she laughed again.
“I can think of far more fascinating subjects.”
“Really? What would they be?”
“You.”
“Me? That would be a pretty short conversation.”
“But an interesting one.”
She looked downright wary. “Hardly. I’m the district nurse and I ride around on my bicycle checking for head lice.”
“There’s a lot more to you than that, Nurse Prewitt, and we both know it.” For a minute, she looked scared. Was he being too forward? Maybe. There was an artificial intimacy about sitting on a bed. Better back up a bit. “Where did you train?”
“Westminster.”
“And you didn’t want to stay there?”
“Lord no! I hated London. Too many buildings and hard streets under your feet. Brytewood suits me so much better.” Her eyes lit up as she smiled. “Besides, I grew up not far from here. Near Reigate. I like this part of the country.”
“Your parents are still there?”
She put her spoon down and shook her head. “No. They’re both dead.” It was said in a way that didn’t invite further questions. “I like the air here. And the open countryside.”
“I like it too.” Particularly when she was around. “Never thought I’d end up here, but that’s the way it is. Hasn’t exactly been peaceful though.”
“We’re not exactly in the middle of a peace.”
As if to underscore her words, a voice called. “Excuse me, excuse me. We need to get through.” Andrew pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged as a team of orderlies rushed past, pushing two trollies with injured occupants, covered with bloodstained blankets.
“Poor devils,” Andrew said. “Did you see one was just a child?”
She nodded. “Makes me think I should be out there helping, not lolling about.”
“Since, my dear Nurse Prewitt, you can’t even stand, you can hardly be ministering to the wounded.”
“Doesn’t stop me wanting to.”
It wouldn’t. He half expected her to hobble off and start helping out. They could certainly use her. Amid the noise and clamor no one could miss the urgency and barely controlled panic. A stark awareness of the uncertainty of life nowadays that had him blurting