Judith

Judith
Betty Neels

Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.Didn’t he trust her to care for his mother properly? After the hurly-burly of the big London hospital where she had been working, Judith found it a very pleasant change to be offered a private job looking after a charming patient, Lady Cresswell, in the Lake District.Her patient gave her no trouble at all – which was more than could be said for her patient’s son, the disagreeable Professor Charles Cresswell. He seemed to have taken a dislike to Judith on sight – a dislike which, it must be confessed, Judith returned with interest. And now he was turning up to spoil their pleasant holiday in Portugal as well!

“You wouldn’t like to live here?”

Just for a moment she forgot that she didn’t like him overmuch. “Oh, but I would.” Then continued sharply, “Why do you ask?”

She was annoyed when he didn’t answer. Instead he observed in a silky voice that annoyed her very much, “You would find it very tame after London.”

Judith said sharply, “No, I wouldn’t. And now if you’ll let go of my arm, I should like to go.” She added stiffly, “I shan’t see you again, Professor Cresswell. I hope your book will be a success. It’s been nice meeting you.” She uttered the lie so unconvincingly that he laughed out loud.

“Of course the book will be a success—my books always are. And meeting you hasn’t been nice at all, Judith Golightly.”

She patted the dogs’ heads swiftly and went down the path without another word. She would have liked to have run, but that would have looked like retreat. She wasn’t doing that, she told herself stoutly. She was getting away as quickly as possible from someone she couldn’t stand the sight of.

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. Betty’s 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. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Judith

Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

HALF PAST two o’clock in the morning was really not the time at which to receive a proposal of marriage. Judith Golightly swallowed a yawn while her already tired brain, chock-a-block with the night’s problems, struggled to formulate a suitable answer. She was going to say no, but how best to wrap it up into a little parcel of kind words? She hated hurting people’s feelings, although she was quite sure that the young man sitting in the only chair in her small office had such a highly developed sense of importance that there was little fear of her doing that. Nigel Bloom was good-looking in a selfconscious way, good at his job even though he did tend to climb on other people’s shoulders to reach the next rung up the ladder, and an entertaining companion. She had gone out with him on quite a number of occasions by now and she had to admit that, but he had no sense of humour and she had detected small meanesses beneath his apparent open-handedness; she suspected that he spent money where it was likely to bring him the best return or to impress his companions. Would he be mean with the housekeeping, she wondered, or grudge her pretty clothes?

He had singled her out for his attention very soon after he had joined the staff at Beck’s Hospital as a surgical registrar, although she hadn’t encouraged him; she was by no means desperate to get married even though she was twenty-seven; she had had her first proposal at the age of eighteen and many more besides since, but somehow none of them had been quite right. She had no idea what kind of man she wanted to marry, for she had seldom indulged in daydreaming, but of one thing she was sure—he would have to be tall; she was a big girl, splendidly built, and she had no wish to look down upon a husband, if and when she got one.

She leaned against the desk now, since there was nowhere for her to sit, and remarked with a little spurt of unusual rage, ‘Why do you sit down and leave me standing, Nigel? Do you feel so very superior to a woman?’

He gave a tolerant laugh. ‘You’re tired,’ he told her indulgently. ‘I’ve been on the go all day, you know, and you didn’t come on duty until eight o’clock last evening—and after all, you don’t have the real hard work, do you? Two night Sisters under you and I don’t know how many staff nurses and students to do the chores.’

Judith thought briefly of the hours which had passed, an entire round of the Surgical Wing—ninety beds, men, women and children—every patient visited, spoken to, listened to; the reports from each ward read and noted; at least five minutes with each nurse in charge of a ward, going over the instructions for the night, and all this interrupted several times: two admissions, one for theatre without delay, a death, anxious relatives to see and listen to over a cup of tea because that made them feel more relaxed and gave them the impression that time was of no account, a child in sudden convulsions; housemen summoned and accompanied to a variety of bedsides, phone calls from patients’ families—it had been never-ending, and there were more than five hours to go.

Her rage died as quickly as it had come; she was too weary to have much feeling about anything, and meanwhile there was Nigel, looking sure of himself and her, waiting for his answer. He must be mad, she told herself silently, asking a girl to marry him in the middle of a busy night.

She looked across at him, a beautiful girl with golden hair, sapphire blue eyes and a gentle mouth. ‘Thank you for asking me, Nigel, but I don’t love you—and I’m quite sure I never shall.’ She rushed on because he was prepared to argue about it: ‘Look, I haven’t the time…I know it’s my meal time, but I wasn’t going to stop for it anyway…’

He got up without haste. ‘The trouble with you is that you’re not prepared to delegate your authority.’

‘Who to?’ She asked sharply. ‘Sister Reed’s in theatre, Sister Miles is on nights off, there’s a staff nurse off sick and Men’s Surgical is up to its eyeballs—you’ve just been there, but perhaps you didn’t notice?’

Nigel lounged to the door. ‘Mountains out of molehills,’ he said loftily. ‘I should have thought it would have sent you over the moon—my asking you to marry me.’ He gave her one of his easy charming smiles. ‘I’ll ask you again when you’re in a better temper.’

‘I shall still say no.’

His smile deepened. ‘You only think you will. See that that man who’s just been admitted is ready for theatre by eight o’clock, will you? And keep the drip running at all costs. I’m for bed.’

Judith watched him go, but only for a moment; even though she was supposed to be free for an hour she had no time to do more than write up her books and begin on the report for the morning. She yawned again, then sat down behind the desk and picked up her pen.

A tap on the door made her give an almost inaudible sigh, but she said, ‘Come in,’ in her usual pleasant unhurried manner, already bracing herself for an urgent summons to one or other of the wards. Her bleep was off, a strict rule for her midnight break, but that had never stopped the nurses bringing urgent messages. It wasn’t an urgent message; a tray of tea and a plate of sandwiches, borne by one of the night staff nurses on her way back from her own meal. Judith put down her pen and beamed tiredly at the girl. ‘You’re an angel, Staff—I wasn’t going to stop…’

‘We guessed you wouldn’t, Sister. Sister Reed’s just back with the patient, so you can eat in peace.’

‘Bless you,’ said Judith. ‘Ask her to keep an eye on that new man’s drip, will you? I’ll be circulating in about twenty minutes.’

The second half of the night was as busy as the first had been. She went off duty at last, yawning her pretty head off, gobbling breakfast, and then, because it was good for her, going for a brisk walk through the dreary streets to the small park with its bright beds of flowers and far too cramped playing corner for the children. She had the Night Superintendent for a companion, a woman considerably older than herself and into whose shoes it was widely rumoured she would step in a few years’ time. Judith preferred not to think about that, indeed, when she had the leisure to consider her future, she found herself wondering why she didn’t accept the very next proposal of marriage and settle the matter once and for all.

Sister Dawes was speaking and Judith struggled to remember what she had said; something about measles. She turned a blank face to the lady, who laughed and said: ‘You’re half asleep, Judith. I was telling you there’s a measles epidemic on the way—a nasty one, I gather. We must keep our eyes open. I know you’re on Surgical, but even measles patients can develop an appendix or perforate an ulcer—for heaven’s sake, if you see a rash on anyone, whisk them away. You’ve had measles, of course?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ declared Judith. ‘I should think so—everyone has, and besides, I never catch things.’

She remembered that three nights later. Earlier in the evening a young boy had been admitted with a suspected appendicitis; he had been flushed, his eyes and nose were running and his voice hoarse. Judith eyed him narrowly and peered inside his reluctantly opened mouth. Koplik’s spots were there all right; she thanked heaven that he had been admitted to a corner bed and that only she and the staff nurse on duty had been anywhere near him. They moved him to a side ward, made him comfortable, and Judith left the nurse with him while she telephoned—the houseman on duty first, Sister Dawes next and finally the Admission Room. The Casualty Officer was new and it was his first post and he might be forgiven for overlooking symptoms which showed no rash at the moment, but the staff nurse should have been more alert. Judith was brief, severe and just as pleasant in her manner as she always was. She gave instructions that everything that had come in contact with the boy should be disinfected and that the nurse should change her uniform. ‘I’ll send someone down,’ she ended, ‘but don’t let her touch anything until you’ve dealt with it.’

It took a little organising to find nurses to take over while the surgical staff nurse went away to do the same thing, and then Judith herself went to change, making sure that everything went into a laundry bag with a warning note pinned to it. It took a small slice out of her night and left her, as usual, short of time.

During the next ten days there were three cases of measles—the nurse who had been on duty in the Admission Room, a ward maid and one of the porters. Another four days to go, thought Judith with relief, and they’d all be in the clear.

It was on the very last day of the incubation period that she began to feel ill; a cold, she decided, only to be expected, since although it was late spring, the weather wavered from cold and wet to fine and warm; no two days had been alike, enough to give anyone a cold. She took some aspirin and went to bed when she came off duty instead of taking her usual walk, but she didn’t sleep much. Her head ached and so did her eyes and her throat felt sore; she got up and made tea and took more aspirin. She felt better after that, and presently dressed and went down to her meal, to be greeted with several candid opinions as to her poor looks from her friends. It was the Medical Wing Night Sister, a rather prissy type Judith didn’t much like, who observed smugly: ‘You’ve got the measles.’

She was right, of course—she was one of those infuriating young women who always are. Judith was examined by the Senior Medical Consultant, who happened to be in the hospital, told to go to bed and stay there, and warned of all the complications which might take over unless she did exactly as she was told.

As she was a sensible young woman, she obeyed him to the letter, and was rewarded by an attack of severe conjunctivitis and, just as that was subsiding, broncho-pneumonia. It took a couple of weeks to get the better of these, but she was a strong girl and disinclined to lie about in bed feeling ill, and in a minimum of time she was on her feet once more, still beautiful but a little on the pale side and a good deal slimmer than she usually was. The tinted glasses she still wore lent her a mysterious air and what with her wan looks she presented a picture to wring any man’s heart. At least, Nigel seemed to think so; he had kept away from her until she was free of infection, but once she was back in the Sisters’ sitting room, waiting to see what lay in store for her, he came to see her, more tiresomely cocksure than ever, quite certain that the mere sight of him would be enough for her to agree to marry him. She still tired easily; ten minutes of his self-important prosing gave her a headache, and she said rather crossly: ‘Look, Nigel, I’m not quite myself yet, but I haven’t changed my mind. Do go away and find someone else—there must be dozens of girls longing to marry you.’

He took her seriously. ‘Oh, yes, I know that—I could have anyone of them whenever I liked, but I’ve made up my mind to marry you and I dislike being thwarted.’

‘Well, I’m thwarting you,’ she declared with something of a snap, and then: ‘Nigel, why do you ask me at such unsuitable times? The middle of a busy night—that time I was taking a patient to theatre, and now…’

He had got to his feet huffily. ‘I can see you’re determined to be irritable. I won’t bother you until you’ve recovered your temper. I’ve got tickets for that new Burt Reynolds film this evening—I shall take Sister Giles.’