The Moon for Lavinia

The Moon for Lavinia
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.An offer she couldn’t refuse…A nursing job in Holland was the only way Lavinia Hawkins could ensure a home and security for herself and her young sister Peta. Yet within weeks of arriving she was married to the devastating Professor Radmer ter Bavinck!Radmer had assured Lavinia that the marriage would be on a friendly basis only – he needed a kind stepmother for his daughter and a competent housekeeper to run his home. It seemed to be the ideal arrangement – for everyone except Lavinia!

“It’s like a dream,” she told him, “and everything has happened so quickly, it doesn’t seem real.”

He touched her cheek with a gentle finger. “It’s real, my dear.”

He spoke so softly that she exclaimed, “Oh, Radmer, are you sorry that…? Do you want to change your mind…? It would be all right, truly it would. I can’t think why you chose me in the first place.”

He took her hands in his, there in the empty corridor outside her room. “Don’t be a goose! I’m not sorry and I don’t want to change my mind, although, like you, I’m not quite sure why I chose you.”

He bent to kiss her and wished her good night and she slipped into her room…. It was silly to cry about nothing, and that was what she was doing. She told herself that over and over again before she at last fell asleep.

About the Author

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.

The Moon for Lavinia

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS QUIET now that the day’s lists were over; the operating theatre, gleaming with near-sterile cleanliness and no longer lighted by its great shadowless lamp, looked a very different place from the hive of ordered activity it had been since early morning, for now the surgeons and anaesthetists had gone, as well as Theatre Sister and most of her staff; indeed, the department held but one occupant, a nurse sitting on a stool in front of one of the trolleys, sorting instruments with swift precision.

She was a small, neat person, a little plump, and with a face which was neither plain nor pretty, although when she laughed her hazel eyes widened and twinkled and her too large mouth curved charmingly. It was a pity that she laughed all too seldom, and now, deep in thought as she worked, she looked rather on the plain side and sad with it. She finished her task, tidied everything away neatly and began a final inspection of the theatre before she went off duty. It was a Sunday evening, and for some reason one staff nurse was considered sufficient to be on duty after six o’clock; presumably on the principle that it being a Sunday, people would be less prone to require emergency surgery, and for once this had been proved right; the evening hours, spent in doing the necessary chores had been too quiet, so that Lavinia Hawkins had had time to think, which was a pity, for she had nothing pleasant to think about.

She went along to take off her gown, threw it into the laundry bin, and then sat down again, this time on the only chair the changing room possessed. The June sun, still warm and bright, streamed in through the window, and she could hear, very faintly, the subdued hum of the London evening traffic, most of it returning from an outing to the sea. It would have been a perfect day for them, thought Lavinia without envy, although she wasn’t very happy herself; it was a good thing that she was going to Aunt Gwyneth’s in two days’ time and would have the chance to talk to Peta, her young sister—perhaps they would be able to plan something. Quite forgetful of the time, she took Peta’s letter from her pocket and read it once more.

Peta was dreadfully unhappy; when their mother had died, more than a year ago now, and Aunt Gwyneth had offered her a home, Lavinia had been grateful for her help. There was no money, the annuity her mother had lived upon died with her; her father had died a number of years earlier, and although she herself had been self-supporting and had even been able to help out with Peta’s school fees, her sister’s education had been at a stage when to make changes in it would have been nothing short of criminal. For one thing, Peta was clever and working for her O levels, and for another, Lavinia was only too well aware that a sound education for her sister was essential if she was to be self-supporting too, so that when her mother died Lavinia accepted her aunt’s offer with an eager gratitude which she had since come to regret.

It hadn’t worked out at all. Aunt Gwyneth was a widow and comfortably off, living in a large house on the outskirts of Cuckfield which was run by a highly efficient housekeeper, leaving her free to indulge her passion for bridge and committee meetings. Lavinia had honestly thought that she would be glad to have Peta to live with her; she had no children of her own and Peta was a darling, pretty and sweet-tempered and anxious to please. It was after she had been at Cuckfield for several months that Lavinia began to sense that something was wrong, but it had taken her a long time to persuade Peta to tell her what was amiss and when, at last, she had got her to talk about it it was to discover that it wasn’t just the natural unhappiness she felt at the loss of her mother—life wasn’t fun, she confided to Lavinia; her aunt had discovered that having a teenager in the house had its drawbacks. True, Peta was at school all day, but at the week-ends and during the holidays she was made to feel a nuisance, and whenever she suggested that she might spend a few days with Lavinia, there were always good reasons why she shouldn’t…

Lavinia, her arm round her sister’s slim shoulders, had frowned. ‘Darling, you should have told me,’ she had said. ‘I could have spoken to Aunt Gwyneth,’ but even as she uttered the words she had known that it wasn’t going to be as easy as all that. Peta was due to take her O levels in a week or two’s time, and the plan had been for her to stay on at school and try for her A levels in a couple of years. Even if Lavinia had had a flat of her own, which she hadn’t, it would still be difficult, for there would still be the question of where Peta should go to school and how would she ever afford the fees? ‘Look,’ she had advised, ‘could you hang on for another year or two, love—just until you’ve got those A levels? I’m to have Sister Drew’s job when she retires, and that’s less than a year now; I’ll save every penny I can and find a flat.’

And Peta had agreed. That had been barely a week ago, and now here was her letter, begging Lavinia to take her away from Aunt Gwyneth, promising incoherently to stay until the exam results were out, if only she would take her away… Lavinia folded the letter up once more and put it in her pocket. She had a headache from worrying about what was to be done, for whatever it was, it would have to be done quickly, and at the moment she had no ideas at all. She went down to supper, turning over in her mind a variety of ideas, none of which, unfortunately, stood up to close scrutiny.

Most of her friends were already in the canteen, queueing for baked beans on toast and cups of tea. They shared a table, making the beans last as long as possible while they discussed the day’s work. It was as they lingered over the last dregs of their tea that Shirley Thompson from Women’s Surgical declared herself to be completely fed up with that ward, its Sister, the patients, and indeed the whole hospital. ‘I’m sick of Jerrold’s,’ she declared. ‘I’m going to look for another job. I’ve got the Nursing Mirror in my room, let’s go and make a pot of tea and find me a new job.’

No one quite believed her; for one thing, she was going steady with one of the house surgeons; and for another, she made this same announcement every few months, but it was too soon for bed and there wasn’t much else to do; they trooped from the canteen and across to the Nurses’ Home, where they crowded into the Sisters’ lift, strictly forbidden, but no one was likely to see them on a Sunday evening, anyway, and besides, everyone did it and hoped not to be caught, and once on the top floor they disposed themselves around Shirley’s room, ready to drink more tea and give her their not very serious advice.

They were debating, in a lighthearted manner, the advantages of nursing an octogenarian recovering from a fractured femur in Belgravia, as opposed to a post as school nurse in a boarding establishment in Cumberland, when the Nursing Mirror came into Lavinia’s hands. She glanced through it idly and turning a page had her eye instantly caught by a large advertisement headed simply ‘Amsterdam’. She read it carelessly, and then, struck by a blindingly super idea, very carefully.

Registered nurses wanted, said the advertisement, with theatre experience and at a salary which was quite fabulous. Knowledge of Dutch was unnecessary; lessons could be arranged, and provided the applicant proved suitable and wished to remain for a period of not less than six months, outside accommodation would be found for her. Lavinia, never very good at her sums, got out her pen and did some basic arithmetic on the underside of her uniform skirt. Supposing, just supposing that the job was all it said it was, if she could get somewhere to live, Peta could live with her, for they could manage on that salary if they were careful. Of course, the plan was completely crazy; Peta’s education would come to a halt, but then, Lavinia feared, it would do that if Peta stayed at Cuckfield; her sister’s vehemence was clear enough in her letter, it would be awful if she were to run away… Lavinia shuddered just thinking about it—and wouldn’t it be better to have her sister under her eye and once she had settled down, devise some plan whereby she might finish her education? She calculated quickly; Peta was only a week or two under sixteen when she could leave school quite legitimately, so there would be no trouble there, and although she knew nothing about education in Holland there would surely be some way of completing her studies.

When the gathering broke up, she begged the journal from Shirley and before she went to bed that night, applied for the job.

She went down to Cuckfield two days later and found Peta alone in the house, waiting for her, and when she saw her sister’s face any doubts which she had been secretly harbouring about a plan which common sense told her was a little short of hare-brained were put at rest. Peta was dreadfully unhappy and Lavinia, ten years her senior, felt a motherly urge to set things right as quickly as possible.

Aunt Gwyneth was out and would be back for lunch, and, the housekeeper told Lavinia, Mrs Turner was looking forward to a nice chat before her niece went back that evening.

Lavinia sighed. The nice chats were really nothing but questions and answers—her aunt asked the questions; rather rude ones usually, and she answered them with a polite vagueness which invariably annoyed her elderly relation, for her aunt, while professing a fondness for Peta, had never liked her. Even as a small girl she had refused to be browbeaten by her father’s elder sister and her hectoring manner had left her quite unimpressed; it had never worried her father either, who had brushed it aside like a troublesome swarm of flies, but her mother, a gentle creature like Peta, had often wilted under her sister-in-law’s tongue. Lavinia, made of sterner stuff, had refused to be intimidated, and Aunt Gwyneth, annoyed at this, took her petty revenge by never inviting her to stay at her home, either for her holidays or her free days. She was too clever to do this openly, of course, but somehow, when holidays came round, the bedrooms were being decorated, or her aunt was going away herself or felt too poorly to have visitors, and as for her days off, invariably at teatime Lavinia would be asked which train she intended to catch and some reference would be made as to her eagerness to get back to Jerrold’s, in order, presumably, to plunge into a hectic round of gaiety with every doctor in the place.

This veiled assumption of her popularity with the men was something which amused Lavinia very much; her aunt knew well enough that she had no men friends; she got on very well with the doctors and students she worked with, but none of them had shown her any decided preference and she doubted if they ever would; she had no looks to speak of and a quiet manner which, while encouraging young men to confide in her, did nothing to catch their fancy.

They were sitting together in the sitting room having their morning coffee when Peta burst out: ‘Lavinia, I can’t stay here—I simply can’t! Aunt Gwyneth keeps telling me how good she’s been to me—and you, though I can’t think how—she makes me feel like a—a pauper. I know we haven’t any money, but she is our aunt and our only relation, and do you know what she said? That in a year or two, when I’ve finished school and am earning my living, you’ll have to leave your job in hospital and be her companion, because she’ll need someone by then and it’s only natural that you should be the one because she’s given me a home.’ She added unhappily: ‘Lavinia, what are we going to do?’

Lavinia refilled their coffee cups. ‘I’ll tell you, darling.’

She outlined her plan simply, making light of its obvious drawbacks, glad that Peta hadn’t spotted them in her excitement. ‘So you see, Peta, everything will be super, only you must promise to stay here and take your O levels and say nothing about our plan to anyone. I haven’t heard from these people yet, but I think I’ve got a good chance of getting a job. I’ll have to give a month’s notice at Jerrold’s—give me a couple of weeks to find my way about, and I’ll come for you. Could you stick it for just a little longer?’

Peta nodded. ‘Darling Lavinia, of course I can. You’re sure we can live on what you’ll earn in Amsterdam? I could get a job…’

‘Yes, love, I know, but I think we’ll be able to manage. I’d rather you went on with your studies—perhaps if you could learn Dutch, enough to help you get a job later on? UNO and all that,’ she added vaguely, and looked at the clock. ‘Aunt Gwyneth will be here very soon, let’s talk about something else so that we’re just as usual when she comes. Tell me about school.’

Their aunt found them poring over school books, arguing cheerfully about applied physics although Lavinia knew almost nothing about the subject. She got up to greet her aunt and received a chilly peck on her cheek while the lady studied her. ‘You must be twenty-six,’ she observed. ‘Such a pity you have no looks, Lavinia. How fortunate that you took up nursing as a career, although waiting until you were twenty-two seems to me to have been a needless waste of time—you could have been a ward Sister by now.’

Lavinia thought of several answers to this unfortunate remark, but none of them were very polite; they went in to lunch in a little flurry of polite and meaningless remarks.

Lunch was excellent; Aunt Gwyneth enjoyed her comforts and made sure that she had them, although she pointed out during dessert that her nieces were lucky girls indeed to enjoy the benefits of her generosity. Lavinia, still peevish about her aunt’s remark about her lack of looks, felt an urge to throw her trifle across the table at her. No wonder poor little Peta was fed up; anything would be better than putting up with the succession of snide remarks which tripped off her relation’s tongue. For once she answered with relief when she was asked at what time she was returning to hospital.

‘I daresay you have plans for the evening,’ said Aunt Gwyneth, ‘and I’m not so selfish as to delay you in any way. After tea, you say? That is admirable, for I have a small bridge party this evening, and Peta has a great deal of studying to do in preparation for her exams.’ Her two listeners expected her to add a rider to the effect that if it hadn’t been for her, there would have been no possibility of exams, but she contented herself with a smug smile.

So Lavinia went back after tea, not liking to leave Peta, but seeing no alternative, but at least she was heartened to see how much more cheerful her sister was. They parted under their aunt’s eye, so that all Lavinia could say was: ‘See you next week, Peta—if I may come down, Aunt?’ she added politely, and received a gracious nod of assent.

There was a letter for her on Monday morning, asking her to go for an interview, either that afternoon or on the following morning, and as luck would have it she had been given a split duty because Sister wanted the evening, and the morning’s list was too heavy for them both to be off duty at the same time. She changed into a plain coffee-coloured linen dress, coiled her long hair with care, made up her face, and caught a bus; only as she was going through the open door of the hotel where the interviews were to be held did she pause to think what she was doing, and by then it was too late. There were a dozen or more girls waiting, some of them younger than she, and most of them prettier; there was a possibility of her not getting a job after all; she hadn’t expected quite so many applicants.