Read Online Doctor Raoul's Romance by Penelope Butler - Free Book Online
Authors: Penelope Butler
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wouldn’t call today.
He looked at them ironically. Once again Adrien felt his disapproval.
“Now why?” she asked herself, irritated. “What have I done wrong now? We’ve got on quite well this week. Surely he knows me well enough by now to realize I wouldn’t leave my patient unless I was quite sure it was safe?”
She raised her chin and went to meet him. Really, in his own way, she thought, he was almost as difficult as little Geoffrey. He greeted them curtly.
“Good evening, Nurse Grey, Mr. Renton. I have decided to start Mrs. Renton’s special treatment tomorrow. Nurse, please have everything ready. I shall be here at eleven o’clock.”
Adrien could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned restlessly, hearing the clock strike hour after hour. Clocks, rather. First the solemn grandfather that had belonged to Gillian’s family and she had brought to France with her. Then the gay, frivolous French clock on the landing, and finally, faintly, Frances’s cuckoo clock.
She could not make out at all how the children could sleep with its constant half-hourly call. She had suggested to Blanche that the clock should be removed at night, but at the suggestion Frances had protested so vehemently that no more was said.
“I expect they find it company,” said Blanche, with unexpected understanding.
Adrien turned once again from her right side to her left. The mattress felt hard, the pillow wet.
Her thoughts went around and around; really, she told herself, a trained nurse should have more control. She should not lie awake at night imagining all the things that might go wrong with her patient. She should will herself to sleep so that she might be rested and prepared for all contingencies.
She wondered if Gillian was sleeping. Ought she to have given her a sedative? She had meant to, but when she peeped in on her, last thing, her patient had been sleeping peacefully, and Adrien had decided not to disturb her.
Actually, Gillian was dreaming of her wedding day, o f the light shining through the stained-glass window over the altar, covering Nicky’s face with a fiery glow, as he made his vows. She had had all sorts of random thoughts, “This dress is too tight for me, I ought to have taken off another pound or two. Nicky is sweet. So earnest and solemn. And tonight... tomorrow ... I’m glad we waited. He’s my husband now, till death us do part.” And she had felt the coolness of the ring on her finger. And they had smiled at each other, as though they were alone in the flower - filled church.
“Till death us do part ... ”
She awoke with a start. Surely it was dawn? No, two o’clock only.
“Till death us do part ... ” And after that? Death, which had seemed so far away that wedding morning, so near now. What would happen to Nicky if she died?
There was an answer for that question ready at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it tonight. And yet
No, not tonight. She must go back to sleep again. She must be strong for tomorrow.
Her will had always been firm and it had strengthened during those long months of illness. She could make herself lie quietly with her eyes closed, but no, she could not force herself to go to sleep.
Meanwhile, Nicholas, in dressing gown and slippers, worried about disturbing his wife by pacing up and down the room next door to hers, had gone into the garden and was striding up and down the lawn. He was smoking furiously, but his pipe tasted bitter.
Adrien got out of bed at last, and went to her window. It was a beautiful moonlit night. She thought something moved on the lawn behind the trees. No, she decided, it was only a shadow.
Somewhere a nightingale was singing. Adrien had a yearning to rush out into the night, to seek adventure, something wild and gay. Or else burst into tears.
She smiled, trying to laugh at herself.
“I must be hungry; thirsty too. I wonder if I would disturb everyone if I went down to the kitchen, and got myself
He looked at them ironically. Once again Adrien felt his disapproval.
“Now why?” she asked herself, irritated. “What have I done wrong now? We’ve got on quite well this week. Surely he knows me well enough by now to realize I wouldn’t leave my patient unless I was quite sure it was safe?”
She raised her chin and went to meet him. Really, in his own way, she thought, he was almost as difficult as little Geoffrey. He greeted them curtly.
“Good evening, Nurse Grey, Mr. Renton. I have decided to start Mrs. Renton’s special treatment tomorrow. Nurse, please have everything ready. I shall be here at eleven o’clock.”
Adrien could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned restlessly, hearing the clock strike hour after hour. Clocks, rather. First the solemn grandfather that had belonged to Gillian’s family and she had brought to France with her. Then the gay, frivolous French clock on the landing, and finally, faintly, Frances’s cuckoo clock.
She could not make out at all how the children could sleep with its constant half-hourly call. She had suggested to Blanche that the clock should be removed at night, but at the suggestion Frances had protested so vehemently that no more was said.
“I expect they find it company,” said Blanche, with unexpected understanding.
Adrien turned once again from her right side to her left. The mattress felt hard, the pillow wet.
Her thoughts went around and around; really, she told herself, a trained nurse should have more control. She should not lie awake at night imagining all the things that might go wrong with her patient. She should will herself to sleep so that she might be rested and prepared for all contingencies.
She wondered if Gillian was sleeping. Ought she to have given her a sedative? She had meant to, but when she peeped in on her, last thing, her patient had been sleeping peacefully, and Adrien had decided not to disturb her.
Actually, Gillian was dreaming of her wedding day, o f the light shining through the stained-glass window over the altar, covering Nicky’s face with a fiery glow, as he made his vows. She had had all sorts of random thoughts, “This dress is too tight for me, I ought to have taken off another pound or two. Nicky is sweet. So earnest and solemn. And tonight... tomorrow ... I’m glad we waited. He’s my husband now, till death us do part.” And she had felt the coolness of the ring on her finger. And they had smiled at each other, as though they were alone in the flower - filled church.
“Till death us do part ... ”
She awoke with a start. Surely it was dawn? No, two o’clock only.
“Till death us do part ... ” And after that? Death, which had seemed so far away that wedding morning, so near now. What would happen to Nicky if she died?
There was an answer for that question ready at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it tonight. And yet
No, not tonight. She must go back to sleep again. She must be strong for tomorrow.
Her will had always been firm and it had strengthened during those long months of illness. She could make herself lie quietly with her eyes closed, but no, she could not force herself to go to sleep.
Meanwhile, Nicholas, in dressing gown and slippers, worried about disturbing his wife by pacing up and down the room next door to hers, had gone into the garden and was striding up and down the lawn. He was smoking furiously, but his pipe tasted bitter.
Adrien got out of bed at last, and went to her window. It was a beautiful moonlit night. She thought something moved on the lawn behind the trees. No, she decided, it was only a shadow.
Somewhere a nightingale was singing. Adrien had a yearning to rush out into the night, to seek adventure, something wild and gay. Or else burst into tears.
She smiled, trying to laugh at herself.
“I must be hungry; thirsty too. I wonder if I would disturb everyone if I went down to the kitchen, and got myself
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