Read Online Nurse Angela by Hilary Preston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hilary Preston
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the Folies Bergere.”
She laughed. “Not the Folies Bergere, please! That would be too much like a busman’s holiday, all that female anatomy. No, since you kindly give me the choice, what I’d really like to do is to see the lights of Paris from the Eiffel Tower and then just stroll along the streets and boulevards and have coffee at one of the sidewalk cafes and watch the world go by.”
“Excellent! First, to La Tour Eiffel ,” he said gaily.
It was a wonderful evening, full of enchantment. Angela drank in every moment of it, acutely aware of the man at her side. The size of the Eiffel Tower at close quarters astonished her. “Simon, I’d no idea it was so huge!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, everybody thought M. Eiffel was crazy when he built it.” They went up in an elevator and soon were standing high above the city, the lights pricking the darkness like millions of glow worms. A soft breeze gently touched their faces and a magic, light as thistledown, seemed to descend upon them.
“Like it?” Simon murmured, his lips close to her ear.
“It’s wonderful,” she breathed, afraid to break the spell.
He pulled her lightly around to face him and brushed her lips with his. Then, in a whisper so faint that it seemed to be spoken by the very breeze, he breathed, “I love you, Angela ... in such a romantic setting I find you completely irresistible ... ”
Then he kissed her again, more firmly this time, and held her close to him. She had a feeling of being on the edge of time itself, until, still in that strange whisper, he said, “Let us go down again. Up here there is too much magic. It goes to the head.”
Bemused, Angela allowed herself to be led back to the elevator and out into the warm scented air of the Tower gardens.
Throughout the rest of the evening Simon was the attentive escort, showing her some of the wonders of the city. Angela wondered if she had dreamed the scene under the stars. A kiss was understandable, she supposed, but those words spoken on the breeze ... Was that the legendary romantic nature of the Frenchman showing itself? Whatever it was, she found herself wanting to recapture the moment, but Simon appeared to have forgotten it; or had he regretted it, thinking perhaps of someone else?
Toward the end of the evening he took her to one of the numerous sidewalk cafes in the Latin Quarter where the young and old of every race and nationality meet to talk and sip their coffee or a glass of wine.
“You wouldn’t like the fashionable ones on the Boulevard l’ Opera,” he told her. “They’re usually full of American tourists. Here, you see the real people of Paris.”
They sat for a while; then he said suddenly, “You must be tired. It’s past midnight even though everywhere is so lively. These people will be here for hours yet, but you must have your beauty sleep.”
He saw her to her hotel. Then with no more than a casual good night he left her.
Slowly, Angela mounted the stairs to her room. What a wonderful, wonderful evening. She got into bed and discovered that it was just as comfortable as it looked. She sank into a somewhat bemused state of pleasant weariness, seeing again the lights of Paris, feeling the gentle breeze in her hair and the pressure of Simon’s lips on hers. He had said he loved her ...
She opened her eyes the next morning with a vague feeling of having made a wonderful discovery, a vague feeling that became a glowing happiness, which soared higher with every waking minute. For a moment she could not think what had happened to make her feel like th i s. Then as recollection flooded over her, she knew a fresh surge of joy. Simon loved her—he had said so, up in the Eiffel Tower. She wanted to laugh out loud. Then a slow blush covered her face and neck as she became fully awake and her thoughts clarified. It was true he had spoken the word “love,” but he had also used another word—“Magic.” And for the rest of the evening he had been quite a
She laughed. “Not the Folies Bergere, please! That would be too much like a busman’s holiday, all that female anatomy. No, since you kindly give me the choice, what I’d really like to do is to see the lights of Paris from the Eiffel Tower and then just stroll along the streets and boulevards and have coffee at one of the sidewalk cafes and watch the world go by.”
“Excellent! First, to La Tour Eiffel ,” he said gaily.
It was a wonderful evening, full of enchantment. Angela drank in every moment of it, acutely aware of the man at her side. The size of the Eiffel Tower at close quarters astonished her. “Simon, I’d no idea it was so huge!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, everybody thought M. Eiffel was crazy when he built it.” They went up in an elevator and soon were standing high above the city, the lights pricking the darkness like millions of glow worms. A soft breeze gently touched their faces and a magic, light as thistledown, seemed to descend upon them.
“Like it?” Simon murmured, his lips close to her ear.
“It’s wonderful,” she breathed, afraid to break the spell.
He pulled her lightly around to face him and brushed her lips with his. Then, in a whisper so faint that it seemed to be spoken by the very breeze, he breathed, “I love you, Angela ... in such a romantic setting I find you completely irresistible ... ”
Then he kissed her again, more firmly this time, and held her close to him. She had a feeling of being on the edge of time itself, until, still in that strange whisper, he said, “Let us go down again. Up here there is too much magic. It goes to the head.”
Bemused, Angela allowed herself to be led back to the elevator and out into the warm scented air of the Tower gardens.
Throughout the rest of the evening Simon was the attentive escort, showing her some of the wonders of the city. Angela wondered if she had dreamed the scene under the stars. A kiss was understandable, she supposed, but those words spoken on the breeze ... Was that the legendary romantic nature of the Frenchman showing itself? Whatever it was, she found herself wanting to recapture the moment, but Simon appeared to have forgotten it; or had he regretted it, thinking perhaps of someone else?
Toward the end of the evening he took her to one of the numerous sidewalk cafes in the Latin Quarter where the young and old of every race and nationality meet to talk and sip their coffee or a glass of wine.
“You wouldn’t like the fashionable ones on the Boulevard l’ Opera,” he told her. “They’re usually full of American tourists. Here, you see the real people of Paris.”
They sat for a while; then he said suddenly, “You must be tired. It’s past midnight even though everywhere is so lively. These people will be here for hours yet, but you must have your beauty sleep.”
He saw her to her hotel. Then with no more than a casual good night he left her.
Slowly, Angela mounted the stairs to her room. What a wonderful, wonderful evening. She got into bed and discovered that it was just as comfortable as it looked. She sank into a somewhat bemused state of pleasant weariness, seeing again the lights of Paris, feeling the gentle breeze in her hair and the pressure of Simon’s lips on hers. He had said he loved her ...
She opened her eyes the next morning with a vague feeling of having made a wonderful discovery, a vague feeling that became a glowing happiness, which soared higher with every waking minute. For a moment she could not think what had happened to make her feel like th i s. Then as recollection flooded over her, she knew a fresh surge of joy. Simon loved her—he had said so, up in the Eiffel Tower. She wanted to laugh out loud. Then a slow blush covered her face and neck as she became fully awake and her thoughts clarified. It was true he had spoken the word “love,” but he had also used another word—“Magic.” And for the rest of the evening he had been quite a
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