Read Online Nurse Angela by Hilary Preston - Free Book Online Page B

different person from the romantic Frenchman who had kissed her and held her in his arms. Her joyous feeling on waking had been, not because Simon loved her, but because she had fallen in love with him, while he ...
    But what was she to do? How was she going to hide her feelings when they met? For hide them she must if he did not feel the same way. She sat up and recalled that he had not mentioned seeing her again. She reminded herself that he had not come to Paris merely for a holiday but to secure proof of his father’s integrity. She might not even see him until their departure for England. At this thought and the remembrance of his reason for his visit, loneliness and misery descended on her.
    Presently she got out of bed to look through the window, and in doing so, felt a little of the thrill of being in a strange country returning. She had two whole weeks to explore Paris, she told herself resolutely. She would see the shops—something of Paris fashions. She simply must not sit around moping.
    Like many hotels in France, the one she was staying in provided no meals, but she had noticed a small cafe at the end of the street. She would go there and have a French breakfast of rolls and coffee. She hurried along to the bathroom, then dressed quickly, choosing one of her shantung dresses. It was too warm for the matching jacket, she decided, as she fastened her light, comfortable sandals.
    The hotel telephone was ringing as she went downstairs, and she was met at the bottom by the receptionist.
    “For you, Ma’moiselle. Monsieur LeFeure.”
    Angela’s heart leaped. Simon. So he had called her, after all. She picked up the receiver.
    “Hello, Angela here,” she said trying to make her voice sound normal.
    “Good morning, Angela. I saw so many stars last night that I forgot to ask what you’re doing today.”
    “As a matter of fact, I’m just on my way out in search of breakfast,” she answered lightly.
    “Where are you going to get it?”
    “At the little cafe at the end of the street.”
    “I know it. I’ll meet you there in five minutes. Order cafe et croissants pou r deux —coffee and rolls for two—and I’ll be with you almost as soon as the waitress brings it.”
    She laughed. “All right, I will.”
    Her heart was singing again. Over and over again she told herself not to act like a romantic schoolgirl. Simon probably regretted kissing her, or at least would hope that, she was adult enough to take it for what it had been. Just a light flirtation culled from the magic of the night and stars. He had likely dismissed the incident as not being worth thinking twice about. He would certainly not expect her to have fallen in love with him. “I saw too many stars last night...” he said this morning. She must think of it that way too!
    But when she saw him coming toward her on the open veranda of the cafe, she could not prevent her heart from contracting violently.
    “Angela,” he cried with an exuberance that finally dispelled any lingering thought that he might have been serious last night. “You look as fresh as the morning. Were you comfortable in the hotel?”
    “Absolutely, thank you.”
    “Ah, here’s our breakfast,” Simon said as the waitress set large cups of strong, sweet coffee and a plate of crescent-shaped rolls before them. “You’ll find these rolls perfectly wonderful as they are, Angela, but they will serve butter and marmalade with them if you wish.”
    “I’ll try them as they are first,” Angela said, taking one and biting into it. “Hm. Why, they’re lovely, absolutely delicious.”
    Simon smiled. “I thought you’d like them. The French cannot understand how the English can tackle their huge breakfasts. Porridge, bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade and so on.”
    “But you couldn’t do a hard morning’s work on rolls and coffee, and of course, on holiday some people like to go for a brisk walk or a swim before breakfast. By the time they sit down to the table