The Flying Nurse by Sheila Burns

Author:Sheila Burns [Burns, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: medical romance, hospital romance, nursing, doctors and nurses, nurses love story, Malta, flying nurse, medical fiction, nurse, doctor, 1960s, sweet romance, clean and wholesome, happy ever after
Publisher: Wyndham Books (Medical Romance)
Published: 2018-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

That was a dreadful night, for she could not sleep. Her stepfather was better, and sleeping far more naturally, in fact there was no need to stay up with him, and she ought to be thankful for that. She went to her own room, which seemed to be insufferably hot in spite of fans, and windows open to the ground. On the centre table was a huge bowl of flowers, the lemon-scented lilies, and the pale irises which grew so plentifully in the island, and the big pale peonies. There was a little note for her, and she opened it. Somehow she had hoped for some message, some word which she could remember, for tonight half of her was lonely, but there was no message, only the two words, ‘From Luis’.

The card on which he had written bore the crest of the Knights of Malta, something that she recognized from the tombs in St John’s Cathedral. The card was beautifully embossed, and she turned it over in her hands.

She crept on to the bed and lowered the mosquito net, which made it insufferably hot, but what could she do? I must sleep, she told herself.

She dozed for a short while, and had something of a nightmare. She dreamt that she had found a man in the flat, and had gone to see if the packet was still safe, only to find that it had disappeared. She woke with a little cry, heard herself, and stopped it. I must quieten down, she thought.

But the nightmare had been vivid, far too vivid to be easily withstood, and she found that she could not dismiss it so easily. She got the idea that the packet had gone, and could not escape it. At the end of an hour she got up again and drew on a white kimono. I look like a ghost, she thought, but that did not matter. The white mules that she wore made no sound against the carpetless floor, and she went out of the room. She looked first at Cam, lying there in the best sleep he had had since she had come here. Then she went into the next room to look for the parcel.

She would never sleep until she had convinced herself that it was safely there, and this was absurd because it was double locked. She had put it in a small escritoire on the side, which Cam had suggested. The drawer in which it lay was fitted with an inner drawer, also locked. It was, of course, absolutely safe.

She opened the door of the room softly, aware that the fans were making a great noise. She turned on the light, and as she did so she saw a man slip out through the window on to the verandah beyond. He was a mere ghost of a man, here one minute, gone the next, and remarkably like Giuseppe in appearance. Someone had left the window open; it should surely have been locked on a ground-floor flat, yet in this hot island they could not lock windows too easily.

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