Читать книгу Bloody Good - Georgia Evans - Страница 15

Alice couldn’t believe her eyes. He was here. Standing in the doorway of Gloria’s kitchen. His hair as dark as ever, his brown eyes clear and penetrating, and the same air of quiet confidence. He should be skulking in, tail between his legs, instead of smiling. And darn Howell Pendragon was grinning as if he’d won the pools.

“Ladies,” he said, “we just dropped in to see Nurse Prewitt and I find you both here. Couldn’t be better. Wanted to introduce you to your new assistant.” He turned and smiled at the man. “Peter Watson. First aid specialist.”

Gloria grinned. “Good heavens! I never really thought it would happen. You are real, aren’t you?” she asked, putting down the teapot on the draining board and crossing the kitchen. “We really need another pair of hands.”

“I hope I’ll be useful.”

“It used to be even busier. Quite a few evacuees went home over the summer, but I think they might trickle back now the bombing has started.” She smiled at Sergeant Pendragon. “Can you both stop for a cup of tea?”

The sergeant accepted for both of them, then turned to her. “And this,” he said, “is Dr. Doyle. You’ll be working with her most, I imagine.”

Peter Watson met her eyes and smiled. Well, almost smiled. Before he could come close enough to offer his hand, Alice said, “We’ve met.”

She should have kept quiet.

“Well I never,” the sergeant said, looking from her to Watson and back again.

“And you never told me,” Gloria said, sounding a trifle peeved. “Kept the good news to yourself, did you?”

“Mr. Watson was part of an ambulance crew when we met.”

“When?” Gloria asked.

“I was called out to Brytewood earlier in the week to pick up an injured man,” Watson said.

“Who was that?”

Gloria would not let go.

“An injured man who disappeared on us.” Having said that, she had to go on and explain the whole ridiculous incident.

“Which day was that?” the sergeant asked.

“Monday. I was on my way back from delivering Melanie’s twins.”

“Odd,” Gloria said, then turned to pick up the teapot again. “Hang your coats up and have a seat. I’ll have this ready in a jiffy.”

They peeled off their jackets and hung them on the pegs by the door. Peter Watson, either by design or chance, took the chair directly opposite Alice. Oh well, dammit, she was going to have to work with him, but she didn’t have to like him, did she? But why, oh why, did a measly conscie have to come in such an attractive package?

“When do you start?” Gloria asked.

“Monday. I was due a day off so I took a bus in to look around. Then I ran into Mrs. Burrows, who took me down and introduced me to Sergeant Pendragon. He, very kindly, brought me down here to meet you.”

“Good of him.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Doctor,” Sergeant Pendragon said. “Wasn’t it Monday night you found your dog dead?”

“Yes.” Trust Gran to tell the world. “That was strange. She’d slowed down a bit but wasn’t ill. Or so I thought. Must have been her heart gave out. I’ll miss her. Daddy gave her to me.” She shook her head to chase away the thought. “Mustn’t get maudlin. She was good dog and had a darn good innings and heck, I can’t get upset over a dog when people are dying.”

“Doesn’t stop you missing her, though, does it?” Watson asked.

Darn, how dare he be so understanding? “No. When I went downstairs this morning, I found myself listening for the sound of her claws on the kitchen floor.” Why the blazes was she agreeing with him? Accepting his sympathy? Yes, he was right on the nail but…

“Here you are.” Gloria handed around cups. “Sorry I don’t have any biscuits to offer. I meant to get down to Worleigh’s but things got so busy.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear. Besides, if you had, odds are he’d have not had any. Not this late in the week.”

Sergeant Pendragon left unsaid that Samuel Whorleigh had plenty of everything, off the ration and under the counter.

“Never mind, Gloria. As long as we have a nice cup of tea.” Heaven help her, she was sounding like Gran but, as Alice sipped the still-too-hot drink, she decided it was pretty much the truth. Of course while the caffeine perked you up, the tannin was mucking up your stomach, but these days, that was hardly what you’d call a worry.

“Are you staying the weekend?” Gloria asked Peter Watson.

He shook his head. “Have to get back. Got to work my last day tomorrow. Just came to have a look-see. Now I know where I’ve a billet.” He gave Sergeant Pendragon a nod and a smile. “I’ll bring my bags back Sunday evening. If that’s convenient,” he added, turning to the sergeant.

“Any time, son. Any time.”

“Don’t leave it too late,” Gloria said. “The buses are dreadful on a Sunday.”

That was putting it mildly. Half the time they never ran at all. Lack of fuel was the excuse. And it might possibly be true.

“That’s right,” the sergeant agreed, “and you’ll have bags with you. Listen, lad, if the conductor gives you any guff, you tell him that you’ve been assigned here and you need to report.”

Fat lot of difference that would make. Last week one of them refused to let Doris on with her toddler’s pushchair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you a lift.” Alice all but christened herself with tea. What in the name of heaven made her say that? She remembered to close her gaping mouth but the look on his face showed he was as thunderstruck as she was. He managed to close his mouth pretty fast, too.

“Are you sure?”

Not in the least. Or rather she was definitely sure she didn’t mean the offer.

“It’s awfully nice of you, but what about the petrol?”

He was giving her the perfect grounds to withdraw her idiotic offer. “That’s alright. I’ve a patient to check up on in the hospital in Dorking and I need to go over to the Watson farm and see how Melanie and her twins are doing.”

Gloria had good reason to stare. Not five minutes before Peter and Sergeant Pendragon arrived, she’d told Alice about her own visit there that morning. Twins seemed to be doing well; the rest of the household was permanently bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.

Oh well! She’d offered. She was committed. She’d make the best of it. “Can’t guarantee the exact time. Depends on how long my calls take and if there’s an emergency.” Heaven help her it was impossible! “Do you have a phone number?” She could call and cancel, couldn’t she? As long as she gave him time to get a bus.

He shook his head. “Not in my billet. There’s the phone at the ambulance depot of course.” He sounded as thrilled at the idea of using that as anyone would be at the prospect of that weasly Sid Mosely censoring phone calls.

“Never mind. I might be late but I’ll be there.” Like the soft-headed twerp she obviously was. “I’ll need directions.”

“Tell you what, why not meet me at the bus station? If you’re held up, I can sit and read. And if you really get late, I can always try my luck with the buses.”

If she let him down, he meant. “I’ll try to get there by five. Before dark.”

That seemed to be it. They both declined Gloria’s offer of a second cup—Peter Watson to catch the bus, and Sergeant Pendragon to “take a stroll.” On a Friday night there was only one possible direction for that stroll: the Pig and Whistle.

“You don’t like him, do you?” Gloria said after both men were safely down the path and out in the lane.

“Who?” Playing thick was useless with Gloria. They’d known each other too long for that.

“I wasn’t talking about Howell Pendragon.”

No. Alice shrugged. “I don’t know. Just something about him.” It was on the tip of her tongue to spill all Peter Watson’s unsavory past and perfidious present but…

“Well, if you don’t fancy him, why offer to drive over and pick him up? But if you really don’t, I do. I think he’s dishy. Those gorgeous dark eyes and that smile.” She let out a little sigh. And Alice stifled the utterly irrational spike of…definitely not jealousy.

“I don’t know what you see in him, Gloria, honestly.”

“Alice, he’s smashing looking, he’s going to make our lives easier, and…” She paused. “He looks like the sort of man who can always find a taxi when it’s raining.”

Was she laughing because she agreed or because Gloria’s claims were so preposterous? Peter Watson did have an air of competence. Picked up at Blundells no doubt. Just as her brothers had acquired their polish at Epsom College. Mind you, that was where the resemblance ended. Simon and Alan were doing their bit for King and Country.

“Something wrong?” Gloria asked. “You’re scowling. Got a headache?”

Only a big one called Peter Watson. “Just tired. I need an early night.”

“You’d be better off coming into Leatherhead to the dance hall with June Groves and me. Why don’t you?”

Now that was a thought. “No. Thank you for asking. I need to do paperwork and really should work out some sort of rota for next week and talk to Mr. Barron up at the plant and decide how to split this Peter Watson between us.”

Gloria chuckled as she gathered up the cups and plates and piled them in the sink. “Don’t dismember him completely, Alice. We need his body in one piece!”

Driving the short distance up the hill home, Gloria’s words echoed in Alice’s mind. Half of her would love to dismember Peter Watson limb from limb to let him pay for his refusal to join up, but Gloria was right: He was good looking. Pleasant, intelligent, and yes, his skills as an assistant were welcome as the proverbial flowers in the spring, but that was it. She had far, far better things to do with her time than dwell on the man’s smile and the shameless “come hither” glint of his eyes.

And she, senseless twit that she was, had freely volunteered to drive over to Dorking and give him a lift. She needed her brains examining.