Midnight Sun's Magic. Бетти Нилс

      

      It was a bit off-putting to be asked to marry someone because his sister had left him to get married, and he needed someone to cook and clean.

      “Not a very romantic proposal, I’m afraid, Annis, but I don’t pretend to compete with Ola—I don’t intend to, either.”

      He bent over the sink so that she couldn’t see his face. “Do you believe in romance, my dear?”

      “Not anymore.” She managed to make her voice light and when he looked at her, she smiled as well. “I’d rather be like us—good friends.” And because that didn’t seem quite enough she added, “And—and fond of each other.”

      He didn’t answer, but presently, when he said good-night to her at her hut door, his kiss, quick and hard, made her hope—foolishly enough she had to admit—that perhaps in time he might grow more than fond.

      Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

      Midnight Sun’s Magic

      Betty Neels

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE DIN ON the ward was unbelievable, rising and falling like a stormy sea gone mad; children calling to each other, crying, screaming, shouting from their cots and beds, while those already up and dressed and able to eat their breakfast at the miniature table in the centre of the ward were darting up and down, evading the nurses trying to tie their bibs and settle them to their porridge, and accompanying these sounds was the constant thin cry of the babies in the side wards, wanting their next feed, the whole cemented together by the rattle of spoons in bowls and the thumping of mugs.

      The young woman who had opened the door on to this uproar closed her eyes for a split second and a tiny frown marred her lovely features, but it was banished instantly as she opened them again, remarkable dark green eyes with long curling lashes, made all the more remarkable by the rich chestnut of her hair. She was a tall girl with a figure as striking as her face and she held herself well; her friends considered her to be a beauty, while the few who weren’t referred to her grudgingly as handsome, implying that she was too big and opulent for beauty. She paused now just inside the door and surveyed the ward with a practised eye; she had been Sister on the Children’s Ward at St Anselm’s for three years now and had grown accustomed to the turmoil around her, and she could see now that everything was just as it should be. She waved to the children at the table and without pausing again went straight to her office where the night nurses would be waiting.

      With the report given and the pair of them gone, she re-read it, made up the day book so that each nurse knew what she had to do, glanced at the off duty book and was on the point of getting up from her desk when her staff nurse, Carol Drew, came in. She was a small, neat girl, devoted to her work, and they got on splendidly together.

      She smiled as she came in, said ‘Good morning, Sister,’ and waited.

      ‘Morning, Carol—and for heaven’s sake stop calling me Sister when there’s no one around. I see Archie’s been sick twice. We’d better get Mr Potter to go over him again—we’ve missed something…’ She stretched out a hand for the telephone. ‘And Night Nurse says that Baby Scott isn’t feeding—he’d better have a look at her too. Is there anything else to worry us?’ She sighed. ‘I’ve an idea we’re in for a bad day.’

      Carol nodded her head. ‘Me too—Baby Cook’s ready for theatre.’

      ‘I’ll take him up—I’ve just time to do a round first. How is breakfast going?’

      Her staff nurse cast her eyes upwards. ‘The usual; we’re just starting to clear up the mess, I’ll go and see how they’re getting on.’ At the door she looked back. ‘I say, Annis, don’t you want to be here when Mr Potter comes?’

      Annis Brown raised her magnificent head from the papers she was studying. ‘No, I don’t,’ she grinned, and looked much younger than her twenty-seven years. ‘You can have him.’

      But she didn’t smile when Carol had left her. Arthur Potter was becoming a problem in her life; he was persistent in his wish to marry her, worthy to the point of being boring, an excellent doctor with an undoubtedly successful career before him and one of the dullest young men she had ever met. They had known each other for three years now and he was beginning to grow on her so that every now and then the unwelcome thought that she would eventually marry him was becoming increasingly difficult to dispel; the trouble was that she liked him as a friend—he was kind and considerate and non-demanding, he had an even temper and looked upon her occasional outburst with tolerance, and she found herself wishing more and more frequently that he might display some temper himself, or at least disagree with her.

      The trouble was that she didn’t know what she wanted; to get married, of course, to remain a Ward Sister all her life had no appeal for her; she wanted a home and a husband and children of her own, but she hadn’t met anyone who had swept her off her feet and she was beginning to doubt if she ever would. She sighed and went into the ward, to become immediately engrossed in the sick little people who lived in it.

      She went first to the table where the convalescents were eating the last of their breakfasts and sat down with them, idly eating a slice of bread and butter while she enquired as to how they felt; not that she was hungry, but she had discovered long ago that reluctant eaters were inclined to eat a slice with her while they talked and shouted and cried. Little Betty Wakes, the coeliac disease who had been with them for so long, she took on to her lap, comforting her while she grizzled—she grizzled a lot and from Annis’s point of view, she had every reason to do so. Presently, when she had discovered all she wanted to know about the children round the table, she carried Betty round the ward with her, stopping by each cot and small bed, reading charts, casting a knowledgeable eye over each occupant and occasionally pausing to speak to one or other of the nurses. It took her all of half an hour and she was back in her office just in time to meet Arthur Potter as he came along the corridor.

      He was a tall thin young man, with hair already receding from a clever forehead, and his glasses emphasised his earnest manner. He greeted her gravely, reminded her that they were going out together that evening, and then became absorbed in Archie’s charts. By the time he had asked a few questions and pondered the symptoms it was time for Annis to gather up Baby Cook and bear him off to theatre for his pyloric stenosis to be corrected. He was a very small baby, and wizened through insufficient nourishment, but Annis kissed the top of the elderly little head, assured the infant that he would be as beautiful as any baby that lived in no time at all, a remark which Arthur, who had caught up with her in the ward, gently but seriously pointed out wasn’t quite accurate. Baby Cook would never be beautiful, however well fed he was; his eyes were small and squinted slightly, his hair was sparse and dull and his mouth too large. Annis told the doctor quite fiercely that he knew nothing about it, and sped away.

      Baby Cook was to be done first.