“I expected more than this,” his high and mightiness announced, striding around the shop and narrowly missing her bucket of soapy water. “Are the machinery and ovens in working order?”
“Don’t ask me,” Doris replied, pushing her sleeves up. “I clean. I don’t take care of no ovens or machinery.”
“So, you’re my servant?”
He had to be off his rocker. “Oh, no, I’m not. Just came in to clean as a favor for Mr. Hudson.”
She might not have spoken. “I will need you every day. You will clean after the shop closes. Do not forget.”
Every evening? And who was going to take care of Joey if she wanted that many hours? Which she didn’t. But she found herself agreeing.
“Very good. You may call me ‘Sir,’” he told her as he turned and went upstairs. To find something else to go on about no doubt.
Sir, indeed! The only person in the village Doris had ever called “Sir” was Sir James Gregory over at Wharton Lacey and if this Block person thought he was Sir James’s equal, she was the Duchess of Devonshire.
Fueled with righteous indignation, Doris picked up her bucket, almost spilling the lot as he hissed into her ear. “Where are my sheets and furnishings?” Who did he think he was, creeping up on her like that?
“It’s not my job to provide them.” The cheek of some people! Mrs. Chivers and Miss Dake had spent the morning hanging blackout curtains for him and now he expected sheets and blankets.
“Who will get them for me?”
At least he hadn’t asked her. “Best talk to Mr. Hudson about that. Time for me to go.” She tipped the bucket down the outside drain. Loaded it and her mop and broom onto Joey’s push chair, grabbed her coat and left before he could make any more demands.
Honest, the cheek of some people!
Bill Block watched the servant Doris march up the lane in high dudgeon. If all the locals were as easy as that to compel, he’d have the entire village as his personal fief in a fortnight.
It was a thought.
Meanwhile he had a delivery of flour to chase up, and someone somewhere had to produce bedding and a nice warm neck. He should have made use of the stupid servant whilst she was within grabbing distance but no matter. He’d stroll down to the pub once it got dark and help himself.
“You look lovely, Gloria,” Alice said, as she combed out Gloria’s hair. “This color suits you so much better than it ever did me.” The dark blue dress, with a flared skirt and neckline Alice had tugged as low as possible, did a lot more for Gloria’s appearance than her nurse’s uniform. “Andrew is going to drop his jaw when he sees you.”
“Just as long as he closes it again. If I have to start the evening looking down at his tonsils, I’ll make him say ‘Ah!’”
“Ah! You’re beautiful!”
“Alice, you do go on.”
“Only when I have to. I’ve got your handbag. Your coat and gloves are downstairs. He’ll be here soon, and you really don’t want him to see you bumping down stairs on your bottom, do you?”
“Couldn’t be worse than pulling me out of a ditch.” But starting off upright was definitely more dignified.
She made it downstairs, hauled herself to standing, courtesy of the banisters and newel post, and Alice helped her on with her coat.
“Darn it, Gloria. We should have waited and let Andrew put your coat on.”
“I told him I’d be ready when he got here and ready I will be. Just taking my coat off and balancing crutches is going to be bad enough.” This being incapacitated was for the birds. She’d be much more sympathetic with patients from now on. It was amazing the simple things that needed two hands. She had to sit down to put on her gloves, and trying to button up her coat whilst balancing on crutches was close to an acrobatic feat.
But she was ready, more nervous than when taking her nursing finals, and convinced this was a loony idea. What was she thinking, even agreeing to go out with him? Taking the risk of getting close to a mortal man. Particularly a mortal man she really fancied. She should pick up the phone right now and say she’d changed her mind, couldn’t go out, was in too much pain and that…
There was a sharp rap on her front door. “I’ll get it,” Alice said.
“Evening, doctor,” a warm, friendly voice said. Alright, a warm, sexy voice, and Andrew Barron stepped into her kitchen and her heart did a flip. And a triple back somersault.
He was lovely. Handsome, gorgeous. Gloria’s mouth went dry, her heart raced and her hands sweated inside her knitted gloves. “Hello,” she said.
Andrew said nothing for a minute. Just smiled. Infinitely better than the dropped jaw Alice prophesied. “All set?” he said. “Let me help you out to the car.”
One step outside the door and Gloria thanked the heavens she had a nice, firm brick path, not the picturesque gravel so many villagers preferred. She made it to the car, and got into the passenger seat under her own steam, much, she suspected, to Andrew’s disappointment. And her relief. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself in his arms when she didn’t have pain to distract her.
After spending an unnecessary amount of time propping her cast on a box and pillows and wrapping a rug around her, Andrew walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat.
The drive across country, in the dark, could best be described as sedate with awkward conversation. Somehow the ride brought back Gloria’s memories of the pain and discomfort of her previous ride with Andrew. She tried hard to blot that out. She was here to have dinner and enjoy an evening with a distinctly good-looking man.
Andrew pulled up in front of the hotel and Gloria faced several stone steps up to the entrance.
Didn’t slow down Andrew Barron. “Hang on to those crutches,” he said, as he swept her up in his arms and strode up the half dozen steps. The door was held open for them by a young officer in uniform, and she was inside, Andrew setting her on her feet by a roaring fire.
“You really did yourself in, didn’t you?” the officer, a captain she noticed now they were in the light, said as he shut the door and rejoined his pals standing by the bar.
“Not too badly,” Gloria replied and that was all she was saying. If Andrew as much as mentioned a ditch…
Bless him, he didn’t. Just walked beside her as they crossed into the dining room and a stooped, gray-haired waiter showed them to their table.
“What would you like, Gloria?” Andrew asked over his menu.
“To go straight home” was downright churlish, and somehow not quite the truth. Sitting across from Andrew, comfortable with a cushion at her back and her leg propped up, she was…content. She seldom went out. Never had dinner with a man who as good as made her mouth water, and darn it, she was going to enjoy herself.
The selection wasn’t that brilliant, but more than she’d have picked from her pantry at home or the kindhearted offerings of the good women of Brytewood. She couldn’t help wondering where they found duck but decided to try it anyway. Some pond was no doubt lacking its usual quackers.
It was the bottle of wine Andrew ordered that distracted her from weighing merits of tomato soup or potato fritters.
“Wine, Andrew?” Wartime prices were prohibitive.
“Of course,” he replied, grinning. “It’s a celebration.”
“Then, sir,” the stooped waiter said,