Nurse Ronnie's Vocation

by Felicity Hayle

  NURSE RONNIE'S VOCATION by FELICTY HAYLE

  When Veronica came home after years in Africa, untrained for any job, the only work that seemed open to her was nursing... but had she any vocation for it? The surgeon, Philip Conway, was emphatic that she had not... but what else was she to do?

  PRINTED IN CANADA

  HARLEQUIN BOOKS

  Winnipeg · Canada New York · New York

  NURSE RONNIE'S VOCATION

  First published in 1965 by Mills & Boon Limited, 50 Grafton Way, Fitzroy Square, London, England,

  under the title The Vocation of Veronica Forbes.

  Harlequin Canadian edition published March, 1966

  Harlequin U.S. edition published May, 1971

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  Standard Book Number: 373-52995-3.

  Copyright, ©, 1965, by Mills & Boon. All rights reserved.

  The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN® and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "THE best thing you can do, Ronnie my girl, is to marry young Cunningham."

  Because she was already more than half convinced that it would be the best thing, Veronica Forbes found herself refuting the suggestion all the more violently.

  She didn't love Charles Cunningham. It was true that she was twenty-four and had never been in love, but that didn't alter the fact that she was an idealist at heart and still had romantic dreams of a knight in white armour who would one day sweep her off her feet.

  But she had problems to face which could not be disposed of with dreams. Her whole world had suddenly been turned topsy-turvy. Three short months ago she had been the happiest girl in the world. As the daughter and hostess of the District Officer of the Protectorate of Bazualil and there had seemed no limit to the opportunities for living that the wide horizons of Africa had to offer. She had as many young men as she cared to encourage, as much sport as she wanted—riding, swimming, dancing—the lot. And then, suddenly, because a decision had to be made on the spot and it had turned out to be the wrong one, and the Government had to have a scapegoat, Toby Forbes and his daughter were on their way home in the Talisman Castle.

  It was no luxury liner and she was carrying more than her complement of passengers, so that Ronnie and her two companions had sought refuge from the overcrowded lounges in their three-berth cabin.

  "He's quite a personable young fellow and there's plenty of money," Blanche Cartwright's relentless voice went on. "And it's a certainty that you'll never make out on your father's pension back at home."

  Sylvia Bruton chipped in. Her voice was lighter but even more insistent. "Especially as he won't get the full pension. He's been retired two years short of his time, and that M'banda affair isn't going to help him."

  Ronnie rushed to her parent's defence. "It isn't fair I No one could have foreseen how things were going to turn out, and something had to be done. Daddy had been at Lemumba for twenty years, and if he couldn't know, then nobody could !"

  "That's as may be, and don't think we don't sympathise, dear. But you've got to face facts—and the facts are that you and your father are not going to make out. And if I know Toby Forbes, he won't have saved a penny."

  That was true enough, Ronnie knew. "I shall get a job," she muttered.

  "What sort of a job? You're not trained for anything useful."

  "She could be a nurse," Mrs. Bruton put in hopefully. "It's the only profession where you can earn as you learn." She looked at Veronica, and then added despondently, "But I can't see Ronnie as a nurse—she's too tall."

  Ronnie jumped up in exasperation. The walls of the tiny cabin seemed to be closing in on her and she had to get out. Standing up she did look tall, but she was not unnaturally so. It was her slimness and the low ceiling that gave her the impression of height.

  "Of course you can't be a nurse !" Blanche Cartwright boomed out. "Take my word for it, Ronnie, you can't do better than accept young Cunningham—only you'd

  better make up your mind to it before this trip's over,

  because once back in London anything could happen. You won't be the only pebble on the beach there !"

  "Excuse me, I'm going to get some air." Ronnie grabbed her duffle coat and the door handle in one quick move.

  "But you can't—"

  "The weather—the girl's mad— !"

  There would be more of it. Her two friends felt bound to give her maternal advice, since she had not had that of her own mother, who had died when she was young. But Ronnie could not stand any more. She knew all about the problems she would have to face, but she would face them in her own way and in her own time.

  It was February and the Talisman Castle was ploughing her way through a rising gale in the Bay of Biscay, but Ronnie's need of space and air was imperative, and she turned down the corridor towards the stewardess's office, where she could borrow oilskins and sou'wester.

  The stewardess was not there, so she helped herself and made for the companionway. Before she could reach it, however, a large shape loomed up and a pair of bearlike arms gripped her, while Charles Cunningham's voice breathed heavily in her ear : "At last, Ronnie darling ! Where have you been hiding all day?"

  Ronnie was glad she had on the oilskin—it enabled her to slip out of his grasp. "Dash it all—you're as slippery as an eel in that damn thing !" Charles complained ruefully. "Where are you going?"

  "That's nothing to do with you," she told him tartly. "And how many times do I have to tell you not to jump out of dark corners like some—some—" she could not think of any epithet sufficiently opprobrious for the occasion, and Charles took advantage of her hesitation. He had a slow, mild voice which made it difficult to be angry with him for long. "But hang it all, when am I

  to see you, darling? The lounges are full of dowagers with their everlasting knitting and if we go to the bar I don't get a chance for all the other fellows flocking round. I haven't even kissed you for days—"

  Without warning he repaired the omission then and there—and his kisses, unlike his voice, were anything but mild. One of his hands struggled with the fastenings of the oilskin and found a way inside. That was his mistake, because in so doing he had to lose his grip on one of her arms, and the next thing he knew was a resounding clout on the side of his head. The unexpectedness of the onslaught made him release her and put a hand to his smarting ear. "That's no way to treat a chap !" he protested. "I was only—"

  At almost precisely the same moment another voice, cool and slightly amused, reached Ronnie's ears. "Excuse me, please," it said as, unnoticed by either of them, another passenger made for the companionway which they were effectively blocking.

  Ronnie's scowl deepened. It was humiliating and embarrassing enough to be caught in Charles' arms— but that it should have to be by that particular passenger— !

  She didn't even know his name. She didn't want to ! Her father had discovered that he was a member of a Government Mission of some kind, and that was enough to make Ronnie dislike him; for it had been just such another Government Mission which had enquired into the M'banda affair and adjudged Toby Forbes at fault, and relieved him of his District. And it was the worry of all that which had brought on the mild thrombosis which made her father a sick man now. This was such an adequate reason for her dislike of the 'Government Wallah' as Toby had dubbed him that Ronnie did not look further, or she might have discovered a slight sen
se of pique that he alone of all the men amongst the passengers of the Talisman Castle had not tried to scrape acquaintance with her.

  "When are you going to give a fellow a break, Ronnie?" Charles asked plaintively when the stranger had disappeared up the companionway to the deck. "When are you going to say you'll marry me?"

  The Irish in her still uppermost, Ronnie's instinct was an angry 'Never !,' but the Scots in her blood took over before the word was spoken. Mrs. Cartwright's warning words rang in her ears. Better not to burn all her boats before she had sorted things out. It seemed inconceivable, but it was just possible that the time might come when she would be glad to marry Charles.

  "If you do that again I'll never speak to you, let alone marry you," she told him, and could see by the fatuous grin on his face that he read into those words at least a half promise.

  "You're pretty hard on a chap," he protested, but from the look in his blue eyes Ronnie knew that for the moment at any rate she had him under control.

  "Now go and lose yourself, Charles Cunningham, and don't follow me about like a dog. I don't want to see you again for a very long time."

  Grumbling, he took himself off, and Ronnie, not wanting to run into the 'Government Wallah' again, went back to the stewardess's cubbyhole to kill a few moments adjusting her oilskins.

  She felt a little guilty about her treatment of Charles. He wasn't a bad sort really, and she had kept him dangling rather a long time. Perhaps she might be sorry when, as Blanche Cartwright had hinted, she found that she was not the only pebble on his beach. In panic she looked at herself in the mirror. "You're not even pretty," she told herself. "Your mouth is too big, and you're too tall and capable. Men like little, helpless clinging girls. Oh dear, I could never be like that."

  She was right about not being helpless or clinging, but in other respects she did not do herself justice. The corn-coloured hair at present hidden by the sou'wester had dancing sunshine in its lights, and her complexion was flawless and honey-warm. But her attraction for men did not really lie in her appearance so much as in some innate quality of honesty and courage in her makeup. 'True as steel' Toby had once described her, and he was right.

  Getting no comfort from her reflection, Ronnie decided that enough time had elapsed and that she could now proceed to the deck. Making sure she was buttoned to the chin, she made towards the companionway, but once again she got no further than its foot.

  She found her way blocked by the 'Government Wallah,' who was standing on the lowest step, his oilskins still dripping water.

  She stood back, expecting him to move. But he did not. "Excuse me," she said coldly.

  "Haven't you read the notices?" His voice was pleasant, if it hadn't been for the undertone of mockery. "Women and children to remain below decks."

  "Let me pass, please," she demanded

  "Captain's orders," he told her, without budging.

  It was a ridiculous situation. Ronnie sensed in the man as great an obstinacy as her own determination, and as she met the regard of his light grey eyes she felt herself beaten. But she did not give in easily, and was about to utter some cutting remark when the ship lurched, and she momentarily lost her balance.

  Before she could regain it he had taken her shoulders firmly in his hands and turned her round, saying as he did so : "If I were you I should return those borrowed garments before the stewardess gets into trouble for letting you have them."

  It was outrageous, but there was nothing she could

  do about it. Somewhere behind her a cabin door had opened, and if she did not want to be caught in a scuffle with this exasperating person there was nothing for it

  but to retreat to the stewardess's quarters.

  She was still seething when she reached her objective, and it did not improve her feelings to be greeted by the stewardess with horror.

  "Miss Forbes ! You haven't been out in this weather? You never ought to have done it ! Didn't you see the notices, miss?"

  "Yes, I saw them, and I didn't go on deck after all, so there's no need to fuss," she grumbled as she allowed herself to be divested of the oilskins

  The stewardess was a kindly woman. "If I were you, miss, I'd go and collect your dad for his nap. I came through the lounge just now and I thought he looked proper poorly."

  "Thanks—I'll do that," Ronnie said, her personal outrage dying immediately in her concern for Toby.

  She had no difficulty in locating him amongst the crowd round the bar, for with his grey hair, clipped moustache and spare, very tall figure, Toby Forbes was distinguished in any gathering.

  He did look ill, Ronnie thought with a sharp little constriction at her heart. For years now they had been all in all to each other, perfect friends and companions— and he had never been ill before.

  For once he did not pretend he had not seen her, and

  draining his glass he slapped it down and got off his stool. As he did so the boat, which did not have stabilisers, gave another of its sudden lurches and Toby would have fallen if a strong arm had not shot out and grabbed him.

  Ronnie, who had also made a dive towards him, drew up sharply when she saw who the helper was, but she was aghast as she saw her father fastidiously dust the

  is

  cuff where the 'Government Wallah' had grabbed him. It was a studied insult, and it told Ronnie that however little he showed it, Toby was under the weather.

  Her cheeks were hot with shame and she took her father's arm. "Come along, Daddy," she said quietly, and against her will she looked at the man who had helped him. He was exasperating beyond measure, but Toby should not have done what he did, and Ronnie would have liked to apologise. But she could not bring herself to do so for fear of sparking off fresh animosity from her father. She could only hope that the tiny incident had not been noticed by too many of the bystanders.

  Just for the fraction of a second her glance met the direct regard of the 'Government Wallah' and she was surprised to notice that for once his eyes did not hold their customary gleam of mocking amusement.

  Three days later they landed in Southampton in incipient fog and a half-hearted snowstorm. As they waited in the draughty Customs shed to get their baggage cleared, Ronnie felt as bleak as the weather. But with a determined lift of her chin she still did not regret the final No' she had given Charles Cunningham yesterday. "I'll get a job," she told herself firmly, but without real conviction.

  "You can't swing a cat in this flat !" Toby grumbled.

  If he had said 'mouse' it would have been nearer the mark, Ronnie thought, but she did not say so. She was beginning to realise that Aunt Mary had done her best, and that living in London was most horribly expensive.

  Aunt Mary, who had made all the arrangements and met them on arrival, was, as Ronnie remembered her, forthright almost to the point of brutality.

  "You've got to remember that you're not privileged now. Those days are over. You're poor people, and

  you've got to learn to live within your means. And you won't do that, Toby, unless you give up that ridiculous club of yours and stop drinking."

  Membership of the club to which he had subscribed during all his years abroad was Toby's one solace in this new, hard, unfriendly world, and Ronnie did not mean that he should be deprived of it if she could help it. But she knew better than to argue with Aunt Mary. That lady had an uncanny knack of always being right.

  About a job, for instance. "There's nothing you can do except nursing," she told Ronnie briskly. "I've written to ,the Matron of the North-Western Hospital— St. Chad's—about you. She'll certainly give you a chance if your other qualifications are all right. I suppose you got your -levels at school?"

  "Yes, I got the usual five. But I don't think I want to be a nurse," Ronnie wailed.

  "Nonsense, girl !" her aunt told her. "It's about the only thing you can do without any previous training."

  But Ronnie had other ideas and decided to put them to the test first.

  There was Yvonne, for instance.
She was an old school friend and she was now running a hat shop in Knightsbridge. She had written to Ronnie out in Lemumba asking her to come into partnership. Ronnie had turned down the suggestion then, but hoped that if not a partnership, at least the role of humble employee might be open to her.

  But Yvonne's effusive welcome turned suddenly chilly at the mention of employment. She and the partner she now had could easily cope with their customers. Their trade was very selective, and all their customers were known personally. She was very sorry—

  In her heart Ronnie was not sorry. As part of her stock-in-trade Yvonne had developed a most unnatural drawl, together with a synthetic charm and an insincere

  form of flattery aimed at persuading women to buy the most unsuitable concoctions in the way of hats. In spite of disappointment, Ronnie had an internal giggle when she imagined herself trying to reproduce Yvonne's `Moddom.'

  She was good at all games and sports, so her next endeavour was made to the scholastic agents, but here too she drew a blank. It wasn't enough to have been to a good school and to have excelled at all the usual games —one had to be certificated and to have undergone some training before one could be considered as qualified to teach. They offered her introductions to several courses which would give her those qualifications, but there was not time, nor money. Ronnie needed a job quickly.

  She tried a school of motoring as an instructor, but they would not consider her as she had not held a U.K. driving licence for a sufficient length of time. She was given a trial by a riding school, but after a few days she fell out with a doting mother whose boy would never have anything but iron hands and rode like a sack of potatoes. The riding school decided that she had not the tact necessary for dealing with their pupils.

  In desperation she swallowed her pride and telephoned Charles Cunningham. He was delighted to hear from her, and took her out to lunch. She had not been with him five minutes before she discovered that Charles was finding London full of attractive girls who considered him—or his father's money—equally attractive. But he was a good friend and would have helped if he could.