Nurse Angela by Hilary Preston Page A

across the room again. “Of course, now I see the likeness to his father’s photograph. I never actually met either of them. Suzette is a wonderful woman. It is strange to think of her having a grown-up fils. She could have married again many times, but no. She is peculiarly devoted to her husband’s memory.” His eyes strayed again to Simon. “Surely that is Paulette, the model, who is with him?” Angela nodded. Philip gave a knowing smile. “He certainly knows how to pick a lovely woman.”
    Angela said defensively, “He is looking for someone who can give him some information about his father.”
    “So he picks a beautiful model to help him!”
    Angela protested that they were childhood friends.
    Philip laughed skeptically. “Childhood friends, indeed. Ma chérie , surely he could have got all the information he wanted from Suzette? Who better than his own mother to tell him about his father?”
    It occurred to Angela that Philip, being of Simon’s own generation would perhaps know little or nothing of the history of Michel LeFeure. He would only be a child, and unless they are intimately concerned, children soon forget. She decided to say no more on the subject. She could feel Philip’s eyes on her as she sat there silently fingering the stem of her wine glass.
    He took her hand. “But of course, you knew Simon in England! But people are sometimes very different in a different setting, and after all, Simon is French, even though his mother is English. We French do not see things in quite the same way as you.”
    Angela tightened her lip realizing the truth of what Philip was saying, yet not wanting to believe it. At the hospital Simo n had been reserved, almost shy. Yet here he could flirt with her while intending to marry someone else.
    Philip murmured, “Simon and his lady are leaving.”
    Angela glanced toward the door in time to see Simon assisting Paulette up the narrow steps. Philip watched them go too, a half smile on his lips; then he looked understanding ly at Angela.
    “Do not look so sad. Maybe it is as you say, they are old friends. Smile and let us enjoy ourselves. We will go somewhere else and dance, eh?”
    Angela smiled suddenly. She was being poor company for Philip. “Yes, let’s do that. Let’s go somewhere bright, but a little less noisy and crowded.”
    They finished their wine and went out again, and for Angela, the rest of the evening was somewhat hazy as they went from one club to another. Philip’s charm left no further time for wistful pondering, though Simon never quite left her thoughts. By the time Philip left her at the door of her hotel, Angela was too tired to do anything but fall asleep the minute her head touched the pillow.
    She slept late the next morning and was going out in search of lunch when Philip telephoned and asked her to join him and Suzette for a picnic by the river. With a tinge of disappointment that Simon had taken her at her word and made no attempt to call her, she accepted.
    Suzette brought another young man along too. The three of them called for Angela at three o’clock in an open sports car driven by Philip.
    “Don’t any of you people work for a living?” laughed Angela when Suzette had introduced the new young man as Laurie Chamade.
    ‘Work?” Laurie and Philip asked in unison. “What is that?” Suzette laughed. “In Paris we only work when it is absolutely necessary.” Then more seriously, “Actually, my dear, today is a holiday. It is the celebration of the Day of Liberation. Paris will be crowded. We like to get out of it for a while, and it will be pleasant by the river.”
    Later, she learned that Philip was a newspaperman. Not a reporter, but a journalist on staff.
    “Lucky for me I’m not a reporter,” he said. “Otherwise, I would have had to be—how you say—on the spot.”
    “But aren’t you interested in the Day of Liberation celebrations?”
    Philip shrugged. “Not now. At first, yes. But every year it is the same.