Free The Quiet Heart by Susan Barrie Page B

He’s probably been overworking or neglecting himself for some time, and this kind of thing is the result. I’m afraid he’ll need rather careful nursing for a while yet, and you must somehow persuade him not to think of returning to London until he’s really better. If he goes back too soon he may pick up another germ and—well, there you are!”
    Alison understood perfectly. Despite his apparent physical fitness and native toughness Charles Leydon, a bachelor—-as it now seemed reasonably certain—had driven himself rather hard over the past few months, and unless he allowed himself to unwind the result might not be too good. He was not as tough as he thought ... as most people thought. He was by no means fragile, but a certain amount of Care was important with the winter only just beginning.
    “Of course, if I were a man with his means I’d be off to the Bahamas, or somewhere like that, for the winter,” the doctor said wistfully. “And if he has any sense, once you’ve finished looking after him here, that’s what he’ll do. I’ll certainly advise it.”
    But Charles Leydon seldom listened to advice. In fact it was quite possible he never listened to it, and Alison found this out as soon as he was sufficiently recovered to need someone to talk to. And as Alison was the one who was nearly always on hand it was her that he talked to.
    On the day the doctor allowed him up for a short while to sit in a chair by the fire in his room his secretary telephoned for about the twentieth time since he had been taken ill. Her name was Miss Prim, but because she had such a beguiling voice and her concern for her employer, was very feminine and uninhibited Alison was sure she was not prim. She said things like, “You mustn’t let him bully you,” and “Poor lamb, he’s such an independent male he must hate lying in bed and being fussed over!” to Alison. And when she heard that he was getting up she issued a set of quite decisive instructions.
    “Whatever you do don’t let him think he’s better just because he’s on his feet again. Make him stay at the Hall for another week or fortnight. Tell him I’m carrying on blissfully without him, but I miss him sorely. Tell him if he wants me he has only to send for me ... But I’m letting everyone know he’s out of action for the time being and mustn’t be pestered. I thought that was the only sensible thing to do.”
    But Charles Leydon, when informed that his secretary was carrying on blissfully without him, uttered a sound between a snort and a grunt.
    “That means the correspondence is piling up and I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later.” He let out a sigh. “The way I feel at the moment I don’t want to see another letter in the whole course of my life. Certainly not a business letter.”
    Alison, who was kneeling on the rug and adding another log to the fire, looked round at him anxiously. He certainly looked intriguingly pale, she thought, and the dark blue of his dressing-gown emphasised his thinness. She felt a passionate desire to build him up, to feed him egg custards and chicken broth, egg-nog and her own specially reinforced wine jelly.
    “But you are feeling much better than you did a couple of days ago, aren’t you?” she almost pleaded. “At least your temperature has steadied, and it’s now just a question of building you up.”
    He smiled at her a little whimsically.
    “You and your building up! I honestly believe you enjoy looking after invalids, Alison.” He had stopped calling her Mrs. Fairlie days ago. “Why didn’t you take up nursing professionally?” he enquired curiously. “You’d have made a first-class nurse.”
    She concentrated all her attention on the fire.
    “I don’t know that I enjoy nursing all that much,” she admitted, while the firelight played over her. “However, it does seem that I’ve had rather a lot of experience...”
    “For your age,” he said quietly.
    She glanced at him.
    “A lot of young