Free Call Nurse Jenny by Maggie Ford Page A

a likely partner.
    Matthew nodded towards the girl and drew a knowing chuckle from Dave as he followed the direction of the nod. With the remark, ‘Didn’t take you long, then,’ the stockily built Dave prowled off on another search.
    Alone again, but this time feeling somewhat better, he fished into the breast pocket of his khaki battle blouse and pulled out the silver cigarette case his sister had given him; he had almost forgotten his twenty-first, it seemed so far away. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against one of the pillars at the entrance to the large hall and inhaled slowly. He needed to summon up some sense of nonchalance, and, surrounded by a protective cloud of smoke which he was exhaling, he found it.
    He seldom needed courage to approach any girl, even when she was with a partner. One could soon calculate whether the partner was steady or merely casual and act accordingly. But that pale oval face set in a mass of luxurious dark hair, hair that even from here contrasted startlingly against the simple yellow dress she wore, brought an odd trepidation that he could not shake off. Suddenly it seemed very important that he should. Jenny, with her fiery hair and her straightforward manner, faded a little as he began his slow walk towards the girl with the Marine.
    As if sensing his approach, hardly had he taken half a dozen steps than the girl turned her head towards him. Her lips broadened into a tiny smile, its message unmistakable. She had been looking thoroughly bored, but already the bored look had fled, leaving hope in its place. Matthew’s heart lifted. It might not be such a bad evening after all. He threw a glance at her partner as he drew nearer. No wonder she was bored. The guy’s face sported a mass of ripening acne. Other than that he could probably be classed good-looking, but in his present condition he couldn’t be very savoury to her.
    Matthew stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on one of the tables he passed, bringing a surge of interest from the hopeful ring of girls around it, each young eager face looking up in brief anticipation of being asked for the quickstep now being struck up by the band.
    The dark-haired girl had turned away from him, seeing him bend forward towards the table, assuming she hadn’t been the object of his desire after all. He saw a small upward-tilted nose and lips carrying just a little too much bright red lipstick but which now possessed a most becoming little pout. Why did he suddenly feel so shaky?
    Matthew took a deep breath and walked the last few paces as nonchalantly as he could. It was the fate of all faced with the prospect of asking the girl of their choice for a dance, especially if she struck them as ravishing, to feel at least a fraction nervous, alive to the possibility of an abrupt turndown, having to walk away as though it hadn’t mattered to them in the least. He had hardly ever suffered from that, but this time, inexplicably, he had joined the ranks of the nervous, at the last minute losing his nerve.
    Pausing in front of a wide-eyed blonde, her hair dragged into what was currently called a victory roll, he offered her his hand, at the same time executing a casual tilt of his head towards the rapidly filling dance floor. In a trice the blonde was on her feet, almost knocking over her port and lemon in her haste. Seconds later he was winging her away across the floor, choosing one of the gaps that still remained between the fast-moving couples. To his relief the blonde danced well. Conscious of the eyes of the dark-haired girl following his progress, he couldn’t have borne someone who might have hampered his steps.
    ‘You’re ever such a good dancer,’ came the light words whispered into his ear, to which he nodded absently.
    He had no need to be told he was a good dancer. He’d always gained pleasure from it, from being watched, stretching his talents to the full. Yet it had become imperative to put his present partner through every