night.”
Mrs. Pibbs was waiting for Dana in her office the next morning after she’d listened to the report and was on her way to catch up on some paperwork.
“I’ve just talked to Lorraine,” Mrs. Pibbs said with a faint smile. “She’s delighted that you’re going to come.”
“I’m so glad,” Dana replied. “Has she told Mr. van der Vere?”
“Only that a nurse is expected, I understand,” the older woman replied. “It’s better not to give the enemy too much information about troop movements.”
Dana blinked. That old Army nurse’s background popped up every so often in Mrs. Pibbs, and she tried not to giggle when it did. Surely that was a strange choice of words for a new patient. And what a very strange way to describe her impending arrival at the van der Vere home.
“Troop movements?” she asked.
“Just an expression,” Mrs. Pibbs said uncomfortably. “Get on with your duties, Nurse.”
Dana stared after her. A pity she didn’t have time to think about that unusual description, but the doctors were due to make rounds shortly and there wasn’t a minute to spare.
The week went by quickly, and before she knew it, the stitches were out of her face and she was on her way to Savannah by bus. She liked to travel cross country, preferring the sightseeing that way to airplane flights, during which she could see little more than clouds. It was early spring and the landscape was just beginning to turn green across the flat land, and she could still gaze at the architecture in each small town the bus went through. It was one of her hobbies, and she never tired of it.
The styles ranged from Greek revival to Victorian to Gothic and even Williamsburg. There were split-levels, ranch-style homes, modern, ultramodern, and apartment houses. Each design seemed to have its own personality, and Dana couldn’t help but wonder about the people who lived in the houses they passed—what their lives were like.
Halfway across the state, she finally succumbed to drowsiness and fell asleep in her seat by the window. The driver was announcing Savannah when she woke up.
She took a cab out to the van der Vere summer house. The driver followed the directions Mrs. Pibbs had given Dana, and Dana’s eyes took in the jagged boulders of a new development along the beach until they drove farther and turned into a driveway lined with palms and shade trees and what looked like flowering shrubs; it was the season for them to bloom.
The house was fairly large, built of gray stone and overlooking the Atlantic, so ethereal that it might have been an illusion. Dana loved it at first sight. It’s beautiful, she thought, with flowers blooming all around it and the greenery profuse.
She paid the driver and went up the cobblestone path to the door, pausing before she rang the doorbell. Well, she told herself, it was now or never. Self-consciously she tugged a lock of her loosened hair over her cheek to help conceal the scar. Bangs already hid the one on her forehead. But the worst scars were those inside, out of sight….
The door opened and a small dark woman with green eyes stood smiling at her.
“You’re Dana Steele?” she asked softly. “Come in, do. I’m Lorraine van der Vere; I’m so glad to meet you. Was it a long trip—were you comfortable?” she added in a rush, moving aside to let the taller woman inside.
Dana compared her own gray suit with the woman’s obviously expensive emerald pantsuit and felt shabby by comparison. It was the best she had, of course, but hardly couture. If what Mrs. van der Vere was wearing was any indication, the family was quite wealthy.
“I brought my uniform, of course,” Dana said quickly. “I don’t want you to think…”
“Don’t be silly, my dear,” Lorraine said kindly. “Would you like to go upstairs and freshen up before I, uh, introduce you to my son?”
Dana was about to reply when there was a crash and a thud, followed by muffled words in a deep, harsh voice. Probably a servant had dropped something in the kitchen, Dana thought, but Mrs. van der Vere looked suddenly uncomfortable.
“Here, I’ll show you to your room,” she said quickly, guiding Dana to the staircase with its mahogany banister and woodwork. “Come with me, dear.”
As if I had any choice, Dana thought with muzzled amusement. Mrs. van der Vere acted as if she were running from wolves.
The room she was given was done in shades of beige and brown, with creamy curtains and a soft quilted coverlet in a “chocolate and spice” pattern. The carpet was thick, and Dana wanted to kick off her shoes and walk through it barefoot. She took her time getting into her spotless, starched uniform. She’d wanted to put her hair up, to look more professional, but she couldn’t cope with the pity in Mrs. van der Vere’s eyes if those scars were allowed to show. She left off her makeup—after all, her poor patient couldn’t see her anyway—adjusted her cap and went downstairs.
Mrs. van der Vere came out of the living room, hands outstretched. “My, don’t you look professional,” she said. “We’ll have to spend some time together, my dear, once you’ve gotten into the routine and adjusted to Gannon.” She looked briefly uncomfortable and bit her dainty lower lip. “Dana, if I may call you Dana, you…won’t…that is, you’re used to difficult patients, aren’t you?” she asked finally.
Dana smiled. “Yes, Mrs. van der Vere…”
“Call me Lorraine, dear. We’re going to be allies, you know.”
“Lorraine,” she corrected. “I was a floor nurse at Ashton General, you know. I think I can cope with Mr. van der Vere.”
“Most people do, until they’ve met him” was the worried reply, accompanied by a wan smile. “Well—” she straightened “—shall we get it over with?”
Dana followed behind her, half puzzled. Surely the little Dutchman couldn’t be that much of a horror. She wondered if he’d have an accent. His mother didn’t seem to….
Lorraine knocked tentatively at the door of the room next to the living room.
“Gannon?” she called hesitantly.
“Well, come in or go away! Do you need an engraved invitation?” came a deep, lightly accented voice from behind the huge mahogany door.
Lorraine opened the door and stood aside to let Dana enter the room first.
“Here’s your new nurse, darling: Miss Dana Steele. Dana, this is my stepson, Gannon.”
Dana barely heard her. She was trying to adjust to the fact that the small, mustached Dutchman she had been told was to be her patient was actually the man she saw in front of her.
“Well?” the huge man at the desk asked harshly, his unseeing gray eyes staring straight ahead. “Is she mute, Mother? Or just weighing the advantages of silence?”
Dana found her voice and moved forward,
