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doctor's assistant celine conway

doctor's assistant celine conway



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Published by bhavanibala20004470
vintage romance
vintage romance

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Published by: bhavanibala20004470 on Dec 01, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Celine Conway
In her work as assistant to Dr. Ben Vaughan at the tiny town of Port Quentin, Laurette had never encountered any man who remotely stirred her heart—until one stormy day when Charles Heronskilfully sailed his uncle’s yacht into the tricky harbor.When Laurette was bandaging Charles’ injured arm, she decided on the spot that he was an autocratwho thought too much of himself, and for his part it seemed that he could not forgive her the crime of  being only nineteen; all of which provoked her into hostile reaction.Unfortunately he got on well with her father, and Laurette found herself unable to avoid or ignorehim. Then suddenly she realized she was in love with him—and she meant nothing at all in his life...
THE seasonal gale had been buffeting the Wild Coast for three days. At intervals it died down to anapologetic murmur, and Laurette, who had never before spent September in Africa, decided eachtime that at last the demons were tired and peace was about to settle back upon the hot, savage beautyof the coast. Not that Port Quentin bore anything but a fraction of the wind’s vehemence. The tiny town nestledcosily beside the river whose exit to the sea was guarded by two gigantic wooded headlands knownas the “Gates”. The houses sheltered behind the “Gates” and buried themselves in the sub-tropicalfoliage of poinsettias and tulip trees, frangipani and lush, purple-flowering bananas.The Delaney bungalow was unpretentious. As houses go in such places it was old—it had beenstanding at least thirty years—and though it was smartly white with a green corrugated iron roof, aclose inspection would have revealed peeled stucco and cemented cracks. It was the best theDelaneys had been able to afford when they had arrived five months ago, and they both loved it. For one thing, the Captain had never before owned a house, so this one had all the glory of blessedachievement; and for another, Laurette’s young life had been spent at boarding schools in the EnglishMidlands and, during holidays, at the Edwardian house of a tiresomely strict aunt. The bungalow washeaven to Laurette, and her father was happier than he had been since before his wife had died atLaurette’s birth, nineteen years earlier.The third day of the gale brought a degree of anxiety to Port Quentin. The town was almostinaccessible by road because of the folds of mountains which lay between it and the nearest inlandtown, eighty miles away, so food supplies were brought along the coast by steamer twice weekly.The coaster was now a day overdue, and though no one was perturbed by the threatened foodshortage—there were fruit and fish in plenty on the spot—all felt worried about the safety of thethick-set, tanned little skipper, who was a personal friend of every one of three hundred white peopleof Port Quentin.In addition, old Mr. Kelsey, the richest man in the town, stormed about with his telescope searchingthe mighty, heaving waters for a sign of the
 his own yacht which was being sailed roundfrom Cape Town by his nephew.At three o’clock that afternoon Mr. Kelsey stamped into the Delaney’s bungalow. His impeccablenaval cap was pulled low over his red brow and his long-fingered hands steadied the telescope oncemore as he stood at the lounge window and peered beyond the gale-driven palms at the mounting breakers.“Where’s your father?” he threw over his shoulder at Laurette.Undisturbed by the old man’s abruptness, she answered equably, “He’s working, but I’ll call him if you like. I think you’re fretting unnecessarily about that yacht of yours. Your nephew will have put into Port Elizabeth, and he’ll wait there till the wind has blown itself out.”

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