"What are your plans when this job is over?"
"I haven't thought much about it."
"You better start," he said. "It won't be long now."
She smiled at him. "Anxious to get rid of me?"
"Don't be silly," he said.
"The only reason I've stayed alive this long is because I didn't want to leave you."
Something in his voice made her look searchingly at him.
"You know, Charlie, I believe you really mean that."
"Of course I do," he snapped.
Suddenly touched, she came over to the side of his chair and kissed his cheek.
"Hey, Nurse Denton," he said. "I think you're breaking down. I'll get you in the sack yet."
"You got me a long time ago, Charlie. The only trouble is, we didn't meet soon enough."
When she thought about it, that was true.
The very first time she'd come down to have lunch with him in the hospital, the day after the operation, she'd liked him.
She knew he was dying and after a moment, she knew that he knew it.
But it didn't stop him from playing the gallant.
None of that bland, tasteless hospital food for him, even if he couldn't eat.
Instead, the food was rushed by motorcar from Romanoff's with a police escort out in front and the siren blaring all the way.
And along with the food came a maitre d' and two waiters to serve it.
He sat up in his bed, sipping champagne and watching her eat.
He liked the way she ate.
Picky eaters were usually selfish lovers.
They gave you nothing, demanding the same sort of unattainable satisfaction in bed that they demanded from the table.
He made up his mind instantly, as he always did.
"I’m going to be sick for a while," he said. "I’m going to need a nurse.
How would you like the job?"
She'd looked up from her coffee, her gray eyes quizzical.
"There are nurses who specialize in home care, Mr. Standhurst.
They'd probably be better at it than I am."
"I asked you."
"I have a job at Los Angeles General," she said. "A good job.
Then sometimes I get special calls to help out here, like this one.
It's the kind of work I'm good at."
"How much do you make?"
"Eighty-five a month, room and board."
"I’ll pay you a thousand a week, room and board," he said.
"But that's ridiculous!"
"Is it?" he asked, watching her steadily. "I can afford it.
When the doctor left here this morning, he told me I've only got three months to go.
I always expect to pay a little bit more when I can't offer a steady job."
She looked down as the waiter refilled her coffee cup.
"You'd be here for about three weeks," she said. "That will give me time to give notice.
When do you want me to start?"
"Right now.
And don't worry about the notice.
I already told Colton and Los Angeles General that you were coming to work for me."
She stared at him for a moment then put down her cup and got to her feet. She gestured to the maitre d' and immediately the waiters began to wheel the table out.
"Hey, what's the idea?" Standhurst asked.
Jennie didn't answer as she walked to the foot of the table and picked up the chart.
She studied it for a moment and then came over and took the glass of champagne out of his hand.