by Ann Jennings
“Was that why you came down to the south?” he asked.
“Partly,” answered Isabel carefully, she had no intention of telling him of her broken engagement. “I wanted a change, and I had never worked in the south of England. Everyone told me about your wonderful weather.” She laughed, “if today is anything to go by I think I made the right decision.”
“It is milder than Edinburgh,” conceded Mike, “but of course we do have our fair share of rain too.” He looked at her curiously. “Did you always intend to be a theatre nurse?”
“No,” answered Isabel honestly, “I would much prefer to be working in paediatrics, and am also trained as a paediatric nurse.” She sighed. “However, openings for paediatric nurses are few and far between, so I took the theatre job.”
“Does that mean you will desert us in theatre, the moment a paediatric post comes along?” he asked almost curtly.
“If the right job comes along,” answered Isabel coolly, looking him levelly in the eye. “Surely you wouldn’t blame me?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, just looked down and stirred his coffee. “Do you like children?” he asked slowly.
“Oh, yes I do,” answered Isabel quickly. It was true, she did like children, she always had. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken the job in theatre at all,” she spoke her thoughts out loud, “perhaps I should have waited until a paediatric post came along.”
Quirking his eyebrows ironically, he laughed. “Do you mean that after one day with a crotchety old surgeon, and a robotic anaesthetist, you are already thinking of giving up?”
“I didn’t say that,” retorted Isabel sharply, “it’s just that you seemed to infer that I would be letting everyone down if I left the theatre team.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding in the slightest bit penitent. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Of course when the right paediatric job comes along you must take it. I always believe one should take every opportunity that comes along in life. Don’t you?”
“Er…yes, exactly,” replied Isabel, trying to sound convincing. She did agree of course, but she had an odd feeling that he wasn’t just referring to work in particular.
“Good, I’m glad we agree,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure we shall get along famously, once we get to know each other.”
Isabel didn’t reply, being unable to think of anything particularly appropriate. She just watched silently as he stretched his long, muscular frame and then got up.
“I’ll take you back,” he announced. “I have an early start tomorrow. I’m off to London to a Faculty meeting.”
The drive back to the hospital only took a few minutes, and soon the car pulled up smoothly outside the residence block. “Thank you for the lift, and for the coffee,” said Isabel feeling suddenly shy as she vainly wrestled with the door handle.
“Here, let me,” he said, and leaning across flicked it open. His face was very close to hers, too close for comfort, and for a moment he surveyed her in the dim light of the car. “I’m not cold blooded,” he said in an undertone.
“No, no, I’m sure you’re not,” replied Isabel hurriedly, scrambling out of the car and trying to ignore the jellylike feeling in her legs. She attempted a light laugh, which somehow didn’t quite make it, sounding more like a hiccup than a laugh. “I told you before, it was only a joke.”
“Hmm,” he replied, not sounding convinced, “just so long as you remember it!” Then, slamming the car door shut, he drove off into the night, leaving Isabel standing on the pathway puzzling over his cryptic parting remark.
Chapter Three
For a long while that night she lay snuggled up comfortably in bed and relived the evening she had spent with Mike Blakeney. She could see him in her mind’s eye just as clearly as if he were in the room, and the clarity of the vision surprised her. After all she hardly knew him, she hadn’t had the opportunity to study his face very much, it would have been too rude to stare. But nevertheless she found that his lean, slightly rugged face, with the strong firm mouth, cool grey eyes, and dark bronzed hair with the slight wave in it, was firmly imprinted on her mind. As if she had known him for years. It was her ex-fiancé’s face that seemed to have faded. Already she found difficulty in conjuring up Hugh Sinclair’s face, something she had thought would never happen.
Turning over in bed she roughly punched her pillow into shape. Don’t go falling for another anaesthetist, she told herself firmly, or any other man come to that! People always said that love on the rebound was bound to be a mistake! Suddenly she laughed out loud at her thoughts. How ridiculous she was being, why was she thinking of love at all? Dr Blakeney had hardly given her any encouragement. He had been friendly at the pub it was true, but that was nothing to go overboard about! In fact, the more she thought logically about it, the more she realised he had been friendly out of an impulsive kindness. It was nothing more than that. Although when she remembered their conversation, a smile of pleasure curved her gentle lips. A smile that lingered on, even as she fell asleep.
Next day in theatre went very smoothly indeed. Jim Smith was an amusing colleague and an excellent anaesthetist to work with, although at times quite manic. It wasn’t long before Isabel had firmly placed him in the category she reserved in her mind for eccentric Englishmen. He had an unnerving habit of fixing the nearest person with a beady stare, and calling all and sundry “old chap” or the girls “old bean.” He talked non-stop to whoever would listen, including the patients, who drifted off under the influence of anaesthesia with Dr Smith’s voice rattling around in their heads. None of them seemed to mind in the slightest. Probably prevents them from worrying about the operation ahead, thought Isabel, watching with amusement.
“Quite different from Dr Blakeney,” whispered Susie Wee when Jim Smith had taken a patient off to recovery. “I always like it when Dr Smith is here.”
“Yes, he certainly is different,” agreed Isabel. “From the sublime to the ridiculous as far as conversation goes! But I didn’t mind working for Dr Blakeney, he’s a very good anaesthetist.” She felt in a strange illogical way she ought to stand up for him.
Susie Wee’s dark almond shaped eyes looked surprised. “Do you mean you actually like him?” she asked in amazement.
“Well…” Isabel thought for a moment. “I don’t dislike him,” she said eventually.
Susie giggled. “Don’t go falling for him,” she advised, “he’s a cold-blooded fish.”
“How do you know?” asked Isabel curiously, remembering Mike Blakeney’s words the evening before as they were parting. She wondered why he had the terrible reputation he seemed to have acquired.
Susie Wee looked carefully around the anaesthetic room, to make sure it was empty, then said confidentially, “Some of the girls’ have been out with him, you know, dinner dates—that kind of thing.”
“Well?” asked Isabel, “what is so strange about that?”
“They all say the same thing,” said Susie, “he seems to lose interest halfway through the evening, and never even kisses any of them good night!” She looked quite aghast at such untypical behaviour in a man.
Isabel laughed at her expression, “At least that makes a nice change from most of the wolves that are about in doctors’ clothing! Most of them expect to go to bed in return for a dinner date!”
Susie Wee nodded her head in agreement, “I know,” she said, “but I prefer to have to fight a man off, rather than feel he couldn’t wait to get rid of me!”
Their conversation was brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of the next patient brought in by the theatre porters. They were different men that day, Isabel noticed. One of them was grossly overweight and puffed and panted from the effort of pushing the trolley, and the other was so thin and pale, he looked as if he ought to have been a patient himself! They looked a thoroughly ineffectual pair, and Isabel was not exactly surprised there had been a long
wait between patients.
Jim Smith obviously thought the same. “Worst pair of porters in the hospital, and I always seem to be lumbered with them,” he grumbled as soon as they had left theatre. “Laurel and Hardy is their nickname, but the pity of it is, they don’t move as fast as the film stars!”
Isabel smiled, “I was just thinking, myself, what an odd couple! That’s probably the cause of the delay.”
Jim Smith snorted. “When Laurel and Hardy are on, there is always a delay,” he said as they wheeled the now deeply unconscious patient into theatre ready for operation. “I never ask them to come in and move the patient on to the operating table, I’m always afraid they’ll drop the poor devil! Of course I used to play for Oxford in the slips.”
“In the slips?” Isabel was puzzled, Dr Smith had a disconcerting habit of darting from one topic of conversation to another, which made it difficult sometimes to keep track of the current subject.
“Cricket, old bean, cricket,” he grunted, heaving the patient on to the operating table with the help of the houseman. “If I should drop a patient, I always pride myself that I’d be able to field him. Or her,” he added as an afterthought.
Isabel grinned behind her theatre mask, thinking a patient would be a little more difficult to “field” than a cricket ball. She wondered if the difference in weight had occurred to Dr Smith. “Let’s hope you never have to put your theory into practice,” she murmured as the operation commenced.
“Quite, quite, old bean,” he replied, twiddling energetically with various knobs on the anaesthetic machine.
The morning passed by quickly and uneventfully, in spite of Laurel and Hardy, and during the lunch break Isabel went down with Susie and Sally to the hospital canteen. They sat at the same table as the day before, and Isabel found herself sitting next to Cliff Peterson, the surgeon of the morning.
“How do you like it here at the County General?” he asked.
“I like what I’ve seen of it,” replied Isabel truthfully, “but don’t forget this is only my second day.”
“Well,” he grinned, “at least you’ll have a peaceful day today. No bad-tempered surgeon or anaesthetist to put up with!” Isabel laughed at the angelic expression on his face.
The conversation wove its way round the table, Cliff Peterson being the focal point. He was amusing and witty, and bursting with high spirits.
“He’s always like this after a morning’s operating,” whispered Sally Mannering. “I think he is so relieved that everything has gone without a hitch, that it’s his way of letting off steam!”
The theatre team made their way back to theatre to change ready for the afternoon session, leaving Cliff Peterson alone in the canteen drinking his coffee. He had the afternoon on the wards.
For Isabel and Dr Smith the afternoon list was a paediatric one, consisting mostly of minor operations, circumcisions and hernias, and one major operation of reconstructive surgery on a very small baby.
Isabel was in her element with the children. She comforted them and reassured them when they came into the anaesthetic room. Jim Smith had music playing, and Isabel had put out some small toys on the side to distract their young patients. They were all wide awake when they arrived, most of them yelling.
“I don’t believe in premedicating children,” Jim Smith told Isabel. “I know a lot of anaesthetists do, but I believe a noisy child is a safe child. At least you know he or she is breathing!”
Isabel laughed as a loudly wailing child was wheeled into the anaesthetic room. “You can certainly be sure this one is breathing!” she said, picking up one of the toys from the cupboard, and waggling the teddy bear at the small boy. Before long he had completely forgotten his fears, and was even giggling a little.
When he was asleep and the circumcision being performed, Jim Smith turned to her. “You really have a knack with children,” he said, “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” answered Isabel delightedly, “it isn’t difficult, I like them. In fact,” she confided, “I would much rather be doing paediatric nursing than working in theatres, but there are no jobs available at the moment.”
“Yes, a difficult field to get into,” answered the anaesthetist as he wrote in the patient’s notes, “so I don’t think we shall be losing you just yet.”
Isabel smiled. “You’re stuck with me for a while,” she agreed. “Although Dr Blakeney did say he would understand if I left suddenly to take up a suitable post somewhere else.
Jim Smith pulled a face at the mention of his colleague’s name. “Did he?” he remarked in a surprised tone of voice. “That’s unusual for Mike, if he finds something good he usually hangs on to it.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t think I’m worth it,” ventured Isabel, “I’m only a theatre nurse.”
“Ah, but an exceptionally good one,” smiled Dr Smith. “I shall have to bully Mike Blakeney, should the day ever come for you to hand in your notice, so that we can both persuade you to stay.”
“I can’t see Dr Blakeney ever trying to persuade anyone,” observed Isabel, “he doesn’t seem the type.”
Jim Smith pulled an expressive face at her remark, shooting his eyebrows up until they almost disappeared beneath his theatre cap. “I like Mike,” he said, “but I don’t understand the chap. I’ve never known anyone remain so moody for so long after…” He paused for a moment then said, “You are encouraging me to gossip, Nurse McKenna, that will never do!”
Isabel knew better than to mention Mike Blakeney’s name again, but she was dying to know what it was he had remained so moody about. She had had the feeling that Jim Smith had been going to say “bitter” but had changed his mind! A broken love affair shouldn’t leave you bitter for the rest of your life, she reflected, as Jim Smith started waking up the small boy after his anaesthetic. It was only women who were supposed to pine with broken hearts!
The rest of the afternoon sped by, and soon the last small patient was being wheeled, howling sleepily but loudly, back to recovery. Isabel made her way to the female changing room at the end of the theatre suite, and changed into her outdoor clothes. There was no sign of Sally or Susie. They must have been quick off the mark the moment surgery had finished, thought Isabel, struggling into her jeans. Of course, the surgical team always got away first, the anaesthetist and his assistant not only had to wake up the patient and then take the patient through to recovery, but the assistant to the anaesthetist had to stay and prepare the anaesthetic room for the next day’s operations. Tomorrow with Mike Blakeney she had thought, as she had busied herself in the anaesthetic room. At the thought of working with him again, an unexpected flicker of anticipation prickled along her spine. Although she firmly suppressed the feeling, she had to admit rather reluctantly to herself, that she was looking forward to seeing him again!
Stepping outside the theatre suite, into the long corridor which ran parallel with it, Isabel found Cliff Peterson leaning against the wall. He had evidently been waiting for her, because as soon as she appeared he came towards her. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked without preamble.
Isabel shrugged her slender shoulders. “I hadn’t anything exciting planned,” she admitted.
“You have now,” said Cliff, “you are coming out to dinner with me and a few others. We’re going to a very good Greek restaurant I know. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Isabel opened her eyes wide and laughed. “Hold your horses, Cliff Peterson,” she said. “I don’t like men assuming that I’m going to fall in with their plans!”
Cliff gave an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be difficult,” he said. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to resist my irresistible charms!”
Isabel laughed again, she couldn’t help liking him but, wagging her finger in admonition, she informed him, “You have got a lot to learn about irresistible charm. If there is one thing that puts off m
ost women it’s a man who assumes that you are going to say yes, just because he has done her the honour of asking!”
Penitently Cliff went down on one knee in the corridor. “Please, Miss McKenna, will you do me the honour of dining with me and my friends this evening?” he asked.
“Get up,” hissed Isabel hastily, “people are coming. They’ll think you’re mad!”
“Are you coming?” persisted Cliff staying firmly put on his knees in the middle of the corridor.
“Yes, yes,” said Isabel, as the figures drew nearer and she could see it was one of the senior nursing officers, “I’ll come. Now get up, for goodness sake!”
Grinning, Cliff rose to his feet and, as they passed the senior nursing officer, a battleaxe of a woman called Miss Badman, an appropriate name Isabel had thought when she had first met her at interview, he smiled sweetly and said, “Good night, Miss Badman.”
To Isabel’s surprise, Miss Badman smiled effusively back. Apparently Cliff Peterson did have irresistible charm as far as she was concerned!
Later that evening though, Isabel was very glad she had accepted Cliff’s invitation. Sally Mannering was there with her boyfriend, who turned out to be the paediatric surgeon of the afternoon, Pete Rosen, plus some other people Isabel hadn’t met before and to whom Cliff introduced her. They were a jolly, good-natured crowd, and soon Isabel was laughing as loudly as the rest, especially when they all tried Greek dancing. But they couldn’t keep it up for long, none of them could keep pace with the Greek waiters who were experts and amazed everyone with their athletic skill.
Quite suddenly Isabel realised, in the midst of all the noise and laughter, that Edinburgh seemed very far away indeed. If life at the County General was going to be like this she decided, unhappy memories would be forgotten in a week. Hugh Sinclair, and his hurtful roving eyes, would be safely swept away, his memory firmly squashed forever.
