by Betty Neels
She had no success with this unoriginal remark and there was a nasty little pause while she cudgelled her tired brain to think of some topic in which he would be forced to take an interest. How dreadfully English she was, she thought without humour, to fall back on the weather. ‘It rained in the night,’ she said finally.
When he did speak his voice was pleasant and casual. ‘So you were awake in the night to hear the rain.’
She undid the clasp of her handbag and then did it up again and when she spoke, addressed her fidgeting fingers. ‘Well—yes.’
‘Making up your mind to leave me?’ His voice was still casual, but when she peeped at him she saw that his lips were curved in a smile—not a very nice smile.
‘No—I’d already done that.’
‘Oh, before you went to bed, perhaps?’
She replied without thinking, ‘Oh, yes—long before then.’
His voice held mild interest, nothing more. ‘Ah, and when was that, I wonder? When I kissed you before I went away?’
She cried out in sudden pain, ‘No, oh, no, Justin! You weren’t there, it was after you had gone, after Kitty and Will had gone, when…’
Perhaps her voice had been too loud, for Mevrouw Teylingen interrupted her, her own voice a little louder than usual.
‘Emma dear, there is the windmill about which I told you—you remember? The one which is supposed to be haunted. Such a pity we never managed to visit it.’ She went on at some length about the mill. It was surprising what a great deal of information she had to offer Emma about it, and when she at length stopped, Justin gave no sign of wishing to continue their own conversation, but talked instead, in the impersonal tones of a casual acquaintance, of the various landmarks they were passing, nor did he attempt to do anything else for the remainder of the journey.
When they arrived at Schipol he saw to her luggage, bought her an armful of magazines, observed that the flight should be a good one and then went on to talk easily about a number of subjects which, to Emma at least, didn’t matter in the least. She, agreeing politely that the weather, on the whole, was better in England than it was in Holland, and that the new enclosing dykes along the coast were a remarkable feat of engineering, longed to shout ‘Stop!’ so that she could have a chance to say all the things she wished to say and now would never have the chance to tell.
Her flight was called and she submitted to Mevrouw Teylingen’s kiss and clasp of the hand with a kind of numb resignation before she turned to Justin. Since she had to say good-bye, she would get it over quickly—a sentiment it seemed he shared, for he gave her the briefest of handclasps and said nothing at all, and as he had allowed the lids to droop over his eyes, it was impossible to tell, looking up into his impassive face, what he was thinking. She said briefly, ‘Goodbye, Justin,’ and turned away to the escalator. At its top she looked back. Mevrouw Teylingen waved, but Justin wasn’t even looking.
She had obediently fastened her seat belt, sucked her barley sugar, accepted the daily newspaper and unfastened her seat belt again, all without being aware of what she was doing. It was only as she craned her neck to see Holland’s coastline slide away beneath her that she remembered that Justin hadn’t said good-bye, which was strangely comforting even though she would never see him again.
Her hospital bedroom, after her room at Huize den Linden, was bare and poky and unwelcoming. She unpacked, reported to the office for duty on the following morning and went down to the tea she didn’t want.
In the Sisters’ sitting-room she was welcomed back by her friends and colleagues, who according to their various natures asked a variety of questions about her holiday, ranging from the sort of weather she had had, from Sister Cox, who wasn’t romantic, to an inquiry as to how many times Professor Teylingen had taken her out and where, from Madge, who was. She answered their questions in a serene voice which successfully hid her true feelings and the fact that her thoughts were far away; even while she discussed the weather with the thoroughness Sister Cox expected of her, she was wondering, with a sense of loss almost too great to be borne, what Justin was doing.
Professor Teylingen wasn’t drinking tea, nor was he answering questions; he was asking them. He had just returned to his home after an exacting afternoon in the theatre and now, in his study, he was facing his aunt who, bidden to join him there, was sitting with a very straight back in the chair before him. Unlike Emma, he had a great many questions to ask, lounging back against his desk with his hands in his pockets, he said quite pleasantly, yet with a hint of steel in his voice.
‘And now, Tante Wilhelmina, that I have the time to put my own affairs in order, I should like to know exactly what it was that you said to Emma while I was away.’
He smiled at her as he spoke, but his eyes were hard and glittering. Her own dropped before them and after a moment she began to tell him.
The strict theatre routine was strangely comforting to Emma, for it gave her no time to think, and because Sister Cox was only working for an hour or two each day, Emma took most of the lists, going off duty each day too tired to do much more than eat and sleep. Little Willy, now that he was to be her brother-in-law, lectured her severely on overworking and lack of social life and she listened to him obediently, looking meek, and went her own way. She had driven home in the Ford on her first days off, and her mother, in the instinctive way that mothers have, had asked few questions, and those of only superficial interest concerning her stay with Mevrouw Teylingen, and once or twice, lulled by her mother’s silence, Emma had been tempted to tell her all about it. Perhaps, she decided, she would in a little while, when she could speak of it without feeling the urgent need to burst into tears.
Instead, they talked about Kitty’s wedding and future. She was to finish her training as a doctor, Will had been adamant about that; he would pay her fees, and he had already applied for a post at her hospital, which, if he was successful, would entitle him to a flat, so that he and Kitty could set up house and live there until she had qualified. Then, Will had said firmly, they would look around for a practice and go into partnership, and Emma had been secretly amused to see how meekly Kitty had agreed with him. He might be a shy man, but he had a will of his own—like someone else she knew. She sighed, and her mother, sitting at the table totting up the egg money, heard her and without appearing to do, gave her an anxious look. That something had happened in Holland was only too evident. Emma’s face had got thin even in the few days in which she had been back at work and she ate almost nothing. Mrs Hastings shut her various little notebooks although she hadn’t finished her sums and said brightly:
‘I long for a glass of sherry—let’s have one, shall we? And then how about running across to the vicarage and fetching that book I promised to take to Mrs Coffin next time I go?’
Emma fetched the sherry and as her mother had known she would, expressed her willingness to fetch the book too and take it to Mrs Coffin while she was about it; it was a pleasant evening, the walk would do her good.
Mrs Coffin was glad to see her. Emma sat down when bidden to do so and listened to Mrs Coffin’s experiences in hospital and how she had returned home and how very kind everyone in the village had been. Having exhausted this interesting topic she wanted to know, rather archly, how Emma’s young man was getting on, and when Emma said she was mistaken, it was Kitty who had the young man, Mrs Coffin had smiled and said that that was all fiddlesticks. It had been obvious to her, ill though she had been at the time, that the handsome doctor who had rescued her from the well had fancied Emma. ‘I’m an old woman,’ she went on, ‘and you can’t tell me, Emma—never a word did he say, nor did he do more than glance at you, but certainly he fancied you.’
Not any more, thought Emma, and plunged into further inquiries concerning Mrs Coffin’s state of health without answering any more of her questions. That good lady said no more on the subject of young men; she gave Emma a knowing look from her faded blue eyes, mentally storing up a few inquiries of her own about dear Emm
a, next time her mother should call.
There was a terrific list when Emma went back on duty on the Wednesday. She frowned over it in the office, wondering what Mr Soames had been at to allow so many cases, but when she queried them with Sister Cox, that lady had tossed her severely capped head and remarked acidly that it was about time they did some work now that the foreigner had gone and she herself was on duty again. It was a pity that an hour later, just as she was preparing to scrub, she decided that the ache in her toes justified her going off duty. She went back to the office where Emma was frowning over the replacements list and said briskly:
‘You’ll have to manage, Sister Hastings. Staff’s off at five, isn’t she? Well, she’ll have to stay on—you’ve got an evening, haven’t you? Mr Soames should be through by then.’ She didn’t mention the work which would have to be done after the last case had gone back to the ward—nor did Emma. She knew better than to argue with Mad Minnie when she was in one of her mean moods, but of one thing she was certain, Staff should go off at four o’clock, not five—the poor girl had hours of time due to her. She had been working like a slave and deserved it. Emma got up from the desk and took off her cuffs, preparatory to scrubbing. She said, ‘Very well, Sister Cox,’ in a quiet, non-committal voice, while she mentally juggled with the day’s off-duty for the nurses. With luck they would manage and it wouldn’t be the first time.
She broke the news to Mr Bone as she went through the anaesthetic room and he gave the thumbs-up sign and muttered, ‘Thank God, girl, I’m not in a mood for Minnie today,’ and smiled at her broadly, and Mr Soames and Little Willy, while not using Mr Bone’s exact words, obviously shared his opinion, adding that they hoped she would be able to manage.
‘Yes, thanks, just about,’ said Emma, and now she came to think about it she was quite glad, for she would have no leisure to think all day and she had half promised to go to the housemen’s party that evening. With any luck she would be so tired that she would sleep all night, something she hadn’t been doing lately.
The day went well despite the rush of work. Emma and Staff gobbled sandwiches and drank a jug of coffee between them while the nurses went to their dinner, sitting in the office with the tray between them and their shoes off. They both looked hot and tired and pale and neither of them had any make-up on any more.
‘That was a piece of luck,’ commented Staff, ‘those two cases going so well’ She bit hugely into a ham sandwich. ‘I thought the second one was going to take longer, didn’t you?’
Emma nodded. ‘Yes, I did, at least we’re up to time so far. You scrub for the lobectomy, will you? I’ll dish for the aortic aneurysm and take it, it’ll take some time, and you’re to go at four whether it’s finished or not, but before you do, dish for the stricture of oesophagus, will you? Cully’s off at five, too, isn’t she—and the technicians and Mrs…’ she brightened. ‘There’s Staff Nichols on at eight. If we’re not cleared up she’ll give a hand, she always does.’
Staff puckered her forehead in a frown. ‘Yes, but Sister, what about you? You’ll not get off at all. Suppose I stay?’
‘No need,’ said Emma decisively. ‘I’ve not got anything planned for this evening, only the party, and that won’t brighten up until ten o’clock.’
Staff nodded in agreement. ‘True, if you’re not too tired. You don’t look—that is, Sister, you haven’t looked very well since you’ve been off, kind of pale and unhappy.’
Emma poured the last of the coffee. Collins was a nice girl, she was probably only repeating what everyone else was saying. ‘That’s an appendix for you,’ said Emma serenely. ‘Takes the stuffing out of a body, I can tell you.’
Collins eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Did you have a lovely time at the professor’s house?’ she asked at length.
Emma had been thankful that until now they had been too busy to chat about anything. She had imagined erroneously, she now realized, that after a week or so it would be easier for her to answer that sort of question should she be asked it, but all the pain and misery she had kept damped down inside her since she had left Holland came surging back so that she had difficulty in speaking. With an effort she replied lightly:
‘Oh, absolutely gorgeous—I must tell you all about it some time, but we’d better get cracking now, hadn’t we?’
The afternoon went as well as the morning had done—Emma sent the nurses to tea one by one, snatched a cup herself with the surgeons between cases, chivvied Staff off duty and returned to the theatre. There were two more cases, the aneurysm and an emergency—a lung abscess, and that would mean a lobectomy. As the patient was wheeled in Mr Soames looked at the clock and said, ‘The last one, I hope—if they spring anything else on me I shall put my foot down.’
Everyone knew that he didn’t mean that; if a dozen such cases were to come in one after the other, Mr Soames would grumble luridly at each of them and perform brilliantly as he always did, and Little Willy would stand opposite him assisting, without a word of complaint.
Emma nodded to those fortunate enough to be going off duty and watched them slip quietly away. They were already late, she would have to make it up to them when she could—when next Mad Minnie was off duty. She was left with Jessop, doing her best, and the two technicians who had offered to work overtime. Emma gave them each an encouraging nod from behind her mask and bent to her trolleys.
It was well after seven when the case was wheeled away and the men had gone. Emma, not bothering to take off her mask or gown, left Jessop to clear up and wash down and started on the instruments. There were more than usual to do because Jessop hadn’t had the chance to take away those which had been finished with. Emma collected them into a bowl and went over to the sinks. Each one would have to be scrubbed, rinsed, inspected and bunched on rings according to its kind and autoclaved.
The evening was warm, the close warmth of an approaching storm. Emma pushed her theatre cap back from her forehead and set to work. She was almost through as Jessop put the finishing touches on the now spotless theatre. Emma looked round with a trained, eagle eye. The girl was shaping very well and was entirely trustworthy, something every nurse, and even more so in theatre, needed to be. Emma made a mental note to persuade Mad Minnie to give Jessop a glowing report at the end of the month and said cheerfully, ‘Finished, Nurse? Off you go then. You’re over your time, I’m afraid, but I’ll see that you get it back. You’ve done very well.’
Jessop beamed. ‘Oh, Sister, have I? Thank you. I don’t mind when you’re here, you know. Shall I ask them to save your supper?’
‘Supper?’ Emma’s thoughts had been miles away, with Justin. ‘No, thank you, Jessop. I’ll have a cup of tea or something, I’m too tired to eat.’
She looked up as she spoke and surprised a look of excited amazement on Jessop’s face. She was staring at the door so that Emma, naturally enough, turned to look too.
Justin was standing there. ‘A pity you’re not hungry, Emma,’ he said with the casual calm of someone who had only just left them and had returned on an afterthought. ‘I thought we might dine together, unless of course you prefer the party downstairs.’
He walked slowly into the theatre, paused in front of Jessop and said with a smile, ‘I’ve just been talking to Peter Moore—he was hoping you had finished, he’s waiting to take you to the party, I believe.’ At which remark Jessop went a bright pink and smiled widely. ‘I should run if I were you,’ he suggested mildly, ‘that is if Sister has finished with you.’
He lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Emma who said, breathless, ‘Yes, no—yes, of course, Nurse Jessop. I hope you have a lovely evening.’
Jessop fled to the door. Before she went through it, however, she paused and looked back. ‘And you, Sister, I hope you have a lovely evening too.’
‘A discerning girl,’ observed the professor, strolling a little further. ‘What have you still to do? The sharps and needles? Good, get on with them, dear girl. I want to talk to you and if you’re occupied it will be easier fo
r me.’
‘Why?’ asked Emma in a whisper.
He went to lean against one of Sister Cox’s white-painted glass-fronted cabinets, where the more out-of-the-way instruments were kept.
‘My darling, think. If you are cleaning knives and so forth it rather discourages me from taking you in my arms, which is what I want to do, but before I do that we have to understand one another, do we not? I think I shall talk better if there is the width of the theatre between us.’
He smiled tenderly at her and she dropped a string of forceps back into the sink with a little clang. ‘Be sure and warn me when you are finished,’ he urged her gently.
Emma nodded, picked up the last of the instruments and walked across to the shutter in the wall which opened into the sterilizing room, pushed it up, placed the rings of instruments in the basket waiting for them, then crossed the theatre, out through its door and into the sterilizing room to screw down the lid of the autoclave and turn on the steam. She went through this exercise without knowing in the least what she was doing—luckily she had done it so many times that there was no fear of her doing it wrong—and then walked back into the theatre again. Justin was still there; for one awful moment she had thought that it might all be a dream, brought on by too much work and nothing much to eat for most of the day, but he was there all right. He walked towards her as she made her way to the operating table where the sharps and needles were drawn up in orderly fashion, awaiting her attention. She came to a halt by them, looking at him inquiringly. When he was near enough he stretched out a hand and pulled her mask down under her chin and then went back again to where he had been standing, saying in a quiet voice:
‘That’s better. I must see your dear face, it seems a long time, though it’s barely ten days. I missed you, Emma. Did you miss me?’
