by Betty Neels
She gave him an indignant look. ‘Certainly not, Professor. I’m on duty, and in any case I’m not in the mood for parties.’ She added unhappily, ‘I’ve nothing to wear—I mean, he has seen the dresses I’ve got at least six times.’
‘That is a point,’ agreed the Professor gravely. ‘I have no doubt that, to a man in his type of job, clothes matter a great deal.’
Rachel nodded. ‘Oh, they do, and you see I’ve never bothered a great deal—I mean, not to fuss, if you know what I mean? Brothers never notice what you’re wearing anyway…’ She stopped suddenly. ‘I’m sorry—talking to you like this; I quite forgot who you were.’
If the Professor found this remark a little surprising, he gave no sign. He said soothingly, ‘I am sure you will have an opportunity to go out with, er, Melville again.’ He became businesslike. ‘This man who is coming up—gunshot wounds at close range—I’ve had a look and we’ll need a lot of luck on our side. How are you off for staff?’
She cast him a grateful look. He never failed to see that she had enough help. ‘If Billy is here, I can manage. I’ve a junior on—very new but eager—and Carter’s coming in.’
‘He’s a good man to have about. Right, I’ll take a look at what you’ve put out, shall I?’
They went over the instruments together and then he went away, leaving her to scrub and get into her gown and mask and gloves and lay up.
Dr Carr would be anaesthetising; she had expected that. The Professor and he had worked together for a year or two now. He appeared with his patient and a nurse from the accident room to attend to his wants and keep an eye on the drip they had set up. The Professor, with George and Billy, followed hard on his heels.
It took a very long time; it was an hour short of midnight when at last the Professor finished his patchwork, meticulously done with tiny stitches and infinite patience. He thanked them all, as he always did, and left George to do the tidying up before the man was taken to the intensive care unit.
Rachel started to clear up, and Nurse Saunders, still game, toiled with her until two night nurses appeared to help. Things went more quickly then and presently Rachel and Nurse Saunders were able to take off their gowns and masks and go off duty. But not yet, it seemed. As they went down the corridor George came to meet them. ‘There’s food and drink in the office—we’re all having a picnic; come on.’
The Professor had been exerting his charm again. There were sandwiches and a dish of sausages, a bowl of crisps and a great jug of coffee.
‘However did you get this lot?’ asked Rachel and sat Nurse Saunders down in front of the sausages.
‘It’s a kind of blackmail,’ he explained gravely. ‘You see, if the kitchen superintendent keeps me well fed, she feels pretty sure that, should she need my help at any time, I shall give it gladly and with expertise.’
Rachel forgot the time, that she was tired, that she had missed a glamorous evening with Melville. She looked round at her companions, very contentedly munching, and thought of the man they had worked so hard to save. She would have missed a dozen evenings out just for the satisfaction of knowing that the patient would recover, and as for her companions, she couldn’t think of any better. She caught the Professor’s eye and he smiled at her.
‘Not very elegant and none of us look fashionable, but there’s a satisfaction…’
She beamed at him, her mouth full. He was right, but then he always was.
CHAPTER TWO
PERHAPS IT WAS a good thing that there was a sudden spate of emergencies; Rachel had very little time to wonder why Melville didn’t phone her, although the nagging thought that he was angry with her was at the back of her mind. She could, of course, phone him, but even after the four days of silence from him she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She loved him, she had no need to tell herself that, but she also held a responsible job and he would have to try to understand that.
It was on the fifth evening, after a gruelling day, that she found him in the entrance hall as she was going off duty. Her tired face lit up at the sight of him although her, ‘Hello, Melville,’ was uttered in a matter-of-fact voice.
Melville wasn’t in the least matter-of-fact. He swooped upon her, his handsome face all smiles. ‘Darling, you’re off duty? Nip along and put on something pretty—I’ve got a table at the Savoy and we’ll find somewhere to dance.’
She said uncertainly, ‘I’m tired, Melville; it’s been a busy day. If we could go somewhere quiet…’
‘Nonsense, darling, what you need is some fun and a drink or two. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.’
She thought longingly of supper, a hot bath and blissful bed, but what were they compared to Melville? She said quietly, ‘All right, fifteen minutes.’
She showered and changed into what she hoped would pass muster at the Savoy and, because she had cut it rather fine, took the short cut past the consultants’ room. There would be no one about as late as this, she told herself, but skidded to a halt as the door opened and the Professor came out.
His look of astonishment left her without words. ‘My dear girl,’ he said. ‘You’re going out on the town?’ His lazy gaze swept over her nicely made-up face and the blue dress she hoped would meet the occasion. ‘You were rocking on your feet,’ he observed. ‘It should have been supper, bath and bed.’ He added. ‘I’ve that nephrectomy first thing tomorrow—you’ll need to be on your toes.’
Rachel stared up at his placid face. ‘He’s here— Melville. I’ve not heard from him all week, ever since…He wants to take me out to dinner and then go dancing.’ She hesitated. ‘You see, Professor, I can’t not go—so often he asks me out and I’m not free, and I’m so afraid he’ll…’
A large comforting hand came down on her shoulder. ‘Of course—a dry old stick such as myself tends to overlook the first fine raptures of first love. Why not give yourself a morning off? Norah can scrub.’
She said indignantly, ‘Certainly not, Professor,’ and went on ruefully, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s kind of you to suggest it, but I shall be all right.’
‘Good. Run along then, and enjoy yourself.’
She wished him goodnight and almost ran the rest of the way, wondering why on earth she should imagine that behind that placid face he was amused about something.
Melville was impatient although he hid it very successfully. ‘They’ll keep our table’, he assured her as he hurried her out to the car. ‘You’re wearing that blue dress again—a mistake, darling, you haven’t enough colour for it.’
Rachel, indignation for once swamping her love, snapped, ‘I’ve been hard at work all day and I’m tired—I did tell you…’
He had got into the car beside her and now he leaned over and kissed her. ‘My poor darling, you’ll feel fine after a meal.’
She did her best; the food was delicious and Melville at his most amusing, but her heart wasn’t in it. When they had had their coffee she said contritely, ‘Melville, do you mind very much if we don’t go dancing? I really am tired.’
She was happily surprised when he leaned across the table and took her hand in his. ‘My poor sweet, I’ll take you straight back. Get to bed and have a good sleep—get someone to bring you your breakfast…’
There wasn’t much point in telling him that she would be getting up at seven o’clock, and as for being brought breakfast in bed…There was, she realised, a wide gap between his world and hers, but that gap would disappear in time. She gave him a grateful smile. ‘I’ve spoilt your evening and I’m sorry—I’ll do better next time.’
He pressed her hand and smiled at her. A charming smile which made her happy, as it was meant to. She felt happy still as he drove her back to the hospital, kissed her goodnight, and then drove away at once. She opened the door and wandered through the entrance hall on her way to the back corridor leading to the nurses’ home. She had almost reached it when she became aware that Professor van Teule was watching her from the massive staircase at the back of
the hall.
She crossed the hall and met him at the bottom step. ‘Has there been something in theatre?’ she wanted to know urgently, quite forgetting the ‘sir’.
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I came to check on that transplant we did this morning.’ He stood there quietly, waiting for her to speak.
‘I’ve had a simply lovely evening,’ she said at last, defiantly, just as though she expected him to contradict her, unaware that her pretty face was white and pinched with fatigue. And, when he nodded gently, ‘Goodnight, Professor.’
‘Goodnight, Rachel.’ He watched her go back down the passage and through the door at its end before he crossed the entrance hall and got into his car.
Rachel slept like a log and only her long training in early rising got her out of bed in the morning. She went down to a breakfast she didn’t want, immaculate as always but her face pale and shadows under her eyes. She gulped tea, crumbled toast and then went on duty. Norah was laying up for the nephrectomy and the student nurses were trotting to and fro. Rachel bade them good morning, cast an eye over what was being done and went to her office. The usual small pile of paperwork was on her desk. She pushed it aside, checked with the accident room that there was nothing in the way of an emergency, then went through to the anaesthetic room to do a final check. Dr Carr was already there, adjusting his machines; he glanced up as she went in and then gave her a second longer look.
‘Rachel, my dear girl, you look like skimmed milk. Haven’t you slept?’
She managed a bright smile. ‘I slept like a top, whatever that means. I’m fine.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Shall I phone the ward to send up the patient?’
He nodded. ‘If you’re ready. Professor van Teule will be here in about five minutes.’
She swept away and did that and then started to scrub. She was gowned and gloved when the patient was wheeled in with Dr Carr at his head. A moment later the Professor, with George and Billy beside him, started to scrub. She was on the point of taking up her usual place behind her trolleys and replied composedly to their good mornings and stood just as calmly waiting for them to come into the theatre. She didn’t feel calm; she had a nasty headache and it was too late now to take anything for it.
The nephrectomy wasn’t straightforward; the Professor seemed to attract complicated cases like honey attracts bees; moreover, he didn’t seem to mind. Other surgeons in like circumstances would give vent to strong language, not caring who heard them, but he, beyond muttering in his own tongue, which nobody there understood anyway, remained as placid as usual.
He was putting the final touches to his work when he addressed Rachel.
‘I should like to do a transplant—kidney—on a young man. Could you arrange things so that you will be available—and such of your nurses as you will need?’ He glanced at her. ‘It will probably be during the night or the very early morning but I am told that the donor is in a coma and not likely to live for very long.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir. Is the patient already in the hospital?’
‘Yes, I got him in last night. Shall I be treading on anyone’s toes if I take over theatre at short notice?’
Rachel tried to forget her aching head and thought hard. ‘No, we can manage. Norah can take the second theatre—it’s Mr Sims tomorrow morning and Mr Jolly in the afternoon. I’ll have Staff Nurse Pepys here with me…’
She caught George’s eloquent eye—he disliked Mrs Pepys and Billy was terrified of her, so she added soothingly, ‘If you need to operate between eight o’clock and seven in the morning, Professor, there will be the night staff nurse and the runner as well. They’re both very good.’
‘Sorry to spring it on you, Rachel.’ He sounded quite sincere and he seldom addressed her by her Christian name while they were working. ‘There’s always a silver lining though; I’ll be away for a couple of weeks.’
She said, ‘Oh, will you, sir?’ rather blankly. It was her headache which made her feel so depressed, she supposed.
She took a Panadol with her coffee presently and her head cleared, so that the rest of the list passed off smoothly enough even though they finished late. The Professor might be a stickler for punctuality, she reflected, going down to a warmed-up dinner, but he forgot that there was such a thing as time once he was scrubbed.
The afternoon list with the fourth consultant, Mr Reeves, an elderly man on the verge of retirement, went well. Rachel handed over to Norah just after five o’clock, and went off duty. An early night, she told herself, trying to ignore the hope that Melville would phone her. A quiet evening somewhere, perhaps outside London, where they could have a meal and talk without the constant greetings and interruptions from his friends. Rachel sighed as she got out of her uniform and pottered off to look for an empty bathroom.
But he didn’t phone; she took a long time changing into a knitted suit and then, unwilling to spend an evening in the sitting-room with the other sisters, thrust some money into a purse, and went down to the entrance. She wasn’t at all sure what she was going to do—perhaps a run in the car…
She was getting out her car key when Professor van Teule loomed up beside her. ‘Ah,’ he said sleepily. ‘Going out, Rachel?’
‘Yes—no. I don’t know,’ she almost snapped at him. ‘I just want to get away for an hour.’ She added by way of explanation, ‘It’s a nice evening.’
He took the key from her in his large hand, picked up her purse from the car’s bonnet where she had laid it, and put the key into it.
‘You sound undecided. Moreover, you don’t look in a fit state to drive a car. I’m going for a quiet potter—why not come with me? We can eat somewhere quiet and you can doze off in peace.’
She had to laugh. ‘It’s kind of you to suggest it, Professor, but I couldn’t go to sleep; it would be rude…’
‘Not with me, it wouldn’t. You need a nap badly, Rachel. You’re wound up too tightly; don’t you know that? No sign of, er, Melville?’
‘You always say “er, Melville”, as though you can’t remember his name,’ she said crossly.
‘Well, I can’t.’ He sounded reasonable. Really, it was impossible to be put out by him.
‘He’s a very busy man.’
The Professor, hardly idle himself, nodded understandingly. ‘If you had a quiet evening out of town, you’d be as fresh as a daisy in the morning and ready to go dancing again when he asks you.’
She stood looking up at him. He was kind and friendly in an impersonal way and it sounded tempting, to be driven into the country for an hour.
She asked abruptly, ‘Why do you ask me?’
‘You run the theatre block very efficiently, Rachel, and to do that you have to be one hundred per cent fit; my motive is purely selfish, you see.’
She found that his answer disappointed her. ‘Well, thank you, I’ll come, only I would like an early night.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll see that you’re back by ten o’clock at the latest. I shall want to take a quick look at that young man later on, anyway.’
The Rolls was ultra-comfortable; she sat back with an unconscious sigh and the professor suggested, ‘Why not close your eyes until we’re clear of London? I’ll wake you once there is something worth seeing.’
‘Don’t you like London?’ she asked. Somehow she had pictured him, when she had bothered to think about him at all, as a man about town, wining and dining and going to the theatre; having smart friends.
‘No. Close your eyes, Rachel.’
She closed them and, although she hadn’t meant to, went to sleep at once.
He had turned off the motorway at Maidenhead before he woke her up.
‘There’s rather a nice pub by the river at Mouls-ford—the Beetle and Wedge—we’ll bypass Henley and go across country. It’s charming scenery and it’s still light.’
Rachel, much refreshed by her nap, sat up. ‘Sorry I went to sleep, but I feel fine now.’
‘Good. I hope you’re hungry—I am.’
He talked easily as they drove through the country roads and after a while arrived at the Beetle and Wedge. It was an old inn surrounded by trees and with plenty of garden around it. And it was cosy and welcoming inside. They sat by the log fire in the bar and had leisurely drinks and then dined generously; here they hadn’t heard of crudités. There was water-cress soup with a lavish spoonful of cream atop, followed by steak and kidney pie which melted in the mouth, and even more generous portions of vegetables. Rachel polished off the home-made ice cream she had chosen and drank the last of the claret the Professor had ordered—a very nice wine, she had observed, and he had agreed gravely; a vintage 1981 Chêteau Léoville-Lascases should be nice. He had no doubt that she would be thunderstruck if she knew what it cost.
They had coffee round the fire in the pleasantly filled bar and, true to his word, when she suggested rather diffidently that she would like an early night, he got up at once, paid the bill and settled her in the car. This time he took the main road through Henley and then on to Maidenhead and the motorway, so that they were back at the hospital minutes before ten o’clock.
It was unfortunate, to say the least of it, that Melville should have been getting into his car as Rachel got out of the Professor’s.
The Professor shut the car door behind her and she heard him say, ‘Oh, dear, dear,’ in an infuriatingly mild voice. She felt his reassuring bulk behind her as Melville left his car and came towards them.
‘Rachel? I came to take you out for a drink.’ He smiled but his eyes were angry. ‘But I see that someone else had the same idea.’ He gave the Professor an angry look.
‘Ah, Mr-er-Grant, isn’t it? Good evening. My dear fellow, how vexing for you. We have been for a run into the country. Rachel has had a busy day and so have I. We return considerably refreshed.’ He smiled gently and made no move to go away.
Rachel touched Melville on his coat sleeve. ‘Melville, I’m so sorry to have missed you. You didn’t phone—I had no idea.’
