by Betty Neels
‘You’re not the only one who’s had a busy day.’ Melville’s voice held a sneer. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way—I’ll see you some time.’
He was going, probably out of her life for ever. Rachel swallowed panic. ‘Melville, I’ve said I’m sorry. If only you had let me know… Can’t we go somewhere and have a drink now?’
‘I left a desk full of work to come and see you,’ declared Melville dramatically. ‘I’ll go back and finish it.’
‘Look, can’t we talk?’ asked Rachel desperately and glanced round at the Professor, hoping that he might take the hint and leave them alone. He returned her look with a placid one of his own and she saw that he had no intention of doing that. There he stood, saying nothing, silently watching and not being of the least help. She said again, ‘Melville…’ but that gentleman turned without another word and went back to his car, got in and drove away.
‘He’ll ruin that engine,’ observed the Professor, ‘crashing his gears like that.’
‘Who cares about his gears?’ asked Rachel wildly. ‘He’s gone and I don’t suppose he’ll ever come back.’
‘Oh, yes he will, Rachel. There is nothing like a little healthy competition to keep a man interested; something which I’m sure you know already. Not, I must hasten to add, that in fact there is competition, but, there is no harm in letting, er, Melville think so.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ snapped Rachel, and then, ‘Do you really think so? You don’t think he’s gone forever?’
Her voice shook a little at the idea.
He was reassuringly matter-of-fact. ‘Most certainly not. Men want the unobtainable, and you were unobtainable this evening—you are a challenge to his vanity.’ He sighed. ‘You don’t know much about men, do you, Rachel?’
She said indignantly, ‘I have three brothers…’
‘That isn’t quite what I meant. I dare say you boss them about most dreadfully and take them for granted like an old coat.’
She stared up at him. ‘Well, yes, perhaps. But Melville’s different.’
‘Indeed he is.’ His sleepy eyes searched her face. ‘You love him very much, do you not?’ He added, ‘pro tempore,’ which, since she wasn’t listening properly, meant nothing to her; in any case her knowledge of Latin was confined to medical terms.
‘Go to bed, Rachel.’ His voice was comfortably avuncular. ‘In the morning you’ll think straight again. Only believe me when I say that your Melville hasn’t gone for good.’
She whispered, ‘You’re awfully kind,’ then added, to her own astonishment as well as his, ‘Are you married, Professor?’
‘That is a pleasure I still have to experience within the not too distant future. Run along, there’s a good girl.’
Emotion and the Château Léoville-Lascases got the better of her good sense. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek and then ran into the hospital.
She felt terrible about it in the morning; thank heaven he had no list, she thought as she went on duty. She opened her office door and found him sitting at the desk: immaculate and placid, writing busily.
He glanced up at her. ‘Oh, good morning, Sister. Can you fit in an emergency? Multiple abdominal stab wounds—some poor blighter set upon in the small hours. Mr Sims has a list, hasn’t he?’
‘Not till ten o’clock, sir.’ Rachel had forgotten any awkwardness she had been harbouring, for the moment at least. ‘I can have theatre ready in fifteen minutes; Mr Sims could do his first case in the second theatre—Norah’s on as well as me.’
“‘I’” corrected the Professor. ‘Very well, I’ll give Mr Sims a ring.’ He gave her a casual glance. ‘I’ll be up in twenty minutes if you can manage that.’
She nodded, rather pink in the face, and left him there to go into theatre and warn her nurses.
It was just as though last night had never been. The Professor duly arrived, dead on time as usual, with George to assist him, exchanged a few friendly remarks of an impersonal nature with her, and got down to work, and when he was done and they were drinking their coffee in her office, he maintained a distant manner that vaguely disquieted her. She had felt awkward at first, but now she was worried that the calm relationship they had had been disturbed.
He went presently, thanking her as he always did, and she set about organising the rest of Mr Sims’s list, thankful that the transplant had fallen through.
She worried about it all day, feeling guilty because only every now and then did she remember Melville. But once she was off duty, Melville took over. Perhaps he would phone, she reflected, and hurried to shower and change just in case he did and wanted her to go out. But he didn’t; she spent a dull evening in the sisters’ sitting-room, watching a film she had already seen on TV and listening to Sister Chalk criticising her student nurses. I’ll be like that, thought Rachel desperately, unless I marry and get away from here. She said aloud, breaking into Sister Chalk’s soliloquy concerning a third-year nurse who had cheeked her only that morning, ‘I’m going to bed; I’ve had a busy day.’
George had a short list in the morning; Rachel left Mrs Pepys to scrub after the first case and went into the office to catch up on the paperwork. She hadn’t been there ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Melville. She had made it plain when they had first met that he must never ring her during duty hours and she felt a small spurt of annoyance because he had ignored that, but it was quickly swept away with the pleasure of hearing his voice.
‘Melville…’ She tried to sound severe, but her delight bubbled through. ‘I’m on duty—I asked you not to phone when I’m working.’
‘I’m working, too, darling Rachel, but I can’t concentrate until I’ve told you what a prize moron I was last night. Put it down to disappointment. Say you forgive me and come out this evening.’
She hoped he hadn’t noticed the short pause before she answered. ‘Yes’ was ready to trip off her tongue when she remembered the Professor’s words. Men wanted the unobtainable; OK, she would be just that for this evening at least. She was a poor liar for she always blushed when she was fibbing, but there was no one to see now so that she sounded convincing enough. ‘I can’t. I know I’m off at five o’clock but they’re doing a couple of private patients this evening.’
‘The quicker you leave that damned place the better—talk about slavery…’
She said reasonably, ‘Not really—I shall get my off duty hours made up to me when we’re slack.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘I could get a couple of hours added on to my off duty tomorrow.’
‘That’ll make it when?’ he sounded eager.
‘About three o’clock for the rest of the day.’
‘I’ll be outside at three-thirty. We’ll drive somewhere and have a quiet dinner.’
‘That would be nice. Melville, I must ring off.’ And she did. Usually she waited until he had hung up, but the Professor had given her ideas…
Since only one theatre was in use for dentals the next morning, Rachel had plenty of time to decide what she would wear. Norah was off duty but she and the second part-time staff nurse would be on again at two o’clock. In the meantime Rachel handed forceps and swabs and mouthwashes and wished that Mr Reed, the dentist, would hurry up. When finally he finished and had been given his coffee it was time for first dinner. She left two student nurses to clean the theatre and went along to the canteen.
It was fish pie, turnips and instant mash; although she was hungry she only half filled her plate. Melville was fussy about his food and always took her somewhere where the cooking was superb.
There were half a dozen of her friends already sharing a table and she joined them, pecking at the wholesome food with such reluctance that Lucy asked her if she was sickening for something.
‘Just not hungry,’ said Rachel, who was. She filled her empty insides with tea and went back to the theatre. Norah had just come on duty and there was little to do. They planned a wholesale cleaning operation, leaving one theatre free for
any emergency which might come in, decided that Mrs Crow, the part-time staff nurse on duty for the afternoon, could scrub for the three cases of tonsillectomy, and conned the next day’s list.
By then it was three o’clock; half an hour in which to make the best of herself. Rachel raced through a shower, brushed her hair until it shone, plaited it neatly into a bun again, and went to study the contents of her wardrobe.
It would have to be the suit again, but this time she would wear the pale pink blouse with it. She thrust her feet into high-heeled shoes, found gloves and handbag and, with an anxious eye on the clock, went down to the forecourt. She was a little late and she hadn’t yet learned to keep a man waiting; indeed, the reverse, growing up as she had with three brothers.
Melville was waiting and his greeting was everything a girl could wish for; she got into the car beside him feeling on top of the world, and she stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon and evening. He had never been so amusing nor so anxious that she should be enjoying herself. They had tea in Richmond and then drove on through Hampshire and into Wiltshire to stop in Marlborough and dine at the Castle and Ball, a pleasant and comfortable hotel, but not, thought Rachel fleetingly, Melville’s usual kind of place in which to eat. As though he had heard her unspoken thought, he said lightly, ‘I had thought of going to Marlow—the Compleat Angler—but this place is quiet and the food is good.’ His glance strayed over her person making her aware of the suit he had seen several times already.
‘I’m not dressed for anything four-star.’ She wasn’t apologising, only stating a fact. ‘This looks very nice.’
That was the only small fly in the ointment. They lingered over the surprisingly good dinner and it was after ten o’clock by the time they got into the car again. It would be midnight before she reached her room and she was on duty in the morning. Not that that mattered; she was so happy she didn’t give it a second thought.
Melville drove back to London very fast, not saying much. He was tired, she decided, and so said little herself. They were back before midnight and although he kissed her and declared that he had enjoyed every minute of it, he made no effort to delay her; indeed, he leaned across and opened her door with the remark that he would see her just as soon as he could, and drove away before she could do more than utter the most cursory of thanks.
The poor dear, she found herself reflecting as she went inside, he works too hard. Professor van Teule was crossing the entrance hall; Melville wasn’t the only one to work hard, but she didn’t dwell on that, she would have found it strange if the Professor hadn’t. Come to that, she worked hard herself, but she didn’t dwell on that; either. She was remembering the delights of the evening and turned a smiling face to him as their paths crossed. She wished him goodnight in a cheerful voice and he answered her with his usual courtesy, glancing with deceptive sleepiness at her happy face. The night porter wondered why he should look so thoughtful as he went out to his car.
Rachel didn’t see him the next day; Mr Jolly had a list and Mr Reeves had the second theatre in the afternoon. She went off duty at five o’clock after a routine day, changed and went to the local cinema with two of her friends. It was a tatty place but showed surprisingly good films, and strangely enough although the neighbourhood was prone to muggings and petty thieving, the staff of the hospital, even out of uniform, were treated with respect. They had coffee and sandwiches at Ned’s café, opposite the cinema, and went back to make tea and gossip over it until they decided to go to bed.
Norah had days off and Rachel, going on duty in the morning, remembered with a sigh that Mrs Pepys would be on duty from nine o’clock until three in the afternoon, which meant that the student nurses would be in a state of rebellion by teatime. She could hardly blame them; Mrs Pepys was tiresome at the best of times and not of much use, for the Professor had indicated months ago in the nicest possible way that he preferred not to have her scrub for him. There were three heavy cases and he would be doing them all, which meant that Mrs Pepys would be left with the afternoon dentals and laying up between cases, two tasks she felt too superior to undertake.
She would do them, of course; Rachel had a quiet authority which made itself felt upon occasion.
She checked the theatres, gave the student nurses their allotted places and went to scrub. She had laid up the trolleys for the first case when the Professor put his head round the door. His good morning was genial. ‘There’s a man downstairs I’ll have to patch up when he’s fit enough—can we add him to the list?’
She wondered what he would say if she said no; something soothing and courteous and the man would arrive in the theatre all the same.
‘Certainly, sir. Mrs Pepys will be on at nine o’clock and can take dentals this afternoon so it won’t matter if we run late.’
‘Norah not here?’
‘Days off.’
‘Time you had yours, isn’t it?’
‘When Norah gets back.’
He nodded and his head disappeared and presently, when they were ready for him, he came back with George and Billy beside him. His ‘Ready, Sister?’ was calmly impersonal and a moment later he was bending over his patient, absorbed in his work.
It was more than two hours before the patient was wheeled away.
‘Coffee?’ asked the Professor, straightening his great back, and, without waiting for an answer, he wandered out of the theatre.
Mrs Pepys was on duty by now. Rachel left her to lay up for the next case, sent two of the nurses to their coffee and repaired to her office. Dolly had carried in the coffee tray and the four men were crowded into the small room, waiting for her. She handed them their mugs, took the lid off the biscuit tin and put it on the table where everyone could reach it. They devoured biscuits as though they were famished and she made a mental note to supplement the meagre supply she was allowed from stores with a few packets of her own. They drank and munched in a pleasant atmosphere of camaraderie, and the talk was of the patient who had just gone to the recovery room and the next case. Dolly came to refill the coffee pot and Rachel slipped away to see what was going on in theatre. The student nurses were back from their coffee and she sent the third, junior nurse to the canteen and suggested that Mrs Pepys should go at the same time. ‘And when you get back will you get ready for dentals?’ suggested Rachel. ‘There’s an extra case coming up and we shall be late. Mr Reed’s got three patients—you’ll be ready well before three o’clock, so clear up as far as you can, will you? I’ll need all the nurses I’ve got as well as Sidney.’
Mrs Pepys gave her a cross look. ‘If you say so, Sister.’ She flounced away and Rachel turned back towards the theatre to find the Professor standing behind her. She had let out a gusty sigh and he asked, ‘Is she a trouble to you, Rachel? Shall I get her moved?’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘She’s annoying, sir, but she does her work—I’ve no good reason for her to be moved. It’s only her manner.’
‘She scares the little nurses, does she not?’
That surprised her, too; she hadn’t credited him with noticing that. ‘Yes, but I make sure they come to no harm. It’s nice of you to notice, though.’
He turned away. ‘Well, let me know if you need help at any time.’ And, over his shoulder as he went, ‘Are you going home for your days off?’
She felt herself blushing, which was silly. ‘I—I don’t know. It depends…’
‘Ah, yes—Melville, of course.’
They didn’t talk again that day, only to exchange necessary words about the patients or the instruments he needed. The list finished in the early afternoon and he went away at once, wishing her his usual placid goodbye. For some reason she felt put out, although she was unable to decide quite why that should be. Something was happening to their former easygoing relationship and she had no idea what it was.
CHAPTER THREE
RACHEL forgot her vague disquiet almost at once. For one thing there was the usual upset between Mrs Pepys and one of the student nu
rses to settle and then, at tea time, an emergency appendix which George did. She went off duty debating as to whether she should go home or stay in the hope that Melville would call her with some plan of his own. He hadn’t mentioned seeing her on her days off, but he seldom planned anything in advance. Too busy, she thought fondly. It took her only a few moments to decide to stay, certain that Melville would ring; he knew that she had days off, she had told him and he had said that they must spend them together.
She sat in the sitting-room for an hour, willing the telephone to ring, but, since it hadn’t by supper time, she went to the canteen and then, refusing offers to go to the cinema with some of her friends, she went to her room and washed her hair, a long business because of its length and thickness. She followed this by doing her nails and examining her pretty face, searching for signs of wrinkles. Finally, she went to bed. Melville would surely phone in the morning; she slept peacefully on the thought.
She got her own breakfast in the pantry at the end of the sisters’ corridor and dressed with care. It was a cold blustery morning, quite suitable for the wearing of her winter coat, recently bought and fashionable and which would allow her to wear a silk jersey dress, so that if they stayed out to dinner she would look all right. She perched a little angora cap on to her braided topknot, and, gloves and bag in her hand, went down to the entrance hall. She was so certain that Melville would have written to her that she didn’t hesitate, but went straight to the porter’s lodge for her post.
There were several letters for her but only one which mattered. She opened it quickly, vaguely aware that it had been delivered by hand, and read it, and then read it again. Melville knew that she would understand; an American actress had joined the cast of the production he was working on and he had been asked to show her something of London; he had intended telling her on the previous evening but there had been a drinks party which had lasted rather a long while. Lucky that they hadn’t had anything planned and he would give her a ring early in the week. He had no doubt that she would have a super couple of days off.
