Off With The Old Love

by Betty Neels

  ‘You came with Melville Grant, didn’t you? You’re his latest girl, aren’t you? We’ve all been wondering what you were like! A smasher, I can see that. But then he always has the best.’

  Rachel turned to look at the speaker; if the words had been offensive she was sure that they weren’t intended to be. The middle-aged woman beside her had a kind and smiling face, motherly in fact, and was dressed in the kind of frock that one would expect a middle-aged woman to wear. Moreover, her hair was frankly streaked with grey and twisted untidily into a small bun.

  ‘I’m Pat Morris—I write TV scripts and try to do a bit of directing too. Work sometimes with Melville; that’s how I got to hear about you.’

  She put out a hand and Rachel took it. ‘How do you do,’ she said politely. ‘I’m Rachel Downing and yes, I came with Melville.’ She decided to ignore the rest of her companion’s remarks. A handsome, sought-after man such as Melville would naturally enough have lots of girlfriends, but they had to come to an end one day and he had told her on numerous occasions that she was the only girl in the world for him. She glanced across the room to where he stood surrounded by a laughing group of people and Pat Morris followed her gaze. ‘Always the life and soul of any party,’ she commented. ‘I don’t know how he does it, though his work isn’t all that demanding. He’s got a secretary, of course, and an assistant, and he doesn’t have to work till all hours like some of us.’ She took a sip from the glass she was holding, and pulled a face. ‘Poison,’ she said and went on chattily, ‘Away at half-past four every day and not a sign of him until ten o’clock the next morning.’

  Rachel said, ‘Oh, yes,’ in a doubtful voice. Why had Melville told her that he worked far into the night, and, if he didn’t, where did he go and what did he do? Something she would ask him.

  They were joined presently by a youngish man in horn-rimmed glasses and a thin woman in black draperies and rows and rows of beads. They were introduced as Fay and Murphy and embarked at once on a commentary of the people at the party. Rachel stood and listened. There was no need to say anything; when Fay paused for breath Murphy carried on, cheerfully slandering everyone in sight. They told her, laughing heartily, that they wouldn’t say anything about Melville and she said gently, ‘Well, I don’t suppose there’s anything much to say,’ which remark left them for the moment speechless.

  There was an awkward little silence after that broken by someone offering them tiny sandwiches on a tray. Rachel could have eaten the lot and was horrified when they were waved away by her companions. ‘I simply can’t eat after dinner,’ said Pat and Fay added, ‘Food can be such a bore.’ She looked at Rachel’s nicely shaped person. ‘You’ll put on weight,’ she pointed out, ‘eating between meals. As it is you’d photograph on the plump side.’

  Rachel decided not to mention that her last meal had been at midday and the next would be breakfast. She said mildly, ‘Well, no one photographs me, so I’m not worried.’

  ‘You exercise?’ asked Murphy.

  ‘Quite strenuously,’ said Rachel gravely.

  They were joined by another three persons who were hailed with shrieks of laughter and enquiries as to whether they had had their licences endorsed. A slight accident with their car, explained Murphy rapidly. No one hurt; at least, the driver of the other car had a leg broken, or it could have been an arm, he wasn’t sure. But wasn’t it a huge joke?

  Rachel, a forthright girl, would have had quite a lot to say about that but it struck her forcibly that these people would stare at her uncomprehendingly and label her a prig, and what good would it do anyway? She couldn’t get a word in edgeways as it was and besides, she had to think of Melville…

  He joined them a moment later, putting a careless arm around her shoulders. ‘And how’s my girl?’ he wanted to know. ‘Having a splendid time, I can see that. Have another drink. Toss that one off, darling, and I’ll get you something else.’

  She handed him her glass. ‘No thanks, Melville, it’s almost midnight. I must go, but you don’t have to come. Could you get a taxi for me?’

  ‘My dear girl, you can’t possibly leave yet. Why, the evening is only just beginning.’

  She sensed his annoyance and she almost gave in, but the Professor’s advice was still loud in her ear. ‘Perhaps it is for you,’ she told him cheerfully, ‘but I’m a working girl.’ She gave him a bewitching smile, nodded to Pat and Murphy and Fay without looking to see if he was following her and made her way to where her host was standing.

  She made her farewells charmingly so that he looked after her as she went out of the room and observed to the man standing with him. ‘How refreshing to meet a girl like that—I’d forgotten they existed.’

  Rachel had a moment of panic when she realised that Melville wasn’t going to drive her home, but his explanation was plausible enough, and she, hopelessly infatuated, was ready to accept it and make excuses for him besides. He couldn’t leave the party, he explained as they stood in the hall waiting for her taxi. There were important people there he had to meet, to keep in with; it was part of his job. He kissed her with practised charm and put her into the taxi and paid her fare before he stood back on to the pavement with a final wave. It was only as she reached the hospital that she remembered that he hadn’t said anything about their next meeting.

  It had been a successful evening on the whole; she felt a little uneasy about the people she had met, but perhaps not all Melville’s friends were like that; he must have a family, although he never mentioned them, and some kind of home life. She undressed slowly, in a daydream where she lived with him in a charming house in the country with a brood of children and a clutter of animals. The unlikelihood of this didn’t strike her at all, and she got into bed and went to sleep, still with a head full of foolish fantasies.

  There were flowers for her the next day, with a card: ‘My undying love,’ tied to them. They had been delivered to her office and she stuck them in a large jug until she could take them to her room at dinner time.

  George and Billy both stared and George said, ‘He must love you, Rachel; there’s half a week’s salary there,’ and Mr Jolly when he arrived to take his list let out a low whistle. ‘My, my—do I smell romance in the air? Rachel, who’s the lucky man?’

  She blushed. ‘They’re just flowers from someone I know,’ she observed and made haste to get him interested in the first case.

  The week wound to its close and, since it was her weekend off, she decided to go home. Melville hadn’t phoned or written and even if he did she wouldn’t change her mind. She packed her overnight bag, got into sweater and skirt and went down to her car. On the way she looked to see if there were any letters for her. There was one, from Melville. He would call for her that afternoon—there was a preview he knew she would love.

  It needed all her resolution not to dash back to her room and unpack her bag. Instead, she went over to the porter on duty. ‘If a Mr Melville Grant calls or comes for me, will you tell him that I’ve gone home for the weekend please?’ She hesitated. ‘You won’t forget, will you?’

  ‘No, Sister. Shall I say when you’ll be back?’

  ‘No, no need. I’m not sure myself and I can always telephone.’

  She worried as she drove home; Melville might be so annoyed that he wouldn’t want to see her again; perhaps she had been too severe—if things went wrong she would never forgive Professor van Teule and his advice.

  Common sense took over as she neared her home. Nothing could be gained by worrying so she would forget about it and enjoy her weekend. Which, surprisingly, she did, helping her mother round the house, driving her father to a couple of urgent cases, taking Mutt the elderly labrador for walks.

  The hospital looked unwelcoming as she drove the Fiat round to the car park on her return. The thought went through her head that the week ahead would be dull, for the Professor wouldn’t be back for another seven days. There was plenty of work but no transplants or complicated surgery; she was a girl who liked a chall
enge.

  There was a letter for her. Melville was disappointed; he had planned a marvellous time for them both and why couldn’t she have let him know that she was going to be away? He had spent a wretched lonely weekend, working late into the night. Which reminded her of what Pat had told her. Did he really work so hard? Probably at home, she told herself. She longed to phone him, but stopped herself in time; it seemed likely that the Professor, who, after all, must have had some experience in such matters, had been right.

  The week passed uneventfully and, as sometimes happened, there were few emergencies. Rachel saw Norah off for her weekend and settled down to two days of catching up with paperwork, browsing over catalogues of instruments and teaching student nurses. Melville telephoned her on the Saturday and, since Mrs Pepys was relieving her on the following afternoon, she agreed on meeting him for tea on Sunday. ‘But I must be back here by five o’clock,’ she warned him, ‘so that the staff nurse can go off duty—she’s part-time and has a home to run.’

  He had sounded eager to see her. The moment Mrs Pepys arrived Rachel hurried to change and then made herself wait so that she wouldn’t be too punctual. It was hard when she wanted to spend every second she could with Melville, but she managed it and was rewarded by a warmth she hadn’t expected. He drove her to Green Park, and they walked for an hour before having tea in a small, elegant tea-room. He was full of a new series being prepared for television. ‘We’ll have to go on location,’ he explained, ‘but not yet. There are weeks of studio work first. We’ve signed up that actress I took around a short while ago. She’ll be marvellous, and the clothes will be gorgeous.’

  Rachel listened eagerly; his life seemed so exciting, even though she wasn’t sure that she liked his friends. It didn’t occur to her that not once during the afternoon did he ask her about her work or what she had done with her days. Only when he told her that he would be free for a good deal of the following week and had planned all kinds of delights for their benefit did she tell him with real regret that Professor van Teule would be back and it was take-in week.

  He scowled at that and muttered something about her loving her work more than him.

  ‘No, I don’t!’ she protested, ‘but I can’t come and go as I please.’

  ‘You’re tied to that tyrant, Professor van Teule; he’s got you under his thumb.’

  She was a little bewildered. ‘That’s ridiculous—he does his work, and I do mine. And I’m not under his thumb; he’s most considerate, but if a patient needs surgery then we get on with it. If you had to have an emergency operation and had to wait while they found someone to scrub and get the theatre ready, you wouldn’t be best pleased.’ She added hotly, ‘You’re being unreasonable.’

  ‘And you are being a righteous little prig.’

  He drove much too fast into the hospital forecourt and the Professor, getting out of his car, raised his eyebrows and then stood watching while Rachel got out of the car and without a backward glance hurried into the hospital. Melville turned the car and drove away just as ferociously.

  ‘Now that is interesting,’ observed the Professor softly, and he strolled unhurriedly into the hospital in his turn to wander along to the consultants’ room and collect his letters. There was a copy of the morrow’s list waiting for him—a formidable one; they would all be busy. He doubted if Rachel would get any off duty. ‘And a good thing, too,’ he murmured and settled himself to read the first of his letters.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BAD TEMPER sustained Rachel as she tore through the hospital and gained her room. She got ready for bed still seething, but once there, doubts came crowding in. Was she really a prig? Just because she liked her work, did that mean to say that she was boring? And did Melville really expect her to walk off duty regardless of whether she was needed in the theatre or not? Supposing he never wanted to see her again? There were all those glamorous women, too… She fell asleep at last and dreamed that Melville had gone away and would never come back. It was so vivid that she could think of nothing else while she dressed and ate a sketchy breakfast.

  But once on duty she had to abandon these troublesome thoughts and plunge into the day’s work. She had already seen the theatre list on Saturday; now it lay on her desk, considerably lengthened, and as she studied it the phone rang: George, ringing from the accident room to say that a woman with internal injuries would need surgery as soon as possible.

  ‘But the Professor is starting at half-past eight and the list is bulging.’

  ‘I know. He’s seen her and he wants her up first. How soon can you manage?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes. What kind of injuries?’

  ‘Ruptured spleen, internal haemorrhage for a start. I’ve warned Men’s Surgical to delay the first patient.’

  She was replacing the receiver when Professor van Teule walked in. His good morning was genial, the glance he gave her sleepy and brief, but long and intent enough to note her pale face and shadowed eyes.

  He said placidly, ‘Sorry to get us off to such a bad start, Rachel—I’ve added a couple of cases to the list, too.’

  ‘I’ve just seen them, sir. Has the patient been cross-matched? Do you want me to send to the Path Lab?’

  ‘I’ve asked Lucy to see to that. Put out the pedicle forceps and the clamps, will you. Oh, and the curved compression forceps.’ He was lounging against the door so that she had to pause before him on her way out. ‘Did you have a pleasant weekend?’

  ‘I was on duty, sir.’

  ‘No time off—hard luck on Melville.’

  She said stiffly, ‘We were able to spend the afternoon together yesterday. Green Park looks lovely—tulips and hyacinths and all the trees budding.’ She added, ‘I hope you had a good holiday, sir.’

  ‘Delightful, thank you. No one called me “sir” for two whole weeks.’

  She blushed faintly. ‘No, well, I suppose not—I mean, if you’re not in the hospital there’s no need…’

  ‘I must remember that.’ He stood on one side and opened the door for her.

  It was nice to have him back, she reflected, giving quiet instructions to Norah and the nurses. The day bade fair to be chaos before its ending but at least life was never dull. She conferred with Sidney, told Norah to see that the nurses went to their coffee as and when they could be spared, and went off to scrub.

  The emergency took a long time. ‘Coffee?’ asked the Professor mildly, handing over to George and standing away from the table.

  Rachel nodded to Nurse Saunders and went on handing things to George and Billy. There was a mass of work ahead of them but the nurses had gone to their coffee, Norah was having hers at that very moment and would lay up for the next case and Sidney would be back within minutes. Rachel reviewed the theatre list and thought that, with luck, they might be done by two o’clock.

  They weren’t, of course; a second emergency—a perforated appendix in a teenage girl had to be squeezed in between the last two cases and, to complicate matters, Mrs Pepys phoned to say that she didn’t feel well and wouldn’t be coming in for her usual afternoon duty. Which meant that Norah had to go into the second theatre to take Mr Jolly’s list, and take two nurses with her.

  They had stopped after the fourth case and had a hasty meal of sandwiches and coffee and then gone steadily on, reinforced by Nurse Saunders who had had a long weekend off duty and came on at one o’clock, which meant that the junior nurse could take her time off. Rachel didn’t need to worry about Sidney; he stayed stolidly doing all he was supposed to do and he wouldn’t go off duty until he was no longer needed. He was a tower of strength in theatre and liked by everyone; for his part he admired Rachel and considered the Professor to be the finest man he had ever met.

  They worked on steadily, in a comfortable friendly atmosphere, until at length the Professor straightened his back for the last time.

  ‘Thanks, all of you—a good day’s work.’ He went away, unhurried as usual, to cast an eye on the day’s patients.

  It wa
s too late to do anything about off duty. Rachel sent the student nurses to their tea, left Norah to clear the theatre after Mr Jolly’s list and started on the main theatre with Nurse Saunders. The student nurses, back in half an hour, would finish the clearing and still get off duty and she would stay with Nurse Saunders until the night staff came on. Norah protested at this but, as Rachel pointed out, if Mrs Pepys was going to be off sick, off duty would be chancy; Mrs Short, the second part-time staff nurse, only came in twice a week and was terrified of working with the Professor. ‘You take your usual evening,’ she told Norah, ‘and I’ll give myself an extra hour or two when we’re slack.’

  ‘You didn’t go to dinner,’ pointed out Norah.

  ‘Nor I did—I’ll have to have a good supper to make up for it. I wasn’t going to do anything this evening anyway.’ It was just as well that she wouldn’t be off duty, she reflected silently, or she might be tempted to phone Melville, and certainly if he had phoned her she would have gone out with him. A kind-hearted-girl, she had already forgiven him for his show of temper, and was only too ready to apologise for her own snappy remarks.

  If she had secretly hoped that there might be a phone call during the evening, she was to be disappointed. She went off duty just after eight o’clock, ate her supper with those of her friends who had also had an evening duty, and went along to the sitting-room to watch the television and drink tea until bedtime.