Off With The Old Love

by Betty Neels

  She circled the group with a vague, glittering smile, not really seeing any of them. It was the Professor’s long arm which gently brought her to a halt. ‘Ah, Sister Downing, the very person I wished to see. I was on the point of leaving you a note…’

  He excused himself to his companions and said blandly, ‘If you will come a little on one side—I shall take up only a few minutes of your time.’

  She had no choice. They stood a little apart and he leaned his length against a marble column bearing the bust of the hospital’s founder.

  ‘Norah’s back?’ he asked, and, when she nodded, ‘Good. There’s not much doing in the morning, is there? The theatre sister at the nursing home has been taken ill and there is a gastroenterostomy which needs to be done. If I pick you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, will you take the case for me? I’ll arrange things at the office.’

  She stared up at him, her head still full of her quarrel with Melville, and he said quietly, ‘You’re upset.’ He took her arm and walked her away to the back of the entrance hall where the centre lights hardly penetrated.

  She said woodenly, ‘I told him I wouldn’t see him again. He wants me to leave here, and I won’t. He doesn’t understand. I—I said, I…’ She gulped. ‘I took your advice, for what it’s worth.’ She looked at him miserably. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  The Professor smiled. ‘You’re going to bed and to sleep and then in the morning you will take my case for me, and I am willing to bet my fees against your salary that there will be roses or a phone call or a letter by tomorrow evening. You see,’ he added gently, ‘I know a good deal more about men than you do, Rachel.’

  He gave her a gentle shove. ‘Off to bed with you and don’t dare cry.’

  He opened the door to the nurses’ home for her, wished her a quiet goodnight and went back to his companions. And as for Rachel, she went to her room, undressed, crying her eyes out as she did so, and then tumbled into bed and went to sleep at once.

  There was a message for her at breakfast; would she hand over the theatre keys to her staff nurse and accompany Professor van Teule, not forgetting to notify the office upon her return? There was no time to brood over Melville. She explained to Norah, gave her the keys and hurried down to the entrance. The Rolls was there with the Professor at the wheel, reading The Times. He opened the door for her, folded the paper, wished her a placid good morning and drove without further ado to the nursing home.

  Really it was a private hospital, Rachel decided as she got out before its imposing entrance. ‘Do you do a lot of surgery here?’ she asked as they crossed the splendid hall.

  ‘Oh, yes. Did you sleep?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. You have a very busy life.’

  They got into the lift and he pressed the button for the third floor. ‘And a lonely one.’

  ‘But not for long. When you’re married…’

  ‘You believe that to be the answer?’

  ‘Well, of course. You’ll go home to a wife who loves you and I expect you’ll have lots of children and you’ll never be lonely again.’ The lift stopped. ‘I didn’t know that you were lonely. You must have heaps of friends.’

  ‘Oh, I have. One cannot marry friends.’

  He led the way down a wide corridor and through swing doors. ‘Here we are, and here is Staff Nurse White who will show you where everything is.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll be along in ten minutes or so.’

  Staff Nurse White was young and pretty and pleased to see her. ‘Gosh, Sister, I’d have died if the Professor had told me to scrub. I can manage an appendix or tonsils or something easy but I’ve only been here a week or two. I’ll show you round.’

  The theatre was all that could be desired. Rachel poked her nose into cupboards and shelves, made sure she knew where most things were, and went away to scrub and lay up. There would be another nurse beside Staff Nurse White, and Dr Carr would be anaesthetising. There was a resident house surgeon who would assist the Professor.

  There were no problems; Dr Carr greeted her as though he had expected her to be there anyway, the house surgeon was a serious young man and the second nurse seemed sensible. The operation was a lengthy one, but once it was over, Rachel was borne away to have coffee with Staff Nurse White. The Professor had gone, presumably to see his patient in ICU and she wondered if she should make her own arrangements to return to the hospital. But there was no need for that; he came back presently, asked her if she was ready and accompanied her to the car.

  ‘I could have gone back on my own,’ she pointed out.

  ‘So you could. There is the devil of a lot of traffic around; you might have got back by tea time. Thanks for your help, Rachel.’

  ‘I enjoyed it.’ And she had. It had prevented her from thinking about herself and Melville; she would have leisure enough in which to do that later on. The Professor hardly spoke on the way back. He had a teaching round that afternoon; perhaps he was thinking about that, thought Rachel, and, after a few attempts at small talk, she fell silent.

  It was during the afternoon that the flowers arrived, an extravagant bouquet with a card attached. From Melville, just as the Professor had said. She put them in the washbasin in the cloakroom and tucked the card in her pocket, its message already learned by heart. ‘Forgive me, darling, I am broken-hearted’.

  She was clearing her desk just before going off duty when the Professor poked his head round the door. ‘Any flowers yet?’ he wanted to know. She paused in her writing.

  ‘Yes, and a card.’ She couldn’t stop the wide smile.

  ‘Good. You have, of course, forgiven him; he only has to phone and you will rush to meet him where and when he tells you to. Don’t, Rachel. Wash your hair or whatever you do in the evenings; have a headache if you prefer something more romantic. Go home for the weekend. He’ll still be here when you get back.’

  ‘You’re very severe. Just supposing he thinks I don’t want to see him again?’ She gave him a sharp look. ‘Professor, you don’t approve of me and Melville—it seems to me that you’re discouraging him.’

  He came round the door and sat on the side of the desk. ‘My dear Rachel, why should I do that? I, who am to be happily married as soon as it can be arranged. My sole object is for you to be happy, because happy people work well. And I like my theatre well run.’ He stared down at his beautifully polished shoes. ‘You are an excellent theatre sister.’

  For some reason this civil comment annoyed her. She would have liked him to have thought of her in a different light, although she was very vague as to exactly what. She thanked him frostily and turned her attention rather pointedly to her books.

  The Professor got off the desk and wandered to the door. ‘I’m going up to Edinburgh tomorrow,’ he told her casually. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

  He strolled away with a cheerful nod and presently she finished what she was doing, fetched her flowers, and went off duty, feeling peevish. She put this unusual feeling down to the fact that she wasn’t spending the evening with Melville. She missed him, she told herself, arranging her bouquet in a large jug she had purloined from the downstairs pantry in the nurses’ home.

  Which made it all the more strange that when Melville rang her the following morning she firmly refused to make any arrangements for the weekend. ‘I promised to go home,’ he was told firmly. ‘My brothers will be there and we don’t see each other all that often.’

  ‘Am I not to be invited?’ he asked sulkily.

  She almost weakened. ‘Well, there wouldn’t be any room for you…’

  There would have been, if he were the kind of man one could ask to double up with one of her brothers, but he wasn’t and regrettably she was sure that none of her brothers would be prepared to give up a bed for him. They didn’t know him well and she was honest enough to admit that they had very little in common with him. She said placatingly, ‘I do usually get a weekend each fortnight, Melville, and I’ll have days off some time next week.’


  ‘Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to exist without you then.’ He sounded mollified and she took advantage of it.

  ‘I miss you, too,’ she told him.

  ‘I’ll give you a ring after the weekend,’ he said, and his goodbye was abrupt enough to worry her.

  The weekend came and with it a phone call from Norah’s eldest child to say that Norah was in bed with a heavy cold—perhaps ‘flu.’ It was too late to get either Mrs Pepys—who wouldn’t have come anyway—or Mrs Crow. Rachel phoned her mother and resigned herself to a weekend on duty.

  Saturday was quiet—an emergency appendix which George dealt with, a teenager with superficial stab wounds and an elderly woman with a severed artery in her upper arm. Sunday was even quieter; it wasn’t take-in, so that road accidents and the like went to another hospital and the minor surgery could be done in the accident room. Rachel sent Nurse Walters off duty, handed over to a staff nurse borrowed from the accident room, and went off duty herself.

  The fine evening stretched before her, a waste of several hours which she didn’t intend to spend indoors. She could phone Melville, of course… He had said he would ring her after the weekend, but that was because he had thought she would be at home. She showered and changed while the idea of going to his flat and giving him a lovely surprise took shape in her head. The more she thought about it, the better it seemed.

  It would mean a long bus ride but it was still early evening. She hurried through the hospital and crossed the courtyard to the street beyond and the bus stop, and the Professor, on the point of turning into the hospital yard, saw her and frowned thoughtfully. She should be at home; he had been pretty sure that she would take his advice, so what had happened to make her change her plans?

  George enlightened him. ‘She told me she’d be off duty at five o’clock—I dare say she’s going to meet that fellow who’s always sending her flowers.’

  The Professor said carelessly, ‘Probably,’ and began to talk about his list in the morning. He had a nasty feeling that Rachel was in for an unpleasant surprise but there wasn’t much that he could do about it.

  Rachel sat in the almost empty bus, thinking about Melville and how pleased he would be to see her. She had never been to his flat, but she knew where it was.

  She was walking down the elegant street where he lived when she saw him. He was mounting the steps to the front door of the flats where he lived, his arm flung carelessly round the shoulders of a willowy girl. Blonde, as dainty as a fairytale princess and dressed in the forefront of fashion. Rachel’s eyes didn’t miss a single detail; they didn’t miss the way he bent and kissed the girl as they reached the door, either.

  She was quite close to them by now, but they didn’t see her. They went inside the elegant entrance and she stood looking at the empty doorway, not seeing it at all. Presently she turned on her heel and started walking back the way she had come. She walked quite a long way before she realised that she was tired, and got on a bus. She walked into the hospital as the Professor, apparently on his way out, crossed her path.

  He took a quick look at her white, stricken face and observed cheerfully, ‘Hello. Back early, aren’t you? Did you have a nice weekend?’

  She was tired and very unhappy but she did her best to answer him.

  ‘I didn’t go home—Norah isn’t well so I took her duty.’ To her mortification her eyes filled with tears. ‘I went to see Melville; he was with a girl…such a pretty girl, too.’

  She tried to pass him but the Professor was a bulky man, not easily circumvented. Besides, the hand he put out, though gentle, was firm.

  ‘A strong drink will help.’ He turned her round and marched her out of the hospital again. ‘I know the very place; you shall tell me all about it while you have it.’

  ‘I don’t want…’ began Rachel and didn’t bother to go on. The rest of the evening had to be got through and the Professor’s impersonal concern made him an easy man to talk to, and if she didn’t talk to someone she would have hysterics. She had never had them in her life, but she felt sure that they must be a great relief. To lie on the ground and kick one’s heels in the air and scream held a distinct appeal.

  She got meekly into the car when he held the door open, reflecting that it was getting to be quite a habit; it was nothing short of a miracle that he should appear, large, placid and comforting. She was behaving badly, like a teenager in the throes of first love; he might find her an excellent theatre sister, but she was deplorably lacking when it came to managing her own life.

  She sat silent while he drove, so busy with her thoughts that she hardly noticed where they were going: Duke’s Hotel, in a quiet cul-de-sac near St James’s Park.

  She was swept inside the restaurant. ‘I’m hungry,’ declared the Professor. ‘We might eat something.’

  It didn’t enter her poor worried head that he might have gone home to the meal which Mrs Bodkin would undoubtedly have ready for him. She sat down at a secluded table and obediently sipped the sherry he ordered for her.

  When the menu cards were brought, he ordered for her: cold cucumber soup, omelette Arnold Bennett and a water ice. Having done that, he embarked on a conversation about nothing at all, allowing her time to pull herself together.

  By the time they had finished their meal, she was feeling much better, sufficiently herself to tell him what had happened. In the telling, she did discover that it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined it to be. Bad enough, but there were so many reasons why Melville was with the girl; it was harder to think of reasons why he had been kissing her with such satisfaction, but, as the Professor reminded her, people in show business treated kisses and endearments in a different light to the man in the street.

  ‘What shall I do?’ It was the kind of question she might have asked her eldest brother.

  ‘Nothing, and if you have the will-power to be unavailable for the next week, be that, too.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve told you that already…’

  ‘Yes, I know. You’re very kind to help me, Professor. And I really will take your advice this time. Only when he’s waiting for me and I see him I—I find it very difficult to be unavailable.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘You need to put a few hundred miles between you.’ Just for the moment the heavy lids flew open, revealing blue eyes with a decided gleam in them, but she didn’t see that; she was looking down at her coffee cup. When she looked up at him again, she saw his usual placid face. ‘I feel much much better, thank you.’

  ‘Good. I’ll take you back.’ Which he did, bidding her a pleasant goodnight when they reached the hospital. She went to bed at once and slept soundly, rather to her surprise.

  Norah was back on duty in the morning. Rachel heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of her; there was a heavy list and after midnight they would be on take-in again. She inspected the theatre, allotted jobs to the nurses, left Norah to lay up for the first case, and went to the office. There were the usual forms to deal with and she meant to get them done before the Professor arrived, for once work started she had little chance of getting back to her desk.

  She had picked up the first form when the office rang for her to go there at once. She banged the receiver back into its cradle, cross that she was to be interrupted, warned Norah, and went down to the ground floor to see the principal nursing officer.

  Miss Marks was middle-aged, imposing and distant in her manner. No one liked her overmuch, although everyone admitted that she was fair, an excellent organiser and a splendid disciplinarian. Rachel stood quietly in front of her desk and waited to hear why she was there.

  She was surprised to be told to sit down; relieved, too—it couldn’t be anything too awful. What was more, Miss Marks smiled thinly at her.

  ‘I have had a letter, Sister Downing, which I think will be of great interest to you. There is to be an international conference of theatre sisters, to be held in Basle, and you have been nominated to represent our group of hospitals. It is in eight days’ time and will last for one week
, during which time you will attend lectures, visit hospitals and attend discussions. I will see that you get the details later. You will of course be granted special leave for this.’

  Typically she didn’t ask if Rachel liked the idea. She bowed her head majestically, said, ‘Thank you, Sister, that will be all,’ and opened a file of papers before her.

  ‘Do I have to go, Miss Marks?’

  Miss Marks looked annoyed. ‘Of course, Sister. This is an honour both for you and for the hospital.’

  There was no more to be said. Rachel went back to the office and found the Professor there, whistling through his teeth and staring out of the window.

  His good morning was casual but his glance was sharp. Rachel took off her cuffs and started to roll up her sleeves. ‘Good morning, Professor. Something’s come up. I’ve just been to the office. Miss Marks tells me that I’m to go to a theatre sisters’ conference in Basle, next week some time. It seems I have no choice in the matter.’ She paused. ‘I suppose I do have to go?’

  ‘Well, this certainly is a surprise,’ lied the Professor smoothly. ‘Presumably you will have to go if you’ve been nominated. I take it you will be representing the hospital group?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, but is it so important? I mean there will be hundreds of us there—am I supposed to pick up useful tips, or something?’

  He laughed. ‘Well, if you do, don’t rush to try them out on me. How long will you be gone?’

  ‘A week. Not take-in, thank heaven. Oughtn’t you to have been consulted first, Professor?’

  ‘As it happens, Miss Marks has asked if I could see her later on today. I dare say she thought that you should be told as soon as possible; she would be fairly sure that I can have no objection to you going.’

  He strolled to the door. ‘The first case may present complications. Put out my own forceps and the special retractors, will you? I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so.’

  Left to herself, Rachel made no effort to tackle the forms. The Professor didn’t seem to mind her going and for some reason that upset her, but hard on that thought came another one: Melville. Even if he wanted to see her it would be impossible; besides, she wouldn’t be tempted to answer his letter if he wrote, and when she got back again, who knew? Anything could have happened. She was a little vague as to what exactly could happen, but it involved Melville begging abject forgiveness, sending her armfuls of flowers and having a perfectly valid reason for kissing that girl.