At the End of the Day

by Betty Neels

  She went back to her office presently; the nurses were going to their coffee two by two, and when they got back she and Pat would have theirs, until then, she would get on with her paper work.

  The professor was still in her office, writing busily, he looked up as she went in, said coolly: ‘I am almost finished, Sister.’ Then went on writing. She didn’t go away but stood by the door, watching him. He looked tired; after all, he was no longer a young man and even his good looks couldn’t disguise the fact; she was still annoyed with him about his rejection of her offer of coffee and food, but a pang of something like pity shot through her, instantly doused by his cool: ‘Pray don’t stand there, Sister Mitchell, there must be something you can do and I shall be a few minutes still.’

  ‘Oh, there is plenty.’ She matched her coolness with his, although she was put out. ‘Only it’s all on my desk and you’re still sitting at it.’ She allowed a small pause before adding, ‘Sir’.

  He said without looking up from his writing: ‘How long have we known each other, Sister?’

  ‘Us? Oh, three years or more on this ward—you lectured me when I was a student nurse but one could hardly say that you knew me, then.’

  He glanced up and smiled briefly. ‘That makes me feel very old.’ And then to surprise her entirely: ‘How old are you, Sister Mitchell?’

  She said indignantly: ‘That’s rather a rude question…’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you think it rude if I were to ask you that?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ his voice was bland. ‘I’m forty-one and looking forty-two in the face. I don’t imagine you are forty yet?’

  She gasped with annoyance. ‘Of course I’m not, if you must know I’m thirty—today.’

  ‘Many happy returns of the day.’ He finished his writing and sat back to study her. ‘I must say that you don’t look your age.’

  ‘Thank you for nothing, Professor.’ Her green eyes flashed with temper. ‘I find this a very pointless conversation and I have a great deal of work to do…’

  He got up slowly. ‘When are you and young Longman getting married?’

  She blushed and hated herself for it. ‘I don’t know—there’s plenty of time…’

  He sauntered to the door. ‘Oh, no there isn’t—once you are thirty, the years fly by.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll be in to see Mrs Collins this afternoon. Good morning to you, Sister.’

  Her ‘Good morning, sir,’ was snappish to say the least.

  But she forgot him almost at once as she became immersed in her work; there were always forms to fill in, requests to write, the off duty to puzzle out; she worked steadily for half an hour or so; Pat was in the ward, keeping an eye on things and presently when the nurses had been to coffee, they would have theirs and sort out the day’s problems before the various housemen did their rounds. And the professor, of course; an even-tempered woman, despite the fieriness of her hair, and possessed of more than the usual amount of common sense, Julia found herself feeling sorry for him again. Of course, away from the hospital, he might be a devoted husband and father, a frequenter of night clubs, a keen theatregoer, a fervent sportsman, but it was impossible to know that. His private life was a closed book to her and she wasn’t interested in looking inside, only it was a pity that he found her so irritating. And yet she knew for a fact that he had told the Senior Medical Officer that she was the best sister he had ever had to deal with. It was probably her fault, she mused, for she answered him back far too often.

  She sighed, reached for the ‘phone and dialled the laundry. As usual she needed more linen and as usual she was going to have to wheedle it out of them.

  Pat came in presently and they drank their coffee and filled in the rest of the off duty. ‘My weekend,’ said Pat happily, ‘I shall go home.’ She poured more coffee. ‘Is Dr Longman off for your weekend?’

  Julia shook her head. ‘No, he’s going to Bristol—he’s applied for the registrar’s position there, and this Saturday seems to be the only day they can interview him.’

  ‘Would you like my weekend?’ asked Pat instantly, ‘then you could go with him.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you Pat, but he’ll be better on his own, besides what would I do there? I’d be by myself most of the time. He’ll go on to his home and spend Sunday there, and I’ll go home on my weekend; we can sort things out after that.’

  The niggling thought that Nigel could have invited her to go to his parents’ home and joined her there popped into her head to be instantly ignored as petty childishness. ‘Now, how can we fit Nurse Wells in for that extra half day we owe her?’

  Pat was quick to take the hint and obediently pored over the off duty; Sister Mitchell was a dear even if strict on the ward, but she tended to keep herself to herself even though she had any number of friends.

  The morning wore on, much too rapidly for Julia. Mrs Collins, though still unconscious, was showing signs of improvement, but there was no news from the police. Julia went to her midday dinner with the problem still unsolved, which made her somewhat distraite during that meal.

  ‘The professor being tiresome?’ asked Fiona Sedgewick, who had Women’s Surgical. ‘I never met such a man for casting a blight on anyone unlucky enough to be near him.’

  ‘I pity his wife,’ observed Mary Chapman, who had Children’s, ‘that’s if he can keep one long enough…’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so, but what a waste, all those good looks and lolly and he has just got himself a new Rolls Royce.’

  Someone giggled. ‘Perhaps that’s why he is so irritable—I mean, they cost a good deal, don’t they?’

  Julia got up. ‘Well, whatever it is, he’d better cheer up before he comes this afternoon.’

  The professor hadn’t exactly done that when he came on to the ward an hour or so later; he was, however, scrupulously polite, listening with grave attention to what Julia had to report and at the end of a lengthy examination of Mrs Collins, politely refusing her offer of tea, watching her from under heavy lids, and then thanking her just as politely so that she looked at him with surprised face. He returned the look with a bland stare of his own before, surrounded by the lesser fry of his profession, he left the ward.

  ‘Well,’ observed Julia to the pile of notes on her desk, ‘what’s come over him, in heaven’s name?’

  She was off duty after tea and half an hour later was back at her flat. Nigel was off duty too and she had planned supper for them both; they would be able to talk at their ease. She thrust a macaroni cheese into her tiny oven and frowned as she did so. Nigel would want to talk about getting married and she felt a curious reluctance to listen to him. He had the future so tidily arranged that somehow the magic was missing. Not that she had the least idea of what magic she expected. They had been more or less engaged for a year or more; he was entirely suitable for a husband too, he would be kind and patient and considerate and they would have enough to live on… Her mother and father liked him and with reservations she got on well enough with his parents; perhaps she wanted too much. Certainly she had been put out when he had told her that he was going to Bristol and hadn’t suggested that she should go with him, they saw little enough of each other.

  She mixed a salad, did her hair again and sat down to wait.

  She heard his deliberate step on the stairs presently and went to open the door, suddenly anxious that the evening should be a success. He kissed her too quickly and said: ‘Sorry I’m a bit late—I got caught up on Children’s. God, I’ll be glad to get away from St Anne’s. Keep your fingers crossed for me, Julia, and pray that I’ll get that job at Bristol.’

  She made a soothing rejoinder, poured him a beer and sat down opposite him. ‘Bad day?’ she asked.

  ‘Lord yes, you can say that again. Professor van der Wagema may be a brilliant physician but he’s a cold fish. Good with the patients, mind you and funnily enough, the children like him, but talk about a loner…’


  ‘Perhaps he is overworked,’ offered Julia idly.

  ‘Not him, he works for two and it makes no difference at all. Wonder what he is like away from St Anne’s. No one’s ever seen him. Crusty old devil.’ He grinned at her. ‘Something smells good?’

  ‘It’s ready, I’ll dish up.’

  They spent a pleasant enough evening discussing rather vaguely, their future. ‘We ought to start looking for somewhere to live, if I get this job,’ said Nigel, ‘Somewhere close to the hospital of course, but we can go home for weekends when I’m free.’ He frowned thoughtfully, ‘A flat, I suppose, at least to start with, probably the hospital will have something for us.’

  ‘It would be nicer to live away from your work,’ said Julia.

  She was a country girl, born and brought up in a small village a few miles from Salisbury and she had never taken to London or the city, and Bristol as far as she could make out, was going to be another London on a smaller scale.

  ‘We shouldn’t have much rent to pay. I’ll get settled in and you can give up this job here; the place will be furnished so we won’t have that bother.’

  Julia stifled a sigh; furnishing her own home didn’t seem to her to be a bother, but perhaps it would only be for a few months, while they looked round for something better. A house with a garden… She allowed her thoughts to wander; the garden at home would be looking gorgeous, full of dahlias and chrysanths and the virginia creeper just turning—she would go home on her next weekend; Nigel would be working anyway.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Nigel.

  ‘A garden—the garden at home. It’ll be nice to see it.’

  ‘Oh, can’t you change your weekend to fit in with me?’

  ‘No—I’d already promised Pat Down. We’ll have to try to get things sorted out later on.’

  He didn’t seem to mind overmuch; Julia found that provoking.

  She took care to climb the stairs soberly the next morning but there was no professor to sneer at her, he came not half an hour later, though. She had taken the report, given the student nurses the gist of it and was sitting at her desk, looking without much pleasure at the view of chimney pots and tired looking trees, all she could see by sitting sideways and craning her neck. She was remembering Nigel’s sedate plans for their future and his even more sedate kiss when he left soon after supper.

  There must be something wrong with her, she thought a little desperately, not to appreciate a good kind man such as Nigel and of course she loved him…

  ‘Well, well,’ observed the professor nastily from the half open door. ‘Nothing better to do than sit and stare? The devil finds work for idle hands to do.’

  Julia’s splendid bosom swelled with indignation. ‘Well, really…whatever will you say next?’

  ‘Good morning might be appropriate!’

  She glared up at him; his eyes looked black they were so dark and to make matters worse he was amused.

  She rose from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Good morning, Professor,’ she said coldly. ‘You wish to see Mrs Collins? She is still unconscious, but there are signs…’ She gave him chapter and verse and at his nod, led the way into the ward, asking Pat in a low voice to get Dr Reed and sending the nurse with Mrs Collins away—a very new student nurse, who stared at the professor as though he were Prince Charming and sidled away reluctantly.

  ‘Is that girl competent?’ rasped the professor.

  Julia shot him an affronted look. ‘Nurse has been training for six months, so of course she is by no means competent, but she is sensible and understands exactly what she has to do. She has the makings of a good nurse.’ She drew an annoyed breath, ‘Sir’.

  She could have saved her breath for he didn’t appear to be listening.

  Dr Reed joined them then and they went through the slow precise tests and examination. The professor was studying the chart and Julia was straightening the bed clothes when she said quietly, ‘Mrs Collins’ eyelids are moving.’

  So they began all over again. The woman was still unconscious but this time her pupils reacted to the professor’s torch. He straightened his vast person and stood looking down at her. ‘Now we are getting somewhere. Reed, let’s have a further lot of tests.’ He looked across at Julia and smiled and she blinked at its charm.

  He was back again later in the morning to do his biweekly round, once more coldly polite. He didn’t smile once and after the round, in her office, he was bitingly sarcastic about a mislaid page of notes. They weren’t in the least important, for the patient was going home in the morning and they had probably got put in the file in the wrong order. It annoyed Julia but it hardly merited his caustic remarks about carelessness. She accompanied him to the ward doors and went back to her office and found the page almost at once. She put it neatly in to its place and said crossly, ‘Tiresome little man…’

  ‘Tiresome I may be,’ said the professor from somewhere behind her, ‘but you could hardly call me little.’

  She swung round to face him, but before she could say anything, he added mildly, ‘I believe that I left my pen here.’

  Julia took a surging breath, clenched her teeth on the heated remark she was about to make and handed him the pen. He took it from her with a brief thank you, advised her coldly not to allow her feelings to get the better of her, and went away again. ‘I swear I’ll throw something at you next time we meet,’ said Julia. Her habitual calm common sense had quite deserted her, it was a good thing that Pat went for her weekend after tea, for it meant that Julia was on duty until the night staff came on duty, and she had no time to indulge in any feelings.

  Nigel was going by train to Bristol but because he was getting a lift by car from a friend who lived in Yeovil, he had chosen to take a train from Waterloo in the morning, and Julia had given herself a morning off duty so that she might see him on his way. It was an off duty she loathed for it meant coming back on duty at half-past twelve and a long, long day stretching out before her. All the same she left the ward at ten o’clock, tore into her street clothes and met Nigel outside the hospital. There wasn’t much time, they took a taxi and got to the station with only a few minutes to spare.

  The train was full and Nigel, a sensible man, didn’t waste his time on unnecessarily protracted goodbyes; he gave her a quick kiss, with one eye prudently on the empty seats which were left, and then got into the train. There hadn’t been time to say much, thought Julia, smiling the fatuous smile people always smile at railway stations, really it had been a bit silly of her to come… She went close to the window where Nigel had been lucky enough to get a seat and called, ‘Good luck; I’m sure everything will be fine.’ She didn’t go on, for Nigel was frowning a little; he disliked the showing of feelings in public, so she retreated a few paces and stood well back and since she couldn’t glue her eyes to Nigel all the time, looked around her. No more than twenty yards away Professor van der Wagema was standing, a hand on the shoulder of a boy of ten or eleven, standing beside him. As she looked, he gave the boy a gentle shove, said something to him, and watched him get on to the train. The boy was in school uniform and there were other boys too. Julia looked from him to the professor and encountered a bland stare which sent the colour to her cheeks and her eyes back to Nigel. The train began to move and she made rather a thing of waving to Nigel who wasn’t taking any notice.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE WALKED AWAY from the professor as she waved, and stood watching the train out of sight; hopefully he would be gone when she turned round and started back down the platform.

  Nothing of the kind; he was coming towards her and since she was at the end of the platform by now there was nowhere else to go, she had to walk back.

  His ‘Good morning, Julia,’ took her completely by surprise; he had never called her anything other than Sister or Sister Mitchell. She said, ‘Good morning,’ in a rather faint voice and went on walking and he turned and walked with her, for all the world, she thought indignantly, as though h
e was sure of his welcome.

  ‘Why didn’t you go with Longman?’ he wanted to know.

  She suppressed a strong wish to tell him to mind his own business.

  ‘He’s got an interview in Bristol for a registrar’s post. Of course, you know that already…’

  ‘Of course. I asked why you hadn’t gone with him.’

  She had the ridiculous urge to tell him that Nigel hadn’t asked her to. ‘Well, I would have been on my own for most of the weekend…’ And that’s a silly thing to say she thought—she could expect some cutting remark about interviews only taking a couple of hours. But he didn’t say anything like that. ‘I’ve just seen my son off to school, will you have a cup of coffee with me?’

  She stopped to look at him. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you—I’m on duty at one o’clock though.’

  ‘It’s just half-past ten,’ he assured her, grave-faced, ‘I’ve my car here, we can go somewhere quieter for ten minutes or so.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Julia, feeling her way; any minute he might change back into the coldly polite man she worked for, but he didn’t, he commented upon the splendid weather, the horror of large railway stations, the difficulty of parking and all she had to do was to murmur suitably.

  She had seen his car before, of course, but only from her office window or sliding silently past her in the fore-court. This’ll be something to tell the girls, she thought as she got into the dark blue Rolls, only they’ll never believe me.

  The professor drove through the streaming traffic with a monumental calm which aroused her admiration. She was an indifferent driver herself, driving the rather elderly Rover through the country lanes around her home, although she much preferred her bike or even her two feet. Ever since the time she had rammed the butcher’s van on a tricky corner, her nerve had suffered. Driving through London must be a nightmare; she said so now.