His assistant asked who held the caesar record.
‘Robbie Stanger with a hundred and forty-four. I expect I’ll reach the century before my time’s up. May even go over. Old Robbie did extra time in my job, but Joe de Winter told me yesterday that he made a hundred and twenty-nine before he was finished.’
I was holding a curved needle at the end of one pair of forceps, a length of thread with another, and threading the needle to it. For a moment my hands stayed poised. ‘Joe de Winter in London, Mr Bellings? I thought he was in the States.’
‘I heard he’d gone over. Apparently not yet. I ran into him over at Martha’s. I had gone over to look at some new prem incubators they’re using. He was visiting a friend. Said he’d been on holiday. I forgot to ask where,’ he added casually, ‘but it was obviously some place in the sun. He was good and brown, lucky chap.’
When Mark called for me that evening I handed this on. ‘Did you know Joe was back?’
He nodded reluctantly.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘His news to give.’ He hailed a passing taxi. ‘This is luck, getting one so soon. And how did the caesar go?’
I refused to be side-tracked. ‘Why did Joe leave in such a hurry when there was no hurry?’
‘There was some last-minute hitch after he’d left. The man whose job he was going to take suddenly asked to stay on a while longer for some personal reason, so Joe thought he’d take a holiday. I honestly don’t know just where.’
‘Do you know where he’s going in the States?’
‘I’ve a notion it’s California. I could be wrong.’
‘The Mayo? Isn’t that in California?’
‘You tell me, sweetie.’
I said flatly, ‘I can’t tell you anything because I don’t know anything. I only know there’s a perpetual fog of silence round Joe’s name. And don’t pretend there isn’t. I’m not that dumb.’
‘Then you should be able to understand why no one knowing you both has wanted to rub salt into an old wound.’ He took my hand lightly in both his. ‘Mind you, none of us know much. All I know I had from Hugo O’Brien on one of those week-ends I spent with him and Sylvia. Joe’s name came up because, as you will no doubt recall, Hugo has an assistant who goes by the name of Frances Durant.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten. She still at Martha’s?’
‘She is.’ He gave me back my hand.
‘Because Joe’s job was postponed?’ His expression answered me. ‘She been on holiday, too?’
‘She has. And can we now get rid of the ghosts? As I’ve told you before, when I’m out with you, I do not care for crowds. So you tell me about the caesar. A fine baby, I hear.’
Once at the concert hall he remembered a telephone call he should have made. ‘There’ll be a phone here. I’ll see you to our seats, then make a noise like a Big Doctor.’
He was away some time. I had exchanged smiles with Wendy Scutt and the other three sisters two rows ahead, read through my programme, including the advertisements, before he joined me. The orchestra was tuning up as he sat by me.
‘All well, Mark?’
‘Yes and no. I was too late to talk to the man I wanted. I had to leave a message. Now, what’s first?’ He glanced casually over my head as he was about to look at the programme in my hands. Then his face froze.
‘What’s up?’ I asked, and was turning my head to look in the same direction before the slowly dimming lights went right down, when he tilted my chin towards him and kissed my mouth. ‘What did you do that for?’
He grinned. ‘Now there’s a foolish question for a pretty girl to ask a man!’ he murmured. ‘Hush, now. We’re off.’
The concert opened with Beethoven’s second symphony. I had a look round in the interval after the first movement. The hall was packed but it was too dim to see who, if anyone, had been responsible for Mark’s looking just now as if he had not known what had hit him. In the lighted interval before the ‘Emperor’ I had another look. And so, I observed, did Mark. The only people I recognized around were the quartet of sisters ahead. There were two empty seats at the end of the row behind us. I noticed them only because every other seat was taken.
Next day, for no special reason, we became unusually busy. The rush continued for some time, and by the week-end every surgical bed in the wards was occupied. Bill Swan told me Henry Carter had had to overflow into the Private Wing and Sister P.W. was out for his blood. ‘But where am I supposed to put the patients? Henry Carter and every other surgical ward has got emergency beds up and down the middles. While there are empty rooms in the Wing, I’m using ’em!’ He smiled wearily. ‘And if Sister P.W. has her way I’ll end up in one of them myself!’
It was over a week before Wendy and I so much as met at the same meal and I was able to thank her again for that concert.
‘It seems months ago now, but it was good. Glad you liked it. Incidentally, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about that night. Was that Joe de Winter sitting in the row behind yours? With some fair woman? I thought it was, but the others said I must be seeing things. I only spotted the particular couple just before the lights went down, and when they went up none of us could see them. I don’t know why not.’
I had a fair idea. I did not give it. I said I was afraid I could not answer her question, as I had not seen any man looking like Joe in that concert hall.
One of the good things about my job, I reflected as I had to hurry back after lunch to get ready for the afternoon’s list, was that it left one no time for brooding on what-might-have-beens. It was another of Sir Robert’s teaching afternoons. His long and complicated list was unlikely to finish before six. The instrument settings were as complicated as the cases and needed all my attention.
We were two-thirds through when Sandra came in with a note. She held it up for me to read. It was a message for Sir Robert, and one that had to be handed on, even though I knew the disturbance to his concentration was going to infuriate him.
I said tentatively, ‘Your sister, Mrs Hall, is on the telephone for you, Sir Robert.’
‘Then tell her to get off it, Sister! Ye know I can’t talk to her now!’ he snapped without looking up.
George Ellis, now Robbie’s senior registrar, flashed me a ‘watch-out-he’s-about-to-blow-all-the-fuses’ glance. I had to ignore it.
‘Staff Nurse has explained that, Sir Robert. Your sister apologizes for disturbing you, but is very anxious you should contact her directly you are free about the health of her grandson Robin Eastern.’
His head jerked up. ‘Young Robin, eh! And what are those bloody young fools his parents ‒ oh, well! Tell m’ sister I’ll ring her later. Later! Robin, eh! Dear me.’
Sandra vanished. The list went on. After it finished Sir Robert borrowed my duty-room for his telephone call. I went along there quite a while later, expecting to find him gone. He was at the desk, frowning at the wall ahead.
I backed out. ‘So sorry, Sir Robert.’
‘I’ve done, thank ye, Sister. Come back. I was just having a think.’ He got to his feet slowly. ‘Don’t mind telling ye, Sister, I’m not happy. Not happy at all.’
There were still occasions in the theatre when he could make me feel as nervous as a first-year, but now I was seeing so much more of him I had begun to understand why Joe and my predecessor liked him so much. His fierceness in the theatre proper was partly a defence for his concentration, partly an affectation. He enjoyed being a character. But he was a really great surgeon, he spared himself as little as he did others, and as he was no longer young was often, as now, utterly exhausted when his day’s work ended. And yet, if another emergency suddenly came in, he would be able to carry on as well as before, as I had often seen him do. I had always respected him; now I admired him as well.
‘You look tired, Sir Robert. Can I get you some tea?’
‘I’ll go along and have some directly, m’dear. Can you spare me a few moments of your good time?’
&n
bsp; In answer, I sat down. ‘Worrying news?’
‘Just so, Sister.’ He sat opposite me across the desk. ‘I’ve talked to m’sister. Sensible woman ‒ though how she could bring up her daughter ‒ but, there it is! Young Geraldine ‒ m’sister’s only gel and the youngster’s mother ‒ is a pretty little thing though she does her best to hide it ‒ and one of these modern gels with a head stuffed with cock-eyed theories about raising children! She does it by the book, Sister! I ask you! Books! Not that they do much harm if ye know when to stop reading ’em and get down to the job itself! And healthy youngsters can tolerate most things, including cock-eyed parents! But this young Robin’ ‒ he shook his head ‒ ‘never been a robust child. Too many late nights and too much wrong feeding if you ask me! But, there it is! And he’s a good little soul. Bright. Don’t like to think of him being so poorly. Fond of him.’ He glared at me defiantly. ‘M’sister’s been staying with his parents. She had to come back to-day as her husband’s not well. Angina. She wanted to bring the lad back with her. Parents refused. Mother says all he needs is a few days in bed to cure his septic foot. Now, m’sister’s no nurse ‒ she didn’t have a thermometer ‒ but she thought the child was running a fever. Mother told her not to fuss! Refused to get hold of a local doctor. And m’sister tells me the lad had some red lines running up his leg. Red lines! What can one do with lunacy of that nature? I never like making a diagnosis without examination, but it sounds as if the child has obviously a roaring cellulitis blowing up.’
‘It does.’ I made the obvious suggestion.
‘If I could have the lad brought in here, Sister, there’d be no problem. Or even if I could get to him. But they live in Spain. Right off the map, roughly ninety miles from Gibraltar. The husband paints. Doesn’t make much money, but that doesn’t seem to bother either of them. M’sister flew home. Only a few hours by air.’ He paused. Then, ‘If this hospital wasn’t so busy I’d take a day or so off and go out and see for myself. I’ll cable them, of course. They probably won’t even read it, much less take any advice it may contain. Yet ‒ they’re fond of the child. Just cock-eyed.’
‘I see. You haven’t any colleague from outside you could ask to go out?’
‘Sister, how can I ask one of my busy colleagues to drop their own patients and fly off to deal with a silly young woman who hasn’t the sense of a two-year-old? Mind ye, if I could get hold of some man on holiday.’ He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘When ye came in I was thinking about young de Winter. They tell me he’s back in town. I’ve already rung the Dean’s Office. They’ve got some bank as a forwarding address. That’ll take too much time. I want to pack someone off at once. Would you have any ideas how I could reach him more quickly?’
I suggested he contacted a Dr Frances Durant in the pathological department of St Martha’s Hospital.
‘Path lab, eh? Hmm. Never thought of that. Much obliged to ye, Sister.’
‘Can I get through for you, Sir Robert?’
‘I needn’t trouble ye any more, Sister, if I may trespass in your office a little longer.’ He stood up. ‘Thank ye, Sister. I’ll let ye know what transpires.’
It was ten days later when he did that while scrubbing up between operations. ‘A word with you, Sister.’
It could not be a private word. We were surrounded by assistant surgeons, theatre nurses, dressers, porters, and the intercom was on, for his students in the gallery.
I moved closer to him, holding my gloved hands clasped high in front of my face. ‘Yes, Sir Robert?’
‘You will recollect my little problem, Sister? About that youngster? Well, you were correct. That pathologist was most helpful. Medical aid was dispatched that same evening with sufficient antibiotics to deal with every bug in the book. Our mutual friend’ ‒ he glanced up at the gallery as if well aware that he was broadcasting ‒ ‘was able to get some sense into those thick parental heads. He even made them contact the local man. Understand he’s perfectly competent. That leg’s now doing very nicely. I had a letter this morning. No surgical interference should now be needed, but untreated, that child might have lost his leg.’ He re-lathered his hands and arms, had another look up. ‘If you young gentlemen ever want to know how to tell a good surgeon from the other sort, I’ll tell ye how ye can do it! A good surgeon is never in a hurry to pick up his knife.’ He caught my eye, grinned like a schoolboy with a shared secret. ‘Am I not right, Sister?’
I could willingly have hugged his distinguished figure for this compliment to Joe. I saw Mark and George Ellis exchange ‘What-the-hell-is-all-this-about?’ glances. I said evenly, ‘You are perfectly right, Sir Robert. May I say ‒ as always?’
He chuckled. ‘I don’t see why not, Sister. Nothing I enjoy more than being flattered by a charming gel, eh, George?’ George was now looking startled.
‘Oh ‒ quite, sir.’
‘Just so,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Just so. Well, Sister? What are we waiting for? Let’s get on with the job.’
Chapter Seven
SISTERS GROW A-HUMAN
Christmas was very near. Our rush went on and, if possible, grew worse.
‘Why can’t the customers stay healthy?’ demanded Mark late one evening after what had officially been our afternoon list. ‘Why do they have to keep twisting their guts in knots, wearing dirty great holes in their stomachs, getting their gallbladders and kidneys bunged up with rocks? And if they must indulge in these tedious affairs, why can’t they take their innards to another hospital? What’s Barny’s done to them?’ Sandra paused behind the trolley laden with empty dressing-drums she was taking to the tin-room for refilling.
‘Perhaps we should stick a large notice outside the main entrance to Cas saying ‘First left over the bridge for Martha’s’? Or is it second, Dr Delaney?’
‘Now is it any use asking me, dear Staff Nurse?’ He switched to his broadest brogue. ‘And wouldn’t you be knowing I’ve no head for such facts at all.’ He held open the door for her, then let it swing shut and came over to my trolley. ‘She’s been much less haemadementic lately. I’ve been hoping the crisis would at least last long enough to turn her into a permanent angel of sweetness and light. Why that crack?’
‘Barny’s belongs to her, so Barny’s Is Best. She regards your having friends across the river as rank disloyalty to the old firm.’
‘Is that so? And how in hell does she know so much about my private life?’ He was really annoyed.
I looked round and up to make sure no tidying junior had wandered back. ‘Mark dear, be your age. You know Dolly Bachelor’s a chatty soul. You do spend a lot of time with the O’Briens. Sylvia O’Brien’s her cousin.’
‘But a quiet woman. Not the type to make with the talk.’
I said, ‘I’ve noticed few people talk as much as the quiet ones once they start talking. It’s the great talkers like yourself who talk plenty and say so little.’
He took a pair of abdominal retractors off my trolley and absently tried to fit them on himself over his gown. ‘Feeling a touch of the haemadementia, too, Sister Theatre? That sounded awfully like another dirty crack. But I’ll forgive you as there’s something I’ve to ask you. Do we have a date for the New Year’s Eve Ball?’
The New Year’s Eve Ball was the social highlight of the hospital year. Joe had taken me to the last two. Luckily I had a cast-iron alibi for avoiding it this year.
‘Thanks, but I’ll have to be on call that night now I’m boss. It’s the nurses’ big night. Remember?’
He slapped his forehead. ‘Fool that I am! I had forgotten you’ll have to pay the price of glory. We’ll skip the Ball. There’ll be other nights.’
‘You mustn’t skip it if you’re free.’
‘If I can’t take you Barny’s Ball hath no charms for me. As I should be free, maybe I’ll slip over the river. The O’Briens are giving a party. I was going to suggest we went over later.’ His smile was uncharacteristically grim. ‘Should I tell dear Dolly now, to be sure she sets the cat amongst the pigeon
s?’
I smiled. ‘I don’t think you need bother. Sandra starts her holiday on the 28th. Bachelor’s been asked to our Ball by her Welsh young man. Your private life can stay private.’
‘That’ll be a break.’ He put down the clamps. ‘I could use some of that tea that’ll still be stewing in the surgeons’ room. You’ll not mind if I love you and leave you?’
‘Not at all.’
He had turned to go. He turned back. ‘For the record, Maggie, wouldn’t that be just how you feel about me? Just your old pal, M. Delaney?’
I hesitated, not wanting to hurt him, yet recognizing we were both too tired for anything but the truth. ‘Yes. Do you mind?’
‘I’d mind getting the score wrong far more.’ He was gone before I could ask how he really felt about me. He would have told me, and it would have been the truth. Neither of us had had any off-duty that day. We had been working almost constantly since we were called up for a strangulated hernia at a quarter to five that morning. At the end of that kind of day no one has energy left for pretence. And then, as still happened, my mind went back to Joe and the many similar heavy days we had shared in the past, how he used to drift back into the theatre, sit on a high stool, and talk. I had believed him too tired for pretence, believed all he said, yet in his case believed wrong.
I looked at the empty stool under the anaesthetist’s end of the operating table. He had generally chosen to pull that one forward and sit on it leaning back against the table. My memory of him was so clear he might have been sitting there now, one arm draped along the table, his shoulders sagging with weariness as Mark’s had just now. Whatever else had been false, his tiredness had been honest, and when tired, unlike Mark, Bill, or George, who made for strong tea in the surgeons’ room, Joe had always come back directly he got out of his T-shirt and apron, and looked for me.
‘Something wrong with the table, Sister?’ Nurse Jones, the ‘dirty’ that evening, had come back into the theatre. ‘I did carbolize it.’
‘I expect it’s just a shadow, Nurse.’ I brushed a hand in front of my face quite involuntarily as if breaking a cobweb. ‘Yes. It’s quite in order.’
The New Sister Theatre Page 11
