Cruise to a Wedding. Бетти Нилс

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Nurse Cross, bless her, had everything ready, and she still had ten minutes in which to sort the special instruments which had been delivered to her office, get them into the autoclave, and scrub up. She was nicely settled behind her trolleys well before the surgeons’ unhurried entry. Mr Gore-Symes first, with his guest—her eyes widened at the sight of him; the man in the corridor, no less, behind. The blue eyes met hers with a blandly impersonal glance while Mr Gore-Symes introduced him as Professor de mumble van mumble, from mumble. Loveday, none the wiser from her chief’s indistinct remarks, inclined her head with hauteur and was affronted at the stranger’s grunt.

      ‘Loveday Pearce,’ said Mr Gore-Symes, quite distinctly for once. ‘My Theatre Sister, you know. Runs the place very well.’

      His companion raised thick fair eyebrows in what she could only describe to herself as an offensive manner, and turned to speak to Gordon before taking his place by the operating table. The three men arranged themselves without haste around the unconscious patient, covered on the flanks, as it were, by two housemen, looking apprehensive. Loveday waited until they had settled themselves before motioning her own team into place; Staff at her elbow, as always, the two student nurses well back from the table, ready to do anything she might require of them; Mrs Thripps, on duty, for the afternoon, standing back even further, her experienced eyes everywhere. And Bert in his corner, surrounded by the various electrical appliances which might be needed from time to time. She took a final look at them all, nodded her pretty head in satisfaction, and handed Gordon the first towel.

      The operation was to be an adrenalectomy, and both kidneys were involved. As it proceeded Loveday felt bound to admit that this foreign surgeon was good; he worked fast and thoroughly, and not until he reached the stage where his own new technique was involved did he speak more than a few words. Even then she could not fault his manner; there was no hint of boasting; she was forced to admire his modest manner even while she recalled his quite unnecessary rudeness in the corridor.

      It was a long business and tiring for all of them. All the same, it was with regret that she saw him leave the theatre. It was a pity, she decided, as she took off her gown and gloves and prepared to scrub for the second case, that she wouldn’t see him again, let alone discover his name—even if she asked Mr Gore-Symes at the end of the list, he would have forgotten it by then. She sighed and freshly scrubbed and gowned went to brood over the contents of her trolleys.

      They finished just before six; the last two cases had been straightforward ones, and she had been able to send those nurses who were off duty out of the theatre punctually. She was off duty herself, but she was doing nothing with her evening, so that she sent the last of her staff away and, the theatre cleaned and readied once more, went to her office. Ten minutes would be long enough to write up the books, then she would take the keys along to Joyce, on duty in the ENT theatre, and go off duty herself. Someone had made her a pot of tea, she discovered; it stood on a tray on her desk with a plate of thin bread and butter on a saucer-covered plate. She smiled at the little attention, poured herself a cup and opened her books.

      She had finished her writing and was polishing off the rest of the bread and butter when she heard the swing doors separating the theatre block from the hospital open and click shut. ‘In here,’ she called. ‘I was just coming over with the keys.’

      But it wasn’t Joyce, it was Mr Gore-Symes’ visitor who entered, and at her surprised, ‘Oh, hullo, it’s you,’ he inclined his head and put her firmly in her place with a cold good evening. She stared at him for several seconds, a little puzzled, and then spoke with relief. ‘Oh, of course, you want your instruments. I gave them to Bert, but I daresay he couldn’t find them—they’ll be in the theatre.’

      ‘Thank you, I have them already. You are a friend of Rimada’s, are you not?’

      He was leaning against the wall, staring at her in a disconcerting fashion. She said slowly: ‘Yes,’ while a sudden unwelcome thought trickled into the back of her mind. ‘I didn’t hear your name, sir.’ She spoke hesitatingly.

      ‘I didn’t think you had, that is why I have come back.’ His voice was silky. ‘De Wolff van Ozinga,’ he added with a biting quietness. ‘Adam.’

      Rimada’s name was de Wolff. Loveday said in a small voice, ‘Oh, lord—I might have known, you’re Rimada’s guardian!’

      ‘I am. I intend seeing her this evening. Is she behaving herself?’

      She shot him a guarded look which he met with a bland stare. ‘She always behaves herself, and I have no intention of answering any prying questions about her.’

      He smiled lazily and she felt her dislike for him oozing away, to return at once as he continued: ‘She has a remarkable habit of falling in love with every second young man she meets. Who is it at the moment?’

      Loveday looked at him crossly. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going to answer your questions. You should ask Rimada.’

      He looked hatefully pleased with himself. ‘So there is someone—she meant what she said. The absurd girl telephoned me—besides, her mother showed me a letter. I suppose you are aiding and abetting her?’

      Loveday lifted her chin. ‘No. But now I’ve met you, I certainly shall!’

      This spirited remark met with a laugh. ‘By all means,’ he agreed affably. ‘If you are half as bird-witted as my cousin, you aren’t likely to succeed, though.’

      ‘I am not bird-witted!’ She was feeling quite ill-tempered by now. ‘Rimada’s a dear, she can’t help being—being…’ She stopped, conscious of his amused eyes. ‘She’s afraid of you,’ she flung at him.

      He lifted his eyebrows and looked resigned. ‘I can’t think why; I’m kindness and consideration at all times towards her. Just as long as she does nothing foolish, of course.’

      Loveday felt that she should really make an end to this absurd conversation; she wasn’t getting anywhere with it, and nor, she fancied, was the man before her. A pity, though; she would have liked to have got to know him better, even, as she hastily reminded herself, though she disliked him. She closed her books and stood up.

      ‘Do finish your bread and butter,’ he suggested politely.

      ‘Thank you, no. I’m off duty.’ She picked up the tea-tray with an air of someone with not a minute to lose.

      He took the tray from her and put it down again on the desk. ‘Now from any other girl I might take that as an invitation. But from you, Miss Loveday Pearce, I think not. All the same, despite your cross face and your pert manners and your bad habit of running along hospital corridors, I find you a good deal more—er—interesting than Rimada.’

      He leaned across the desk and kissed her on her half open, surprised mouth.

      CHAPTER TWO

      LOVEDAY stood very still. Her power of speech had left her; so for the moment had the power to think clearly. She was aware of a peculiar feeling deep inside her which she presently decided might be attributed to rage and a bitter dislike of her visitor, certainly she found that she was shaking with some strong emotion. Presently she picked up the tray and took it along to the tiny kitchen on the theatre corridor and tidied everything away in her usual methodical fashion before taking the keys over to ENT and going off duty. Once in the Home, she went straight to Rimada’s room and found that young lady dressing to go out, an elaborate ritual which she interrupted to say dramatically: ‘He is here—the horrid Adam. He waits below and I am forced to dine with him.’ СКАЧАТЬ