Sister Peters in Amsterdam. Бетти Нилс

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      ‘Close call,’ he observed. Adelaide’s brown eyes smiled at him over her mask, and he smiled back. ‘Nice work, Sister.’

      He went to the phone and asked Zuster Zijlstra to come to Casualty as soon as she could. A moment later she came in quietly. She was a tall girl, with merry blue eyes; she and Adelaide got on well together. She winked at her now, and asked ‘Busy?’

      Adelaide, doing neat things with gauze and strapping, smiled.

      ‘No, but you will be!’

      The professor, who had been talking to the mother, turned round.

      ‘Ah, my good Zuster Zijlstra, I want a cot, and oxygen tent, and a nurse to special this child. Will you fix them up for me, please?’

      Zuster Zijlstra tossed her head. ‘You always want something,’ she complained. ‘I’ll do it at once, sir,’ and disappeared again.

      The professor walked over to the couch.

      ‘I expect you’ve got some writing to do. I’ll stay here.’

      He stood by the patient, listening to Adelaide asking the mother the routine questions which had to be asked before the child could be admitted. She managed rather well, using a minimum of words and being very wary of the grammar. Her pronunciation was peculiar at times, but on the whole he thought that she must have worked quite hard during the month she had been in Holland.

      Zuster Zijlstra came back. She scooped up the small figure on the couch very carefully and went to the door, which the professor held open for her.

      ‘I’ll come with you. I’d better write up some sedation and antibiotics for her.’

      Adelaide finished what she was doing and showed the mother how to get to the ward, then began to clear up; there wasn’t a great deal for her to do. She made up a fresh tracheotomy pack and put it in the autoclave, then stripped the linen off the couch and made it up anew. She was washing her hands at the sink when the professor returned.

      ‘The child’s fine. Zuster Zijlstra’s a wonderful nurse.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Staff Nurse?’

      Adelaide dried her hands carefully. ‘At home. She lives in Amsterdam.’

      ‘You took over her duty.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

      ‘Yes, sir. I don’t mind in the least. I wasn’t going anywhere.’ She sounded quite cheerful about it.

      ‘You should have taken your off-duty,’ he said evenly.

      She threw the paper towel in the bin, and went to turn off the autoclave.

      ‘I rang Dr Beekman.’ Her voice held a question, politely put.

      The professor was getting into his coat.

      ‘Touché, Sister Peters. I have taken Beekman’s duty over until midnight; his people have come down from Drente for St Nicolaas.’ He grinned at her, called good-night, and was gone.

      CHAPTER THREE

      CARDBOARD Father Christmases had taken the place of St Nicolaas in the shops. Adelaide bought presents for her family and sent them home. She might have felt homesick, but the friends she had made among the hospital sisters took care to include her as much as possible in their own activities, so that she had little time for moping.

      Mijnheer de Wit spent a whole lesson describing the Dutch annual holidays to her. It seemed that Christmas was strictly for the family and more sober than the English version. The giving of presents was usual in the larger towns; in the country the day was marked by a splendid meal and plenty to drink. Turkey and Christmas pudding hadn’t gained much of a foothold, but many homes in Holland had a Christmas tree. New Year—now, that was different. The old man waxed eloquent in his beautiful Dutch—New Year was for everyone to enjoy. He made it sound exciting.

      Adelaide had been rather puzzled by the amount of unwelcome attention her red hair had caused. Small boys called out after her in the street, mothers bringing their children to the clinic remarked on it, often with a laugh or pitying look. She was aware that her hair was rather unusual, but it had seldom been commented upon. One evening, at the end of a tedious lesson on the complexities of the Dutch verb, she mentioned it to her teacher. He broke into a rumbling laugh.

      ‘My dear young lady, the Dutch, as a nation, dislike red hair, and your hair, if I may say so, is very red. You must expect comment upon it, at least when you are in public. I must add that this is the general opinion. Many people admire it,’ he twinkled at her. ‘I do myself.’

      Dr Beekman was early the following day; he had some notes to write up, and sat doing this while Adelaide sorted the X-rays. They had become good friends and Adelaide had spent pleasant evenings with his wife Leen; the girls had liked each other at once. Adelaide put the last X-ray on the desk and turned to the doctor.

      ‘Is my hair an awful colour?’ she asked.

      His blue eyes opened wide. ‘Well, it is rather red,’ he replied cautiously. ‘Why do you ask?’

      She started to tell him. She hadn’t heard the professor come in; he leaned against the door, listening, as she explained about the small boys. ‘Oh, well,’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘we’re all afflicted with something, I suppose. Red hair is no worse than a squint or jug handle ears, or a large beaky n…’ she stopped, because of the expression on Dr Beekman’s face. He was looking over her shoulder, at someone behind her, and trying not to laugh.

      The professor advanced into the room; his ‘good morning’ was quiet and uttered in a bland voice.

      Adelaide felt herself blushing hotly, but she faced him bravely and said, ‘I do beg your pardon, sir. I wasn’t speaking of your nose…’ she stopped and tried again. ‘Yours is quite a nice sort…’ She encountered the professor’s eye. It was fixed steadily upon her; there was absolutely no expression on his face. She had a horrid suspicion that he might be laughing at her, and lifted her chin and looked down her own pretty little nose.

      ‘I like beaky noses,’ she said, and was relieved to see him smile.

      ‘Thank you, Sister Peters. Your good opinion will do much towards enabling me to bear my affliction with equanimity.’ He added thoughtfully, ‘How thankful we should be that we do not have the squint.’

      Adelaide smiled uncertainly. She still wasn’t sure if he was amused or merely polite—as was his wont. She minded very much if he were to be angry; just lately she had found herself going to a great deal of trouble to please him…

      The professor, however, did not seem to share her feelings. He was running through the X-rays on his desk, and said briskly: ‘Shall we get started?’ He glanced at her, smiling faintly, and that was the only crumb of comfort she had.

      Out-Patients closed for the two days of Christmas, but of course Casualty stayed open. Adelaide arranged to go on duty at one o’clock on Christmas Day, so that the nurses could go to their homes for the remainder of the day. She had been to the English Church in the Groenburgwal and sung carols, and felt a little homesick. There had been a dinner for the nurses СКАЧАТЬ