Saturday's Child. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ Trent. I am interested to know what it was you said in the corridor just now.’

      She wished she could have looked wide-eyed and innocent, or been so pretty that he really wouldn’t want an answer to his question. She would have to tell him, and probably, as he seemed to dislike her so much already, he would say that he wanted another nurse to work for him and she would have to go back to England. Did one get paid in such circumstances? she wondered, and was startled when he asked, ‘What are you thinking about? I assure you it is of no use you inventing some excuse.’

      ‘I’m not inventing anything. What I said was,’ she took a deep breath, ‘”Oh, well, be like that.’”

      ‘That is what I thought you said. May I ask if you are in the habit of addressing the consultants in your own hospital in such a fashion?’

      She considered carefully before she answered him. ‘No, I can’t remember ever doing so before, but then, you see, they always said good morning.’

      She studied his face as she spoke; perhaps she had gone a little too far, but she didn’t like being treated in such a high-handed fashion. He looked very angry indeed—she waited for the outburst she felt sure would come and was surprised when all he said, through a tight mouth, was:

      ‘Young woman, you disturb me excessively,’ and stalked away, leaving Abigail with her eyes opened very wide, and her mouth open too.

      She didn’t see him again until she entered the theatre and she thought it unlikely that he would notice her, disguised as she was in theatre gown of voluminous size and nothing visible of her face, only her nice eyes above the mask.

      The morning’s work had gone exactly to plan. It was precisely noon. Theatre Sister and two nurses were there and of course the anaesthetist—there was to be no general anaesthetic, but Mrs Morgan had had a pre-med and would need a local anaesthetic. He was a nice sort of man, Abigail thought; his English was fluent if a little difficult to understand and he had smiled kindly at her. Mrs Morgan, her hand held in Abigail’s comforting grasp, was dozing in her drug-induced sleep; she had joked a little about it before they went to theatre because she would miss seeing Professor van Wijkelen, and Abigail had consoled her with the prospect of further visits from him, for there were still one or two more tests to carry out, though once the professor had done the gastroscopy and had made up his mind whether he needed to operate or not, there wasn’t much more to be done.

      Abigail arranged the blanket over her patient, turning it down below her shoulders so that it wouldn’t get in the surgeon’s way once he started. Mrs Morgan made a little whimpering sound and opened her eyes, and Abigail said instantly in a soothing voice, ‘It’s all right, Mrs Morgan, the professor is just coming.’

      He was in fact there, standing behind her, talking quietly to Sister. He finished what he was saying and went closer to his patient, ignoring Abigail completely—something she had expected.

      He spoke quietly to his patient. ‘You feel sleepy, don’t you, Mrs Morgan? We are going to spray your throat now and it will feel numb, but you will feel nothing else—a little uncomfortable perhaps, but that is all. It will take only a short time. Your head will be lifted over a pillow now and I am going to ask you to open your mouth when I say so.’

      The small examination went well and Mrs Morgan, whom Abigail had expected to be rather difficult, didn’t seem to mind at all when the professor inserted the gastroscope and peered down it, his great height doubled, his brows drawn together in concentration. At length he said, ‘That will do. Kindly take her back to the ward, Nurse.’

      Which Abigail did, to spend a rather trying few hours because Mrs Morgan was under the impression that the local anaesthetic would wear off in ten minutes or so, and when it didn’t she was first annoyed and then frightened. Abigail, explaining over and over again that the numbness would disappear quickly and that no, Mrs Morgan couldn’t have a drink just yet, longed for an hour or so off duty. It was already three o’clock; she had been relieved at dinner time, but no one had said a word about her off-duty. Probably the Ward Sister thought that she wouldn’t mind as long as someone relieved her for a cup of tea.

      The door opened and she looked up hopefully, unaware that her face plainly showed her disappointment at the sight of the professor standing there, for he certainly hadn’t come to release her from her duties. She got to her feet, wondering why he stared so, and fetched the chart for him to study. He hadn’t spoken at all and since he seemed to like it that way, she hadn’t either. She had half expected to hear more about their morning’s meeting, but now she rather thought that he wasn’t going to do anything more about it. She took the chart back again and stood quietly while he spoke briefly to Mrs Morgan. Presently he turned away from the bed. ‘Nurse, I shall want another blood count done and the barium meal will be done tomorrow at two o’clock. Attend to the usual preparations, please. I can find nothing very wrong, but I shall need confirmation of that before I make my final decision.’

      She said, ‘Yes, Professor,’ and admired him discreetly. Forty or more, she concluded, and unhappy—though I don’t suppose he knows it.

      His voice, cutting a swathe through her half-formed thoughts, asked:

      ‘You are comfortable here, Nurse? Everyone is kind to you? You have your free time?’

      ‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered so quickly that he said at once, ‘Today?’

      ‘Well, not yet, but I’m perfectly all right. Mrs Morgan is my patient, isn’t she, and the ward is very busy. I’m quite happy.’

      He said surprisingly, ‘Are you? I should have supposed otherwise, although I daresay you do your best to disguise the fact.’

      She was appalled, and when had he looked at her long enough to even notice? ‘I—I …’ she began, and was instantly stopped by his bland, ‘No need to excuse yourself, Nurse Trent—we all have our worries and sorrows, do we not—and never as important as we think they are.’

      Abigail went brightly pink. She blushed seldom, but when she did, she coloured richly from her neck to the roots of her hair. He watched her now with a detached interest, nodded briefly, and went away.

      She was relieved shortly after that and after a cup of tea in the dining room she tore into her clothes and went out into the city. The night nurse had explained how she could get to the shops in a few minutes; now she followed the little lanes between the old houses, pausing frequently to make sure that she could find her way back again, and came all at once into a brightly lighted street, crowded with people and lined with shops. She spent half an hour peering into their windows, working out the prices and deciding what she would buy when she had some money. That wouldn’t be just yet; as soon as she had her first pay she would have to send it to poor old Bollinger. She wasn’t happy about his room—it had looked cold and bare and although the landlady seemed kind enough she hadn’t looked too clean, and supposing he were to become ill, who would look after him? She stood in the middle of Kalverstraat, suddenly not sure if she should have left him.

      Mrs Morgan stayed in hospital for another three days, becoming progressively more cheerful because it seemed unlikely that she would need an operation after all. Besides, the professor visited her each day and she made no secret of her liking for him. He spent ten minutes or so listening gravely while she explained some new symptom she feared she might have, and then courteously contradicted her, impervious to her undoubted charm and quite deaf to her suggestions that he might, in the not too distant future, pay her a visit at her Long Island home. He seldom spoke to Abigail and when he looked at her it was with a coldness which she admitted to herself upset her a great deal more than it should have done.

      They СКАЧАТЬ