Sun and Candlelight. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ coming along the corridor towards them. He was still in his dinner jacket, strolling along, a cigarette in his mouth. He looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world until he caught sight of them. He paused then and for one moment Alethea thought that he was going to turn round and go back the way he had come. But he thought better of it, hurrying past them as though he had something urgent to do, glancing angrily at her as he went.

      ‘Your companion of this evening?’ asked Mr van Diederijk mildly.

      Alethea said yes in a miserable little voice. For a split second she had hoped that Nick would stop; she conceded that to apologise before a complete stranger would be a great test of his feelings for her, but it seemed that she wasn’t worth it. Her companion’s voice was very comforting. ‘In that case how fortunate that I happened to be with you.’

      She saw at once what he meant. If Nick had seen her creeping back on her own her mortification would have been complete, as it was he had been left to wonder just how she had replaced him so quickly…

      At the narrow door set in the wall at the end of the corridor she put out a hand. ‘You’ve been very kind, I can’t thank you enough. And please give me your address so that I can send you a cheque in the morning.’

      He went on holding her hand in an absentminded fashion. ‘Ah, yes—I’ll leave it at the porter’s lodge as I go, shall I?’ His smile was very kind. ‘I’m glad that I could be of service—such a small thing, really, you know. And don’t worry; these little differences are bound to crop up; they seem terrible at the time, but probably by the morning he’ll be on his knees to you.’

      She gave him an earnest look. ‘Oh, do you really think so? But he did say…’

      ‘People say the strangest things at times,’ he pointed out in his placid way so that she felt instantly lulled into a more cheerful state of mind. He opened the door then and held it while she went through. Alethea bade him a final, rather shy goodnight and went down the badly lighted covered passage to the Nurses’ Home door, not looking back.

      She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did, although she shed a few tears first, but Mr van Diederijk’s certainty that Nick would come to his senses in the morning had taken a firm hold on her unhappy mind. When Nick had apologised and everything was as it had been, she would tell him about it, and she must write a little note with the cheque, too, because Mr van Diederijk deserved all the thanks he would get. If she saw Nick first, he might want to add a letter of his own as well as his cheque. She nodded her head into the pillow and closed her eyes; everything was going to be fine in the morning.

      It was nothing of the sort. She overslept for a start and flew down to her breakfast, neat as a pin in her uniform and little white cap but with no make-up on at all and her hair caught up in a bun from which curly ends were already popping out. But in a way it was a good thing because there was no time for any of her friends to ask questions about her evening out. She gulped down her tea, bit into as much toast as she could manage, and went on duty.

      The Orthopaedic wing was on the top floor at the back of the hospital, its windows overlooked a network of dull streets lined with brick villas long since divided into flats or let out as bedsitters. Alethea often wished that the unit could have been at the front of the hospital which overlooked a busy city street beyond its narrow forecourt, for at least the buses gave a spot of vivid colour to the view. She walked briskly into her office, consoling herself with the thought that if she hung out of its window she could just see Big Ben.

      The night staff nurse was waiting for her, as was her day staff nurse and such of the nurses who could be spared to listen to the report—rather a lengthy one as it happened, for there had been admissions during the night; two young boys who had collided with each other, the one in a souped-up sports car, the other on a motorbike. Both were badly injured, one already back from theatre and the second due to go for surgery in the next ten minutes or so.

      Alethea received this news with her usual serenity, together with the information that old Mr Briggs had taken a turn for the worse, Mr Cord’s left leg, encased in plaster, presented all the signs of restriction to its circulation and would need to be dealt with pretty smartly, and last but not least, the part-time staff nurse who should have been coming on duty that morning had telephoned to say that her small boy had the measles.

      ‘Things could have been worse,’ remarked Alethea philosophically to Sue Phipps, her staff nurse, and ten minutes later wished the remark unsaid when the telephone rang to say that there was a compound fracture of tib and fib coming up and that the Orthopaedic Registrar would see it right away. Alethea, giving competent instructions as to the patient’s reception, found time to wonder what Nick would say when he saw her. Would he ignore her, treat her as though they hadn’t quarrelled or behave like a man wishing to apologise? She hoped it would be the latter and while she superintended the conveyance of the new boy to theatre, a small part of her mind was deploring the fact that she had had no time to do anything at all to her face. There was no time now, of course; no sooner had he been borne away than the latest patient was wheeled in. He had already been dealt with in the Accident Department, but only his leather jacket and jeans had been removed, together with his boots. Alethea, helped by the most junior of her nurses, was prising off the rest of his garments when Nick arrived. He didn’t wish her good morning, only demanded her services in a curt voice and then wanted to know in an angry way why the patient wasn’t already undressed.

      ‘Because he’s just this minute arrived,’ Alethea pointed out sensibly, ‘and he’s not in a condition to have his clothes whipped off. His BP’s down and his pulse is rapid—a hundred and twenty. His left pupil isn’t reacting to light.’ She spoke in her usual quiet voice and pleasant manner while her heart raced and thumped and her knees shook; Nick might have treated her abominably, but she was still in love with him. It remained to be seen if he felt the same about her; at the moment it was impossible to tell, he was being terse, almost rude, but perhaps he was worried about his patient.

      The examination took a long time and in the end Sir Walter Tring, the orthopaedic consultant, joined them as he was on his way to theatre. The leg, he observed brusquely, was a mess, it would need pinning and plating, provided they could find all the fragments of bone. ‘Wiring, too,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘We’d better have him up after the lad who’s in theatre now.’ He looked across at Alethea. ‘Keep you busy, don’t we, Sister?’

      She said ‘Yes, sir,’ cheerfully, and asked at what time the patient was to go for operation. The boy was unconscious still and there was a drip already up and as far as she could see, most of the cleaning up would have to be done in theatre. ‘Put him on quarter hour observations, Sister,’ Sir Walter ordered. ‘I should think in about an hour’s time, but I’ll be down again.’ He glanced at Nick. ‘Penrose, check on that first boy we saw to earlier on, will you, and let me know his condition. I shall want you back here in about half an hour.’

      He wandered off, not looking at all hurried—indeed, thought Alethea, watching him trundle through the ward doors, he looked like some nice easy-going elderly gentleman on his way to the lending library or a quiet game of bowls. Very deceptive; he could rage like a lion when peeved and wield the tools of his profession with an expertise which could shame a man half his age. He terrified her nurses too, but she herself was made of sterner stuff; she took no notice at all when he bit her head off for something or other which nearly always had nothing to do with her, and accepted his apology afterwards in the spirit in which it was given. They were great friends; completely impersonal, very professional towards each other while sharing a mutual regard.

      Nick Penrose was writing up the boy’s notes, not looking at her at all; she might not have been there. A little spark of temper flared in her, refusing to be doused by her love; he was behaving as though she had been at fault, not he. She felt a little sick, knowing that if he were to ask her to marry СКАЧАТЬ