The Mistletoe Kiss. Betty Neels

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      He sat down at his desk, took his glasses from his breast pocket, put them on and picked up the pile of letters before him. He was aware that there was a lack of lover-like anticipation at the thought of seeing Anneliese. Probably because he hadn’t seen her for some weeks. Moreover, he had been absorbed in his patients. In about a month’s time he would be going back to Holland for a month or more; he would make a point of seeing as much of Anneliese as possible.

      He ate his solitary dinner, and went back to his study to write a paper on spina bifida, an exercise which kept him engrossed until well after midnight.

      Past the middle of the week already, thought Emmy with satisfaction, getting ready for bed the next morning—three more nights and she would have two days off. Her mother would be home too, until she rejoined her father later in the week, and then he would be working in and around London. Emmy heaved a tired, satisfied sigh and went to sleep until, inevitably, the strains of the flute woke her. It was no use lying there and hoping they would stop; she got up, had a cup of tea and took George for a walk.

      It was raining when she went to work that evening, and she had to wait for a long time for a bus. The elderly relief telephonist was off sick, and Audrey was waiting for her when she got there, already dressed to leave, tapping her feet with impatience.

      ‘I thought you’d never get here…’

      ‘It’s still only two minutes to eight,’ said Emmy mildly. ‘Is there anything I should know?’

      She was taking off her mac and headscarf as she spoke, and when Audrey said no, there wasn’t, Emmy sat down before the switchboard, suddenly hating the sight of it. The night stretched ahead of her, endless hours of staying alert. The thought of the countless days and nights ahead in the years to come wasn’t to be borne.

      She adjusted her headpiece and arranged everything just so, promising herself that she would find another job, something where she could be out of doors for at least part of the day. And meet people…a man who would fall in love with her and want to marry her. A house in the country, mused Emmy, dogs and cats and chickens and children, of course…

      She was roused from this pleasant dream by an outside call, followed by more of them; it was always at this time of the evening that people phoned to make enquiries.

      She was kept busy throughout the night. By six o’clock she was tired, thankful that in another couple of hours she would be free. Only three more nights; she thought sleepily of what she would do. Window shopping with her mother? And if the weather was good enough they could take a bus to Hampstead Heath…

      A great blast of sound sent her upright in her chair, followed almost at once by a call from the police—there had been a bomb close to Fenchurch Street Station. Too soon to know how many were injured, but they would be coming to St Luke’s!

      Emmy, very wide awake now, began notifying everyone—the accident room, the house doctors’ rooms, the wards, X-Ray, the path lab. And within minutes she was kept busy, ringing the consultants on call, theatre staff, technicians, ward sisters on day duty. She had called the professor, but hadn’t spared him a thought, nor had she seen him as he came to the hospital, for there was a great deal of orderly coming and going as the ambulances began to arrive.

      She had been busy; now she was even more so. Anxious relatives were making frantic calls, wanting to know where the injured were and how they were doing. But it was too soon to know anything. The accident room was crowded; names were sent to her as they were given, but beyond letting callers know that they had that particular person in the hospital there was no more information to pass on.

      Emmy went on answering yet more calls, putting through outside calls too—to other hospitals, the police, someone from a foreign embassy who had heard that one of the staff had been injured. She answered them all in her quiet voice, trying to ignore a threatening headache.

      It seemed a very long time before order emerged from the controlled chaos. There were no more ambulances now, and patients who needed admission were being taken to the wards. The accident room, still busy, was dealing with the lesser injured; the hospital was returning to its normal day’s work.

      It was now ten o’clock. Emmy, looking at her watch for the first time in hours, blinked. Where was Audrey? Most of the receptionists had come in, for they had rung to tell her so, but not Audrey. Emmy was aware that she was hungry, thirsty and very tired, and wondered what to do about it. She would have to let someone know…

      Audrey tapped on her shoulder. She said airily, ‘Sorry I’m late. I didn’t fancy coming sooner; I bet the place was a shambles. I knew you wouldn’t mind…’

      ‘I do mind, though,’ said Emmy. ‘I mind very much. I’ve had a busy time, and I should have been off duty two hours ago.’

      ‘Well, you were here, weren’t you? Did you expect me to come tearing in in the middle of all the fuss just so’s you could go off duty? Besides, you’re not doing anything; you only go to bed…’

      The professor, on his way home, paused to listen to this with interest. Ermentrude, he could see, was looking very much the worse for wear; she had undoubtedly had a busy time of it, and she had been up all night, whereas the rest of them had merely got out of their beds earlier than usual.

      He said now pleasantly, ‘Put on your coat, Ermentrude; I’ll drive you home. We can take up the matter of the extra hours you have worked later on. Leave it to me.’

      Emmy goggled at him, but he gave her no chance to speak. He said, still pleasantly, to Audrey, ‘I’m sure you have a good reason for not coming on duty at the usual time.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It will have to be a good one, will it not?’

      He swept Emmy along, away from a pale Audrey, out of the doors and into his Bentley. ‘Tell me where you live,’ he commanded.

      ‘There is no need to take me home, I’m quite able—’

      ‘Don’t waste my time. We’re both tired, and I for one am feeling short-tempered.’

      ‘So am I,’ snapped Emmy. ‘I want a cup of tea, and I’m hungry.’

      ‘That makes two of us. Now, where do you live, Ermentrude?’

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