There was no room for them all, but somehow they fitted themselves in and left her chair empty. She poured the coffee and handed round the biscuit tin and, since the Professor had already had his, handed him the patient’s notes when he asked for them. He sat hunched up on the radiator, writing up the details of the operation, while the others discussed where they hoped to go for their holidays.
‘What about you, Rachel?’ asked Dr Carr.
George grinned across at her. ‘Oh, our Rachel will be on her honeymoon—somewhere exotic.’
She coloured at that although she answered matter-of-factly, ‘Chance is a fine thing—I can’t very well have a honeymoon without a husband.’
She was aware that the Professor had stopped writing and was looking at her but she didn’t look at him. Although she had to when he asked casually, ‘Did you have a pleasant evening, Rachel?’
The look was grateful; it gave the conversation a turn in a different direction. She didn’t mind being teased in the least—three brothers had inured her to that—but somehow she was shy of talking about Melville.
‘Lovely,’ she told him. ‘We went to a club—I’ve forgotten its name—and it was full of beautiful models and the kind of people you see on the TV.’ She put down her mug. ‘I’ll see if they are ready for you, sir.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re behind time. George, I may have to leave the last case to you, but I’ll be in this evening.’ He got to his feet and went unhurriedly to scrub.
The morning wore on. The nurses went in turn to their dinners and two of them went off duty. Norah, back from her own dinner, was laying up in the second theatre for the afternoon list, a short one—dentals—which she would take and then go off duty for the evening. Rachel had intended taking an afternoon off, but as the hands of the clock crept towards two, she resigned herself to much less than that. The Professor had changed his mind and decided to do that last case himself—a good thing as it turned out for it presented complications which he hadn’t expected. When at last the patient had been wheeled away it was half-past two.
‘Sorry about this, Rachel,’ he said. ‘You’ve missed your dinner. Do you suppose they would send up sandwiches for us both? I’ve an appointment in less than an hour and so can’t spare the time for a meal.’
George and Billy had already left. Rachel left two student nurses to start clearing up, went to have a word with Norah, waiting for her first patient, then went along to phone the canteen. She found the Professor putting down the receiver. ‘I thought they might be a good deal quicker if I rang—you don’t mind?’
She was pinning her cap on to her wealth of hair. ‘Not a bit—they’ll fall over themselves to get here. Dolly’s making coffee.’
Five minutes later they were sitting opposite each other at the desk eating roast beef sandwiches with the added niceties of horseradish sauce and pickles, some wedges of cheese and, for the Professor, a bottle of beer.
‘Well,’ said Rachel, happily sinking her teeth into the beef, ‘is this what you get when you ask for sandwiches? I get two cheese left over from the day before and a nasty snort down the phone as well.’
‘That won’t do at all. You’re no sylph-like girl to exist on snacks; I’ll look into it. Did you have a splendid supper last night?’
His voice was quiet but he glanced at her with intentness. There was something about his calm placidity which invited confidences.
‘Crudités. Melville thought I’d had supper and he’d had dinner anyway.’
‘My dear girl, surely you could have hinted…’
She considered this. ‘Not really. It was so—so…’ She was at a loss for a word.
He said smoothly, ‘The surroundings were not conducive to a plate of steak and kidney pudding?’
‘That’s exactly it. Anyway, I eat too much.’
His inspection of her person was frank and impersonal. ‘You’re a big girl and you use up a lot of energy; it would be hard for you to eat too much.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Rachel and took another sandwich.
The Professor passed her the pickles. ‘You’re on until eight o’clock? Let us pray for no emergencies.’
Perhaps he didn’t pray hard enough. Just as Rachel was closing the last of her books preparatory to sending the junior nurse off duty before going herself, the phone rang.
It was Lucy. ‘Rachel, there’s a gunshot wound coming in and coming up to you as soon as we can manage it. Abdominal and chest. George is here now and intends to ring Professor van Teule. Have you got a nurse on?’
‘Little Saunders; Sidney Carter’s on call, I’ll give him a ring.’ It sounded like a case where the theatre technician might be needed.
She went about the task of getting the theatre ready with Nurse Saunders, keen as mustard but easily put off by anything she didn’t quite understand, trotting obediently to and fro.
Rachel was checking the special instruments that might be needed when the phone went again. The Professor, coming through the theatre corridor doors, answered it. A moment later, he put his head round the theatre door.
‘For you, Rachel. Melville, I believe.’
‘Oh, I can’t…’ she began, and then said, ‘I’d better, I suppose.’
Melville was downstairs, phoning from the porter’s lodge, something strictly not allowed. ‘Put on your prettiest dress, darling,’ he begged her, ‘we’re going to a party. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.’
‘Melville, I can’t possibly. I’m on duty and there’s an emergency case coming up any minute.’
‘Well, hand over your revolting tools to someone else, dear girl. This is some party.’
She said tartly, ‘You’ll have to find somebody else, Melville. I’m on duty.’
‘It’s gone eight o’clock. You told me that you were off duty then.’
‘Well, I am usually, but not when there’s an emergency.’
His voice sounded cold and faintly sneering. ‘Darling, aren’t you just the weeniest bit too good to be true?’
He hung up, leaving her shaking with unhappy rage, and the Professor, who had been standing in the doorway, unashamedly listening, took the receiver from her and replaced it.
‘Is there anyone we can get to take over from you?’ he asked and his voice was very kind. ‘Night sister? Norah?’
She gave him an indignant look. ‘Certainly not, Professor. I’m on duty, and in any case I’m not in the mood for parties.’ She added unhappily, ‘I’ve nothing to wear—I mean, he has seen the dresses I’ve got at least six times.’
‘That is a point,’ agreed the Professor gravely. ‘I have no doubt that, to a man in his type of job, clothes matter a great deal.’
Rachel
