She had almost reached it when she became aware that Professor van Teule was watching her from the massive staircase at the back of the hall.
She crossed the hall and met him at the bottom step. ‘Has there been something in theatre?’ she wanted to know urgently, quite forgetting the ‘sir’.
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I came to check on that transplant we did this morning.’ He stood there quietly, waiting for her to speak.
‘I’ve had a simply lovely evening,’ she said at last, defiantly, just as though she expected him to contradict her, unaware that her pretty face was white and pinched with fatigue. And, when he nodded gently, ‘Goodnight, Professor.’
‘Goodnight, Rachel.’ He watched her go back down the passage and through the door at its end before he crossed the entrance hall and got into his car.
Rachel slept like a log and only her long training in early rising got her out of bed in the morning. She went down to a breakfast she didn’t want, immaculate as always but her face pale and shadows under her eyes. She gulped tea, crumbled toast and then went on duty. Norah was laying up for the nephrectomy and the student nurses were trotting to and fro. Rachel bade them good morning, cast an eye over what was being done and went to her office. The usual small pile of paperwork was on her desk. She pushed it aside, checked with the accident room that there was nothing in the way of an emergency, then went through to the anaesthetic room to do a final check. Dr Carr was already there, adjusting his machines; he glanced up as she went in and then gave her a second longer look.
‘Rachel, my dear girl, you look like skimmed milk. Haven’t you slept?’
She managed a bright smile. ‘I slept like a top, whatever that means. I’m fine.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Shall I phone the ward to send up the patient?’
He nodded. ‘If you’re ready. Professor van Teule will be here in about five minutes.’
She swept away and did that and then started to scrub. She was gowned and gloved when the patient was wheeled in with Dr Carr at his head. A moment later the Professor, with George and Billy beside him, started to scrub. She was on the point of taking up her usual place behind her trolleys and replied composedly to their good mornings and stood just as calmly waiting for them to come into the theatre. She didn’t feel calm; she had a nasty headache and it was too late now to take anything for it.
The nephrectomy wasn’t straightforward; the Professor seemed to attract complicated cases like honey attracts bees; moreover, he didn’t seem to mind. Other surgeons in like circumstances would give vent to strong language, not caring who heard them, but he, beyond muttering in his own tongue, which nobody there understood anyway, remained as placid as usual.
He was putting the final touches to his work when he addressed Rachel.
‘I should like to do a transplant—kidney—on a young man. Could you arrange things so that you will be available—and such of your nurses as you will need?’ He glanced at her. ‘It will probably be during the night or the very early morning but I am told that the donor is in a coma and not likely to live for very long.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir. Is the patient already in the hospital?’
‘Yes, I got him in last night. Shall I be treading on anyone’s toes if I take over theatre at short notice?’
Rachel tried to forget her aching head and thought hard. ‘No, we can manage. Norah can take the second theatre—it’s Mr Sims tomorrow morning and Mr Jolly in the afternoon. I’ll have Staff Nurse Pepys here with me…’
She caught George’s eloquent eye—he disliked Mrs Pepys and Billy was terrified of her, so she added soothingly, ‘If you need to operate between eight o’clock and seven in the morning, Professor, there will be the night staff nurse and the runner as well. They’re both very good.’
‘Sorry to spring it on you, Rachel.’ He sounded quite sincere and he seldom addressed her by her Christian name while they were working. ‘There’s always a silver lining though; I’ll be away for a couple of weeks.’
She said, ‘Oh, will you, sir?’ rather blankly. It was her headache which made her feel so depressed, she supposed.
She took a Panadol with her coffee presently and her head cleared, so that the rest of the list passed off smoothly enough even though they finished late. The Professor might be a stickler for punctuality, she reflected, going down to a warmed-up dinner, but he forgot that there was such a thing as time once he was scrubbed.
The afternoon list with the fourth consultant, Mr Reeves, an elderly man on the verge of retirement, went well. Rachel handed over to Norah just after five o’clock, and went off duty. An early night, she told herself, trying to ignore the hope that Melville would phone her. A quiet evening somewhere, perhaps outside London, where they could have a meal and talk without the constant greetings and interruptions from his friends. Rachel sighed as she got out of her uniform and pottered off to look for an empty bathroom.
But he didn’t phone; she took a long time changing into a knitted suit and then, unwilling to spend an evening in the sitting-room with the other sisters, thrust some money into a purse, and went down to the entrance. She wasn’t at all sure what she was going to do—perhaps a run in the car…
She was getting out her car key when Professor van Teule loomed up beside her. ‘Ah,’ he said sleepily. ‘Going out, Rachel?’
‘Yes—no. I don’t know,’ she almost snapped at him. ‘I just want to get away for an hour.’ She added by way of explanation, ‘It’s a nice evening.’
He took the key from her in his large hand, picked up her purse from the car’s bonnet where she had laid it, and put the key into it.
‘You sound undecided. Moreover, you don’t look in a fit state to drive a car. I’m going for a quiet potter—why not come with me? We can eat somewhere quiet and you can doze off in peace.’
She had to laugh. ‘It’s kind of you to suggest it, Professor, but I couldn’t go to sleep; it would be rude…’
‘Not with me, it wouldn’t. You need a nap badly, Rachel. You’re wound up too tightly; don’t you know that? No sign of, er, Melville?’
‘You always say “er, Melville”, as though you can’t remember his name,’ she said crossly.
‘Well, I can’t.’ He sounded reasonable. Really, it was impossible to be put out by him.
‘He’s a very busy man.’
The Professor, hardly idle himself, nodded understandingly. ‘If you had a quiet evening out of town, you’d be as fresh as a daisy in the morning and ready to go dancing again when he asks you.’
She stood looking up at him. He was kind and friendly in an impersonal way and it sounded tempting, to be driven into the country for an hour.
She asked abruptly, ‘Why do you ask me?’
‘You run the theatre block very efficiently, Rachel, and to do that you have to be one hundred per cent fit; my motive is purely selfish, you see.’
She found that his answer disappointed her. ‘Well, thank you, I’ll come, only I would like an early night.’
‘Don’t
