and scrubbed up and decidedly peevish. Mr Grenfell had omitted to tell her that she was expected to scrub for the operation. She had supposed that there would be a theatre nurse to do that, and indeed the nurse in charge had scrubbed as well, explaining cheerfully to Eugenia that she had never seen open chest surgery—all such cases went to Lisbon, and although she was eager to assist she was glad Eugenia was taking the case. Eugenia didn’t share the gladness; she hadn’t scrubbed for quite some time. It would serve Mr Grenfell right if she made a mess of it.
She didn’t, of course. They worked together, speaking rarely, relaxed and at ease with each other. Mr Grenfell worked without haste and finally stood back to allow his assistant to finish the stitching. ‘She’ll do,’ he said, and then: ‘Thank you, Sister.’ He began to pull off his gloves. ‘I’ll see you in the room they’ve set up for intensive care. Go with the patient.’
He sounded coldly polite, and Eugenia, peeling off her own gloves wondered why she should feel unhappy about that.
CHAPTER THREE
EUGENIA WAS KEPT busy for some time. There were the tubes to keep a sharp eye on, the blood transfusion to regulate and continuous oxygen to control. Amalia had been waiting for them and Eugenia had been glad of her skilled help. The anaesthetist and Mr Grenfell came in together within minutes of them getting Mrs Clarence positioned in her bed, examined her briefly, pronounced themselves satisfied and went away again. It was just a question of waiting for her to come round from the anaesthetic before propping her up on her pillows.
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