obeying Tim’s quick instructions with all the skill she could muster, stood a little on one side to allow the surgical registrar to reach the patient, and at the same time realised that there was someone with him. She knew who it was even before she saw him, and although her heart gave a joyful little leap she didn’t let it interfere with her work. He came from behind and bent his height to examine the poor crushed head, echoing Peter Small’s cheerful ‘Hello, Sophie’ with a staid ‘Good evening, Sister’.
She muttered a reply, intent on what she was doing, and for the next half an hour was far too busy to give him a thought, listening to the two men and doing as she was bid, taking blood for cross-matching, summoning X-ray and the portable machine, and warning Theatre that the professor would be operating within the hour. She heard Gill’s delighted chuckle when she told her.
At breakfast Gill gave everyone a blow-by-blow account of the professor’s activities. He had done a marvellous bit of surgery, she assured them, and afterwards he had had a mug of tea in her office. ‘He was rather quiet,’ she explained, ‘but he had only been here for a couple of hours, discussing some cases with Peter; he must have been tired…’ She brightened. ‘There are sure to be some more cases during the night,’ she added pensively. ‘I’ve got nights off in two days’ time. He’s on the theatre list to do two brain tumours tomorrow; probably he’ll be free after that.’
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