Dutchman said softly, ‘I also would kill him, but,’ he added, ‘he will be sent to an institution for observation, and in five or ten years’ time, he will do the same thing again.’ He turned around, and cast a casual eye on Bill’s work. ‘Very nice,’ he commented.
The second case took as long as the first, for it involved a splenectomy as well as a nephrectomy. Despite a hastily-snatched cup of tea, Sophy was tired. She had sent Vincent off duty, and Cooper was doing her own work and Vincent’s too. The night staff were far too thinly stretched to borrow any of their number. The Orthopaedic theatre was still going, so was Cas. They would manage; they always did. It was close on eleven as the patient was wheeled back to Intensive Care. The men followed him down; they wanted to look at the girl as well. Sophy and Cooper plunged into the chaos of used instruments and needles and knives, while a night porter swabbed up. It was almost an hour later when the two girls parted company at the end of the theatre corridor. Sophy slipped quiet as a mouse through the dim corridors, and down the stairs, calling a soft goodnight to the porter as she passed his box, and so through the big swing doors. Jonkheer van Oosterwelde was on the top step, leaning against its iron balustrade. He took her arm lightly above her elbow, and they went down the steps together and into the big car. She sat back against its leathered comfort and let out a tired breath.
‘Are they all right?’ she asked, as he moved away from the kerb. ‘Have you been there all this time?’ And blushed at her question.
‘I’m not sure about the girl—the man’s all right for the moment. Do you always have to clear up after a case at night? Don’t the night staff help?’
She explained about the nurses having more than enough to do and added, ‘You weren’t—that is, you didn’t wait for me, did you?’
He turned his head and looked at her. ‘Yes.’
She waited for him to say something else, but he remained silent, as he brought the car to a quiet halt outside her home.
‘Thank you very much, sir. It was very kind of you.’ Honestly compelled her to add, ‘But I always walk home by myself after a late case. I’m not lonely or nervous.’
She put a hand on the door, but his came down to hold it and prevent her.
‘Is there someone at home to give you a hot drink?’
She gave a gurgle of tired laughter; saw his raised eyebrow and said, ‘I’m sorry; I wasn’t being rude—it’s just that I’ve never met a senior consultant surgeon who bothered with things like hot drinks for nurses. Everyone will be in bed, but Sinclair will have left a thermos of cocoa for me…’
‘Sinclair?’
She was really very tired, but she thought she had better answer his question; he was the sort of man, she thought sleepily, who expected to be answered. ‘He was my father’s batman during the war. He came back with him afterwards and has been with us ever since. I’ve known him nearly all my life; he’s a tower of strength and a friend and he’s marvellous at housework too. He gave us the Blot, and he found Titus in a gutter; when my parents died, he made us keep on—it was a bit…difficult at first.’
He got out and came round and opened the door and walked up the little path with her, and took the door key from her hand and opened the door. There was a light in the hall. She went past him, and then turned on the step to look at him.
‘Goodnight, sir.’
‘Goodnight, Miss Greenslade. I made a mistake today. You do not need any gilding.’
She awoke early, after a short night of heavy sleep and ridiculous dreams about lilies. She went on duty determined to be sensible. She wasn’t a silly young girl; she was a woman with responsibilities and not much time for romantic ideas. She was breathtakingly efficient in theatre during the morning, and at coffee time went on a mythical errand which lasted until it was time to scrub again. It was really quite easy to avoid being alone with him. She went to her dinner late, and went straight back to work. The list was an uncomplicated one that afternoon; they could be done by five, if they didn’t stop for tea. There was one case left, when Jonkheer van Oosterwelde called a halt. Even then, she sent the nurse in with the tea tray, and elected to stay in theatre, although there was really nothing for her to do there. He appeared in the doorway five minutes later, smiled charmingly at the nurses and said in a silky voice it would have been hard to disobey:
‘Your tea is getting cold, Sister.’
She had opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t want any tea, but the three nurses had all paused in their work and were watching with a lively interest that needed quelling. As she went ahead of him down the corridor she thought bitterly, that he was the pin-up boy for practically the whole staff already, then hated herself for the thought. He had, after all, been very kind to her, and he had treated Bill decently. All the same, he was too sure of himself, too certain of getting his own way.
She went into the little office, and Dr Walker and Bill got up while she squeezed past them to sit in her chair. She was drawn at once into their conversation and was surprised to find how much she was enjoying it. Perhaps, after all, she need not avoid him—not when there were other people around. She became aware that Bill was speaking to her, and said,
‘I’m sorry, Bill—I didn’t hear you.’
He flushed faintly. ‘I only wondered if you would mind if I took Penny to Hampton Court on Saturday afternoon.’ His flush deepened; the other two men had stopped talking and were listening. ‘I’ll bring her back after tea,’ he finished doggedly.
Sophy gave him a gentle smile. ‘Of course you can, Bill. Stay to supper if you’re off duty; you’re the only one who can do her trig homework, anyway.’
He gave her a grateful look, and got up to take the tea tray back.
Sophy, aware that Jonkheer van Oosterwelde was looking at her intently, studied the off-duty chart on her desk, until she felt compelled to meet his gaze. Something in his expression made her lift her chin, and he chuckled. Kindly Providence, in the shape of Dr Walker, intervened.
‘That boy’ll make Penny a good husband one of these days,’ he said comfortably. ‘Not the sort to change his mind, either.’ He looked at Sophy. ‘About time you got settled, isn’t it, Sophy? How old are you?’ She didn’t resent his questions; she had known him for years; he had always been outspoken. She answered without rancour.
‘I’ve not found anyone who wants to settle with me, Dr Walker, and I’m twenty-six next birthday.’
‘God bless my soul, you don’t look it, Sophy. Luke will be finished in a couple of years, won’t he? He should try for an appointment here and keep an eye on the others while you go off for a cruise…’
‘A cruise, Dr Walker?’ She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, to find a husband. I’ll think about it.’ She got up. ‘In the meantime, I’ll get scrubbed.’ She skipped through the door, avoiding van Oosterwelde’s eye.
The list was finished for the day, and Sophy was sitting in her office, neat and fresh in her dark blue and white uniform, writing up the theatre book. The men had gone some time ago. The theatre was ready again for any emergency; Staff was in charge; she herself was going home as soon as she could get her books done. She heard the steps in the corridor, and when they stopped outside the door, she called, ‘Come in,’ and as the door opened said, ‘Now don’t tell me, there’s an appendix in and you’d like to…’ She
