his patient were there, the latter already nicely under, and she herself stood, relaxed with her trolleys around her. He bade everyone good morning and she watched his casual glance taking everything in; he expected perfection and she took care that he got it. George and Billy had taken up their places and the Professor waited quietly while they arranged sterile sheets round the patient before putting out a hand for a scalpel.
It would be a lengthy operation—a gastroduodenostomy—but since most of the Professor’s work was major surgery, involving all the clap-trap modern methods could devise, Rachel went placidly ahead with what was required of her, by no means disturbed by the paraphernalia around her. She sent the nurses in turn to their coffee, and then Norah, and when at last the Professor stood back from the table, she nodded to the nurse nearest the door to warn Dolly that coffee would be a welcome break.
The patient borne carefully away, the other men followed the Professor and Rachel stripped off her gown and gloves, made sure that Norah was laying up for the next case, and went along to her office. 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
