“Admirably.”
Martin looked from one to the other. “What is all this about?” he asked, taking a cup of coffee from Andrea.
“You heard, old man. A private tennis tournament on Saturday afternoon and supper in Andrea’s flat afterwards.”
Andrea colored slightly. Really, George was very tactless at times. Would Martin come if she asked him? She offered him the sugar and he smiled suddenly.
Her heart missed a beat as he said: “You’re a lucky dog, George.”
She gathered her courage. “If you’d care to come, too, Mr. Graham, I’d be extremely glad.”
She held her breath as she waited for his reply.
“Thanks,” he said, “I’d love to come.”
When Andrea had gone, leaving them to finish their coffee, George said: “You wangled that invitation nicely. As a matter of interest—why?”
“I wangled it! You’re a tactless ass, George, mentioning the party just then — when you knew she hadn’t asked me, and would be too shy to. I had to do it to save the poor child from embarrassment.”
George eyed him speculatively. “Falling?”
“Don’t be a fool.”
Virginia was frankly incredulous when Andrea told her that she had invited Martin and he had accepted.
“My goodness, you have achieved something. If the girls only knew.”
“They mustn’t, of course, though I only say that because of the silly, unwritten law of the hospital. After all, who is he? Merely a man with a job.”
“All right,” laughed Virginia. We’ll take it as said. All the same, Fisher would be furious if she knew.”
Andrea said. “I saw Mr. Graham out with Sister Fisher. You once said he’d never taken any of the nurses out.”
Virginia looked at her thoughtfully. “As far as I know, cherub, he doesn’t take any of the staff out. Fisher may be an exception, of course. It’s well known that she’s crazy about him.”
“Just as all the rest of the staff are?”
“Except you, of course,” twinkled Virginia.
She suspected that Andrea was more interested in Martin than she would admit.
“Of course,” she said. “There’s a big difference between the way the nurses feel about Martin and the way Fisher does. With the nurses, it’s little more than hero worship. But Fisher is definitely looking for a husband, and that makes her all the more dangerous. So beware, my child, beware.”
Fortunately, Saturday was a fine, sunny day. Andrea enjoyed meeting all the old gang from the office again. Virginia seemed perfectly at ease with them, and Martin and George clowned together like schoolboys, much to everyone’s amusement — and Andrea’s great surprise. She had no idea that Martin could be like that. How little the hospital staff really knew him.
The only one who wasn’t fully enjoying himself was Godfrey. He couldn’t think why Andrea had invited the two doctors. George Howard, he presumed, was Virginia’s special friend, but this fellow Martin Graham—one way and another, he had continually crossed Andrea’s path ever since she had entered the hospital. How he envied the fellow, seeing her every day, working alongside her.
At six thirty, George and Virginia were declared the tournament winners and every one piled into the cars. The girls were dropped off at Andrea’s flat, while the men went on to Godfrey’s house to wash and change, meeting again at Andrea’s flat in half an hour.
Food was set out on conveniently placed small tables and every one sat around on stools or chairs or on the floor as they pleased, among a great deal of laughter and good natured chaff.
Martin looked appreciatively round the room. It was simple and in good taste, no conventional suite, just comfortable chairs. No fussy ornaments, but some really good prints and plenty of books. He wondered at the small grand piano. Did she play? There was no fire in the grate but what a cosy room it would be in the winter. He pictured her sitting there by a blazing fire, and wondered vaguely who would one day perhaps sit on the other side. The young man, Godfrey? A likeable enough fellow, but inclined to be boorish. Obviously in love with her, yet she had said they were not engaged. He had remembered she had said something about long engagements not being wise, but if he were the young man, he was hanged if he’d feel very happy about her running around without a ring on her finger. But then, he imagined she was a stubborn young woman.
She approached him with a cup of tea.
“Ah, good old witches brew,” he said, smiling down at her, thinking how fresh and charming she looked in her white nylon blouse and checked gingham skirt.
She looked up at him rather anxiously. “I do hope tea is all right for you. I — I didn’t think it right to have any other kind of drink.”
“You’re a wise girl and tea is fine,” he assured her, adding, “these sausage rolls are wonderful, wherever did you get them?”
“Virginia and I made them this morning.”
“What, here in the flat?”
“Yes. I’m glad you like them. You must try some of our Neapolitan sandwiches—they’re really good, though I say it myself.”
“I should think you’re entitled to. Do you have many of these parties?”
“I used to occasionally, when I worked in the office. But this is the first one since I went to the hospital. Virginia often comes along here, though.”
“And George?”
“Oh no. This is Dr. Howard’s first visit.”
He wanted to say, “I suppose Godfrey is quite at home here.” He had no wish to offend her, however, but found himself earnestly desiring to know. She had been prudent in not making her party a “drinking” one. He supposed she would also be prudent about entertaining young men in her flat. Yet she wasn’t the prudish type, he felt sure. All at once, he longed to know more about this girl who had so defied him and who, at times, had seemed to treat him so casually, even disdainfully.
Watching him, Andrea followed the direction of his eyes to where Virginia and Godfrey were talking together.
“Virginia is a very gifted pianist,” she said. “She’s going to play for us later.”
“Do you play?”
She smiled. “Only behind locked doors. My mother was brilliant.”
He checked an impulse to pat her dark hair and said: “If we’re going to have music, why not ask George to sing? He’s got a fine voice especially after a few drinks, even if it’s only tea, and he seems to be doing well in that line.”
Godfrey, though talking to Virginia, had been watching Andrea as she stood close to Martin. Now, as she looked in his direction, her eyes seemed to beckon him. Virginia, sensing that he wanted to go over to Andrea, excused herself and went to hand round more food. Godfrey strolled across the room.
“Hello, Godfrey.” Andrea turned her warm smile full upon him, making his heart leap with love for her. “Come and talk to Mr. Graham while I do my duty as hostess.”
To his acute disappointment, she darted off. There was silence between the two men for a while. Then Godfrey said: “It’s nice a flat, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Do you come here often?”
“Not very. I used to visit the home when her mother was alive.” Somehow he felt that having known Andrea’s mother gave him a distinct advantage over the other. “But of course it’s more difficult now. I have Andrea’s good name to consider.”
“Of course.”
There was another heavy silence, then Godfrey said: “I believe Andrea is working with you in the theatre.”
“Yes, in a way. Of course I’m not in the theatre the whole day. My work also takes me on to the wards, but during the operations we come into contact.”
“She seems to enjoy theatre.”
Martin nodded. “Yes, I believe she does. By the way, how is your little car running these days?”
Godfrey noticed the way in which the surgeon had switched the conversation from Andrea. He himself would have cheerfully gone on talking about her, even though he was inwardly seething with jealously and feeling
that the man was condescending and supercilious. Yet he would not have described his feeling as jealousy. He just felt he disliked him and envied him his daily contact with Andrea.
They talked about cars until Virginia went over to the piano and began to play. First she played a gay tarantelle to match the party mood. Then gradually, so that scarcely anyone noticed, she carried them all into a sad, sentimental mood ending with a haunting Chopin nocturne.
Then George sang for them and presently everyone joined in a general sing-song.
It was ten thirty when Andrea announced that she and Virginia would have to leave.
“Sorry, folks,” she said gaily. “It’s up in the morning early for us, you know.”
There were cries of “Oh, you poor things.”
Andrea laughed. “We don’t mind, so don’t waste your sympathy. Just carry on until you’re ready to leave. Godfrey knows where to leave the key.”
“I’m running you back,” Godfrey said quickly.
“Oh, but — oh, all right, darling. Virginia will go in George’s car. Will you come back and lock up then?”
“Of course.”
“It didn’t turn out quite as you expected, Godfrey, did it?” asked Andrea as they drew up at the Nurses’ Home.
“No, darling, it wasn’t quite the same as it used to be. In the old days, I’d have stayed behind to help you tidy up and we’d had a last few minutes alone together. It’s a pity you have to go so early. When shall I see you again?”
She thought for a moment. “Wednesday. I have an evening without a lecture.”
“Until Wednesday, then, sweetheart.”
He drew her to him and kissed her.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Take good care of yourself.”
She returned his kiss. “Good night, Godfrey. Bless you.”
Chapter Seven
SUNDAY in the theatre was a quiet day. There were no fixed operations; emergencies were usually taken to the Central Hospital, but in spite of this, the theatre could be ready within half an hour for any emergency, no matter how serious. Usually, however, Sunday was uneventful and the nurses spent their time making anaesthetic masks, testing and repairing rubber gloves, folding gauze dressings and tying them in bundles of ten with black tape so that, during operations, they could be easily counted. Some of the nurses found these occupations dull and tedious, but to Andrea they were symbols of the drama which was played out each day on the operating table.
As the nurses worked, they gossiped, and Andrea hid a smile when the conversation inevitably turned to Martin. What would they say if they knew that yesterday he had been one of her guests? Why had he come, she wondered. Just to fill in an odd half day? On and on went the talk. She wished they would talk about something else.
She went into the sterilizing room where Nurse Craig was sorting out catgut. Sister Fisher was off duty.
“Hello, Grey,” she said. “You’re looking fed up.”
“It’s nothing. Can I help in here?”
Jean Craig looked at her shrewdly. “The gossip in there getting you down? Tell you what, go and make some tea. We can pop round in relays to drink it.”
Thankfully, Andrea went round and put the kettle on and got out cups and saucers. If this was what Sundays in theatre were like, she’d rather have busy week-days when there was little time for gossip. A little curiosity about the private lives of the “great” was natural enough, but the way their every movement was criticized and speculated upon was too much. She almost felt sorry for Martin Graham.
“Hello, having another party?”
She swung round to see Martin himself.
“Every time I see you,” he said, “you seem to be making tea — or coffee.”
He went to the cupboard and took out a file and began to hunt through some papers.
“I’ll fetch Staff Nurse, Mr. Graham,” she said quickly.
He smiled as she went out of the door. She had become almost demure.
She was back a few minutes later with Nurse Craig.
“It’s all right, Staff Nurse, you can carry on, I’ve got what I wanted.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ll have a cup of tea with you, if you can spare it.”
“Why, of course, sir. Thank you.”
“Are you settling down in theatre, Nurse Grey?’ he asked, taking the cup of tea Jean Craig offered him.
Andrea’s eyes shone. “Oh, yes. I love it.”
He looked at her keenly. “You may be a Theatre Sister yourself one day. If you ever were, what changes, if any, would you make in today’s theatre?”
“Well, I——” she hesitated.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
“Well, it’s only a small point, but I was thinking the other day how dazzling the white gowns and covers are. Wouldn’t it be better perhaps to have everything in a darker color, say dark green?”
His eyes widened. “Are you aware that in some hospitals that color is already used?”
“Why, no.”
“Well, it is. But I give you full marks for thinking it out for yourself. Now I must go,” he finished abruptly, and went out.
The two nurses looked at each other.
“You seem to be loosening him up, Grey,” Jean said. “I’ve never known him to unbend so much.” She looked at her watch. “We’d better go now and let the others come.”
It was nearly time to go off duty for the day when the telephone rang. Jean picked up the receiver. Andrea heard her give a shocked exclamation as she held the instrument to her ear. Finally she replaced it on its cradle.
“Emergency,” she said briefly. “Nurse Wainwright has taken suddenly ill with acute appendix.”
She gave some rapid orders and went into action herself.
“Blast!” muttered Janet Scott as she dropped a syringe into the sterilizer. “I was going out straight after duty. Now, goodness knows when well be off.”
“What about poor Rita?” sympathized Andrea as she filled the lotion bowls. “She must be going through agonies.”
“Well, she’d been itching to come into theatre, now she’s got her wish,” Janet said sourly. “But it’s just my luck it should happen tonight.”
“Stop grumbling, for goodness sake,” admonished Jean Craig. “How can you be so heartless? Let’s only hope the poor girl will be all right. If all goes well and there are no complications, we shan’t be all that late.”
Five minutes later, a pale, distraught Rita was wheeled into the anaesthetic room. George scrubbed up.
“Bad job this,” he muttered to Andrea. “The poor kid must be going through hell. She won’t have pentothal. Wants to have a spinal so’s she can see what’s going on. Nurses are given the option, you know.”
Martin hurried in then. “Quick as you can, George,” he said briefly. “It hasn’t perforated—yet.”
George hurried through to the anaesthetic room and Martin scrubbed up.
“Is everything ready, Nurse Craig? Suction in case it’s needed?”
“Yes, sir. Everything’s ready.”
Rita was wheeled in and lifted gently on to the table, her glamorous hair now hidden beneath a white operation cap, her face devoid of make-up.
Martin gave her one of his rare smiles. “You’ll soon be all right, Nurse. Sure you won’t have an eye bandage?”
She smiled tremulously, and moistened her dry lips.
“No, thank you, Mr. Graham. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
“Right.” He turned to Nurse Craig. “Scalpel, Nurse.”
Then minutes later he held up an inflamed appendix.
“There you are, Nurse Wainwright. A few more minutes and you’d have had a perforation. You’ll be all right now.”
He glanced at Andrea. “Swab count, Nurse Grey.”
“Eight swabs,” she replied quickly, having already taken a mental note. He glanced at Nurse Craig for confirmation.
“Good. Catgut. Michel clips and away we go.”
The last clip in position, he stripped off h
is gloves and Andrea helped him off with his gown. Rita was lifted carefully back on to the trolley to be taken to the small staff annexe attached to one of the women’s surgical wards.
“That was very well done, Nurse Craig,” Martin said.
“Thank you, sir.”
He washed his hands and clumped out of the theatre.
“Are you in a hurry to get off, Grey?” Jean asked.
“No, Nurse.”
“Good. Then go and put the kettle on and make the tea. We’ll start the clearing up.”
With lightning speed, instruments were being washed and boiled, linen bundled up and catgut put back into Lysol.
Andrea went round to the theatre kitchen and put on the kettle, Martin was stretched out in an arm chair in the small sitting room opposite, his white rubber boots still on his feet.
“Help me off with these things, will you, Nurse Grey?” he said as she came in.
She bent down and, putting her hand on the heel of each boot, gently eased them off.
“Thanks.”
Andrea got out two cups and the milk and sugar. He watched her for a minute, then said: “Only two cups? Don’t you and Nurse Craig want a drink?”
“I — I don’t know. Nurse Craig didn’t say.”
“In that case, we’ll have to invite you — isn’t that so, George?” he asked as George came in.
“What?” asked George, giving Andrea’s ear a tweak.
“The nurses must have tea with us.”
George’s eyes flickered with faint surprise, but he merely said. “Oh, sure,” and took the other armchair.
Andrea made the tea just as Jean Craig came into the kitchen. Jean took the pot into the sitting room and Andrea went back to the theatre. In spite of Mr. Graham’s “invitation” she did not feel that she was really expected to join them.
Pat Rivers was already drying the gleaming instruments and putting them away. Andrea set about emptying lotion bowls and drying gloves. Then she began wiping all the fittings over with disinfectant.
“Have you much more to do, Grey?” Pat asked.
“No, just this and the mopping out.”
“Do you mind if I go?”
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