by Neels, Betty
‘Very probably,’ he replied, ‘though I would prefer to think that it was good taste on their part.’
Amid the general laughter, Penny asked, ‘Don’t they miss you while you’re away; your animals, I mean?’
‘Yes, very much, I believe, but they have plenty of friends, and I think that the welcome I receive is largely an act.’
Sophy glanced at her watch, and got up reluctantly. Her grandmother gave her a smooth cheek to kiss and said,
‘Must you go, darling?—such a shame when we’re all so cosy. Anyway, I hope you have a nice afternoon,’ she added vaguely. Max had risen too, and was already at the door. ‘Don’t be long, Max,’ she called as they went out.
They didn’t talk on the short trip to the hospital; there wasn’t time anyway. Sophy thanked him briefly as she got out, and ran up the hospital steps without looking back. Half an hour later, she was scrubbing up beside Tom Carruthers; there was a nasty face injuries in—too serious for Cas to deal with. It was no sooner on the table than the telephone rang; there was an acute obstruction just in and perhaps Mr Carruthers would go and see him as soon as he could. Tom Carruthers growled something under his breath, and Sophy sent the nurse back with a polite message to say that he would be down as soon as he could manage it. It turned out to be one of those afternoons when there could be no pause for tea; the obstruction took a long time, and it was almost six o’clock by the time they had finished and Tom and Dr Walker had followed the porters out of the theatre. Sophy and the two nurses on duty cleared up with the speed of long use, and she sent them to supper while she sat in the quiet theatre, doing the needles, her mind full of the little girl Max van Oosterwelde had operated upon the week before. Tom had told her quietly, as he left the theatre, that the child had died. ‘Van Oosterwelde saw her this morning,’ he had said, ‘but there was nothing he could do. Decent of him to come in, though. After all, it was his day off, and he didn’t get to bed until four am—been out on the town. Sophy sorted the last of the needles, and tried not to remember that remark. It could mean so many things. She shook her neat head as though to shake the thought away. It was none of her business, anyway, but she couldn’t stop herself reflecting on the number of very pretty girls on the nursing staff who would doubtless make excellent companions for a man who wished to go out on the town.
She got up and tidied away the bits and pieces, and when the nurses came back from supper, sent them off duty. She would be going home herself very soon. In a little while, she switched off the lights and went along to change.
The Bentley slid to the kerb as she reached the pavement. The door opened, and Max’s voice said quietly, ‘Get in.’
She hadn’t expected it. She managed a rather breathless Hallo and sat wordlessly beside him. The street door was open as they reached the house, and he got out too, and followed her up the little path. Penny came out of the kitchen as they went in.
‘There you are,’ she cried. ‘I’ve cooked the most delicious supper, and Max has brought a bottle of wine.’
He shut the door behind them and said, with a chuckle, ‘I’m by way of being a lodger today. I hope you don’t mind?’
Sophy smiled. ‘No, of course I don’t.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘You’re tired—were you busy?’
She told him, and he said slowly, ‘You’re not tired—you’re upset or sad, aren’t you?’
Sophy turned to go into the sitting room. ‘Yes, a little, but don’t let’s talk about it...’
‘We’ll talk about it now,’ he said quietly. He had put a detaining hand on her shoulder, and left it there. ‘You heard about our little patient.’
‘Tom Carruthers told me this evening. I...’ she drew a deep breath. ‘It’s so unfair; she was only a child.’
He laid a gentle hand on her other shoulder, and turned her round to face him. ‘But sickness and accidents and death are all unfair, aren’t they?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t that why we ply our particular trades?’ he ran a finger up her cheek; his touch was very comforting to her. ‘Surely our calm, unruffled Miss Greenslade isn’t beaten? Each time this happens, it’s a challenge.’
Sophy stood still, feeling the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, stiffling a mad longing to cast herself on to his broad chest and howl her eyes out. She dismissed this absurd notion, and said steadily, ‘You’re quite right; you mostly are, I think. Thank you for understanding.’
He smiled slowly. ‘That’s better.’
He took his hands away, and caught her by the elbow and steered her towards the sitting room. ‘A glass of sherry, I think, before we face whatever Penny has in store for us.’
Penny had surpassed herself with a mushroom omelette, chips and Daisy chicory. Max van Oosterwelde speared the last piece of mushroom, and said, ‘That was—er—super, Penny. One day, you will make an excellent wife.’
Penny glowed. ‘Yes, I think I shall,’ she said seriously. ‘Have you a wife, Max?’
He didn’t answer at once; there was time for Sophy’s sharp ‘Penny!’ before he said quietly, ‘No, not yet.’
Penny ignored her sister’s frown, and persisted, ‘Well, you’d better hurry up and get married, hadn’t you, or you won’t have time to enjoy your children— No, Sophy, I won’t be quiet; Max is our friend, and I want him to be happy,’ She turned her attention to him once more. ‘You’ll want a son to take over your practice when you retire, you know. That’s what Daddy was going to do with Luke...’ There was a little pause; even after four years, they weren’t quite used to being orphans.
Max said quickly, bridging the awkward moment, ‘That’s a great deal of good advice, Penny. I think I must take it’
‘Are you engaged?’ began Benjamin, but Sophy had had enough.
‘Ben, even the closest friends don’t ask questions of each other they might not wish to answer.’
Ben smiled disarmingly. ‘Sorry. But is it all right if I ask you why you don’t call Max by his name? He said we could days ago, and he calls you Sophy, don’t you, Max? I’ve heard you.’
The Dutchman had been sitting back in his chair, watching the boy with a half-smile on his face. Now he stirred and said, ‘Er—yes, I do, Benjamin, but in hospital I have to remember to say Sister.’
‘Well, yes, I can understand that—what does Sophy call you there?’
Max laughed. ‘Sir, and when I’m being particularly trying—asking for tea at the wrong time, or forgetting to give her instruments that I’ve finished with, and things of that sort, she calls me Jonkheer van Ooster-welde in a stern voice which brings me to heel very quickly indeed.’
Everyone laughed at the very idea of Sophy being stern, and Ben quite forgot to get an answer to his question, and a moment later Max got up to go, and said his thanks and goodbyes amid a burst of cheerful talk. He went first to Mrs Greenslade and kissed her hand, which action, done with obvious sincerity, caused her to turn pink and bridle. He said quietly, for her ears only, ‘I’m free on Tuesday: will you give me the pleasure of taking you out to lunch?’
Grandmother opened her still beautiful eyes wide and looked startled. ‘Me?’ she said. ‘Do you mean me?’
He lifted black brows in faint puzzlement. ‘Who else should I ask? Would Wiltons suit you, do you think?’
She was looking at him steadily, and appeared to like what she saw. ‘That will be delightful. Thank you, Max.’
‘Good, I’ll call for you about twelve-thirty.’
He turned to leave, fending off the Blot and Titus, who showed a desire to accompany him. Sophy had somehow drifted to the other end of the room. She responded cheerfully to his goodnight, and set about clearing away the supper things. Penny and Benjamin washed up, for Sinclair wouldn’t be in until late, while she and her grandmother debated the important question of clothes suitable for a luncheon date. It was only after she had got ready for bed and turned out the light that she allowed her own private thoughts to take over. She went carefully over the day. Max had asked for her
friendship, but that was all. Going over the conversations they had had, she could not find a single word that would allow her to hope otherwise.
Chapter 4
Monday was cold and wet. Sophy, who had laddered a stocking and burnt the porridge was not her usual sweet-tempered self. There was a new nurse on duty in theatre for the first time too; a slim, graceful creature, who was quite obviously shrinking from work she didn’t fancy. Sophy, shrouding her cross little face in her theatre cap and mask, thought darkly that the girl would need bolstering up and calming down, and careful handling. She would probably faint and collapse on to a sterile trolley.
There was no one scrubbing yet. Sophy started on the careful, rather tedious task soberly, going carefully over the theatre list as she did so. She must remember to arrange coffee as near eleven as possible because of Mary Skinner, and she must let Staff know, so that she could ring her up and give her time to get over. The first two cases would be fairly long ones; they could probably get a break after the second one. Her thoughts were interrupted by a resounding crash from the theatre. She sighed, put down the brush, and popped her head round the door. Robins, the new girl, had knocked over a sterile bowl stand. Sophy eyed the trembling creature, paddling about on a floor glistening wetly with its unexpected douching, and said in a quiet, kind voice with just the right amount of briskness in it,
‘All right, Nurse, it’s not as bad as it looks.’ She transferred her calm gaze to the other junior nurse. ‘Nurse Winters, show Nurse where we keep the mop and bucket, and mop up between you, and be quick about it.’
She heard Staff’s familiar tread behind her, and said thankfully, ‘Ah, Staff Nurse. See that they clear up that mess, will you, and dish a couple more bowls.’ She added, ‘Thank heaven she did it now, and not half an hour later.’ With which muddled remark, Staff readily agreed.
Back in the scrub room, she turned on the taps once more. For the first time in years, she felt a lack of enthusiasm for her work. Perhaps she was getting stale, or tired—a useless supposition when she still had another thirty years to go. She contemplated a seemingly endless vista of theatre cases, scrubbing up and training nurses, getting, she assumed, crabbier each year. She stood, brush poised, appalled. The door swung open, and Max van Oosterwelde walked in. He wished her a correct good morning in a cool voice and went over to the sink furthest from her, where he started to scrub, taking no notice of her. He was capped and masked and trousered in the usual white drill reach-me-down trousers. He hitched up his rubber apron before he began, and Sophy, watching him warily sideways, thought that he looked exactly what he was; a member of that out-of-date community—the ruling class. Perhaps they still had such a thing in Holland; she didn’t know. He turned his head and caught her gaze before she could look away. It was a haughty enquiring look; it made her feel as though she had been reading his letters, or listening at a keyhole. She went scarlet behind her mask, and attacked her already well scrubbed hands with a quite unnecessary vigour, while her heart thumped and her breath fluttered out of control. Only when she had both these under command did she allow herself to face up to the discovery she had just made. She was, heaven help her, head over heels in love with Professor Jonkheer van Oosterwelde. She said out loud, ‘Oh, dear. What now?’
She took her gown from her marked drum, and stood obediently while the nurses tied her tapes. It was while she was putting on her gloves that he said casually over one shoulder,
‘When we have the leisure, you shall explain that remark to me.’
Sophy adjusted a rubber cuff with a faintly shaking hand. ‘Indeed I will not, sir,’ she said in a level little voice. She turned away, wished Tom and Bill a cheerful good morning as they came in to scrub, and went her way into theatre.
Sophy had judged her times very well; it was just eleven o’clock when the second case left the theatre. She nodded to Nurse Winters to fetch the coffee tray, and went down the corridor to her office, the three men close behind. Mary was already there, sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging a nicely turned leg. She stayed there just long enough for the Dutchman to appreciate this fact, then jumped down, settling the belt round her shapely waist, and smiling charmingly at him across the little room.
She said, without taking her beautiful blue eyes from his, ‘Sophy, I’m right out of Oxycel. Could you possibly let me have some, just in case something turns up before I can get any?’ Sophy stood by the door, admiring her Mend’s technique. She couldn’t see Max, he was just behind her, but surely Mary would have a conquest—she always did. She went a little further into the room, and said, ‘Of course, Mary—I’ll fetch it in a minute; but have coffee with us first. I don’t think you have met Professor van Oosterwelde yet, have you?’
She half turned, and caught his eye. He was smiling charmingly at Sister Skinner, but she was surprised to see his eyes alight with amusement ‘This is Sister Mary Skinner, Orthopaedic Theatre Sister, sir.’
She watched them shake hands and admitted to herself that they make a striking pair, who became at once immersed in the sort of witty, frothy conversation which she could never quite manage. She sat down and poured the coffee; it was nice that Tom and Bill were there. She drank her coffee quickly and to Bill’s astonishment, asked him to go to the cubbyhole for more hot milk. She thrust a nearly full jug into his hands, with such a fierce frown that he put his own half-drunk coffee down, and went away protesting. She gave him half a minute, then got up herself. At the door, she said, ‘Oh, Mr Carruthers, I want your advice about something; I’ve got the catalogue out here, would you come and have a look?’
She gave him a speaking glance from her lovely eyes, and hiding a smile, he got up too. ‘I’ll come now,’ he said easily. And when they were outside in the corridor, ‘What are you up to, Sophy.’
‘Skinner wants a date,’ said Sophy in a conspirator’s whisper.
Tom Carruthers stifled a laugh. ‘Good lord, you women! None of us is safe.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Sophy replied. ‘Mary’s pretty, and great fun. They’ll have a lovely time together.’ It was like twisting a knife in a wound.
Tom shook his head. ‘She’s not his type,’ he said.
Sophy pounced. ‘What’s his type?’ she asked. She wasn’t looking at Tom as she spoke, and he didn’t answer her question anyway. Instead, he asked, ‘Where’s this mythical catalogue?’
She produced it from a windowsill where she had had the forethought to put it, and went off to get the Oxycel. On her way back, she looked in the anaesthetic room. The next patient was already there; Dr Walters, who hadn’t wanted any coffee, was drawing up Pentothal. He smiled at her, and said, ‘Ten minutes, Sophy?’
She nodded, said, ‘Yes; of course, Dr Walters,’ and sped away. Mary had had ten minutes, ample time to get her date, judging by what she had seen of her methods. She went back to the office, thinking how strange it was that she could think about Mary spending an evening with Max, and not mind about it. She felt curiously numb; she wondered how she would feel later on, when she had time to sit down and think. They turned to look at her as she went in: Mary with an expression akin to relief, Max blankly from ice blue eyes. Sophy handed over the Oxycel, which Mary took with feverish thanks. The two girls went out of the room together, and the door was barely shut behind them before Mary burst out.
‘Do you know what we talked about?’ She turned a bewildered face to Sophy. ‘Delayed primary suturing. He...he held forth. I didn’t have a chance to say a word, and he didn’t even look at me; just a cold glance once in a while to make sure I was listening. He’d be a wasted evening,’ she finished, rather pettishly.
Sophy expressed sympathy, for she had the sort of nature that was incapable of doing otherwise, and walked back towards the scrubbing room. At her office door, she paused, then opened it. Van Ooster-welde had his back to her. He didn’t turn round, but said quietly, ‘Come in and shut the door.’
Sophy did as she was bid, looking lovingly at his broad back; it looked som
ehow annoyed. She glanced at the clock—probably he was going to tick her off for lingering over coffee break.
He turned round suddenly, and she altered her expression, so that she presented her usual calm appearance. He gave her a hard stare. ‘Your friend is a very pretty young woman,’ he said.
Sophy nodded brightly. ‘Yes, isn’t she? She’s the prettiest girl in the hospital. We’re good friends,’ she added, just in case he was unaware of the fact.
‘I lectured her about primary sutures.’
Sophy lifted puzzled eyes to his. ‘Yes, she told me.’ She paused. ‘Didn’t you like her?’
His eyes glinted—was it rage or laugher? It was impossible to tell.
‘My dear girl, I had no idea that you would take Penny’s advice to me so much to heart—I’m deeply touched; but you see I’m not—er—available. Is that the right word?’
Sophy felt her heart twist and then plummet down to her feet. Her common sense told her that such a thing was not possible; nevertheless, the sensation was a very unpleasant one. She drew a long slow breath, and answered steadily, ‘Available isn’t quite the right word, but I understand perfectly what you mean.’
He looked suddenly quite cheerful, and said, ‘I wonder if you do...’ He broke off as Tom put his head round the door. ‘Ready when you are, sir,’ he said crisply.
Sophy whisked past him and into the scrubbing room. What had Max been going to say? She thought about it for perhaps twenty seconds, and then, like the good nurse she was, deliberately shut her mind to everything but her work.
She was glad that they were so busy for the rest of the day that there was no time for anything but necessary talk. Soon after five, the four men went away together, calling casual goodnights as they went. Sophy went home too, nearly an hour later, and this time there was no one on the top step waiting for her.
The following day was busy too; and it seemed the more so to her after an almost sleepless night—she might just as well have slept soundly for all the help it had been to the muddled thoughts milling around inside her usually sensible little head. The day seemed endless, and very dull without Max in the theatre, and when she eventually got home it was to face Grandmother Greenslade’s enthusiastic account—repeated several times—of her luncheon with him. Benjamin and Penny were doing their homework; Sophy sat curled up in the roomy armchair by the fire, with the Blot on her feet, and Titus on her lap, and a calm serenity on her nice face which showed nothing of the unhappy state of her mind. Mrs Greenslade T paused in her highly colourful description of the Souffle** Rothschild she had enjoyed, and asked,