by Neels, Betty
Sister Forbes came to meet them as they battled their way through George, metaphorically wringing her hands—her erstwhile pristine ward looked like Clapham Junction on a Bank Holiday. The illusion was heightened by the dispensing of tea by an enthusiastic posse led by the ward orderlies. Sophy saw two boys in running shorts, a priest, an elderly woman, obviously straight from church, for she still clutched her prayer book, and a retired gentleman in a bowler hat. Sophy suppressed a giggle, as Sister Forbes, stalking along beside them, expressed her view of people who moved in on her ward without so much as a by-your-leave. She avoided Bill’s eye, and listened in something like awe to Max, who, with exactly the right mixture of charm and authority, had Sister Forbes a willing disciple by the time they reached the bathroom, so that the operation was completed with the maximum of sterility and the minimum of delay. There was even a staff nurse to take over the nursing of the patient, so that Sophy was able to go back to the theatre wing, accompanied by Staff, willing, but very hot in the fur hat. The corridor was a shambles, but the fire had been contained in the theatre itself. The lotion bowls, loaded down with instruments, had been saved, so had a glass cupboard, the glass splintered all over its contents. Sophy changed her gown, Cooper removed her jacket and the hat, and tied herself into a gown too, and the pair of them retired to her office, where there was a small basin. There was a great deal of activity still, but no one had told them to go; Sophy collected a great many towels from the cupboard in the corridor, and they set to work. The light from the emergency lamp was dim, but better than total darkness; they were making good headway when there was a timid knock on the door and Robins came in. Sophy tossed her a towel.
‘Nurse Robins did very well,’ she told Staff. ‘She’s going to make a good nurse one day.’
She was rewarded by a beaming smile. ‘You didn’t mind me coming back, Sister? There’s heaps of staff on now—all the part-timers seem to be here. I thought there might be something to do. Is it safe?’ she asked in a carefully casual voice.
Sophy shrugged. ‘I don’t know; but I think it must be. No one stopped us, and I can’t see any fire damage in the corridor.’
They had done the used instruments and laid them in neat heaps on a clean towel, and were about to clear the cupboard outside when Matron walked in. Save for her cap—which was askew—she might have been making her daily ceremonial round.
‘I should like to borrow your nurses, Sister Greenslade—they’re badly needed for escort duties on the ambulances.’
Her eyes rested momentarily on Staff Nurse Cooper’s purple trousered legs, emerging from beneath her theatre gown. ‘You came back from your day off, Staff Nurse? How good of you—I wonder if you would spare an hour?’ She watched the two girls speed away, and turned to Sophy.
‘And you, Sister—could you give a hand in Casualty? I’m afraid some of the staff were injured, and they are hard pressed. You’ll find them in the Board Room.’
It was crowded—Sophy stood for a moment, getting her bearings—there were patients on trolleys, mattresses and chairs. There were a couple of sterilisers bubbling away in one comer, and a great pile of dressing packets on the Board Room table, which had been pushed to one side. There seemed to be a great many housemen there, and quite a lot of nurses. She was accosted almost at once by the staff nurse on Cas, who said,
‘Oh, Sister. Have you come to take over? We’re not a bit organised...’
‘Where’s Sister?’ asked Sophy.
‘She was injured—not badly, luckily—but she’ll be off for a day or so.’ She looked hopefully at Sophy.
It took quite a few minutes to get the housemen sorted into teams with the nurses, and even longer to make sure that everyone had a fair share of what instruments there were. Sophie hadn’t seen Max arrive; she turned from the steaming sterilisers to find him at her elbow. She felt a momentary flash of vexation that he had to come and see her like this—straggly hair, a damp flushed face—his faintly amused look made her very aware of her appearance. He made it worse by saying,
‘How now, you secret, black and midnight hag... What is’t you do?’
Sophy frowned heavily; did he really expect her to remember her Shakespeare at such a time? It just so happened she remembered what came next. ‘A deed without a name,’ she said crossly.
He was helping himself to instruments. ‘Let the charmed pot boil on its own. I need you over by the door—bring some dressings with you.’
There was a fireman lying propped up against the wall just inside the door. His eyes were closed and his face was ashen; one sleeve of his jacket was soaked with blood. Sophy dropped on her knees and started to cut the sleeve open.
‘I found him in Casualty,’ said Max. ‘He’s lost quite a lot of blood, I fancy. I’ll stop the haemorrhage and get him off to St Chad’s as quickly as possible.’
There was a deep gash running from the man’s wrist to above the elbow; Sophy held the arm up while Max put on a tourniquet, then started to clean up the mess. It took a little while to find the severed ends of the artery and tie it off. There was no point in closing the wound; the tendons were severed too. Sophy loosened the tourniquet while Max applied antibiotic, and then he went to telephone St Chad’s while she put on a temporary dressing. She had just finished when he came back.
‘They’ll take him. See that a nurse goes with him, will you, Sister?’ He was away before she could speak. Sophy sighed, put a blanket over the man, and went to look for an ambulance. The patient was being loaded on to a stretcher when Night Super put her head round the door.
‘There you are,’ she said comfortably. ‘Sister Fox will take over from you—and there are plenty of nurses to relieve this lot.’ As she spoke Sister Fox, with a retinue of helpers, arrived. Within five minutes Sophy had given her some sort of a report, made sure that the nurses’ changeover was completed, and, wrapped in a borrowed cloak took her place beside the fireman in the ambulance. It seemed much easier to go herself than take a nurse from duty, besides, she told herself, she wasn’t tired. An hour later, coming out of St Chad’s Casualty, she realised how mistaken she was. She pushed the swing doors open and started down the long corridor to Night Sister’s office—the ambulance had gone long ago; she would have to get a lift. She yawned prodigiously, and tripped over the cloak she had hung over one shoulder.
Jonkheer van Oosterwelde stretched out a long arm and set her neatly back on to her feet again. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean you to go in the ambulance, you know,’ he added mildly.
Sophy looked at him tiredly; she didn’t mind any more how she looked. ‘Everyone was going off duty,’ she explained, ‘and the nurses coming on were badly needed.’ She yawned again. ‘He’s had a litre of blood and went to the theatre a few minutes ago.’
‘You stayed to help, I gather,’ he remarked dryly.
‘Yes, they’re awfully busy.’ He made a little sound, and she asked, ‘You came to see how he was?’
‘No, I came to take you home.’
She stood still, looking at him with her beautiful eyes. ‘How kind,’ she said, ‘but you needn’t have bothered. I was going back on my broomstick.’
He laughed at that and caught her by the arm and hurried out to where the Bentley was waiting. It was cold and damp and inclined to fog. Sophy shivered.
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
Sophy realised that she was—very. She had no idea of the time; tea had obviously been hours ago. ‘Famished,’ she replied, and started making futile attempts to tidy her regrettable hair. Max had switched on the engine; he switched it off again, took a comb from a pocket and said ‘Here, let me.’ She sat quietly while he tucked and pinned the ends away under her cap. When he had finished, he put a finger under her chin and looked at her; his head on one side. Sophy looked back at him shyly, hearing her heartbeats pounding in her ears, and making an effort to take regular breaths; the effort wasn’t very successful, and when he bent his head and kissed her gently on the mouth, she st
opped breathing altogether; savouring bliss, but only for a moment He let her go, and said with a soft laugh, ‘You poor scrap, you’re worn out, aren’t you?’
Sophy sat up very straight; his pity hurt. She supposed that he would have kissed a fallen child in the same kindly, casual way. She felt cold and empty and shivered again.
‘The sooner we find something to eat the better,’ he said.
They didn’t need to go far. The all-night coffee stall had several customers; they looked at Sophy and Max with some interest as they approached. Max pulled a box up to the side of the stall and told Sophy to sit down, then ordered tea and sandwiches with the same unconscious ease that he had used at Claridges. The stall owner filled two mugs and watched while Max handed Sophy hers.
‘Bin in that ‘ospital fire?’ he asked. ‘Ad someone ‘ere jist now, said the operating theatre was burnt out. Everyone inside burnt to a crisp, he said.’ He sliced bread and spread it with a lavish hand. ‘Not prying, yer understand. But seeing as this young lady’s an ‘ospital Sister...’
Max took the sandwiches and gave them to Sophy. ‘Yes, we were in the fire, but it’s all out now, there’s just the clearing up to do. And I can assure you that no one in the theatre was burned to a crisp.’ Everyone looked at Sophy, contentedly munching; she was miserable, but she was hungry too; for the moment hunger triumphed. She smiled at the ring of faces, and they smiled back at her, and the cold misery inside her wasn’t so bad any more. She had a second sandwich and another cup of tea, and listened to Max, completely at ease, joining in a discussion on boxing. She closed her eyes, and woke a minute later to find him bending over her. He said something she couldn’t understand, but it sounded gentle, then he said briskly in English. ‘What a thoughtless fool I am! Come on, girl. Home for you.’
She wished everyone a sleepy goodnight, and Max sent the Bentley purring along the quiet streets.
‘Poor Uncle Giles.’ She had just remembered him. ‘What a shock it will be to him.’
‘I’ll telephone him first thing in the morning before he gets the papers. It may be a good thing, you know; the longer holiday he has, the better.’
He drew up before the house; there was a light on in the sitting room. Sophy saw it and said with a litte gasp, ‘Oh, I hope they haven’t been worried.’
‘I should have told you—I saw Ben just after we left George. I couldn’t get to him, but Bill did; he will have told him that you were all right.’
He got out of the car and went to the door with her. Sinclair opened it. He put out a hand and said, ‘Miss Sophy!’ He swallowed, and tried again. ‘You gave us a fright.’
Sophy flung her arms around him. ‘Sinclair dear, I’m so sorry I didn’t send a message or something. There wasn’t time, you know.’ She went past him into the hall. ‘Are they all asleep?’
‘The children are—I hope. Mrs Greenslade’s dozing in the sitting room.’ Sophy turned back to Max. Before she could speak, he said, half-laughing, ‘No, I won’t come in. Go to bed, Sophy. You’ll be needed in the morning.’ He lifted a hand in salute, and went away. Sophy watched his broad back as he walked back to the car, and then looked rather blankly at Sinclair.
‘I’ll go and see Granny,’ she said softly. ‘Goodnight, Sinclair.’ She smiled at him, but she didn’t really see him, only Max.
Chapter 5
The next day was a drudgery of hard work; there was naturally no theatre list. Sophy lent her nurses to the hard-pressed wards and spent a long day salvaging and drying out equipment, and counting the cost in lost instruments and dressings and all the specialised stock that had had to be left behind in the theatre. She was surprised that she could find anything at all; the theatre was an empty shell, with walls and floor intact but a ceiling open to the sky. She looked around with sober eyes, and decided that whatever the future held for her, she had plenty of work to get on with. She went into the cubbyhole to make a cup of tea, realised that there was no electricity and banged the kettle down in a sudden spurt of temper—the whole place was a ruin, and would take months to rebuild. It looked as though the hospital had a Theatre Sister without a job! She looked at the clock; it was barely ten, but she needed a cup of coffee. She rolled down her sleeves and found her cuffs, then started off for Orthopaedic. Mary would give her some; the list there didn’t start until eleven o’clock. She was crossing the main entrance hall when she saw Max. He was talking to Mr Potts and Mr Gowan, two of the surgical consultants, and didn’t see her. He looked tired; the lines of his face deeply etched; she thought that he had probably not been to bed. She looked away hurriedly and turned into Orthopaedic corridor, determinedly not thinking of the previous night—perhaps, she thought, he would seek her out later on in the day. Her thoughts went back unbidden however, and she remembered with a sick pang that he hadn’t once asked her if she was all right—to be called a sharp-tongued vixen and a jelly and a poor scrap was hardly indicative of the sort of interest she seemed incapable of inspiring.
Mary was glad to see her and pressed coffee and biscuits and the best chair upon her guest.
‘What happened?’ she wanted to know, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. ‘Your Nurse Robins told my Nurse Todd that van Oosterwelde told you to leave the theatre with her—but you didn’t, did you? What happened, couldn’t you get away in time?’
Sophy helped herself to another biscuit. ‘Yes, of course I could. But they needed another pair of hands, if only to check swabs and find things; you know how men never see anything they’re looking for.’
Mary nodded understandingly. ‘Yes,’ she remarked, ‘they make a complicated incision no one would dare to attempt, and then can’t find a needle to sew it together again. Was he nice?’ she asked suddenly.
Sophy nodded. ‘Yes—very. If he was scared it didn’t show; he just went on working as though nothing was happening.’
She smiled at nothing and then went scarlet as Mary observed,
‘You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you, Sophy? Hard luck, my dear. You haven’t a chance...I mean, look how he treated me’—she spoke with a genuine lack of conceit—’if I couldn’t catch his eye, you certainly won’t.’
Sophy put down her cup. ‘He’ll be going back to Holland very soon now, there’s no work for him here, is there?’ She tried to think of something clever to say and failed. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
There was no sign of Max as she went back to the theatre. Tom Carruthers came up during the afternoon. As he opened her office door she looked up, quite failing to hide her disappointment. He studied her thoughtfully and decided that she really was a plain girl after all—perhaps she was tired. He sat down opposite her and she looked at him and smiled, and he knew he’d been wrong—she wasn’t plain at all. They talked about the fire for a little while. ‘Have we lost an awful lot of stuff?’ he wanted to know. She told him... ‘And I’ve not finished yet. The theatre will need rebuilding—have you seen it?’ They went together and peered at it from the safety of the doorway.
‘Months of work,’ he muttered. ‘We’re to have St Chad’s theatre twice a week; they’ll admit the patients and we’ll have them back for post-operative treatment. What’s happening to you?’
Sophy shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Holiday Relief, I expect.’ She made a face; no one liked the job—no two Sisters worked alike; you worked your way from ward to ward, leaving a trail of annoyed Sisters behind you...
They went back to her office and she opened the catalogue at the instrument section and began painstakingly checking her list with it. Tom leaned forward and took the catalogue from her. ‘I’ll call them out, you tick them; it’ll be quicker.’
She gave him a grateful look, and for a little while they worked in a companionable silence. Half way through the page of catheters, he said, ‘Have you seen van Oosterwelde today?’
Sophy stopped, her finger poised over a nice little illustration of Bozeman’s two-way catheter. ‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘Did—did he come up here?’
>
Carruthers kept his eyes on his list. ‘No. He was up all night—he went for a bath and shave about nine. He’s had some news from Utrecht, apparently the theatre at the hospital there is ready sooner than was expected. He’ll be off shortly, I imagine...not much point in him staying, the way things are. I shall miss him, he’s a very nice fellow.’ He glanced quickly across the desk and then down again.
Sophy’s face was bent over her work; she waited a minute until she was sure that her voice would sound normal. ‘That will be splendid for him, won’t it? We shall all miss him, but he never intended to stay, did he?’ She didn’t want to talk about him any more, because that would mean thinking about him as well, and she couldn’t bear to do that. She said cheerfully, ‘Uncle Giles telephoned this morning; he’s upset, but he can’t work anyway, so it’s not too bad for him. He said he was feeling much better.’ She didn’t wait for Carruthers to reply, but went on without pause, ‘Should I order all the gum-elastics, do you think?’ She jumped up and fetched the Formalin vapour covered dish where they were kept. ‘They must have got very hot, for they don’t look quite...’
Tom looked at them. ‘You’re right, you’ll need a new set. Throw those out.’
Sophy put them back carefully. ‘Don’t be silly—I have to show everything to someone or other before I can get it replaced.’