There was certainly no muddle and not a pin out of place by the time Kay, her eye trained to every detail, had surveyed the ward. She was already back at her desk, cool and unruffled, when the sound of students’ voices heralded the Honorary Surgeon’s arrival. Peter Raynal was tall and dark, there was strong character in his features and the humorous curve of his mouth and the sparkling blue of his eyes, gave him an air of attraction. He was well liked by all the staff and quite aware that both nurses and sisters were only too eager to serve him. Things pleased him that way and he enjoyed working in an atmosphere of goodwill. He treated those who worked for him with consideration. Only wilful or blatant inefficiency roused his anger and he was duly grateful that it didn’t often happen.
As Nurse, Staff Nurse and now as Sister, Kay Somers had always mystified Peter Raynal. He. had been sorry for her as a probationer when with his experienced eye he had so readily appreciated the difficulties she had to overcome, yet she had so quickly adapted herself and in the minimum of time, was far and away the best nurse on the ward. Among the hundreds of nurses at St. Jude’s, most of them, in Peter Raynal’s opinion, just faces, he had felt that Kay had commanded his attention. Her very antipathy, so different from the friendly attitude of the other nurses, had first called his attention to her. Her obvious dislike which, since her seniority, she had been at no pains to hide, he viewed with amused tolerance; one unfriendly spirit was barely noticeable in such a big community. He only hoped that one day her attitude wouldn’t goad the legacy of his Irish forefathers too far; he felt he’d hate to test his anger against such impassive calm.
Kay Somers stood up as Peter Raynal entered her office, where the sun’s warm glow flooded the small room. Her scarcely suppressed excitement had added a sparkle to her brown eyes, dark lashed in contrast with the red-gold of her hair. The severity of the uniform suited the slim lines of her tall figure, the navy frock enhancing the pallor of her skin and the vivid sheen of her hair.
“Good morning,” Kay’s voice, as usual, was cool and remote. “I expected you at two, some of your treatments have naturally not been carried out.”
“I quite understand.” Peter Raynal smiled disarmingly. “Sorry if I’ve put you out, I have to go out of town this afternoon; this was the only time I could manage.”
“As you are so busy, perhaps you’d like to start right away.” The irony in Kay’s voice was barely perceptible but it was not lost on her chief. With determination he controlled his reply and preceded her through the door which she held for him. As they joined the group of students waiting to make the rounds of the ward with Peter Raynal, Kay again addressed him.
“I have an appointment with Matron, would you kindly excuse me. Staff Nurse will take you round.”
Kay’s interview was exactly as she had imagined. Matron was a kindly soul, with an uncanny insight into the characters of the many women she had to deal with. She was delighted with Kay’s news but deplored the loss of one of her most valuable Sisters. By some juggling with the long list of summer holiday dates, she was able to give Kay the time she desired and showed her great appreciation of Kay’s offer to return to duty during the summer weeks when, with so many holidays to be arranged, they were invariably more than usually understaffed.
It was with difficulty that Kay could retain her customary air of restraint, as she made her way through the long corridors back to her ward. She felt she was treading on air, she longed to dance, to sing, in some way to express the joy in her heart. It seemed almost unbelievable that she would be able to number the weeks—almost the days—that she would be at St. Jude’s. She felt she might almost count the times when she would tread this corridor to Matron’s office. No more stifling summer days in the airless atmosphere of London, she’d be at Thorndene, in the country she loved, in God’s fresh air and sunshine, free to do as she pleased all the long, happy hours of the day, no routine, no restrictions and, if she had her way, no clock!
CHAPTER TWO
Even the surging joy in Kay’s heart was not strong enough to allay her intense feeling of irritation when, about to re-enter her office, she heard the sound of voices and the tinkle of china. Peter Raynal’s deep tones were unmistakable, and the high tones of Martin Grig, the House Surgeon, intermingled with Janet’s musical laugh.
It was certainly quite common for the Honoraries after a busy round of the wards, to linger for a few moments in the Sister’s office for a cup of coffee, before continuing on their way. It was, however, something which Kay deplored, it held up her work, interrupted the regular work schedule and was, in her opinion, a nuisance generally. There was always tea or coffee going in the residents’ quarters if the medical staff wanted it, and it annoyed her to have to pause in the middle of a busy morning to be social. Most of the Sisters encouraged the practice, Kay knew that, particularly when the visiting Honorary, or Resident doctor happened to be an especial favorite, and Kay imagined that Peter Raynal could easily have drowned in the tea and coffee which must have been offered to him by a devoted staff. As a matter of routine, she usually tendered a diffident offer of refreshment but it was suggested with such an ‘accept if you dare’ expression that she couldn’t remember any occasion when Peter Raynal had lingered in her department for one moment longer than work demanded. Martin Grig, however, was rather a favorite of Kay’s, she like him immensely, his keen appreciation of her efficiency, his understanding of her responsibilities and his never failing co-operation with the ward work had readily won her admiration. He was a red-haired Scot with a broad smile and easy manner and, from the first day of his appointment to St. Jude’s, Kay had enjoyed working for him. On his rounds without the Senior Surgeon, he often remained in Kay’s office to discuss his pet cases and talk over the work in general. If it happened to be a slack time, tea or coffee were always at his disposal, but Janet should certainly have known better than to ask him to stay that morning—to encourage that insufferable Peter Raynal too, when they were already behind the work owing to the latter’s complete lack of consideration.
Kay made no effort to hide her expression of annoyance when she entered her office. Both Surgeons were seated at the table before a tray of coffee and biscuits and Janet, rising as Kay entered, offered her seat “Coffee, Sister, it’s nice and hot, only just made.”
Ignoring the invitation, Kay addressed her Staff Nurse. “If you have finished, you’d better get back to the ward; you realize nothing at all has been done yet, if we don’t get the dressings under way, it will be lunch time.”
As Janet closed the door quietly behind her, Martin Grig spoke. “Might have let the poor girl have another cup of coffee ... but there, the work comes first—still you’ll have a wee cup yourself, won’t you?” Without awaiting a reply, he poured out a fresh cup and drew forward the chair which Janet had just vacated. “Here, sit you down awhile and have a rest, you’ll soon be catching up with the work.”
Kay could scarcely refuse without being too obviously ungracious, although even when she seated herself and took the proffered cup, her attitude in no way relaxed. Drinking quickly, she replaced her cup on the tray. “I hope you’ll excuse me.” She completely ignored the Senior Surgeon and turned directly to address the younger man. “You will understand, Mr. Grig, that an unexpected round of the ward is most inconsiderate and throws everything out. I really must be getting..
“You mean that my coming this morning instead of this afternoon was a damned nuisance—then why don’t you say so?” Peter Raynal’s interruption cut in on her words and there was a note of suppressed anger in his tone. Sister Somers was really getting impossible, he decided, he’d kept his temper admirably and at times even managed to be amused by her attitude, but there was, after all, a limit ... One of these days she’d go too far with her overbearing ways and her thinly veiled disapproval.
“Well, sir ... do you think we’d better be moving on...” Martin Grig rose to his feet in an endeavor to stop what he felt might be a very unpleasant few moments. “... the
re’s that new case in Private Wing I wanted you to see today...” He fumbled awkwardly at his notebook, while he tried anxiously to attract his Chief’s attention. “... and, yes ... that private patient of Dr. Tenter’s, he wants you to give him the O.K. before discharge.”
But his efforts to change the subject remained unheeded and when he raised his eyes from his notebook, he found Peter Raynal and Sister Somers still facing one another angrily across the small table oblivious of his presence, and with the Senior Surgeon apparently unaware that he had even been addressed. It was an unpleasant moment for such a peace-loving soul as Martin Grig. He had a deep-rooted admiration for Peter Raynal—all his years in hospital, first in Edinburgh, then in London he had never worked under anyone who had taught him so much or inspired him with so much confidence. As a man too, he liked him, he held a high position and held it without snobbery or pride, he was tolerant with those less knowledgeable than himself and was always ready to help and advise. True, he had a quick temper but, in justice, Martin had to admit that it was only roused under provocation. Was Sister going to provoke him now? The genial, soft-hearted Scot sincerely hoped not. He liked Sister too—just as much as one could like such an unresponsive personality—but anyway he recognized her worth, but. in all fairness, he was forced to admit that she certainly was asking for trouble. She’d always got her knife into Raynal, Martin couldn’t imagine why, but did the silly girl have to show it?
“Well, Sister, I’m addressing you—I’m asking you to tell me outright if my change of time was inconvenient—not merely to suggest disapproval by your attitude.” There was a glint of anger in his eyes, as he continued. “I’m getting a little tired of your manners, at times they are barely civil. If you don’t care to work with me, you are at liberty to ask Matron for a transfer to another ward.”
“It won’t be necessary, I am leaving.” Kay’s tone was cold and unruffled in contrast to her superior’s barely concealed anger; her heart was beating tumultuously beneath the starched bib of her apron but, to an onlooker, she was entirely composed. The Surgeon’s attitude and words had startled her considerably, the very truth of his statement nagged at her conscience, she knew she deserved the reprimand, she had been openly rude to him, but all her training, all the discipline she had undergone, would never reconcile her to this man.
“You are leaving?” It was Martin Grig who echoed Kay’s words and his expression was one of startled dismay.
“So Sister Somers has just said.” Peter Raynal gave no hint of the surprise he felt. “Well, would it be too much to ask of you to be reasonably civil until then?” he asked, turning his attention back to Kay and focusing his eyes directly upon her until she found her own gaze magnetically returning his.
“I’m sorry...” The words were forced from her lips and seemed to hang in the silence, trite and unconvincing.
“Get along to Private Wing and get Dr. Tenter’s patient ready for examination ... I want a few words with Sister, I’ll be along in a moment.”
The door had scarcely closed behind Martin, before Peter turned deliberately to Kay. “Sit down, Sister, there are one or two things I’d like to discuss with you.” Without undue haste, he took a cigarette from his case, and lighted it before continuing. “I should like you to understand, Sister, that I never alter my appointments here unless absolutely unavoidable, I do not deliberately inconvenience you. Your work is beyond reproach...”
He gave a half smile. “You do not need me to tell you that yours is one of the most efficiently run wards in the hospital. If I wanted to complain against you, I couldn’t. From my point of view, your work is faultless but it seems to me that in your profession, a little human understanding and co-operation with those with whom you work, might make things run more smoothly. Frankly I don’t like your attitude and had you been staying on, then I should have insisted upon certain changes...” He gave an imperceptible shrug. “As you are leaving, it hardly matters.”
Kay had been gripping her hands together the whole time Peter Raynal had been speaking and now she was aware of her nails digging into her palms until they hurt. No one had ever spoken to her like that—not even when she’d been a junior nurse. Her cheeks flamed, what did he imagine she was, a naughty school girl? Of course, he had the right to complain if he disapproved of her manner, he could take his complaint to Matron ... in the past she would have minded that, but she didn’t now, nothing mattered, Robin was coming home, she’d be Robin’s wife so soon and then all these past years would be forgotten. She’d been rude to this man today, perhaps deliberately rude with the added confidence of Robin’s letter in her pocket.
“I think I have always done my duty, sir,” Kay’s words were stilted. “Perhaps it is as well that I am leaving.”
Peter Raynal looked at the girl before him intently and when he spoke again, he had resumed his normal tone. “Well, Sister ... let’s get on with more important matters.” For the next few minutes he discussed affairs appertaining to the ward and at the end of a long discussion, concerning the advisability of transferring a difficult patient to one of the two small cubicles which the ward boasted, he added: “I would like one of your cubicles for a case I am interested in, which I am sending in tomorrow ... You might make a note of it. She’s a nice girl—just trembles at the word ‘hospital’... calm her down as much as you can. I’ll drop in and see her some time tomorrow evening, we’ll be operating Wednesday.”
“The cubicle question is a bit difficult—I don’t see.. Kay began but was immediately interrupted.
“You’ll manage.” With two words Peter Raynal dismissed the subject. It was exactly like him, Kay thought angrily, he was so accustomed to getting his own way that if it involved discomfort for everyone else concerned, he’d still win. Why couldn’t this girl take a chance like every other patient? If she wanted a cubicle there was always the private wing. Who was she anyway? Just one of his girl friends, Kay supposed, perhaps the type that appreciated his charming way with women. “Would it be an impertinence for me to ask why you are leaving St. Jude’s ... and what are your future plans? Are you taking an appointment elsewhere?” The unexpected words interrupted her reverie.
“I’m leaving to get married ... at least I am marrying during my summer leave, I shall return for a few weeks to work out my month and until Matron is settled.”
“I see...” Peter Raynal’s tone was non-committal but there was added warmth in his tone, as he continued. “Well, Sister, my congratulations, I hope you’ll be very happy.”
With a murmured word of thanks, Kay opened the door for the surgeon to pass, then closed it behind him. Still standing by the door of her office, Kay heard him having a few words with Janet, they laughed together, were obviously sharing a joke; Kay did not understand how Janet could encourage the man. The laughter ceased but they were obviously still conversing together. Just as they appeared to move away from her office, the surgeon’s words came clearly to her ears. “... all I can say is God help the man, I hope he’ll enjoy being married to an iceberg!”
It was a moment before the full import of the words penetrated Kay’s consciousness. He was talking about her, he dared say that! Kay resisted the impulse to fling open the door to cry out to him to return, to take back those words, to hurl at him all the abuse she had held back for years. Trembling with anger, she forced herself away from the door and sank into the chair at her desk.
CHAPTER THREE
It was already after five o’clock when Kay Somers entered her small bedroom in the nurses’ quarters. She sank down into the wicker chair with a sigh of relief and loosened the stiff, white collar at her neck. With a tired and almost despairing gesture, she pushed back the thick waves of her hair and sat with closed eyes. It had been a heavy day and she was surprised at her own fatigue, all the joy of the morning seemed to have departed and she did not feel the same person who had dallied so unconcernedly in the quadrangle, watching the hands of the clock with such supreme disdain. She reviewed the events of t
he difficult day, starting so unpropitiously with Peter Raynal’s early round, followed in the afternoon by long hours spent in the operating theatre, with the strong arc lamps beating down mercilessly and making the hot atmosphere of the summer’s day more than ever insupportable. But all that was routine, routine to which she was accustomed and she knew beyond a doubt that it was the very unpleasant scene with Peter Raynal himself that had upset her and set her nerves on edge, making her work, which she usually got through with such ease, a task almost beyond her endurance. Why did that wretched row have to take place? She had so often staved off an open break, that it was all the more annoying that she should have lowered her prestige by her intentional rudeness and created this awkward atmosphere, which was bound to persist now, until the end of her time in hospital. It was no consolation to tell herself that the surgeon had asked for it, however much she tried to convince herself that this was the case, she was perfectly well aware that the fault had been entirely hers. If a surgeon chose to do his rounds at midnight, it was not her business either to complain or to indicate that it inconvenienced ward routine. She had been most dismally in the wrong and that irksome thought only added fuel to the fire of her resentment. Well, it was no use moping over split milk, she’d just have to make the best of a bad job in her future dealings with Peter Raynal, at most there could not be many more such dealings and that thought brought her some measure of comfort.
Idly she glanced round her room, carefully scanning the familiar objects and although she had adorned it with her own possessions, she had never succeeded in making it homelike. She hated the cold, cream walls and the almost colorless curtains, hated the narrow bed, which in spite of her own brightly colored spread, still reminded her of a ward bed. It was a long, narrow room and with its plain, square furniture, it somehow made her think of a prison cell. She had often thought of rearranging her belongings, setting out her photos more attractively, buying flowers for her Devon-pottery vase or even putting up a picture or two, but it had never seemed to matter enough to bother. She had once had a copy of Botticelli’s “Spring” on the wall above her bed, but the wire had frayed and it had fallen and frame and glass had broken. She had never troubled to replace it and there was still the faint outline on the wall as a perpetual reminder, a reminder of her indifference. But she wasn’t really indifferent to her personal surroundings, she mused ... now her room at Thorndene ... that was a totally different matter, it was bright and gay and winter and summer she always had a vase of berries or flowers. She smiled contentedly at the visual picture of that room, overlooking the long sweep of lawn and the herbaceous border, which she tended so carefully whenever she had the opportunity. She hoped that the room which she would shortly be sharing with Robin at the farm, would have a pleasant outlook, after the dreary vista that she had put up with at hospital for so long, she felt that she was entitled to insist that the room they chose for themselves should have the very best view, even if other things had to be sacrificed. Dear Robin! She sighed reminiscently ... he was such a practical person that she supposed that he would never give a thought to anything immaterial like a view. That was one of the nice things about Robin, he was so practical and reliable. Once she was married, she’d be able to leave things to him and stop being efficient and authoritative. It was only a role she was playing, an attitude she had adopted because of her work, she wasn’t like that really, she longed to sit back and let someone else order her life and leave her to do all the dreamy things which had escaped her so long. If only she’d had a career which she enjoyed; it was absolutely sordid to take up a job, especially a job like nursing, merely for the sake of earning one’s bread and butter. Ugh! she gave a little shudder at the thought and a slight frown puckered the fine, smooth surface of her forehead.
Peter Raynal, Surgeon Page 2