by Betty Neels
‘Indeed,’ agreed the professor politely, ‘but one gets used to it—one has to.’ They were driving down Gower Street and she wondered where they were going and wasn’t left long in doubt—the British Museum Coffee Shop. He parked by a vacant meter and ushered her through the book shop and the shop behind that which sold reproductions and into the restaurant itself. The two shops were quite full but the restaurant wasn’t. He pulled out a chair for her at a table for two and went to fetch their coffee. ‘Anything to eat?’ he asked over his shoulder.
She shook her head; she found him difficult to talk to, after years of being on her guard against his testy manner and cold politeness she had seldom been at a loss to answer him then, now she found herself tongue-tied. Common sense came to her aid as he sat down opposite her; she was used to difficult situations on the ward, dealing with awkward patients and visitors, wheedling new housemen to take her advice, listening patiently to the woes of a student nurse whose love life wasn’t working out. Did the professor have a love life, she wondered?
They passed each other the sugar and sipped their coffee. The professor sat at his ease, content to be silent, possibly waiting for her to take her share in the conversation. ‘How old is your son?’ she asked.
‘Eleven. I usually drive him back to school but I have several engagements this weekend. Martha had no time this morning to take him to the station and I could cancel a meeting I was to attend far more easily than she could leave the house.’
Martha, mused Julia, a suitable name for the wife of a man such as he, she would be mouselike with wispy hair and no dress sense and always do exactly what he wanted. Poor soul…probably there were several more children at home. Her imagination, which was vivid, conjured up a pitiful picture of a poor hard working Martha trying to please the professor. A hopeless task. She would have to talk about something else before she got too indignant.
‘You have a Dutch name,’ she observed and was halted by his silky reply.
‘But of course—I am a Dutchman.’ He sat back in his chair, looking at her. ‘And you, Julia, are very very English.’
‘Well, of course I am. What makes you say that?’
‘It would take too long to tell you. Dick Reed seems much happier about Mrs Collins.’
The sudden turn in conversation made her blink. All the same, she managed composedly. ‘Yes, he is! There’s still no news about her family though.’
‘We shall have to have patience.’
She drank the rest of her coffee and began to put on her gloves ‘The coffee was nice,’ she told him sedately, ‘thank you, Professor. You won’t mind if I leave you here.’
‘Yes, I do mind. I’ll drive you back to St Anne’s. I shall be going past the hospital in any case.’
There was no point in arguing, she got into the car again and he drove the short distance to the wide gates and leant across to open the door for her. He hadn’t spoken once since they had left the coffee shop. She thanked him quickly and got out on to the pavement, adding a brief goodbye.
His dark eyes rested on her for a moment. ‘It has passed an aimless hour,’ he said blandly and drove away. Julia, standing and watching the big car thrust its way smoothly through the traffic, very nearly stamped a foot. ‘An aimless hour, indeed,’ she muttered furiously, ‘I just happened to be handy, did I to while away a bit of time before he tools off to wherever he’s going? And why didn’t he go home and drink his coffee with the pitiful Martha?’ She was so busy thinking about it that she quite forgot Nigel. It was over their midday dinner that Fiona wanted to know at what time he was to have his interview; Julia found herself blushing with guilt because she hadn’t given it a thought. ‘Oh—two o’clock, I think,’ she said hastily, and nodded her head when Fiona observed that of course he would be ringing her later on that day. Nigel hadn’t said anything of the sort. But why should he? He had had a lot on his mind and she forgave him for forgetting. Very likely he would ‘phone from his parents’ house. The thought cheered her up as she went on duty.
There was plenty of work, medical wards might not be as dramatic as the surgical ones, but they were just as busy, more so, for there were treatments going on all the time and three medicine rounds a day. She missed Pat although she had a part-time staff nurse until five o’clock and a second staff nurse to come on until the night staff came on duty at eight o’clock. She was tired when she got off duty, but satisfied: Mrs Collins was definitely coming out of her coma and once she was fit to understand and speak a little, they would be able to find out who she was. It was going to be a long job, but well worth it; the nasal feeding, the bed bathing, the constant turning, the gentle physiotherapy. It was a good thing, thought Julia, that there weren’t many really ill patients in the ward, although as fast as one patient went home another took her place, and if she were a heart or chest case, then there would be several days of careful nursing on top of the constant routine.
The day which had been so fine had clouded over by the evening and it had begun to rain. There was a rumble of thunder too as she hurried back to her flat, with luck she would be indoors before she got soaked to the skin. She was going up the shabby steps to the front door when her eye caught a movement in the dusty patch of grass under the front window. She went down the steps again, oblivious of the rain, to see what it was. A kitten—a very small one—bedraggled and far too thin. She picked it up and it mewed soundlessly at her.
‘Lost are you?’ Julia tucked the animal under one arm and went up the stairs to her own small flat. It was no weather to go round knocking on doors asking if anyone had lost a kitten, indeed, she suspected that it had been dumped. She found a saucer, filled it with milk and watched the kitten drink. It was certainly half starved, its fur dirty and dull. She found an old woollen scarf and lined the lid of her work basket with it and put the little beast in it. It went to sleep at once leaving her free to get her supper.
It was while she was eating it that she decided to ‘phone Nigel and presently went down to the call box in the hall. She had to wait for a minute or so before anyone answered and it was his mother’s voice asking who was ringing.
‘Julia—I wondered if Nigel had got to you yet…’
‘Hours ago,’ said Mrs Longman, ‘he’s gone down to the pub with his father.’ She had a light voice which exactly suited her small slender person; when Julia was with her she felt like a carthorse. She said uncertainly: ‘I wondered—that is, did he get the job?’
‘Oh, my dear, yes. He did say something about ‘phoning you but by the time we had had tea, it must have slipped his mind.’
‘Well, that’s splendid news,’ Julia made her voice cheerful, ‘I can’t stay to talk now, have a nice weekend. Bye.’
She went back upstairs and washed her few dishes and since the kitten had woken up, gave him another saucer of warm milk and bread. ‘If no one wants you,’ she promised him, ‘I’ll have you. You’ll have to be alone quite a bit, but that’s better than sitting out in the rain, isn’t it?’
The evening stretched emptily before her, she turned on the TV and watched a programme without seeing any of it, her thoughts busy.
Next weekend she would go home and take the kitten in a basket; old Gyp her father’s labrador and her mother’s two cats would do him no harm and he might be glad of their company. She washed her hair and had a shower and sat down again in her dressing gown, the kitten on her knee. She gave it one of her fingers to nibble and allowed her thoughts to wander and was surprised to discover after a few minutes that she wasn’t thinking about Nigel at all but the professor—home with his wife, she hoped, he might even have taken her out for the evening—dinner somewhere rather grand and dancing afterwards. One didn’t expect someone with a name like Martha to dance well, but probably she was quite super at it. There would be a mother’s help or an au pair to look after the other children, of course, although surely with a Rolls Royce, the professor would be able to afford a Norland Nanny? She frowned; he wasn’t all that young, the
boy he had seen off to school that morning could have been the youngest child, the others would be teenagers…
She got up and put the kitten back on the scarf. It was asleep again but she addressed it none the less; it was nice to have something to talk to. ‘I’m getting soft in the head,’ she observed, ‘sitting here doing nothing and thinking a load of nonsense. I shall go to bed.’
Which she did, to be joined presently by the kitten, who climbed laboriously on to the duvet and settled up against her.
She was up earlier than usual the next morning, so that she had time for a more leisurely breakfast before attending to the kitten’s wants and going on duty. The storm had left the streets fresh and revived the dusty shrubs and trees along the street. Being a Sunday, there was no one to be seen, even the main street, usually bustling with traffic by half-past seven, was deserted. Julia made her way up to the ward to be met by the night staff nurse with the news that Professor van der Wagema was on the ward.
‘In that case, I’ll just see what he wants,’ said Julia. Dick Reed had a weekend and perhaps there had been an admission during the night. She hung up her cape and asked the staff nurse.
‘No, Sister—it’s Mrs Collins—Peter Miller ‘phoned the professor and he came in. Peter came to see her about six o’clock because I asked him to. She opened her eyes and grunted.’
‘Good work, Staff. I’ll be back in a minute.’
She went down the ward, wishing her patients good morning as she went, and slipped behind Mrs Collins’ curtains. The professor, in slacks and a sports shirt and not looking in the least like a professor, was sitting on the end of the bed, writing Mrs Collins’ notes. He looked human as he sat there, so that Julia said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ with a good deal more warmth than normal. ‘Is there anything you want?’ she added.
He raised his eyes from his notes and she was struck by their cold darkness. ‘Thank you, no, Sister. Only to be left in peace. If I need anything or anyone, I will say so.’
There was absolutely no answer to that, although she could think of several remarks she longed to make. With a surge of annoyance she went back down the ward. Had he really called her Julia and given her coffee and driven her around in his beautiful Rolls? She must have dreamt the lot.
She took the report and sent the night nurses off duty and went back into the ward to check on the breakfasts. There would be a part time staff nurse on duty at nine o’clock and she had Nurse Wells, who was sensible anyway, as well as two student nurses. Leaving Nurse Wells in the ward she gave a quick report and sent them back to start on the morning’s chores before running through the report once more with Nurse Wells. It being Sunday there was less paperwork; no laundry to argue with, no Path Lab to make appointments with. She tidied her desk and went into the ward to help with the beds and presently, the treatments. It was almost an hour before the professor came down the ward. Julia, in the middle of an argument with an elderly heart patient who could see no good reason for getting out of her bed, was interrupted by his: ‘A word with you, if you please, Sister.’
She beckoned the staff nurse to take her place and walked with him to her office. Inside he waved her to her chair at the desk and sat down himself on the radiator. ‘Coffee?’ he enquired.
Julia, about to sit, got up again and crossed over to the kitchen where luckily Meg had the coffee ready. She bore the tray back with, her set it on the desk and sat herself down again, and since the professor had nothing to say she poured it out and handed him a cup.
‘I’ve had no breakfast,’ he observed, and as she remained silent, ‘Not that it is any concern of yours, Sister.’
‘None at all, sir. You wished to tell me something?’
His dark eyes gleamed beneath their lids. ‘Yes. But there is another matter. Mrs Collins roused sufficiently to tell me something of herself. I have the details here, they may not be accurate; it has taken me all of two hours to get them—she still has periods of unconsciousness. I’d be glad if you will get on to the police and do everything necessary. I shall want an accurate report of her periods of consciousness. Anything out of the normal run of things I wish to know at once. You have my ‘phone number.’
Julia sipped her coffee. ‘Yes, I have. Four hourly TPR, and blood pressure?’
‘Yes.’ He passed his cup and she refilled it. He asked abruptly: ‘You have heard from Longman?’
She hadn’t expected that and she was betrayed into saying no, before she said yes. At his raised eyebrows she added lamely, ‘I ‘phoned last night. He’s got the post.’
‘Yes. He seemed pleased…’
‘He ‘phoned you?’ she asked in surprise.
‘No—I happened to be with Doctor Lamborne when he rang him.’
He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘I suppose we shall be losing you very shortly.’
Her green eyes glinted. ‘You will find Staff Nurse Down will make an excellent sister.’
‘I shall look forward to that,’ he told her blandly as he went.
She had no time for anything but the ward for the rest of the day; the police came and so, after lunch, did the visitors and treatments and medicines had to be fitted in despite these interruptions. She went off duty late but satisfied; the police had unearthed a niece of Mrs Collins who would come the next day. She had sounded pleasant enough on the ‘phone and seemed concerned enough about her aunt. And Mrs Collins had gone steadily ahead. Julia shaking the dust of twenty-four patients from her feet went thankfully back to her flat, where the kitten, looking more like a kitten now, greeted her with pleasure, ate supper and curled up again on its scarf, while Julia showered and got into a cotton dress and cooked her own supper. Tomorrow evening she and Nigel would go out for a meal but just now she was content to spend a quiet evening and if she had half hoped that he would ring her she ignored the thought. He would be back sometime that evening, but he had warned her that it might be in the early hours of the morning. She read the Sunday papers, and paused every now and then to mull over the memory which nagged like a sore tooth; the professor was looking forward to someone else in her place, he couldn’t wait for her to go. She felt unreasonably hurt about that. Thank heaven that Nigel had got the job; they could have a quiet wedding soon, he would need only a couple of months to settle in and even if they had to find a flat outside the hospital, it shouldn’t take all that long; anything would do for a start, they would only be renting it and they could move if it didn’t suit them. She sat weaving plans for the future and presently, accompanied by the kitten, went to bed.
It was the professor’s round in the morning. She greeted him in a cool, wooden voice, agreed that Mrs Collins’ troubles seemed to be almost over, discussed Mrs Winter’s unfortunate habit of ignoring her diet, filled in a number of X-Ray forms and Path Lab requests and finally ushered her party out of the ward, where the lesser fry went about their business and the professor and Dick Reed went into her office where they continued their discussions and drank several cups of coffee while Julia sat between them, passing the biscuit tin to and fro and making notes obediently when told to do so. When finally they got to their feet the professor said: ‘Go on ahead will you, Dick?’ He glanced at his watch, ‘Sister Sedgewick will be expecting us—I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.’
Julia was standing behind her desk, wondering what was coming next. She searched swiftly in her mind to discover what could have gone wrong for it must surely be that. The professor had been remotely civil and no more throughout the round and probably he was harbouring some petty grievance…
‘Yesterday,’ he told her smoothly, ‘I told you that I looked forward to seeing someone in your place; to dismiss any misunderstandings on that point, I should point out that it would not be for the reason which I feel sure springs instantly to your mind.’ He looked down his magnificent nose at her. ‘Women are illogical.’ He opened the door but turned to look at her, gaping at him, as he left. ‘Seen young Longman?’ he wanted to know.
She ha
dn’t, he hadn’t ‘phoned either and she had had no time to find out if he was back in the hospital. She said coldly. ‘No, I haven’t. Neither of us have much leisure…’
‘Sarcasm does not become you, Julia.’
When he had gone, she sat down at her desk again and stared down at the list of things, neatly tabled by Pat, that needed attention. Presently she picked up the ‘phone and began her daily battle with the laundry, but her heart wasn’t in it, there was too much on her mind.
She saw Nigel briefly on the way back from her dinner. He was so obviously delighted with himself that she hadn’t the heart to ask him why he hadn’t ‘phoned her. ‘Exactly what I want,’ he told her enthusiastically, his pleasant open face beaming. He plunged into details and when he at length paused she asked: ‘And is there a flat going with the job?’
‘Flat? Oh yes, there’s a house nearby with three flats—quite nice, I believe.’
‘Didn’t you go and have a look at it?’
‘No, love—the whole interview and so on took much longer than I had expected and I wanted to get home.’
‘Yes, of course. I rang your mother.’
‘She told me. I meant to give you a ring, but my father was keen to go down to the pub and talk about things…’
All quite reasonable thought Julia, so why was she feeling cross? ‘You’re off this evening?’
He nodded. ‘We’ll go out, shall we, and celebrate?’
She smiled widely at him. ‘Lovely. Seven o’clock by the porter’s lodge?’
She had talked too long, she hurried back to the ward, happy again.
She got off duty punctually because Pat, bless her, was never late on duty. She fed the kitten, showered and poked around in her wardrobe for something to wear. There was a green thing she hadn’t worn for quite a while, a straight sheath which showed off her figure to perfection, and highlighted her hair. She didn’t look too bad, she conceded and remembered to put on a pair of only moderately high heels. Nigel and she were exactly the same height but if she wore the high heels she preferred she topped him by an inch or so and he didn’t like it. She had plenty of time, she sat down for a little while, the kitten on her lap. ‘I must get you a basket tomorrow,’ she told him, ‘and give you a name.’ She thought for a minute, ‘I found you in this street, didn’t I? So you’ll be Wellington.’