Off with the Old Love

She thought guiltily of the dresses she had bought in the last few months, worn a few times and then pushed to the back of the wardrobe because Melville had hinted, oh, so nicely, that to be seen more than a couple of times in the same dress just wasn’t on. She said quietly, ‘I’ll have no chance to go shopping and I’ll be too whacked to go to any parties.’ She turned to smile at him. ‘You’ll have to find another girl, Melville.’

She had meant it as a joke; his easy, ‘It looks as though I’ll have to,’ took her by uneasy surprise. She spent the next minute or two mentally reviewing the next week’s lists and the off-duty rota. It was take-in week, too; there was no way in which she could alter the unalterable schedule.

‘Well, let’s worry about it later,’ said Melville and parked the car.

The club was brightly lit and very full. It was also elegantly furnished. They were ushered to a table a little to one side and Melville at once began to point out the well-known people around them. When a waiter came he turned to Rachel. ‘You need bucking up, darling. How about vodka?’

She could hardly mention her empty stomach. Instead she murmured that it gave her a headache and could she have a long cold drink?

Melville shrugged in tolerant good humour. ‘Of course, my sweet. What shall it be?’

‘Tonic with lemon and ice, please.’ She sat back and looked around her. The suit she was wearing had no chance against the ultra-chic women there, but that didn’t worry her overmuch, just as long as Melville liked what she wore.

Their drinks came and with them a dish of crudités, some salted nuts and potato straws. None of them filling, but better than nothing. She nibbled a few carrot sticks and crunched a potato straw while Melville turned his head to wave to an acquaintance. He turned back presently and began on a long and amusing story about the production he was working on. He was handsome and entertaining and paid her extravagant compliments which she never quite believed. Not that that mattered, for he was in love with her; he had told her so many times. One day he would ask her to marry him and she was sure she would say yes. Her eyes shone at the thought so that Melville paused in what he was saying; she really was a remarkably pretty girl, although she was proving disappointingly stubborn about taking more time off. ‘Let’s go somewhere and dance?’ he suggested.

She said with real regret, ‘Oh, Melville, I can’t. We start work at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and I’ll have to be on duty before then.’

He frowned and then laughed and caught her hand. ‘You really are the most ridiculous girl I’ve ever met. I could get you a part in my next production, or find you some modelling work, but you choose to spend your days in your revolting operating theatre.’

‘I don’t want to do anything else. It’s not revolting, either.’

He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘You dear creature, so earnest. Tell you what, I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening when you’re off duty and we’ll go somewhere and have a meal.’

‘It’s take-in week. I might get held up, but I’d love that. Somewhere where I won’t need to dress up, Melville.’

‘The nearest Lyons,’ he assured her laughingly. ‘And now, before you say it, you want to get back, don’t you? Duty calls and so on.’

They took some time to get out of the club; Melville stopped so many times to greet people he knew. Rachel felt very proud of him. Sometimes, but not always, he introduced her with a casual, ‘Meet Rachel,’ and she smiled at faces which showed no interest in her and listened politely to what they had to say, although none of it made much sense to her.

At the hospital he leaned over and opened her door and then kissed her. ‘I won’t get out, darling,’ he told her. ‘I must go back to the office and work for a while.’

She was instantly worried. ‘Oh, not because you took me out?’ she wanted to know. ‘Now you’ll have to stay up late working…’

‘I’d stay up all night for you, darling.’ He smiled as he closed the door and with a wave shot away.

Rachel went to her room, made a pot of tea, ate the rest of the cake and put her uniform ready for the morning. Lying in a hot bath she mulled over her evening; it had been delightful, of course, because Melville had been with her, but hunger had taken the gilt off the gingerbread. It was a pity, she mused, that she was in love with a man who didn’t always remember to ask her if she were hungry, while there were several young men on the medical staff who would have whisked her off to the nearest café for a meal at her merest hint… She frowned. It was strange that, whereas she would have no hesitation in telling any one of them that she was hungry, she found herself unable to tell Melville.

She got into bed, meaning to lie and think about him. He was very good-looking, she reflected sleepily, not tall but always so beautifully turned out. He wore his dark hair rather long and his voice was soft and his speech clipped. On the edge of sleep, she found herself comparing it with Professor van Teule’s deep slow tones—not a bit alike, the two of them; the professor was twice the size for a start…

The Professor walked into the theatre at exactly eight o’clock and Rachel, however easygoing his manner was, had taken care to have everything ready. Sidney, the theatre technician, was standing ready, her nurses were positioned where they would be most required, Dr Carr and his patient were there, the latter already nicely under, and she herself stood, relaxed with her trolleys around her. He bade everyone good morning and she watched his casual glance taking everything in; he expected perfection and she took care that he got it. George and Billy had taken up their places and the Professor waited quietly while they arranged sterile sheets round the patient before putting out a hand for a scalpel.

It would be a lengthy operation—a gastroduodenostomy—but since most of the Professor’s work was major surgery, involving all the clap-trap modern methods could devise, Rachel went placidly ahead with what was required of her, by no means disturbed by the paraphernalia around her. She sent the nurses in turn to their coffee, and then Norah, and when at last the Professor stood back from the table, she nodded to the nurse nearest the door to warn Dolly that coffee would be a welcome break.

The patient borne carefully away, the other men followed the Professor and Rachel stripped off her gown and gloves, made sure that Norah was laying up for the next case, and went along to her office. There was no room for them all, but somehow they fitted themselves in and left her chair empty. She poured the coffee and handed round the biscuit tin and, since the Professor had already had his, handed him the patient’s notes when he asked for them. He sat hunched up on the radiator, writing up the details of the operation, while the others discussed where they hoped to go for their holidays.

‘What about you, Rachel?’ asked Dr Carr.

George grinned across at her. ‘Oh, our Rachel will be on her honeymoon—somewhere exotic.’

She coloured at that although she answered matter-of-factly, ‘Chance is a fine thing—I can’t very well have a honeymoon without a husband.’

She was aware that the Professor had stopped writing and was looking at her but she didn’t look at him. Although she had to when he asked casually, ‘Did you have a pleasant evening, Rachel?’

The look was grateful; it gave the conversation a turn in a different direction. She didn’t mind being teased in the least—three brothers had inured her to that—but somehow she was shy of talking about Melville.

‘Lovely,’ she told him. ‘We went to a club—I’ve forgotten its name—and it was full of beautiful models and the kind of people you see on the TV.’ She put down her mug. ‘I’ll see if they are ready for you, sir.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re behind time. George, I may have to leave the last case to you, but I’ll be in this evening.’ He got to his feet and went unhurriedly to scrub.

The morning wore on. The nurses went in turn to their dinners and two of them went off duty. Norah, back from her own dinner, was laying up in the second theatre for the afternoon list, a short one—dentals—which she would take and then go off duty for the evening. Rachel had intended taking an afternoon off, but as the hands of the clock crept towards two, she resigned herself to much less than that. The Professor had changed his mind and decided to do that last case himself—a good thing as it turned out for it presented complications which he hadn’t expected. When at last the patient had been wheeled away it was half-past two.

‘Sorry about this, Rachel,’ he said. ‘You’ve missed your dinner. Do you suppose they would send up sandwiches for us both? I’ve an appointment in less than an hour and so can’t spare the time for a meal.’

George and Billy had already left. Rachel left two student nurses to start clearing up, went to have a word with Norah, waiting for her first patient, then went along to phone the canteen. She found the Professor putting down the receiver. ‘I thought they might be a good deal quicker if I rang—you don’t mind?’

She was pinning her cap on to her wealth of hair. ‘Not a bit—they’ll fall over themselves to get here. Dolly’s making coffee.’

Five minutes later they were sitting opposite each other at the desk eating roast beef sandwiches with the added niceties of horseradish sauce and pickles, some wedges of cheese and, for the Professor, a bottle of beer.

‘Well,’ said Rachel, happily sinking her teeth into the beef, ‘is this what you get when you ask for sandwiches? I get two cheese left over from the day before and a nasty snort down the phone as well.’

‘That won’t do at all. You’re no sylph-like girl to exist on snacks; I’ll look into it. Did you have a splendid supper last night?’

His voice was quiet but he glanced at her with intentness. There was something about his calm placidity which invited confidences.

‘Crudités. Melville thought I’d had supper and he’d had dinner anyway.’

‘My dear girl, surely you could have hinted…’

She considered this. ‘Not really. It was so—so…’ She was at a loss for a word.

He said smoothly, ‘The surroundings were not conducive to a plate of steak and kidney pudding?’

‘That’s exactly it. Anyway, I eat too much.’

His inspection of her person was frank and impersonal. ‘You’re a big girl and you use up a lot of energy; it would be hard for you to eat too much.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Rachel and took another sandwich.

The Professor passed her the pickles. ‘You’re on until eight o’clock? Let us pray for no emergencies.’

Perhaps he didn’t pray hard enough. Just as Rachel was closing the last of her books preparatory to sending the junior nurse off duty before going herself, the phone rang.

It was Lucy. ‘Rachel, there’s a gunshot wound coming in and coming up to you as soon as we can manage it. Abdominal and chest. George is here now and intends to ring Professor van Teule. Have you got a nurse on?’

‘Little Saunders; Sidney Carter’s on call, I’ll give him a ring.’ It sounded like a case where the theatre technician might be needed.

She went about the task of getting the theatre ready with Nurse Saunders, keen as mustard but easily put off by anything she didn’t quite understand, trotting obediently to and fro.

Rachel was checking the special instruments that might be needed when the phone went again. The Professor, coming through the theatre corridor doors, answered it. A moment later, he put his head round the theatre door.

‘For you, Rachel. Melville, I believe.’

‘Oh, I can’t…’ she began, and then said, ‘I’d better, I suppose.’

Melville was downstairs, phoning from the porter’s lodge, something strictly not allowed. ‘Put on your prettiest dress, darling,’ he begged her, ‘we’re going to a party. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.’

‘Melville, I can’t possibly. I’m on duty and there’s an emergency case coming up any minute.’

‘Well, hand over your revolting tools to someone else, dear girl. This is some party.’

She said tartly, ‘You’ll have to find somebody else, Melville. I’m on duty.’

‘It’s gone eight o’clock. You told me that you were off duty then.’

‘Well, I am usually, but not when there’s an emergency.’

His voice sounded cold and faintly sneering. ‘Darling, aren’t you just the weeniest bit too good to be true?’

He hung up, leaving her shaking with unhappy rage, and the Professor, who had been standing in the doorway, unashamedly listening, took the receiver from her and replaced it.

‘Is there anyone we can get to take over from you?’ he asked and his voice was very kind. ‘Night sister? Norah?’

She gave him an indignant look. ‘Certainly not, Professor. I’m on duty, and in any case I’m not in the mood for parties.’ She added unhappily, ‘I’ve nothing to wear—I mean, he has seen the dresses I’ve got at least six times.’

‘That is a point,’ agreed the Professor gravely. ‘I have no doubt that, to a man in his type of job, clothes matter a great deal.’

Rachel nodded. ‘Oh, they do, and you see I’ve never bothered a great deal—I mean, not to fuss, if you know what I mean? Brothers never notice what you’re wearing anyway…’ She stopped suddenly. ‘I’m sorry—talking to you like this; I quite forgot who you were.’

If the Professor found this remark a little surprising, he gave no sign. He said soothingly, ‘I am sure you will have an opportunity to go out with, er, Melville again.’ He became businesslike. ‘This man who is coming up—gunshot wounds at close range—I’ve had a look and we’ll need a lot of luck on our side. How are you off for staff?’

She cast him a grateful look. He never failed to see that she had enough help. ‘If Billy is here, I can manage. I’ve a junior on—very new but eager—and Carter’s coming in.’

‘He’s a good man to have about. Right, I’ll take a look at what you’ve put out, shall I?’

They went over the instruments together and then he went away, leaving her to scrub and get into her gown and mask and gloves and lay up.

Dr Carr would be anaesthetising; she had expected that. The Professor and he had worked together for a year or two now. He appeared with his patient and a nurse from the accident room to attend to his wants and keep an eye on the drip they had set up. The Professor, with George and Billy, followed hard on his heels.

It took a very long time; it was an hour short of midnight when at last the Professor finished his patchwork, meticulously done with tiny stitches and infinite patience. He thanked them all, as he always did, and left George to do the tidying up before the man was taken to the intensive care unit.

Rachel started to clear up, and Nurse Saunders, still game, toiled with her until two night nurses appeared to help. Things went more quickly then and presently Rachel and Nurse Saunders were able to take off their gowns and masks and go off duty. But not yet, it seemed. As they went down the corridor George came to meet them. ‘There’s food and drink in the office—we’re all having a picnic; come on.’

The Professor had been exerting his charm again. There were sandwiches and a dish of sausages, a bowl of crisps and a great jug of coffee.

‘However did you get this lot?’ asked Rachel and sat Nurse Saunders down in front of the sausages.

‘It’s a kind of blackmail,’ he explained gravely. ‘You see, if the kitchen superintendent keeps me well fed, she feels pretty sure that, should she need my help at any time, I shall give it gladly and with expertise.’

Rachel forgot the time, that she was tired, that she had missed a glamorous evening with Melville. She looked round at her companions, very contentedly munching, and thought of the man they had worked so hard to save. She would have missed a dozen evenings out just for the satisfaction of knowing that the patient would recover, and as for her companions, she couldn’t think of any better. She caught the Professor’s eye and he smiled at her.

‘Not very elegant and none of us look fashionable, but there’s a satisfaction…’

She beamed at him, her mouth full. He was right, but then he always was.

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