Visiting Consultant

Sophy filled the Dutch surgeon’s mug, and said quietly, ‘You’re ill, Uncle Giles, aren’t you?’

She handed Professor Jonkheer van Oosterwelde his coffee, ignoring his raised eyebrows. He had hardly spoken a dozen words to her, and for all she cared, she thought defiantly, he need not bother to address her again. She turned back to the older man.

Mr Radcliffe was no fool. He had seen the raised brows and the heightened colour in Sophy’s cheeks. He didn’t answer her question, but said smoothly, ‘Your fathers were my two greatest friends, although they never met. I stood godfather to each of you in turn, you know.’ He coughed, ‘Strange that you should meet like this.’

Max van Oosterwelde got up, apparently unaware of Sophy’s interested stare. ‘Very strange,’ he agreed dryly. ‘I imagine there was a decade or so between your good offices, however.’

‘But that doesn’t matter,’ cried Sophy, ‘It makes us into readymade…’ She paused. She had been about to say friends, but they weren’t friends, and the look she had just encountered held very little warmth in it, merely a faint, derisive amusement. She blushed, then frowned heavily, and was thankful when Uncle Giles got up too and remarked that it was time they got on with the job again.

They worked steadily for the next couple of hours. The nurses went in turn to their dinners, and when Sophy eventually went to her own, it was past two o’clock. She ate it, as she had so often done, in the complete silence of the empty dining room, thinking about the morning. She had exchanged barely a dozen words with the new surgeon after the coffee break. He was pleasant—and easy—to work for, she admitted to herself, but he obviously had no intention of being friendly. It was at this point that she realised that she knew nothing about him—perhaps he was married? or engaged? She felt unaccountably depressed at the thought; the not very appetising meal became uneatable, and she went back to the theatre.

The men came back from their own lunch in excellent spirits, and Jonkheer van Oosterwelde removed a gall bladder, repaired two tricky hernias, and whisked out a couple of appendices with a neatness and dispatch which could only earn Sophy’s admiration; maintaining an easy flow of conversation while he did so, while rather markedly excluding her from it. Not that he was anything but polite and correct towards her; indeed, when she inadvertently dropped the stitch scissors she was made very aware of his patient tolerance towards her clumsiness.

The last case was wheeled out of the theatre just before five o’clock, and the three men, shedding gowns and caps as they went, followed it. Sophy and her nurses plunged into the business of clearing the theatre, and made such good work of it that after ten minutes Sophy felt justified in leaving Staff Nurse to do the knives and needles, and go off duty. She went down the passage to her office and went in. The little room was wreathed in tobacco smoke; she swallowed a sigh, as Uncle Giles caught her eye and asked, ‘Tea, Sophy?’

She said quietly, ‘Of course, it won’t take a minute.’

She went back into the tiny kitchen where a kettle was kept perpetually on the boil and a tray stood ready, made the tea and carried it back and poured it out before turning to go. In this she was frustrated, however. The Dutchman was standing by the window, his broad shoulders blocking what light there was, his great height dwarfing everything else around him.

‘You will have a cup, too, Sister?’ There was no warmth in his voice. Sophy said baldly, ‘No,’ and then, because it had sounded rude, ‘Thank you. I’m going off duty.’

He didn’t answer, but bent forward and poured another cup of tea and handed it to her, so that she was forced to take it and sit in the chair he pulled out from behind her desk. He said gently, as though she hadn’t spoken, ‘It will only take a minute; it would be a pity to miss your tea.’

She looked at her cup, angry with herself for going red, and Mr Radcliffe, noticing her hot cheeks, put down his own cup and asked,

‘How did you two meet?’

Sophy remained stubbornly silent, and after a minute Jonkheer van Oosterwelde gave him a brief account of their encounter. She sat listening to his deep voice making light of the whole affair and cheerfully taking the blame upon himself. She felt faintly ashamed of herself, then remembered how he had addressed her as his dear madam. Her cheeks grew fiery again at the recollection, their redness fanned by the amused stare she encountered when she ventured to glance at him.

Her godfather thought it was all rather amusing, and said so before launching into an anecdote of his own. Under cover of this, Bill bent forward.

‘Sister Greenslade, you haven’t forgotten I’m coming to supper on Saturday evening?’ he asked eagerly. ‘I mean, if it’s still all right…’

Sophy smiled warmly at him. ‘Of course it’s all right. Come early, then we can play Monopoly or Canasta after supper.’

She got up to go, and Mr Radcliffe paused in his low-voiced talk.

‘Your aunt expects you all on Sunday, Sophy—she told me to remind you.’

She stood in the doorway, very neat in her blue dress. She had put her cap on when she had gone to make the tea; it perched, like an ultra-clean butterfly, on top of her tidy head. All three men were watching her, but she was looking at her godfather.

‘Thank you, Uncle Giles. We love coming; you know that. We shall miss it while you’re away.’ She smiled, murmured a pleasant ‘Goodnight’ and shut the door quietly behind her.

The theatre was clear; she sent the nurses off duty, had a word with Staff, and went to the changing room, from whence she emerged ten minutes later, still looking neat, in a nicely cut tweed suit; its rich greens and browns suited her—the man following her quietly away from the theatre block and down the staircase thought so too. Sophy hadn’t heard him until his voice asked just behind her,

‘Can I give you a lift?’

‘No, thank you.’ The words were spoken before she could regret them. It would be nice to ride in a Bentley. ‘I live quite close.’ And added crossly, ‘You know that,’ she paused, ‘sir.’

‘I’m afraid I made you late, suggesting that you should have tea just now. Allow me to make amends.’

He crossed the entrance hall with her, obviously sure of getting his own way. They said goodnight to Pratt, the head porter, and she went through the heavy door which he held open for her. She only had to say that she preferred to walk, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. She found herself sitting beside him. The temptation to sink back into the rich cosiness of the leather was great; instead, she sat upright, looking ahead of her, as though she had never seen the streets before. He turned to look at her as they slid along the familiar route.

‘You don’t have to be on your guard all the time, do you?’

Sophy felt the soft hammer of her heart. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, too quickly.

‘Yes, you do, some time we’ll discuss it, but to begin with you might try sitting back comfortably, even if it is only for a few minutes. I must say I’m surprised. I thought you were a sensible sort of young woman.’

Sophy felt rage wash over her—why did he contrive to make her feel foolish? ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ she answered coldly. ‘I’m exactly like thousands of other women.’

They had drawn up in front of the house; he leant across her to open the door, but didn’t open it. ‘No, you’re wrong; you’re not like any other woman.’ He opened the door at last, and said, ‘By the way, isn’t Bill Evans rather young for you?’

Sophy had been on the point of getting out, but she turned sharply in her seat, which was a mistake, for he was so near that her cheek brushed his. The touch made her catch her breath, but she managed to say in a tolerably calm voice, ‘I’ve known Bill, for several months; I met you yesterday, Jonkheer van Oosterwelde. I can’t think why it should be any business of yours nor why you should want to know anything about me… Goodnight.’

His voice came quietly through the gloom of the evening. ‘Ah, yes, that is something else we must discuss, isn’t it? Goodnight.’

She stood on the pavement, watching the big car disappear into the gathering twilight, her mouth slightly open. Presently she closed it with something of a snap, and went into the house. She had two days off; she was glad. It would be Saturday when she went back on duty, there were no lists on that day, only emergencies, and the RSO was on duty for the weekend. She wouldn’t see the Dutchman until Monday.

Penny was waiting for her in the hall sitting on the stairs, school books scattered around her. She jumped up as Sophy shut the door.

‘I heard a car—Sophy, did he bring you home? Was he waiting for you? How did he know where you were?’ She paused for a much-needed breath, and sank back on to the bottom stair. ‘Where does he come from?’

Sophy unbuttoned her jacket and sat down beside her sister, kicking off her shoes for greater comfort. She said in an unemotional voice. ‘He’s the surgeon who is relieving Uncle Giles while he goes on holiday.’

Penny leaned forward and hugged her sister. ‘Sophy, how perfectly marvellous for you! Does he like you? Yes, of course he does—everyone likes you.’ She interrupted herself. ‘Uncle Giles on holiday again? But he’s only just been a month or so ago. He and Aunt Vera came back in September, didn’t they?’ Sophy chose to answer the second question first. ‘Uncle Giles is ill—I expect we shall hear about it when we go there on Sunday. He and Aunt will be away for six weeks.’

Penny absorbed this information for a moment, then went doggedly back to her first question. ‘You’ve not told me about the stranger—I still want to know. What’s he like, and what is his name, and has he fallen for you?’

Sophy laughed. ‘Oh, darling, no! He hardly spoke to me in theatre and he only brought me home because we happened to leave the hospital at the same time. He’s a very good surgeon, I imagine, and his name is Professor Jonkheer Maximillan van Oosterwelde.’ She laughed again at the expression on her sister’s face.

‘A professor,’ said Penny, ‘and with a name like that. He must be quite old; has he got grey hair?’

‘Yes,’ said Sophy. ‘It’s brushed very smoothly back without a parting and he’s got a very high forehead, but his eyebrows are as black as thunder clouds. His eyes are pale blue…’

She stopped, aware of her sister’s interested gaze, and got to her feet briskly. ‘Bill’s coming to supper on Saturday, so mind and have your homework done—you can’t expect him to help you with your maths each time he comes, you know.’

Penny giggled. ‘No, I know; but he’s a dear, isn’t he? He likes me too.’ She stated the fact without conceit and added thoughtfully, ‘I’m almost sixteen.’

Sophy said soberly, ‘Yes, dear, and he’s twenty-two and a very clever boy. In three years’ time he’ll know where he’s going—and so will you.’

They smiled at each other, and Sophy thought, ‘How strange, she’s almost eleven years younger than I am and she knows who and what she wants already. I only hope Bill is sure enough to wait until she grows up.’ She gave Penny a hug and said, ‘Let’s get supper. I’m off until Saturday; I think I shall go up to Harrods tomorrow and look around. You need a new coat for the winter—it’s your turn, anyway. If I see anything you might like at our price, we’ll go together next week and get it.’

They went off to the kitchen, happily engrossed in the rival merits of Irish tweed as opposed to a good hardwearing Harris.

Bill Evans arrived punctually for his supper, and was at once pounced upon and borne away to the shabby comfort of the small study at the end of the hall, where he good-naturedly corrected Penny’s maths. They sat side by side at the desk, while he tried to make her understand the relations of the sides and angles of triangles. Sophy, coming to fetch them, thought how exactly right they were for each other; her pretty, sweet-natured young sister and this awkward, shy boy, who was yet man enough to hide his feelings behind a gentle teasing friendliness. It was strange, but he was never shy and awkward with Penny. Even Grandmother Greenslade, whose opinion of modern youth verged on the vituperative, approved of him; amending her opinion with the rider that Penny was still a schoolgirl and was to be treated as such.

Supper was a cheerful, rather noisy meal, with a great deal of talk. Even Sinclair, prowling in and out with second helpings, joined in from time to time, accompanied and hindered by the Blot and Titus, who liked to keep track of the food. The conversation was lively and varied, largely because the Greenslades had learned that without it life would be rather dull. There was no television in the house. Sophy had decided against it, and abetted by her grandmother, who disliked it very much, had managed to persuade the others that it was something they could do without, and an expense they couldn’t afford to incur. There had been a little money when their parents died, but it was astonishing how fast it disappeared. Sophy had a fairly good salary and Grandmother Greenslade contributed her share; but only Sophy and perhaps Sinclair, who did most of the shopping, knew how carefully the money was budgeted.

They spent the evening playing Canasta and Sevens, and then Old Maid. Sophy hoped there was no significance in the fact that she was pronounced Old Maid time and time again.

She was on duty at eight o’clock on Sunday morning. There was no one about as she walked quickly to the hospital. It had been a quiet weekend in theatre so far. She hoped it would remain so, at least until she had had her free time that afternoon. She was off at one o’clock; she should be able to get to Uncle Giles by half past. She had two junior nurses on with her; they busied themselves turning out cupboards while she checked stock until they brought her coffee and went away to get their own. After they had gone the theatre was very quiet; Sophy pushed her books and forms and lists on one side, and sat rather despondently, doing nothing. Tom Carruthers, coming soft-footed into the little room, looked at her thoughtfully and said nothing. He accepted a mug of coffee and settled in the chair opposite hers. It was unlike Sophy to be down in the mouth, but he knew how fiercely independent she was, and he wasn’t one to pry. Instead, he said, ‘There’s a nasty lot in Cas: femurs, tib and fib, fractured base— Orthopaedic will have their hands full. There’s a nasty internal injuries too—not fit for anything yet, though. This evening at the earliest, I should think. You’ll be on?’

Sophy nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve a one to five—if I’m lucky. I’ll be at Uncle Giles’ as usual.’

‘He’s going on holiday; of course you know about it?’ He raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘I must say it’s a bit of luck getting that Dutch chap to do his work. Nice fellow too. Tall as Nelson’s column and ten times as broad. Got a St Andrew’s degree, too, as well as half a dozen Dutch ones. Met him yet?’ He saw the pink stealing into Sophy’s cheeks and looked out of the window.

‘Yes, he’s very good—he took the list on Wednesday.’

Tom passed his mug for more coffee. ‘Quiet type, very amusing when he does talk, though—he’s a baron or something of that sort.’

‘A Jonkheer,’ said Sophy before she could stop herself. She had been to the Reference Library on her day off and looked it up. ‘It’s an hereditary title.’

Tom gave her a sharp glance. ‘Don’t imagine he’s the sort to broadcast it, though. Plenty of money, I hear. Drives a damn great Bentley too.’

Sophy looked suitably interested and was glad when the telephone rang and a voice demanded Mr Carruthers. He listened to the urgent voice on the other end, and said,

‘Oh, lord, Bill, just as I was going to dip into the Sunday papers. I’ll be down.’ He put down the receiver and turned to Sophy. ‘A perf. Twenty minutes suit you? I’ll go and check, but young Bill’s pretty reliable.’

The morning’s tempo changed. The smooth-running machinery of the theatre, never quite still, accelerated under Sophy’s calm direction. The case came up, was dealt with, and was back in the ward by twelve-thirty.

It was almost an hour later when Sophy rang the door-bell of the nice old house where Mr Radcliffe had lived ever since she had known him. Matty, the elderly maid who opened the door, still wore the same kind of cap and apron she had worn when she had entered the surgeon’s service almost three decades earlier. She looked prim, but smiled warmly at Sophy, and said, as she always said each Sunday,

‘Just in time, Miss Sophy; Cook’s dishing up.’

Sophy smiled too and enquired with interested sympathy about Matty’s bad leg while she took off her coat and gave it into her keeping. Left alone, she went over to the old-fashioned mirror hanging on one wall and peered into it. She looked at her face with some dissatisfaction, anchored her hair more securely, and ran a licked finger over the smooth arches of her brows.

‘Gilding the lily?’ enquired a voice; the Dutchman’s voice.

Sophy jumped, and at the same time was deeply thankful that she was wearing a jersey shirtwaister that suited her admirably. She turned to face him as casually as she was able.

‘You shouldn’t take people by surprise like that,’ she said severely. ‘It’s bad for their nerves.’ Her voice was commendably steady, even though her pulse was not.

He made no effort to move, so that she was forced to remain where she was, looking up at him. He looked her over slowly and said, ‘Very nice,’ and then, ‘Did you not expect me here?’ His blue eyes searched hers. ‘No, I see that you didn’t. Your Uncle Giles is my Uncle Giles too, you know.’

Sophy tried to think of something to say; something clever or witty or charming; she was unable to think of anything at all, and, what was worse, she was only too aware that he knew it. She looked up to meet his quizzical gaze.

‘Your aunt sent me to fetch you,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you ready?’

They crossed the hall in silence while Sophy turned over in her mind his remark about gilding the lily. He had been mocking her, of course; she had no illusions about her face.

As he opened the door he said on a laugh, just loud enough for her to hear, ‘I do believe that no one has ever called you a lily before.’

He flung the door wide, and she went in to greet the politely impatient people waiting for their luncheon.

The table around which the company settled themselves was a large mahogany masterpiece, fashioned to accommodate a dozen persons at least. Sophy found herself beside Uncle Giles; Max van Oosterwelde was at the other end of the table next to Aunt Vera, with Penny on his other side. It was apparent that they were already the best of friends. She turned her head away and concentrated on her godfather, who was carving beef with a skill which was to have been expected of him.

Sophy passed the plates, and asked, soft-voiced in the general hum of conversation, where he and her aunt were going for their holiday.

‘Dorset, my dear. Max has a nice little place tucked away down there—uses it when he comes to England. We’ve got the run of it for as long as we like. We shall leave here tomorrow. Later on, we hope to go over and stay with him in Holland, but that depends on how long I take to recoup and how long he can stay over here.’

He saw her anxious look and said quickly, ‘Don’t worry, my dear. It’s nothing desperate—my heart’s overdoing it a bit, that’s all. Nothing a good rest won’t cure.’

Sophy raised her eyes to his. ‘Is that the truth, Uncle Giles, or are you busy pulling wool over my eyes?’

He laughed. ‘The truth, girl. I’ve never lied to you, and don’t intend to start now.’ He finished his carving and sat down and helped himself to the dishes Matty was holding.

‘Can I do anything to help you or Aunt Vera?’

He shook his head. ‘No, my dear. At least, you might keep a motherly eye on Max.’

Sophy choked on a morsel of beef. ‘A motherly eye on him?’ she asked faintly.

‘Yes. Though if you prefer it, I’ll ask him to keep a fatherly eye on you.’ He laughed so richly that everyone looked at him. He beamed at them all. ‘Sophy and I are enjoying a joke together.’ He winked broadly at her and turned to her grandmother, then left her to get on with her lunch.

After lunch Aunt Vera and Grandmother Greenslade wandered off to the drawing room, for what they called their weekly chat, and Uncle Giles bore Max van Oosterwelde away to his study, saying over his shoulder that there were plenty of apples for the picking at the end of the garden. Penny and Benjamin needed no second bidding, and tore away, followed more sedately but Sophy. Ten minutes later, however, sedateness forgotten, she was sitting astride a convenient fork in a tree, with a basket half filled on her arm, and a half eaten apple in her hand. It was pleasant there; the autumn sun still had warmth; the apples smelled good. She sighed, thinking how nice it would be to be free preferably driving about the country in a shining Bentley. It was only a small step from thinking of the Bentley to its owner; that was why his voice, coming from beneath her, sent the ready colour pouring over her face.

‘Are these your shoes?’ he asked.

Sophy curled her toes inside her stockings. ‘Yes. I was afraid I’d spoil them.’

‘Come down and put them on, and I’ll get the rest of the apples for you, shall I?’

Penny and Benjamin had joined him, laden with their own spoils. She whisked down the old tree, intent on getting to the ground unaided. She should have known better. She was plucked from it while she was still some feet from the ground, and set lightly on her feet. Then he was gone, and a moment later, she saw him balanced on a sturdy branch, reaching above his head and throwing the apples down to them. He looked enormous, but somehow not in the least out of place. The apples safely stowed, they went back to the drawing room, where Uncle Giles had switched on the television. He was following the incredible activities of a cowboy, apparently holding off a mob of howling Indians single-handed. He took his eyes from the screen long enough to recommend them to sit down and watch too, and soon there was silence, broken only by the sounds of celluloid battle. The telephone brought a discordant note amongst the war cries. Uncle Giles frowned, and turned the sound down, and Sophy, who was nearest, picked up the receiver. It was Staff Nurse.

‘Sister, I thought you’d want to know that the internal injuries is coming up at five-thirty, but Cas rang through to say they’ve got an abdominal that might have to be done first. They’ve had a road accident in, and Mr Carruthers is there now.’

Sophy looked at her watch; it was almost half past four. ‘Lay up for an abdominal, Cooper, and put in the general set and all we need for nephrectomy and splenectomy, and remember they’ll probably want to do an intravenous pyelogram.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And a few bladder tools, too. Have you got Vincent there?’

Staff’s voice came briskly back. ‘Yes, Sister. She’s been to tea.’

‘Good, tell her to get your tea now, before you dish up. I’ll be with you very shortly. Goodbye.’

Before she could hang up, Pratt’s voice cut in. ‘Sister Greenslade, Mr Carruthers wants a word with you.’

Tom’s quiet voice sounded urgent. ‘Sophy, is Max van Oosterwelde there?’

She looked across the room; the big Dutchman was sprawled in a chair, watching her. She beckoned him, and said, ‘Yes.’ He took the telephone from her and she went to slip away, but he caught her by the hand.

‘No, stay. It probably concerns you too.’

He listened quietly, and said at length, ‘We’d better do her first. We’ll be back in five minutes. No, not at all; I’m glad I can help. You’ve enough to get on with, I imagine.’

He was still holding her hand, she tried not to notice it while he talked. ‘There’s a girl in. Twelve years old—she’s been stabbed. Carruthers says there are six entries in the abdomen for a start. He’s got his hands full with the RTA. We’ll do the girl first; she’ll be a long job, I expect, but they can keep the other case going until we’re ready.’ He had been speaking quietly, so that only she could hear. Now he got up and went over to Mr Radcliffe. By the time Sophy had got her coat, he was saying goodbye in the unhurried manner of a man who had business to do, and knew how he was going to do it. As she made her own hurried goodbyes, she could hear him telling Penny and Ben that he would call for them on the following Wednesday. She longed to know more about it, but there was no time. They went round to the garage at the side of the house, and got into the Bentley and drove rapidly through the quiet streets. He left the car outside the hospital and they went in together, he to Cas, she to hurry upstairs to theatre. A few minutes later, capped and masked, she was scrubbing up while Cooper dished up the last of the instruments. They had five minutes. Vincent, the junior nurse, was nervous but willing; Staff, Sophy knew, would be a tower of strength; she always was. She went over to her trolleys and checked them carefully, and set about threading her needles and getting the blades on to their handles. It suddenly struck her that she didn’t know who would be assisting. Carruthers was tied up in Cas.; the other two consultants had weekends; their houseman would probably be away too, leaving their patients to the care of whoever was on duty. The porters wheeled in the trolley, with Dr Walker, the senior anaesthetist, pushing the Boyles. He said ‘Hullo, Sister’ in a vague voice, and went back to his cylinders and tubes. She liked him very much; he was unflappable and very sure of himself.