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She said indignantly, ‘Certainly not, Professor,’ and went on ruefully, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s kind of you to suggest it, but I shall be all right.’
‘Good. Run along then, and enjoy yourself.’
She wished him goodnight and almost ran the rest of the way, wondering why on earth she should imagine that behind that placid face he was amused about something.
Melville was impatient although he hid it very successfully. ‘They’ll keep our table’, he assured her as he hurried her out to the car. ‘You’re wearing that blue dress again—a mistake, darling, you haven’t enough colour for it.’
Rachel, indignation for once swamping her love, snapped, ‘I’ve been hard at work all day and I’m tired—I did tell you…’
He had got into the car beside her and now he leaned over and kissed her. ‘My poor darling, you’ll feel fine after a meal.’
She did her best; the food was delicious and Melville at his most amusing, but her heart wasn’t in it. When they had had their coffee she said contritely, ‘Melville, do you mind very much if we don’t go dancing? I really am tired.’
She was happily surprised when he leaned across the table and took her hand in his. ‘My poor sweet, I’ll take you straight back. Get to bed and have a good sleep—get someone to bring you your breakfast…’
There wasn’t much point in telling him that she would be getting up at seven o’clock, and as for being brought breakfast in bed…There was, she realised, a wide gap between his world and hers, but that gap would disappear in time. She gave him a grateful smile. ‘I’ve spoilt your evening and I’m sorry—I’ll do better next time.’
He pressed her hand and smiled at her. A charming smile which made her happy, as it was meant to. She felt happy still as he drove her back to the hospital, kissed her goodnight, and then drove away at once. She opened the door and wandered through the entrance hall on her way to the back corridor leading to the nurses’ home. She had almost reached it when she became aware that Professor van Teule was watching her from the massive staircase at the back of the hall.
She crossed the hall and met him at the bottom step. ‘Has there been something in theatre?’ she wanted to know urgently, quite forgetting the ‘sir’.
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I came to check on that transplant we did this morning.’ He stood there quietly, waiting for her to speak.
‘I’ve had a simply lovely evening,’ she said at last, defiantly, just as though she expected him to contradict her, unaware that her pretty face was white and pinched with fatigue. And, when he nodded gently, ‘Goodnight, Professor.’
‘Goodnight, Rachel.’ He watched her go back down the passage and through the door at its end before he crossed the entrance hall and got into his car.
Rachel slept like a log and only her long training in early rising got her out of bed in the morning. She went down to a breakfast she didn’t want, immaculate as always but her face pale and shadows under her eyes. She gulped tea, crumbled toast and then went on duty. Norah was laying up for the nephrectomy and the student nurses were trotting to and fro. Rachel bade them good morning, cast an eye over what was being done and went to her office. The usual small pile of paperwork was on her desk. She pushed it aside, checked with the accident room that there was nothing in the way of an emergency, then went through to the anaesthetic room to do a final check. Dr Carr was already there, adjusting his machines; he glanced up as she went in and then gave her a second longer look.
‘Rachel, my dear girl, you look like skimmed milk. Haven’t you slept?’
She managed a bright smile. ‘I slept like a top, whatever that means. I’m fine.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Shall I phone the ward to send up the patient?’
He nodded. ‘If you’re ready. Professor van Teule will be here in about five minutes.’
She swept away and did that and then started to scrub. She was gowned and gloved when the patient was wheeled in with Dr Carr at his head. A moment later the Professor, with George and Billy beside him, started to scrub. She was on the point of taking up her usual place behind her trolleys and replied composedly to their good mornings and stood just as calmly waiting for them to come into the theatre. She didn’t feel calm; she had a nasty headache and it was too late now to take anything for it.
The nephrectomy wasn’t straightforward; the Professor seemed to attract complicated cases like honey attracts bees; moreover, he didn’t seem to mind. Other surgeons in like circumstances would give vent to strong language, not caring who heard them, but he, beyond muttering in his own tongue, which nobody there understood anyway, remained as placid as usual.
He was putting the final touches to his work when he addressed Rachel.
‘I should like to do a transplant—kidney—on a young man. Could you arrange things so that you will be available—and such of your nurses as you will need?’ He glanced at her. ‘It will probably be during the night or the very early morning but I am told that the donor is in a coma and not likely to live for very long.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir. Is the patient already in the hospital?’
‘Yes, I got him in last night. Shall I be treading on anyone’s toes if I take over theatre at short notice?’
Rachel tried to forget her aching head and thought hard. ‘No, we can manage. Norah can take the second theatre—it’s Mr Sims tomorrow morning and Mr Jolly in the afternoon. I’ll have Staff Nurse Pepys here with me…’
She caught George’s eloquent eye—he disliked Mrs Pepys and Billy was terrified of her, so she added soothingly, ‘If you need to operate between eight o’clock and seven in the morning, Professor, there will be the night staff nurse and the runner as well. They’re both very good.’
‘Sorry to spring it on you, Rachel.’ He sounded quite sincere and he seldom addressed her by her Christian name while they were working. ‘There’s always a silver lining though; I’ll be away for a couple of weeks.’
She said, ‘Oh, will you, sir?’ rather blankly. It was her headache which made her feel so depressed, she supposed.
She took a Panadol with her coffee presently and her head cleared, so that the rest of the list passed off smoothly enough even though they finished late. The Professor might be a stickler for punctuality, she reflected, going down to a warmed-up dinner, but he forgot that there was such a thing as time once he was scrubbed.
The afternoon list with the fourth consultant, Mr Reeves, an elderly man on the verge of retirement, went well. Rachel handed over to Norah just after five o’clock, and went off duty. An early night, she told herself, trying to ignore the hope that Melville would phone her. A quiet evening somewhere, perhaps outside London, where they could have a meal and talk without the constant greetings and interruptions from his friends. Rachel sighed as she got out of her uniform and pottered off to look for an empty bathroom.
But he didn’t phone; she took a long time changing into a knitted suit and then, unwilling to spend an evening in the sitting-room with the other sisters, thrust some money into a purse, and went down to the entrance. She wasn’t at all sure what she was going to do—perhaps a run in the car…
She was getting out her car key when Professor van Teule loomed up beside her. ‘Ah,’ he said sleepily. ‘Going out, Rachel?’
‘Yes—no. I don’t know,’ she almost snapped at him. ‘I just want to get away for an hour.’ She added by way of explanation, ‘It’s a nice evening.’
He took the key from her in his large hand, picked up her purse from the car’s bonnet where she had laid it, and put the key into it.
‘You sound undecided. Moreover, you don’t look in a fit state to drive a car. I’m going for a quiet potter—why not come with me? We can eat somewhere quiet and you can doze off in peace.’
She had to laugh. ‘It’s kind of you to suggest it, Professor, but I couldn’t go to sleep; it would be rude…’
‘Not with me, it wouldn’t. You need a nap badly, Rachel. You’re wound up too tightly; don’t you know that? No sign of, er, Melville?’
‘You always say “er, Melville”, as though you can’t remember his name,’ she said crossly.
‘Well, I can’t.’ He sounded reasonable. Really, it was impossible to be put out by him.
‘He’s a very busy man.’
The Professor, hardly idle himself, nodded understandingly. ‘If you had a quiet evening out of town, you’d be as fresh as a daisy in the morning and ready to go dancing again when he asks you.’
She stood looking up at him. He was kind and friendly in an impersonal way and it sounded tempting, to be driven into the country for an hour.
She asked abruptly, ‘Why do you ask me?’
‘You run the theatre block very efficiently, Rachel, and to do that you have to be one hundred per cent fit; my motive is purely selfish, you see.’
She found that his answer disappointed her. ‘Well, thank you, I’ll come, only I would like an early night.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll see that you’re back by ten o’clock at the latest. I shall want to take a quick look at that young man later on, anyway.’
The Rolls was ultra-comfortable; she sat back with an unconscious sigh and the professor suggested, ‘Why not close your eyes until we’re clear of London? I’ll wake you once there is something worth seeing.’
‘Don’t you like London?’ she asked. Somehow she had pictured him, when she had bothered to think about him at all, as a man about town, wining and dining and going to the theatre; having smart friends.
‘No. Close your eyes, Rachel.’
She closed them and, although she hadn’t meant to, went to sleep at once.
He had turned off the motorway at Maidenhead before he woke her up.
‘There’s rather a nice pub by the river at Mouls-ford—the Beetle and Wedge—we’ll bypass Henley and go across country. It’s charming scenery and it’s still light.’
Rachel, much refreshed by her nap, sat up. ‘Sorry I went to sleep, but I feel fine now.’
‘Good. I hope you’re hungry—I am.’
He talked easily as they drove through the country roads and after a while arrived at the Beetle and Wedge. It was an old inn surrounded by trees and with plenty of garden around it. And it was cosy and welcoming inside. They sat by the log fire in the bar and had leisurely drinks and then dined generously; here they hadn’t heard of crudités. There was water-cress soup with a lavish spoonful of cream atop, followed by steak and kidney pie which melted in the mouth, and even more generous portions of vegetables. Rachel polished off the home-made ice cream she had chosen and drank the last of the claret the Professor had ordered—a very nice wine, she had observed, and he had agreed gravely; a vintage 1981 Chêteau Léoville-Lascases should be nice. He had no doubt that she would be thunderstruck if she knew what it cost.
They had coffee round the fire in the pleasantly filled bar and, true to his word, when she suggested rather diffidently that she would like an early night, he got up at once, paid the bill and settled her in the car. This time he took the main road through Henley and then on to Maidenhead and the motorway, so that they were back at the hospital minutes before ten o’clock.
It was unfortunate, to say the least of it, that Melville should have been getting into his car as Rachel got out of the Professor’s.
The Professor shut the car door behind her and she heard him say, ‘Oh, dear, dear,’ in an infuriatingly mild voice. She felt his reassuring bulk behind her as Melville left his car and came towards them.
‘Rachel? I came to take you out for a drink.’ He smiled but his eyes were angry. ‘But I see that someone else had the same idea.’ He gave the Professor an angry look.
‘Ah, Mr-er-Grant, isn’t it? Good evening. My dear fellow, how vexing for you. We have been for a run into the country. Rachel has had a busy day and so have I. We return considerably refreshed.’ He smiled gently and made no move to go away.
Rachel touched Melville on his coat sleeve. ‘Melville, I’m so sorry to have missed you. You didn’t phone—I had no idea.’
‘You’re not the only one who’s had a busy day.’ Melville’s voice held a sneer. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way—I’ll see you some time.’
He was going, probably out of her life for ever. Rachel swallowed panic. ‘Melville, I’ve said I’m sorry. If only you had let me know… Can’t we go somewhere and have a drink now?’
‘I left a desk full of work to come and see you,’ declared Melville dramatically. ‘I’ll go back and finish it.’
‘Look, can’t we talk?’ asked Rachel desperately and glanced round at the Professor, hoping that he might take the hint and leave them alone. He returned her look with a placid one of his own and she saw that he had no intention of doing that. There he stood, saying nothing, silently watching and not being of the least help. She said again, ‘Melville…’ but that gentleman turned without another word and went back to his car, got in and drove away.
‘He’ll ruin that engine,’ observed the Professor, ‘crashing his gears like that.’
‘Who cares about his gears?’ asked Rachel wildly. ‘He’s gone and I don’t suppose he’ll ever come back.’
‘Oh, yes he will, Rachel. There is nothing like a little healthy competition to keep a man interested; something which I’m sure you know already. Not, I must hasten to add, that in fact there is competition, but, there is no harm in letting, er, Melville think so.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ snapped Rachel, and then, ‘Do you really think so? You don’t think he’s gone forever?’
Her voice shook a little at the idea.
He was reassuringly matter-of-fact. ‘Most certainly not. Men want the unobtainable, and you were unobtainable this evening—you are a challenge to his vanity.’ He sighed. ‘You don’t know much about men, do you, Rachel?’
She said indignantly, ‘I have three brothers…’
‘That isn’t quite what I meant. I dare say you boss them about most dreadfully and take them for granted like an old coat.’
She stared up at him. ‘Well, yes, perhaps. But Melville’s different.’
‘Indeed he is.’ His sleepy eyes searched her face. ‘You love him very much, do you not?’ He added, ‘pro tempore,’ which, since she wasn’t listening properly, meant nothing to her; in any case her knowledge of Latin was confined to medical terms.
‘Go to bed, Rachel.’ His voice was comfortably avuncular. ‘In the morning you’ll think straight again. Only believe me when I say that your Melville hasn’t gone for good.’
She whispered, ‘You’re awfully kind,’ then added, to her own astonishment as well as his, ‘Are you married, Professor?’
‘That is a pleasure I still have to experience within the not too distant future. Run along, there’s a good girl.’
Emotion and the Château Léoville-Lascases got the better of her good sense. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek and then ran into the hospital.
She felt terrible about it in the morning; thank heaven he had no list, she thought as she went on duty. She opened her office door and found him sitting at the desk: immaculate and placid, writing busily.
He glanced up at her. ‘Oh, good morning, Sister. Can you fit in an emergency? Multiple abdominal stab wounds—some poor blighter set upon in the small hours. Mr Sims has a list, hasn’t he?’
‘Not till ten o’clock, sir.’ Rachel had forgotten any awkwardness she had been harbouring, for the moment at least. ‘I can have theatre ready in fifteen minutes; Mr Sims could do his first case in the second theatre—Norah’s on as well as me.’
“‘I’” corrected the Professor. ‘Very well, I’ll give Mr Sims a ring.’ He gave her a casual glance. ‘I’ll be up in twenty minutes if you can manage that.’
She nodded, rather pink in the face, and left him there to go into theatre and warn her nurses.
It was just as though last night had never been. The Professor duly arrived, dead on time as usual, with George to assist him, exchanged a few friendly remarks of an impersonal nature with her, and got down to work, and when he was done and they were drinking their coffee in her office, he maintained a distant manner that vaguely disquieted her. She had felt awkward at first, but now she was worried that the calm relationship they had had been disturbed.
He went presently, thanking her as he always did, and she set about organising the rest of Mr Sims’s list, thankful that the transplant had fallen through.
She worried about it all day, feeling guilty because only every now and then did she remember Melville. But once she was off duty, Melville took over. Perhaps he would phone, she reflected, and hurried to shower and change just in case he did and wanted her to go out. But he didn’t; she spent a dull evening in the sisters’ sitting-room, watching a film she had already seen on TV and listening to Sister Chalk criticising her student nurses. I’ll be like that, thought Rachel desperately, unless I marry and get away from here. She said aloud, breaking into Sister Chalk’s soliloquy concerning a third-year nurse who had cheeked her only that morning, ‘I’m going to bed; I’ve had a busy day.’
George had a short list in the morning; Rachel left Mrs Pepys to scrub after the first case and went into the office to catch up on the paperwork. She hadn’t been there ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Melville. She had made it plain when they had first met that he must never ring her during duty hours and she felt a small spurt of annoyance because he had ignored that, but it was quickly swept away with the pleasure of hearing his voice.
‘Melville…’ She tried to sound severe, but her delight bubbled through. ‘I’m on duty—I asked you not to phone when I’m working.’
‘I’m working, too, darling Rachel, but I can’t concentrate until I’ve told you what a prize moron I was last night. Put it down to disappointment. Say you forgive me and come out this evening.’
She hoped he hadn’t noticed the short pause before she answered. ‘Yes’ was ready to trip off her tongue when she remembered the Professor’s words. Men wanted the unobtainable; OK, she would be just that for this evening at least. She was a poor liar for she always blushed when she was fibbing, but there was no one to see now so that she sounded convincing enough. ‘I can’t. I know I’m off at five o’clock but they’re doing a couple of private patients this evening.’
‘The quicker you leave that damned place the better—talk about slavery…’
She said reasonably, ‘Not really—I shall get my off duty hours made up to me when we’re slack.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘I could get a couple of hours added on to my off duty tomorrow.’
‘That’ll make it when?’ he sounded eager.
‘About three o’clock for the rest of the day.’
‘I’ll be outside at three-thirty. We’ll drive somewhere and have a quiet dinner.’
‘That would be nice. Melville, I must ring off.’ And she did. Usually she waited until he had hung up, but the Professor had given her ideas…
Since only one theatre was in use for dentals the next morning, Rachel had plenty of time to decide what she would wear. Norah was off duty but she and the second part-time staff nurse would be on again at two o’clock. In the meantime Rachel handed forceps and swabs and mouthwashes and wished that Mr Reed, the dentist, would hurry up. When finally he finished and had been given his coffee it was time for first dinner. She left two student nurses to clean the theatre and went along to the canteen.
