A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas Proposal\Winter Wedding (10 page)

Most of the men had settled for the night, so she did a quick round and then went to the nurses' station between the wards—but not for long. She had pulled the first of the pile of charts to be filled in towards her when old Mrs Crewe, suffering from a small tumour in one ear, demanded attention. She was a nice old lady who had lived alone for years and was of an independent turn of mind; she made it clear now that she had had enough of bed, enough, moreover, of hospital, and wanted to go home.

Emily took time to talk her out of it. She still had a lot to do and she would have to see to Terry again very shortly, but she gave no sign of impatience and presently, with the old lady sufficiently satisfied to agree to stay until the morning at least, she got up off the bed where she had perched herself. ‘A nice cup of tea?' she suggested. ‘Just the thing to send you off to sleep.'

Mrs Crewe didn't answer her at once because she was peering towards the end of her bed, so Emily turned round to look too. Night Sister was standing there and with her, Professor Jurres-Romeijn.

Sister Gatesby nodded and smiled. ‘Nurse shall make the tea,' was all she said. ‘Staff Nurse, the Professor wants to talk to you—come into the office.'

The strip lighting in Sister's office was glaringly bright and not in the least kind to one's looks. Emily put up an absent hand to her cap and hoped that her
nose wasn't shining too much. Not that it would matter; was she not small and plump and prim? She felt a surge of indignation at the sight of the Professor standing there; the bright light didn't detract from his good looks in the very least. His thick brows were drawn together in a frown and his arrogant nose and stern mouth didn't make any difference either.

He looked back at her. His eyes were very blue and rather cold and because it annoyed her that he should look so stunning without making any effort at all, she said tartly: ‘I'm very busy; there's Terry to see to in five minutes.'

Sister Gatesby looked shocked. She was a tolerant woman and prided herself on being with it, but one thing she had never quite managed to swallow—the attitude of the nurses towards the doctors. The Professor's expression didn't alter. ‘This will take three minutes, provided that you listen and don't interrupt.'

Emily drew a calming breath, stuffed back the retort which she longed to utter and went on staring at him.

‘You worked for Mr Wright at your teaching hospital, I believe, Staff Nurse?' He hardly gave her time to nod her head. ‘He has CA of pharynx, unfortunately no symptoms presented until I examined him last week and found an enlarged gland. He will be coming here as a patient and I shall be operating upon him. I shall be obliged if you will undertake to nurse him.'

Emily had liked Mr Wright. She had worked in ENT theatre with him and specialled several of his
cases; it was tragic that he should be struck down by condition which he had so often diagnosed and treated himself. It would have given her the greatest satisfaction to have refused to work for the Professor, but her personal feelings didn't really matter.

‘Well?' asked the Professor in a voice which brooked no delay.

‘Certainly I'll nurse Mr Wright. Am I to work under you, Professor?'

‘Yes. Mr Spencer will give you the details in the morning.' He sounded annoyed; perhaps she should have said no… His goodnight was brief and unsmiling as he turned on his heel and stalked away. Even from the back he looked super, mused Emily, watching him go. And elegant too—a trendy dresser, even if he wasn't all that young.

Sister Gatesby's voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Well, that's settled, Staff Nurse. I'm not quite sure when you're to take up your new duties, but you'll get your nights off first. Such a nice man, the Professor, always so polite…'

The dear old thing must be joking, thought Emily—or perhaps he was, to those he liked or tolerated. Anyone else, and that meant her, she supposed, was treated as though they just didn't matter. She stifled a giggle, remembering that he had said that she merged into the background whichever way he looked at her.

‘Why are you smiling?' asked Sister Gatesby quite sharply.

‘Oh, nothing—nothing at all, Sister. Would you ex
cuse me if I went along to see to Terry? He's doing fine, but he needs an eye kept on him.'

Sister Gatesby tutted worriedly. ‘There should have been a special for him, but there just aren't the nurses. I'll send someone up to relieve you for your meal break, Nurse Weekes is far too inexperienced.' She frowned, already busy with who she could send. ‘Give me a bleep if you're not happy,' she counselled Emily as she went.

The night went rapidly; too fast for Emily, struggling to get finished by the time the day staff came on duty. She had sent Nurse Weekes off duty and was wrapping herself in her cloak when Mr Spencer came through the swing doors exclaiming: ‘Ah, just the girl I want. Can you spare a few minutes?' He looked at her tired face, and added kindly: ‘You've had the hell of a night, I suspect. Here, we'll borrow Sister's office until she's ready to come into it. Just a minute.'

He went off down the ward to where the Day Sister was in the middle of her morning round, and when he came back he swept Emily into the little room, sat her down in the chair beside the desk and went away again.

‘Coffee,' he told her, seconds later. ‘Sister says we may have some while we talk.'

Emily beamed at him. ‘I hope it's not too complicated—I mean I'm half asleep…'

‘All very easy. Professor Jurres-Romeijn came to see me last night and we got it all sorted out. Mr Wright's being admitted in two days' time, you're to have two nights off—that's tonight and tomorrow
night, and report for duty at nine o'clock, perhaps earlier, on the following morning. You're to do day duty and probably you'll have to do a few extra hours, Emily. You're to go to theatre with your patient and assist the anaesthetist, got to ITU with him and stay there until he's fit to take to the ward and you'll hand over at the Professor's wish, and if he wants you back on duty you'll just have to do that, any time. He wants that clearly understood.'

The ward maid brought in their coffee and Emily poured it out. She said in a level voice: ‘I'm surprised that Professor Jurres-Romeijn gets anyone to work for him, but I'll do exactly as he wishes because I like Mr Wright and I'd want him to recover—that's my only reason for agreeing to work for the Professor.'

Mr Spencer spooned far too much sugar into his mug. ‘Yes, well…he's good at his job, you know, Emily.'

‘I'm sure he is. But why's Mr Wright coming here?'

‘Because he doesn't want everyone to know about it. It's bound to leak out, of course, but not at once, and Professor Jurres-Romeijn is going up to Edinburgh in a few weeks and Mr Wright wouldn't stand the journey. Besides that, you know as well as I do that speed is of the essence for him.'

Emily re-filled their mugs. ‘Yes. Has he a good chance, do you think?'

Mr Spencer thought for a moment. ‘Jurres-Romeijn is about the best there is; he's done a number of pharyngectomies and had a high percentage of successes.
Of course it's a severe operation, you know that, and it means Mr Wright will have to learn oesophageal speech or have an electric larynx fitted, but from what I hear of him he sounds very able to cope with the difficulties.' He smiled at Emily, visibly wilting but listening carefully. ‘Besides, he'll have you to nurse him; you've got yourself a marvellous reputation since you've been with us, Emily, and it was just as good at Paul's, wasn't it?'

She smiled a little and just for a moment was tempted to tell him that she had overheard his conversation with the Professor, but that wouldn't do any good to anybody and she would regret it afterwards. She finished her coffee and said: ‘I'd better go to the office, I suppose.'

And that was a speedy business; she was in and out again within five minutes. Apparently the Professor had made his wishes known and had paved the way for her. Not because he was taken with her, Emily reminded herself wryly as she wobbled home in the slush which was all that was left of the snow. It was warmer too, but then it was still only the middle of November, time enough for snow during the next month or two.

She told Louisa her news over breakfast and her sister said at once: ‘Oh, good, I wanted to go to London—to see about the flat, you know, and I was wondering how I could manage it before your next nights off. I'll go tomorrow.'

Emily agreed, pointing out that once she started on her case, she might not have much free time for a
little while. ‘Oh, well, perhaps he'll die,' observed Louisa airily.

‘Not if I can help it. He's got a splendid surgeon and there's no reason why he shouldn't be perfectly OK.'

Louisa shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, darling, let's hope he'll get over it. It sounds grisly to me; I don't know how you can stand it, and for a pittance, too. I'll earn as much in a week as you do in a month once I get a modelling job.' She smiled, well pleased at the thought. ‘I'll wash up if you like while you see to the twins, then I'll take them out while you have a sleep.'

Emily sighed gratefully and then sighed again as Louisa went on: ‘There's a film on this evening, that girl across the road asked me to go with her—you won't mind?'

Emily said that she didn't; Louisa was only eighteen and being eighteen didn't last long. She dealt with the twins' small wants, put them down for their morning nap and went to bed herself.

Her nights off went very quickly. She had more than enough to do when Louisa went to London, but she enjoyed her day; the twins, although hard work, were delightful. She pushed them for miles through the common behind the road where she lived and returned to give the house a good clean. And the next day was almost wholly taken up with shopping and listening to Louisa's ecstatic description of the flat and her future flatmates. Emily, tired out, slept like a log, got up early to see to the twins, advised her sister
that she had no idea when she would be home, and cycled to the hospital.

Mr Wright was to have one of the private rooms attached to the Men's ENT ward. After a briefing from Sister she retired into it, readied it for its occupant, checked the equipment she would be using, arranged the flowers which her patient's friends had sent to welcome him, and went down to her dinner, where she shared a table with several of her friends.

‘Lucky you,' observed one of them, ‘working for that Professor Jurres-Romeijn. I could go for someone like him—I suppose he's married, they always are.' The speaker cocked a questioning eyebrow at Emily, who shook her head.

‘I've no idea, but I should think so, I mean, he's not awfully young, is he?'

‘Who cares?' The ENT staff nurse, Carol Drew, joined in. ‘I'm going to have to go.'

Emily said mildly: ‘Why not?' And why not indeed? Carol was pretty, as pretty as Louisa, all pink and white and golden with large blue eyes to melt a stone, and surely the Professor as well. She got up to fetch the puddings and when she got back someone asked: ‘Why you, Emily?'

She spooned steamed pudding before she answered. ‘Well, Mr Wright comes from Paul's and I worked for him there.'

‘The Professor didn't actually choose you, then? I mean, Mr Wright wanted you, I suppose?'

‘I suppose so.' Emily bolted the rest of her pudding and got up. ‘I'd better get back, he was supposed to
be here before one o'clock, but he hasn't turned up yet…'

‘Don't blame him,' declared Carol. ‘I wouldn't turn up either.' She got up too. ‘I'll come back with you, Emily, you never know, the Professor might be there.' She whipped out a compact and peered into it. ‘Do I look all right?'

‘You always look all right. I daresay when he sees you he'll ask us to do a swap,' said Emily.

But she was wrong. The Professor was waiting in his patient's room, sitting on the side of the carefully made bed, rucking up the quilt in a careless fashion. He got up as Emily, with Carol hard on her heels, went in, and beyond a coldly polite ‘Good morning,' showed no signs of being bowled over by Carol's looks, let alone suggesting that she might do instead of Emily. Indeed, he waited silently and rather pointedly until Carol had gone before addressing himself to Emily.

‘You're quite ready, Nurse Seymour? Mr Wright will be here within the hour. You will be good enough to let me know when he arrives. I shall probably be in theatre. I should like him to undress and get to bed as soon as possible; there are a number of tests to be done and I shall wish to examine him.'

He strolled to the door. ‘You enjoyed your nights off?' he asked her surprisingly.

‘Me? Oh—yes, thank you.'

‘Good. I hope Mr Spencer made it plain to you that your off duty is likely to be irregular and curtailed for the next few days. I hope to operate tomorrow—
in the morning; you will probably be on duty until late in the evening.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘If I am not quite satisfied with Mr Wright's condition, you may have to stay on call.'

‘Yes, sir.'

He glanced at her curiously. ‘You can make arrangements for this?'

She just stopped herself from saying ‘Yes, sir,' yet again, and changed it to: ‘Certainly I can.'

He nodded unsmilingly, said, ‘H'm,' and went away, leaving her to fly to Sister's office and telephone Louisa, who wasn't at all pleased at the idea of being left with the twins, even for one night.

‘Well,' observed Emily, ‘you'll be all right, love, and probably I'll be home, and it's not until tomorrow night, you know—I'll be back tonight. Only I thought I'd better give you plenty of warning.'

‘I was going to that disco with Roy'—Roy was the rather vapid youth who lived next door. ‘I suppose I'll have to stay home, now.'