Tender Nurse (8 page)

Then George sang for them and presently everyone joined in a general sing-song.

It was ten thirty when Andrea announced that she and Virginia would have to leave.

“Sorry, folks,” she said gaily. “It’s up in the morning early for us, you know.”

There were cries of “Oh, you poor things.”

Andrea laughed. “We don’t mind, so don’t waste your sympathy. Just carry on until you’re ready to leave. Godfrey knows where to leave the key.”

“I’m running you back,” Godfrey said quickly.

“Oh, but — oh, all right, darling. Virginia will go in George’s car. Will you come back and lock up then?”

“Of course.”

“It didn’t turn out quite as you expected, Godfrey, did it?” asked Andrea as they drew up at the Nurses’ Home.

“No, darling, it wasn’t quite the same as it used to be. In the old days, I’d have stayed behind to help you tidy up and we’d had a last few minutes alone together. It’s a pity you have to go so early. When shall I see you again?”

She thought for a moment. “Wednesday. I have an evening without a lecture.”

“Until Wednesday, then, sweetheart.”

He drew her to him and kissed her.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Take good care of yourself.”

She returned his kiss. “Good night, Godfrey. Bless you.”

SUNDAY in the theatre was a quiet day. There were no fixed operations; emergencies were usually taken to the Central Hospital, but in spite of this, the theatre could be ready within half an hour for any emergency, no matter how serious. Usually, however, Sunday was uneventful and the nurses spent their time making anaesthetic masks, testing and repairing rubber gloves, folding gauze dressings and tying them in bundles of ten with black tape so that, during operations, they could be easily counted. Some of the nurses found these occupations dull and tedious, but to Andrea they were symbols of the drama which was played out each day on the operating table.

As the nurses worked, they gossiped, and Andrea hid a smile when the conversation inevitably turned to Martin. What would they say if they knew that yesterday he had been one of her guests? Why had he come, she wondered. Just to fill in an odd half day? On and on went the talk. She wished they would talk about something else.

She went into the sterilizing room where Nurse Craig was sorting out catgut. Sister Fisher was off duty.

“Hello, Grey,” she said. “You’re looking fed up.”

“It’s nothing. Can I help in here?”

Jean Craig looked at her shrewdly. “The gossip in there getting you down? Tell you what, go and make some tea. We can pop round in relays to drink it.”

Thankfully, Andrea went round and put the kettle on and got out cups and saucers. If this was what Sundays in theatre were like, she’d rather have busy week-days when there was little time for gossip. A little curiosity about the private lives of the “great” was natural enough, but the way their every movement was criticized and speculated upon was too much. She almost felt sorry for Martin Graham.

“Hello, having another party?”

She swung round to see Martin himself.

“Every time I see you,” he said, “you seem to be making tea — or coffee.”

He went to the cupboard and took out a file and began to hunt through some papers.

“I’ll fetch Staff Nurse, Mr. Graham,” she said quickly.

He smiled as she went out of the door. She had become almost demure.

She was back a few minutes later with Nurse Craig.

“It’s all right, Staff Nurse, you can carry on, I’ve got what I wanted.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ll have a cup of tea with you, if you can spare it.”

“Why, of course, sir. Thank you.”

“Are you settling down in theatre, Nurse Grey?’ he asked, taking the cup of tea Jean Craig offered him.

Andrea’s eyes shone. “Oh, yes. I love it.”

He looked at her keenly. “You may be a Theatre Sister yourself one day. If you ever were, what changes, if any, would you make in today’s theatre?”

“Well, I——” she hesitated.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“Well, it’s only a small point, but I was thinking the other day how dazzling the white gowns and covers are. Wouldn’t it be better perhaps to have everything in a darker color, say dark green?”

His eyes widened. “Are you aware that in some hospitals that color is already used?”

“Why, no.”

“Well, it is. But I give you full marks for thinking it out for yourself. Now I must go,” he finished abruptly, and went out.

The two nurses looked at each other.

“You seem to be loosening him up, Grey,” Jean said. “I’ve never known him to unbend so much.” She looked at her watch. “We’d better go now and let the others come.”

It was nearly time to go off duty for the day when the telephone rang. Jean picked up the receiver. Andrea heard her give a shocked exclamation as she held the instrument to her ear. Finally she replaced it on its cradle.

“Emergency,” she said briefly. “Nurse Wainwright has taken suddenly ill with acute appendix.”

She gave some rapid orders and went into action herself.

“Blast!” muttered Janet Scott as she dropped a syringe into the sterilizer. “I was going out straight after duty. Now, goodness knows when well be off.”

“What about poor Rita?” sympathized Andrea as she filled the lotion bowls. “She must be going through agonies.”

“Well, she’d been itching to come into theatre, now she’s got her wish,” Janet said sourly. “But it’s just my luck it should happen tonight.”

“Stop grumbling, for goodness sake,” admonished Jean Craig. “How can you be so heartless? Let’s only hope the poor girl will be all right. If all goes well and there are no complications, we shan’t be all that late.”

Five minutes later, a pale, distraught Rita was wheeled into the anaesthetic room. George scrubbed up.

“Bad job this,” he muttered to Andrea. “The poor kid must be going through hell. She won’t have pentothal. Wants to have a spinal so’s she can see what’s going on. Nurses are given the option, you know.”

Martin hurried in then. “Quick as you can, George,” he said briefly. “It hasn’t perforated—yet.”

George hurried through to the anaesthetic room and Martin scrubbed up.

“Is everything ready, Nurse Craig? Suction in case it’s needed?”

“Yes, sir. Everything’s ready.”

Rita was wheeled in and lifted gently on to the table, her glamorous hair now hidden beneath a white operation cap, her face devoid of make-up.

Martin gave her one of his rare smiles. “You’ll soon be all right, Nurse. Sure you won’t have an eye bandage?”

She smiled tremulously, and moistened her dry lips.

“No, thank you, Mr. Graham. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Right.” He turned to Nurse Craig. “Scalpel, Nurse.”

Then minutes later he held up an inflamed appendix.

“There you are, Nurse Wainwright. A few more minutes and you’d have had a perforation. You’ll be all right now.”

He glanced at Andrea. “Swab count, Nurse Grey.”

“Eight swabs,” she replied quickly, having already taken a mental note. He glanced at Nurse Craig for confirmation.

“Good. Catgut. Michel clips and away we go.”

The last clip in position, he stripped off his gloves and Andrea helped him off with his gown. Rita was lifted carefully back on to the trolley to be taken to the small staff annexe attached to one of the women’s surgical wards.

“That was very well done, Nurse Craig,” Martin said.

“Thank you, sir.”

He washed his hands and clumped out of the theatre.

“Are you in a hurry to get off, Grey?” Jean asked.

“No, Nurse.”

“Good. Then go and put the kettle on and make the tea. We’ll start the clearing up.”

With lightning speed, instruments were being washed and boiled, linen bundled up and catgut put back into Lysol.

Andrea went round to the theatre kitchen and put on the kettle, Martin was stretched out in an arm chair in the small sitting room opposite, his white rubber boots still on his feet.

“Help me off with these things, will you, Nurse Grey?” he said as she came in.

She bent down and, putting her hand on the heel of each boot, gently eased them off.

“Thanks.”

Andrea got out two cups and the milk and sugar. He watched her for a minute, then said: “Only two cups? Don’t you and Nurse Craig want a drink?”

“I — I don’t know. Nurse Craig didn’t say.”

“In that case, we’ll have to invite you — isn’t that so, George?” he asked as George came in.

“What?” asked George, giving Andrea’s ear a tweak.

“The nurses must have tea with us.”

George’s eyes flickered with faint surprise, but he merely said. “Oh, sure,” and took the other armchair.

Andrea made the tea just as Jean Craig came into the kitchen. Jean took the pot into the sitting room and Andrea went back to the theatre. In spite of Mr. Graham’s “invitation” she did not feel that she was really expected to join them.

Pat Rivers was already drying the gleaming instruments and putting them away. Andrea set about emptying lotion bowls and drying gloves. Then she began wiping all the fittings over with disinfectant.

“Have you much more to do, Grey?” Pat asked.

“No, just this and the mopping out.”

“Do you mind if I go?”

“No, I won’t be long.”

She said good night, and no sooner had she gone, than Jean Craig came in.

“Grey, Mr. Graham says you’re to come and have a cup of tea.”

“But I haven’t finished yet, Nurse.”

“Never mind. We’ll finish off later. His word is law, you know. I think he’s taken quite a fancy to you, Grey,” she added as they walked back to the sitting room.

Andrea colored. “I — I don’t think so, Nurse. In fact, I got on the wrong side of him before I’d been here many hours.”

“Well, you’re on the right side of him now.”

“Ah, here they are,” said George as they entered the sitting room. “What do you mean by deserting us like that?”

“Nurse Grey is very conscientious,” said Jean. “She likes to do her fair share of the work.”

Andrea saw a faint smile cross Martin’s features, and thought suddenly of some of his earlier caustic comments.

Jean disappeared into the kitchen to put more water in the tea pot.

“That was a very nice party you gave last night,” Martin said. “I liked your flat.”

Andrea looked at him uncertainly. “Thank you.”

She wanted to say, “I hope you’ll come again,” but he was the senior surgeon and her superior. One did not, it seemed, treat them quite as human beings.

Jean came back and presently, Martin rose.

“Think I’ll go along and take a look at Nurse Wainwright,” he said. “Thanks for your assistance, both of you, and for the tea.” His gaze rested on Andrea for a brief moment.

“Good night.”

Jean followed him to the door to accompany him to the end of the corridor.

“Have you much more to do, Andrea?” George asked. “Some mopping and a little tidying. I’d better go and get on with it.”

“I’ll come and give you a hand.”

Andrea protested, but he was insistent.

“Well, of course, if you insist, I suppose I can’t stop you,” she said, laughing.

“You have a grand set of friends, Andrea,” he said as he mopped vigorously. He paused for a moment and looked at her keenly. “Is Godfrey the number one man in your life?”

“I suppose so, though we’re not exactly engaged,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged and began wielding the mop again.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The next few weeks were supremely happy ones for Andrea. Now thoroughly familiar with the routine of the theatre, she was enjoying every minute of every busy day, though often, she went to bed tired and exhausted. During these days her admiration for Martin as a surgeon grew, and her respect and liking for him as a person deepened.

At first, it amused Virginia to hear Andrea speak enthusiastically of the formerly despised Martin, but there came times when she eyed her friend dubiously. Somehow she felt that Andrea was skating on very thin ice indeed, and that one day it would crack beneath her feet.

Godfrey, too, sensed a change in her. The edginess she had previously shown disappeared and she became infinitely more dear to him.

Dear Godfrey, Andrea thought as she hung up clean masks and gowns. Sometimes she wondered if she was being really fair to him in keeping him waiting. Yet he seemed content, if not determined, to do so.

She put on her mask and gown and went into the body of the theatre where preparations were well under way for the day’s operations. Pat Rivers was laying out sterile covers on the instrument trolly; Janet Scott was setting the anaesthetic trolly and Nurse Craig, already scrubbed up, was preparing sutures. Any minute now, George and Martin would come in for a brief word with the first patient who was even now being wheeled into the other room.

George came in first. “Good morning,” he sang out cheerily. He winked at Andrea and began to scrub his hands.

“Do you like music, Andrea?” he asked suddenly.

“What kind of music?” she countered in surprise.

“The Doyle Carte opera company are coming to the Theatre Royal at Cliftonville next week. A fellow I know has a leading role. He sent me four tickets. He can manage a box for four if I let him know what night.”

“Four?”

He grinned. “Virginia is coming, so I thought you might like to.”

Andrea presumed he would be using one ticket himself and was about to ask him who the fourth person would be, but Martin and Julia Fisher came in and further talk was suspended.

“See you later,” George said, and went to give the anaesthetic.

Julia Fisher eyed Andrea suspiciously as she scrubbed her hands and went to wait for Martin at the operation table. Martin scrubbed in silence, but as Andrea was fastening the tapes of his gown he said: