‘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