Winter Wedding. Betty Neels
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nurse quite two hours to settle their occupants. Men in one ward, women in the other and a small ward for children besides. Terry, who had slept soundly all day after his tracheotomy, was wide awake, sitting up against his pillows, declaring that he wouldn’t be able to sleep like that, anyway. Emily soothed him in a reassuring voice and didn’t tell him that she would have to disturb him frequently throughout the night when she changed and cleaned the tube. She made sure that the suction machine was in position with plenty of Toronto catheters and that there was a tracheotomy mask handy in case she should need one, together with dilators, a spare tube and scissors. Her junior nurse was very junior, unfortunately, and it wouldn’t be fair to expect her to undertake any of the treatment; there should have been a special, thought Emily worriedly as she trotted off to see why the tonsillectomy was bawling. He wanted a drink; she gave him one, tucked him up and promised him ice cream in the morning and sped back to the Men’s ward.
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 excuse 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