Never the Time and the Place. Betty Neels
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a feeling of ordinariness so that the three ladies, waiting, outwardly calm and inwardly wishing with all their hearts that they might jump out of their beds and go home, were instantly put at rest. His ‘good morning, Sister,’ was uttered in the casual tones of one greeting the milkman on his round and when he sat down on the end of Mrs Prior’s bed, she gave him a look which Josephine could only describe to herself as adoring.
He talked to each one of them in turn, in a calm, pleasant voice which she could only admire. The thought crossed her mind that if she had to have an operation at any time, then Mr van Tacx would do very nicely for the surgeon. The three ladies obviously felt the same way, for they smiled and nodded and Mrs Prior hardly noticed when she slid the premed into her arm.
Josephine took them to the theatre, leaving Joan in charge, something she had started when she had taken over the ward, for she had discovered soon enough that the patients, semi-conscious as they were, were wheeled away with quieter minds if they knew that she was with them. Once in the anaesthetic room and the patient out cold within seconds of the anaesthetist’s skilful insertion of the needle, she handed over to a Senior Student Nurse.
She felt regret at having to do this, she would dearly have loved to have watched Mr van Tacx operating. She went back to the ward and set about the daily routine until they phoned from the Recovery Room to say that Mrs Prior was ready to be fetched and would she send up the next case please.
She whisked the next lady up to the anaesthetic room; a placid person, already half asleep and uncaring, and then went to supervise the return of Mrs Prior.
Mrs Prior seemed to have shrunk, her small pale face smaller and paler than ever. Josephine received her instructions from Fiona, the Recovery Room Sister, nodded briskly and saw her safely back to the ward and into her bed, detailing a Student Nurse to take fifteen minute observations and report if she was worried. ‘And you nip off to dinner,’ she told Joan, ‘and take Nurse Thursby and Nurse Williams with you, there’s still Mrs Gregory to go up but she’s a straightforward Colpol—and Mrs Clark shouldn’t take more than an hour. With luck we’ll be clear by five o’clock…’
‘Your dinner, Sister?’
‘Oh, I’ll have a sandwich and a pot of tea later on.’
The day wore on, Mrs Clark came back, smiled vaguely at Josephine as she gave her an injection and she went peacefully to sleep, leaving her free to do a round of her patients and check Mrs Prior once more. There was a little colour in her cheeks now and Josephine checked the blood transfusion and cast an eye over the nurse’s observation board. Joan was back by now with the two nurses, and Josephine sent the Senior Student Nurse to her dinner; she would have to wait for her own pot of tea; Mrs Gregory had been gone for some time and she must be on the ward when she came back.
They rang shortly afterwards and she went along to collect her patient; ‘straightforward,’ whispered Fiona, ‘and what a duck Mr van Tacx was to work for. Lucky you,’ she added and winked over her mask.
‘That’s as maybe,’ hissed Josephine peevishly, ‘I want a meal—I missed coffee and it’s gone two o’clock.’
‘We stopped for coffee after Mrs Prior,’ said Fiona smugly, ‘and I managed a sandwich before Mrs Gregory.’
Josephine was getting that lady settled in her bed and giving instructions to Nurse Thursby at the same time. A good little nurse, reliable but uncertain of herself. She listened now, repeating Josephine’s instructions rather apprehensively.
‘And don’t be scared,’ begged Josephine, ‘the bell’s there, I or Staff will come at once and in any case I’ll be popping in and out to see how things are.’
She became aware that Nurse Thursby’s eye had strayed to a spot behind her and looked over her shoulder. Mr van Tacx was there, immaculate again just as though he hadn’t spent the morning in theatre gear and rubber boots. Indeed, he had all the appearance of a prosperous stockbroker or something executive in the city, accustomed to a pen in his hand and not the scalpel. He nodded to Josephine, smiled at Nurse Thursby and bent over his patient, who opened her eyes blearily and closed them again.
‘She’s had her morphia?’
‘Not yet, sir,’ Josephine’s voice was quiet but it had a faint edge. ‘Mrs Gregory has just returned to the ward and been put to bed.’
He nodded again. ‘The other two?’
Josephine went with him to Mrs Clark, still peacefully sleeping and then to Mrs Prior. He stood for a minute looking at her, read her chart, took her pulse and held the curtain aside for Josephine to go past him.
‘Your office, Sister?’
She led the way, pausing to tell Joan to give Mrs Gregory her injection. Despite her busy day she looked serene and very beautiful, even if a little untidy about the head.
In the office she sat down behind her desk and Mr van Tacx sat down cautiously in the canvas chair which sagged and creaked under his weight.
‘Could we have a pot of tea?’ he enquired. ‘It’s rather late for lunch and I have a teaching round in half an hour.’
She beamed at him. ‘I’m so glad you’ve asked. I missed coffee and dinner, too. Just a sec.’
She left him sitting and crossed the landing to the kitchen where Mrs Cross, the ward orderly, was getting the tea trolley ready for the patients’ teas. She looked up as Josephine went in and left the trolley to turn the gas up under the kettle. ‘Not ’ad yer dinner,’ she said accusingly, ‘I can ’ear yer stomach rumbling from ’ere. Tea and a sandwich or two—you go back ter the office and I’ll bring it.’
‘You’re a dear, Mrs Cross, and could you put on another cup and saucer? Mr van Tacx missed his lunch and he’s famished as well as thirsty.’
‘Is ’e now? A fine body of a man like ’im needs ’is food. If yer was to ring them so-and-so’s in the kitchen, they could send up a bit of ’am.’
Mr van Tacx was lying back at his ease with his eyes shut. Josephine lifted the receiver but he didn’t open them.
‘Mr van Tacx has missed his lunch. Will you send up some ham for sandwiches please, right away…’
‘Cheese?’ He asked softly with his eyes still shut.
‘And cheese,’ she added firmly, ‘and please be quick. He has a teaching round very shortly.’
‘I can see that we are going to get on very well together.’ His eyes were still closed.
‘I hope so, sir.’
He opened one eye. ‘A whole month—do you suppose we shall be able to keep this affability up?’
She gave him a wary look. ‘I cannot see why not, sir.’
‘I hope that if and when we meet out of working hours, you will refrain from addressing me as sir.’
‘If you wish that—but we are very unlikely to meet.’
‘There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.’ He opened the other eye. ‘Your William Shakespeare, or to put it more simply, “Nothing is so certain as the unexpected”.’
And while she was still staring at him.
‘Mrs Prior…’ He was businesslike now. ‘I’m afraid we may be too late there but we’ll do what we can. She is married? Husband? Children?’
‘A husband. There’s a son in Australia.’
‘Would she be cared for if we sent her home?’
‘I doubt it. Mr Prior was concerned about himself when he talked to me. He may have been worried, of course.’
‘I’ll see him. If necessary we’ll send her to a convalescent home and she can come back for radiotherapy in a week or two.’
Mrs Cross came in then, bearing a loaded