LITMIR.BIZ

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the Boyles. He said ‘Hullo, Sister’ in a vague voice, and went back to his cylinders and tubes. She liked him very much; he was unflappable and very sure of himself.

      The surgeons came in; the second one was Bill, looking excited and a little scared. She smiled at him behind her mask, and nothing of it showed except the little laughter lines round her beautiful eyes. He took the sponge holders she was holding out to him, and used them, and then waited while Max van Oosterwelde examined the small body between them. The wounds were hard to see, and for every one there would be two or three internally. When he’d finished he said,

      ‘Have they got the fiend who did this?’

      ‘Yes, sir. Her stepbrother. He says she had thrown away his drugs and he was suffering from mental stress…’

      The professor’s eyes blazed and he said something in Dutch. Sophy thought it sounded like a good earthy Dutch oath—which it was. He put out a hand without looking at Sophy, and said, ‘Ready, Sister.’ She handed him the knife and he stood, relaxed, almost casual, with it in his hand.

      ‘We’ll do a lower right paramedian, shall we, and see how far we get?’

      He was looking at Bill; accepting him as a partner. The boy looked back at him, flushing slightly. He’d been scared stiff until that moment; now, suddenly, he knew that he’d be all right.

      It took two and a half hours; it wasn’t a job to hurry over. Van Oosterwelde kept up a steady flow of quiet talk, and Sophy watched Bill relaxing under the older man’s skilful guidance, until he was playing his full part.

      They were checking swabs, and the two men stood quietly while Sophy counted and agreed the total with Nurse Vincent.

      ‘How is your end, Walker?’ asked van Oosterwelde; he was already busy with the mattress stitches.

      ‘Very nice—she must be a tough little thing—she’ll need some more blood, though. How much longer do you want?’

      ‘Five minutes.’ Bill cut the gut for him, and he threw the needle back on to Sophy’s trolley. He caught her eye as he did so, and said, ‘We didn’t get our tea, did we?’

      She handed him the Michel clip holder, but he waved it away towards Bill, and pulled off his gloves. Sophy smiled behind her mask; he had been very kind to Bill. She called Vincent over and asked her to take a tray of tea to her office. Dr Walker and van Oosterwelde were standing together, looking down at the child’s face.

      ‘I’d like to wring that fellow’s neck,’ Dr Walker sounded vehement.

      ‘I’ve got one of my own,’ he added, ‘so I feel strongly about it.’

      The Dutchman said softly, ‘I also would kill him, but,’ he added, ‘he will be sent to an institution for observation, and in five or ten years’ time, he will do the same thing again.’ He turned around, and cast a casual eye on Bill’s work. ‘Very nice,’ he commented.

      The second case took as long as the first, for it involved a splenectomy as well as a nephrectomy. Despite a hastily-snatched cup of tea, Sophy was tired. She had sent Vincent off duty, and Cooper was doing her own work and Vincent’s too. The night staff were far too thinly stretched to borrow any of their number. The Orthopaedic theatre was still going, so was Cas. They would manage; they always did. It was close on eleven as the patient was wheeled back to Intensive Care. The men followed him down; they wanted to look at the girl as well. Sophy and Cooper plunged into the chaos of used instruments and needles and knives, while a night porter swabbed up. It was almost an hour later when the two girls parted company at the end of the theatre corridor. Sophy slipped quiet as a mouse through the dim corridors, and down the stairs, calling a soft goodnight to the porter as she passed his box, and so through the big swing doors. Jonkheer van Oosterwelde was on the top step, leaning against its iron balustrade. He took her arm lightly above her elbow, and they went down the steps together and into the big car. She sat back against its leathered comfort and let out a tired breath.

      ‘Are they all right?’ she asked, as he moved away from the kerb. ‘Have you been there all this time?’ And blushed at her question.

      ‘I’m not sure about the girl—the man’s all right for the moment. Do you always have to clear up after a case at night? Don’t the night staff help?’

      She explained about the nurses having more than enough to do and added, ‘You weren’t—that is, you didn’t wait for me, did you?’

      He turned his head and looked at her. ‘Yes.’

      She waited for him to say something else, but he remained silent, as he brought the car to a quiet halt outside her home.

      ‘Thank you very much, sir. It was very kind of you.’ Honestly compelled her to add, ‘But I always walk home by myself after a late case. I’m not lonely or nervous.’

      She put a hand on the door, but his came down to hold it and prevent her.

      ‘Is there someone at home to give you a hot drink?’

      She gave a gurgle of tired laughter; saw his raised eyebrow and said, ‘I’m sorry; I wasn’t being rude—it’s just that I’ve never met a senior consultant surgeon who bothered with things like hot drinks for nurses. Everyone will be in bed, but Sinclair will have left a thermos of cocoa for me…’

      ‘Sinclair?’

      She was really very tired, but she thought she had better answer his question; he was the sort of man, she thought sleepily, who expected to be answered. ‘He was my father’s batman during the war. He came back with him afterwards and has been with us ever since. I’ve known him nearly all my life; he’s a tower of strength and a friend and he’s marvellous at housework too. He gave us the Blot, and he found Titus in a gutter; when my parents died, he made us keep on—it was a bit…difficult at first.’

      He got out and came round and opened the door and walked up the little path with her, and took the door key from her hand and opened the door. There was a light in the hall. She went past him, and then turned on the step to look at him.

      ‘Goodnight, sir.’

      ‘Goodnight, Miss Greenslade. I made a mistake today. You do not need any gilding.’

      She awoke early, after a short night of heavy sleep and ridiculous dreams about lilies. She went on duty determined to be sensible. She wasn’t a silly young girl; she was a woman with responsibilities and not much time for romantic ideas. She was breathtakingly efficient in theatre during the morning, and at coffee time went on a mythical errand which lasted until it was time to scrub again. It was really quite easy to avoid being alone with him. She went to her dinner late, and went straight back to work. The list was an uncomplicated one that afternoon; they could be done by five, if they didn’t stop for tea. There was one case left, when Jonkheer van Oosterwelde called a halt. Even then, she sent the nurse in with the tea tray, and elected to stay in theatre, although there was really nothing for her to do there. He appeared in the doorway five minutes later, smiled charmingly at the nurses and said in a silky voice it would have been hard to disobey:

      ‘Your tea is getting cold, Sister.’

      She had opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t want any tea, but the three nurses had all paused in their work and were watching with a lively interest that needed quelling. As she went ahead of him down the corridor she thought bitterly, that he was the pin-up boy for practically the whole staff already, then hated herself for the thought. He had, after all, been very kind to her, and he had treated Bill decently. All the same, he was too sure of himself, too certain of getting his own way.

      She went into the little office, and Dr Walker and Bill got up while she squeezed past them to sit in her chair. She was drawn at once into their conversation and was surprised to find how much she was enjoying it. Perhaps, after all, she need not avoid him—not when there were other people around. She became aware that Bill was speaking to her, and said,

      ‘I’m sorry, Bill—I didn’t hear you.’

      He

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