Winter Wedding. Бетти Нилс

her news over breakfast and her sister said at once: ‘Oh, good, I wanted to go to London—to see about the flat, you know, and I was wondering how I could manage it before your next nights off. I’ll go tomorrow.’

      Emily agreed, pointing out that once she started on her case, she might not have much free time for a little while. ‘Oh, well, perhaps he’ll die,’ observed Louisa airily.

      ‘Not if I can help it. He’s got a splendid surgeon and there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be perfectly OK.’

      Louisa shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, darling, let’s hope he’ll get over it. It sounds grisly to me; I don’t know how you can stand it, and for a pittance, too. I’ll earn as much in a week as you do in a month once I get a modelling job.’ She smiled, well pleased at the thought. ‘I’ll wash up if you like while you see to the twins, then I’ll take them out while you have a sleep.’

      Emily sighed gratefully and then sighed again as Louisa went on: ‘There’s a film on this evening, that girl across the road asked me to go with her—you won’t mind?’

      Emily said that she didn’t; Louisa was only eighteen and being eighteen didn’t last long. She dealt with the twins’ small wants, put them down for their morning nap and went to bed herself.

      Her nights off went very quickly. She had more than enough to do when Louisa went to London, but she enjoyed her day; the twins, although hard work, were delightful. She pushed them for miles through the common behind the road where she lived and returned to give the house a good clean. And the next day was almost wholly taken up with shopping and listening to Louisa’s ecstatic description of the flat and her future flatmates. Emily, tired out, slept like a log, got up early to see to the twins, advised her sister that she had no idea when she would be home, and cycled to the hospital.

      Mr Wright was to have one of the private rooms attached to the Men’s ENT ward. After a briefing from Sister she retired into it, readied it for its occupant, checked the equipment she would be using, arranged the flowers which her patient’s friends had sent to welcome him, and went down to her dinner, where she shared a table with several of her friends.

      ‘Lucky you,’ observed one of them, ‘working for that Professor Jurres-Romeijn. I could go for someone like him—I suppose he’s married, they always are.’ The speaker cocked a questioning eyebrow at Emily, who shook her head.

      ‘I’ve no idea, but I should think so, I mean, he’s not awfully young, is he?’

      ‘Who cares?’ The ENT staff nurse, Carol Drew, joined in. ‘I’m going to have to go.’

      Emily said mildly: ‘Why not?’ And why not indeed? Carol was pretty, as pretty as Louisa, all pink and white and golden with large blue eyes to melt a stone, and surely the Professor as well. She got up to fetch the puddings and when she got back someone asked: ‘Why you, Emily?’

      She spooned steamed pudding before she answered. ‘Well, Mr Wright comes from Paul’s and I worked for him there.’

      ‘The Professor didn’t actually choose you, then? I mean, Mr Wright wanted you, I suppose?’

      ‘I suppose so.’ Emily bolted the rest of her pudding and got up. ‘I’d better get back, he was supposed to be here before one o’clock, but he hasn’t turned up yet…’

      ‘Don’t blame him,’ declared Carol. ‘I wouldn’t turn up either.’ She got up too. ‘I’ll come back with you, Emily, you never know, the Professor might be there.’ She whipped out a compact and peered into it. ‘Do I look all right?’

      ‘You always look all right. I daresay when he sees you he’ll ask us to do a swap,’ said Emily.

      But she was wrong. The Professor was waiting in his patient’s room, sitting on the side of the carefully made bed, rucking up the quilt in a careless fashion. He got up as Emily, with Carol hard on her heels, went in, and beyond a coldly polite ‘Good morning,’ showed no signs of being bowled over by Carol’s looks, let alone suggesting that she might do instead of Emily. Indeed, he waited silently and rather pointedly until Carol had gone before addressing himself to Emily.

      ‘You’re quite ready, Nurse Seymour? Mr Wright will be here within the hour. You will be good enough to let me know when he arrives. I shall probably be in theatre. I should like him to undress and get to bed as soon as possible; there are a number of tests to be done and I shall wish to examine him.’

      He strolled to the door. ‘You enjoyed your nights off?’ he asked her surprisingly.

      ‘Me? Oh—yes, thank you.’

      ‘Good. I hope Mr Spencer made it plain to you that your off duty is likely to be irregular and curtailed for the next few days. I hope to operate tomorrow—in the morning; you will probably be on duty until late in the evening.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘If I am not quite satisfied with Mr Wright’s condition, you may have to stay on call.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      He glanced at her curiously. ‘You can make arrangements for this?’

      She just stopped herself from saying ‘Yes, sir,’ yet again, and changed it to: ‘Certainly I can.’

      He nodded unsmilingly, said, ‘H’m,’ and went away, leaving her to fly to Sister’s office and telephone Louisa, who wasn’t at all pleased at the idea of being left with the twins, even for one night.

      ‘Well,’ observed Emily, ‘you’ll be all right, love, and probably I’ll be home, and it’s not until tomorrow night, you know—I’ll be back tonight. Only I thought I’d better give you plenty of warning.’

      ‘I was going to that disco with Roy’—Roy was the rather vapid youth who lived next door. ‘I suppose I’ll have to stay home, now.’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’ Emily felt a little surge of impatience. Louisa was her sister and a dear girl, even if a bit spoilt, but she was making an awful fuss about nothing, especially as Emily was the one who was earning their bread and butter. She squashed the thought, cautioned Louisa about several small chores which would need to be done, and hung up.

      Mr Wright arrived presently, the shadow of his former chubby self but remarkably cheerful. ‘Best surgeon in Europe,’ he told her in a frighteningly hoarse voice, ‘and best nurse, too—can’t help but get better, can I?’

      He had brought his wife with him, a pretty little woman with grey hair, exquisitely cut, and elegant clothes. She was as determinedly cheerful as he was and nice to Emily. ‘I’ll go away for a bit, shall I?’ she suggested. ‘If you’ll tell me when I can come back?’

      ‘Ten minutes,’ said Emily promptly. ‘Mr Wright has to undress and get into bed while I get Professor Jurres-Romeijn. I expect he’ll want to talk to you— there’s a waiting room…’

      ‘I’ll find it, Staff Nurse—no, I shall call you Emily, if I may. Ten minutes, then.’

      Mr Wright was in bed and Emily was drawing the covers over him when the Professor walked in. He greeted his patient affably, said briefly: ‘Don’t go,’ to Emily, and sat down on the bed. ‘You’ve brought Maud with you?’ he wanted to know. ‘I’ll have a look at you now; and then I’ll have a chat with her, shall I?’

      The look, a very thorough one, took half an hour and Emily was kept on her toes, handing this and that and the other, filling in forms and unscrewing specimen bottles. She was surprised when the Professor thanked her for her service, albeit laconically, and asked her to go and tell Mrs Wright that he would be along to see her in a few minutes, a request which she took to mean that he wanted her out of the way for a bit while he and his patient talked. She found Mrs Wright in the waiting room, leafing through an old copy of Woman and not attempting to read it, gave her message and then sat down and made conversation until the Professor came through the door.

      She was about to slip away when he said: ‘I shall want to