Off with the Old Love. Бетти Нилс

Rachel?’

      She said indignantly, ‘I have three brothers…’

      ‘That isn’t quite what I meant. I dare say you boss them about most dreadfully and take them for granted like an old coat.’

      She stared up at him. ‘Well, yes, perhaps. But Melville’s different.’

      ‘Indeed he is.’ His sleepy eyes searched her face. ‘You love him very much, do you not?’ He added, ‘pro tempore,’ which, since she wasn’t listening properly, meant nothing to her; in any case her knowledge of Latin was confined to medical terms.

      ‘Go to bed, Rachel.’ His voice was comfortably avuncular. ‘In the morning you’ll think straight again. Only believe me when I say that your Melville hasn’t gone for good.’

      She whispered, ‘You’re awfully kind,’ then added, to her own astonishment as well as his, ‘Are you married, Professor?’

      ‘That is a pleasure I still have to experience within the not too distant future. Run along, there’s a good girl.’

      Emotion and the Château Léoville-Lascases got the better of her good sense. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek and then ran into the hospital.

      She felt terrible about it in the morning; thank heaven he had no list, she thought as she went on duty. She opened her office door and found him sitting at the desk: immaculate and placid, writing busily.

      He glanced up at her. ‘Oh, good morning, Sister. Can you fit in an emergency? Multiple abdominal stab wounds—some poor blighter set upon in the small hours. Mr Sims has a list, hasn’t he?’

      ‘Not till ten o’clock, sir.’ Rachel had forgotten any awkwardness she had been harbouring, for the moment at least. ‘I can have theatre ready in fifteen minutes; Mr Sims could do his first case in the second theatre—Norah’s on as well as me.’

      “‘I’” corrected the Professor. ‘Very well, I’ll give Mr Sims a ring.’ He gave her a casual glance. ‘I’ll be up in twenty minutes if you can manage that.’

      She nodded, rather pink in the face, and left him there to go into theatre and warn her nurses.

      It was just as though last night had never been. The Professor duly arrived, dead on time as usual, with George to assist him, exchanged a few friendly remarks of an impersonal nature with her, and got down to work, and when he was done and they were drinking their coffee in her office, he maintained a distant manner that vaguely disquieted her. She had felt awkward at first, but now she was worried that the calm relationship they had had been disturbed.

      He went presently, thanking her as he always did, and she set about organising the rest of Mr Sims’s list, thankful that the transplant had fallen through.

      She worried about it all day, feeling guilty because only every now and then did she remember Melville. But once she was off duty, Melville took over. Perhaps he would phone, she reflected, and hurried to shower and change just in case he did and wanted her to go out. But he didn’t; she spent a dull evening in the sisters’ sitting-room, watching a film she had already seen on TV and listening to Sister Chalk criticising her student nurses. I’ll be like that, thought Rachel desperately, unless I marry and get away from here. She said aloud, breaking into Sister Chalk’s soliloquy concerning a third-year nurse who had cheeked her only that morning, ‘I’m going to bed; I’ve had a busy day.’

      George had a short list in the morning; Rachel left Mrs Pepys to scrub after the first case and went into the office to catch up on the paperwork. She hadn’t been there ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Melville. She had made it plain when they had first met that he must never ring her during duty hours and she felt a small spurt of annoyance because he had ignored that, but it was quickly swept away with the pleasure of hearing his voice.

      ‘Melville…’ She tried to sound severe, but her delight bubbled through. ‘I’m on duty—I asked you not to phone when I’m working.’

      ‘I’m working, too, darling Rachel, but I can’t concentrate until I’ve told you what a prize moron I was last night. Put it down to disappointment. Say you forgive me and come out this evening.’

      She hoped he hadn’t noticed the short pause before she answered. ‘Yes’ was ready to trip off her tongue when she remembered the Professor’s words. Men wanted the unobtainable; OK, she would be just that for this evening at least. She was a poor liar for she always blushed when she was fibbing, but there was no one to see now so that she sounded convincing enough. ‘I can’t. I know I’m off at five o’clock but they’re doing a couple of private patients this evening.’

      ‘The quicker you leave that damned place the better—talk about slavery…’

      She said reasonably, ‘Not really—I shall get my off duty hours made up to me when we’re slack.’

      ‘And when will that be?’

      ‘I could get a couple of hours added on to my off duty tomorrow.’

      ‘That’ll make it when?’ he sounded eager.

      ‘About three o’clock for the rest of the day.’

      ‘I’ll be outside at three-thirty. We’ll drive somewhere and have a quiet dinner.’

      ‘That would be nice. Melville, I must ring off.’ And she did. Usually she waited until he had hung up, but the Professor had given her ideas…

      Since only one theatre was in use for dentals the next morning, Rachel had plenty of time to decide what she would wear. Norah was off duty but she and the second part-time staff nurse would be on again at two o’clock. In the meantime Rachel handed forceps and swabs and mouthwashes and wished that Mr Reed, the dentist, would hurry up. When finally he finished and had been given his coffee it was time for first dinner. She left two student nurses to clean the theatre and went along to the canteen.

      It was fish pie, turnips and instant mash; although she was hungry she only half filled her plate. Melville was fussy about his food and always took her somewhere where the cooking was superb.

      There were half a dozen of her friends already sharing a table and she joined them, pecking at the wholesome food with such reluctance that Lucy asked her if she was sickening for something.

      ‘Just not hungry,’ said Rachel, who was. She filled her empty insides with tea and went back to the theatre. Norah had just come on duty and there was little to do. They planned a wholesale cleaning operation, leaving one theatre free for any emergency which might come in, decided that Mrs Crow, the part-time staff nurse on duty for the afternoon, could scrub for the three cases of tonsillectomy, and conned the next day’s list.

      By then it was three o’clock; half an hour in which to make the best of herself. Rachel raced through a shower, brushed her hair until it shone, plaited it neatly into a bun again, and went to study the contents of her wardrobe.

      It would have to be the suit again, but this time she would wear the pale pink blouse with it. She thrust her feet into high-heeled shoes, found gloves and handbag and, with an anxious eye on the clock, went down to the forecourt. She was a little late and she hadn’t yet learned to keep a man waiting; indeed, the reverse, growing up as she had with three brothers.

      Melville was waiting and his greeting was everything a girl could wish for; she got into the car beside him feeling on top of the world, and she stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon and evening. He had never been so amusing nor so anxious that she should be enjoying herself. They had tea in Richmond and then drove on through Hampshire and into Wiltshire to stop in Marlborough and dine at the Castle and Ball, a pleasant and comfortable hotel, but not, thought Rachel fleetingly, Melville’s usual kind of place in which to eat. As though he had heard her unspoken thought, he said lightly, ‘I had thought of going to Marlow—the Compleat Angler—but this place is quiet and the food is good.’ His glance strayed over her person making her aware of the suit he had seen several times already.

      ‘I’m not dressed