Victory for Victoria. Бетти Нилс

all the while she was writing another image, quite a different one from that of Doctor Blake, kept dancing before her eyes. It was a relief when two of her friends came to join her, full of questions as to what she thought of the new RMO and what she had done on her holiday, a topic which naturally enough led to the more interesting one of clothes. They were all deep in this vital conversation when Victoria looked at her watch and exclaimed:

      ‘Lord, look at the time—I’m on in half an hour! Come up to my room and I’ll make some tea—I brought a cake back with me.’

      The three of them repaired up the bare, clean staircase to the floor above where her room was, and being healthy and young and perpetually hungry, they demolished the cake between them.

      Doctor Blake came again that evening as Victoria was sitting in the office writing up the Kardex. She looked up with faint surprise and some impatience as he came in, because she had got a little behind with her work and she wouldn’t be ready for the night staff unless she kept at it. He must have seen the look, though, for he said reassuringly:

      ‘Don’t stop, I only came to read up some notes—it’s the ward round tomorrow, isn’t it, and I want to be quite sure of things.’

      Victoria made a small sympathetic sound. ‘Of course—behind you on the shelf, they’re in alphabetical order,’ and bent her bright head over her writing. She had turned over perhaps three cards when she became aware that he was staring at her. She finished writing ‘Paracetamol’ because it was a word she had to concentrate upon to get the spelling right and looked up.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, ‘Do you want something, or is my cap crooked?’

      He smiled, his eyes like colourless glass. ‘I can’t help staring,’ he said, ‘you’re so utterly lovely.’

      She had been called lovely before by various young men; usually she accepted the compliment gracefully and without conceit, for it would have been foolish to pretend she wasn’t pretty when she so obviously was. She had learnt at an early age to take her good looks as a matter of course—nice to have, but not vital to her happiness. But now for some reason she felt embarrassed and annoyed as well. He was almost a stranger and she hadn’t liked the way he had said it; as though he had expected her to be pleased and flattered at his admiration. She said with a composure which quite hid her distaste:

      ‘Thank you. Perhaps you would like to take the notes away with you? I have quite a lot of work to do still, and I daresay you have too.’

      The annoyance on his face was so fleeting that she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. It was replaced at once by a smile. ‘I’ve annoyed you, I’m sorry.’ He got up and put the notes away. ‘I’ll come back later if I may.’ His smile became apologetic. ‘Don’t hold it against me, will you?’

      Victoria smiled too. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her judgement of him. ‘No, of course not. Goodnight.’

      Sir Keith Plummer’s bi-weekly ward rounds were always a sore trial to Victoria, and she knew, the moment she set foot on the ward the next morning, that that day’s was to prove no exception to the rule. Not only had one of the diabetics thrown away a valuable specimen and been unable to produce another in the short time left to him before the great man appeared, but Mr Bates, that most docile of patients, had decided to feel sick, so that instead of lying neatly in his bed he was sitting up apprehensively over a basin, and to add to all these trials two sets of notes had disappeared into thin air. Victoria had sent two of the nurses to look for them and dared them to return without these vital papers. ‘Try Physio,’ she whispered urgently so that Sister Crow shouldn’t hear, ‘and OPD; the Appointments Office, X-ray, anywhere—and for mercy’s sake, be quick!’

      They sidled in, a few yards ahead of Sir Keith and his retinue, and behind Sister Crow’s back, shook their heads and rolled their eyes heavenwards, then melted away into the sluice as the ward doors opened and Sir Keith walked in. Victoria, from her station by bed number one, watched a routine which she knew by heart. Sir Keith stopped short just inside the doors and Sister Crow, who had been lurking in wait for him, advanced to his side so that they could exchange civil greetings before forming the procession which would presently wend its way up one side of the ward and down the other. It was a pity, thought Victoria, that the Old Crow had been trained so long ago that she regarded all consultants as gods and had made no move to change her views and treat them like anyone else. Victoria watched her standing with her head reverently bowed, listening to Sir Keith’s pleasant voice rambling on, but the head came up with a jerk as the wretched student nurse Black, whose shoes squeaked, came out of the sluice, to retreat immediately under Sister Crow’s threatening gaze. The same gaze hovered over Mr Payne, who had bronchitis, and Mr Church, who had asthma, daring either of them to allow a cough to disturb the utter quiet of the ward, and both gentlemen, anxious to please, lay rigid, their slowly empurpling faces bearing testimony to this fact. When at last human nature could stand no more, they coughed in such good earnest that Victoria was forced to leave her position with the exalted group around the consultant and fly to their aid. She had only just succeeded in quieting them both when there was a fresh disturbance, this time at the ward doors, and obedient to the indignant jerk of Sister Crow’s head, Victoria sped silently down the ward. Some poor soul who had mistaken the visiting hours, she supposed, and saw at once how wrong she was. He looked different, of course, for he had exchanged his guernsey for a suit of clerical grey; her eyes took in its well-cut elegance and the exquisiteness of his tie as he advanced, with no sign of unease, to meet her.

      She would have liked to have said hullo, but bearing in mind the Old Crow’s dislike of any sound at all during the round she merely raised a cautionary finger to her lips and then pointed to the doors—a gesture to which he appeared to take exception, for he said without any effort at all to lower his voice: ‘My dear girl, don’t you try and send me away. I’ve had the devil’s own job getting here in the first place.’

      Victoria just stopped herself from wringing her hands. ‘It’s the round,’ she hissed. ‘Please wait outside, there’s a chair on the landing.’

      ‘Do I look as though I need to sit down?’ he enquired with interest.

      She conquered a strong desire to giggle, shook her head and said coldly: ‘I must ask you to wait.’

      He beamed at her. ‘But I will, dear girl, I’ll wait as long as you like.’ He went on; ‘You know, I liked you better with your hair down your back, even if you did look a bit of a fright.’ She was still struggling to think of a dignified but quelling reply to this piece of impertinence when Sir Keith’s voice, smooth and resonant, floated down the ward.

      ‘There you are, dear fellow. Come and join us—I was beginning to think that you had found it impossible to come after all.’

      He bent to say something to Sister Crow and the ‘dear fellow’, with a friendly pat on Victoria’s outraged shoulder, advanced to the group of people by number six bed, and she, because it was expected of her, followed him, to take up her position just behind Sister, so that when that lady wanted notes or a tape measure or a tendon hammer to hand to Sir Keith, Victoria was there to supply them. Sir Keith put out a hand and said: ‘Alexander, this is delightful, it seems a long time—Sister Crow, let me introduce Doctor van Schuylen, on a visit to this country. He’s by way of being a specialist in chests.’ He looked round the circle of faces. ‘My RMO,’ he went on, ‘Doctor Blake, and my houseman, Doctor Dawes.’ His gaze passed over the physiotherapist, his secretary and Victoria and rested on his patient, the hapless Mr Bates, his basin removed pro tem and looking very uneasy without it.

      Victoria, handing X-rays, Path Lab forms and a pin to tickle the soles of Mr Bates’ feet to see if he reacted in the proper manner, kept a wary eye on him; Sir Keith had most luckily finished with him and was about to move on to the next bed when Mr Bates went a little paler than he already was, so that she dropped her burden of forms and notes and made a beeline for the basin, but Doctor van Schuylen was ahead of her; he had it nicely in position under Mr Bates’ pallid chin even as she reached him; he did it with a calm and matter-of-fact air which took no account of Sister Crow’s horrified indrawn breath, waiting impassively