Uncertain Summer. Betty Neels

fault?’

      Heartless man, thought Serena, worrying about a mere car when his cousin was injured. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said coldly, and was taken aback when he chuckled.

      ‘All right, Nurse—or is it Sister? Let me know the worst.’

      She told him a little tartly and he said: ‘Tut-tut, the same leg as last time, but at least it’s not an arm this time.’

      She asked faintly and against her will: ‘Does—does he do this often?’

      ‘Yes. I’ll keep in touch, and thank you, Sister—er—?’

      ‘Potts.’

      ‘Incredible…goodbye.’

      She put down the receiver slowly, wondering why he had said ‘incredible’ like that. Perhaps his knowledge of English wasn’t as good as he would have her believe. A nice voice, though, although he had sounded as though he had been laughing. She dismissed him from her thoughts and turned to the work awaiting her.

      There was no skull fracture, said the radiologist, just a nasty crack on the head and a clean break of the tib and fib, but the orthopaedic registrar, pursing his lips over the discoloured swelling, decided to call in Sir William Sandhurst, his consultant, not because he didn’t feel more than capable of reducing the fracture and applying the plaster himself, but because the patient was a doctor and rated private patient treatment. For the same reason, Serena was asked to arrange for him to have one of the private rooms on the surgical floor, and thither, after the necessary treatment, the Dutch doctor was borne. Serena was busy by then, dealing with the wide variety of accidents which poured in non-stop during the day, but he had still contrived to ask her if she would go and see him later in the day and she had agreed. Moreover, when she had a moment to herself she had to admit to herself too that she was looking forward to seeing him again.

      The morning slipped into the afternoon with the shortest of pauses for dinner because a bad scald came in and she didn’t want to leave it; she went with the pathetic, mercifully unconscious child to the Children’s Ward and returned to find a policeman bringing in two youths who had been fighting, using broken bottles. Teatime came and went before they were fit to be handed over to the ward. She heaved a sigh of relief as they were wheeled away and the junior nurse, just back from tea, said:

      ‘I’ll clear up, Sister. Agnes—’ Agnes was the department maid who, between bouts of swabbing floors and washing paint, mothered them all ‘—has made you some tea, she’s taken it into the office.’

      Bill Travers had been doing the stitching; he caught Serena by the arm remarking: ‘I hope I’m included in the tea party,’ and when she declared that of course he was, walked her briskly to the office where the admirable Agnes had not only produced an enormous pot of tea but a plate of buttered toast as well.

      As Serena poured out, Bill asked, ‘Off at five? Are you going out?’

      Serena was annoyed to feel her cheeks getting warm. ‘Not just…that is, perhaps—later on.’

      Her companion eyed her narrowly. ‘What’s this I hear from Thompson about the handsome young Dutchman brought in this morning? Called you a beautiful little gipsy, didn’t he?’

      She looked suitably reproving. ‘You are a lot!’ she declared wrathfully. ‘Nothing but gossip from morning to night!’ she snorted delicately. ‘He didn’t know what he was saying.’

      ‘Come off it, Serena, don’t tell me you don’t know by now that you are a beautiful little gipsy—at least you look like one. He must have been instantly smitten.’

      Serena tossed her rather untidy head. ‘Nonsense!’ She caught her companion’s eye and giggled engagingly. ‘As a matter of fact, he was rather interesting.’

      ‘And you’re going to see him on your way off duty, I suppose? just to make sure Joan Walters isn’t pulling a fast one on you? He’s on Surgical, I take it.’

      ‘Don’t be beastly! Joan’s my best friend. I’m only going to see if there’s anything I can do—after all, he is a foreigner.’

      ‘That’s not going to stop the police asking awkward questions—it was his fault, driving an E-type Jag up a one-way street.’

      Serena refilled their cups. ‘No? Did he really? Lucky it wasn’t a lot worse for him.’

      ‘And that the bus he collided with was a bus and not some defenceless Mini.’

      Serena got up. ‘Look,’ she said reasonably, ‘you drive a Mini, and anything less defenceless I’ve yet to meet—it’s nothing but a battering ram once you’re in the driver’s seat.’ She smiled. ‘I must get back, Staff White’s on in ten minutes and I want to be cleared up before she gets here. There’s nothing worse than other people’s leftovers when you come on duty.’

      She nodded airily and hurried back to make sure that the department was clear once more. She had had a busy day, but she didn’t look in the least tired, only untidy, but she was such a pretty girl that a shining nose and a few stray curling ends did nothing to detract from her appearance. She was a slim small girl and this, combined with her outstanding good looks, made it hard for people who didn’t know what work she did to believe that she was a nurse. She rolled up her sleeves now as she went, looked at the clock, said: ‘Off you go,’ to the student nurse who was due off duty, and took the laundry bag from her as she spoke, so that the other nurse could finish filling it with the used linen. They were still hard at it when Staff Nurse White reported for duty.

      Serena went off herself ten minutes later, and quite unmindful of her untidy pile of hair and shining nose, went straight to the surgical floor. It was on the other side of the hospital, three stories up, and as she had to cross the main entrance hall to reach it, she took the opportunity of posting some letters in the box by the big glass doors. This done, she paused to look outside; the day was still fine and the busy city street was thronged with traffic and people hurrying home from work. As she watched, a dilapidated Mini drew up, was wedged expertly into the space between two other cars and its driver got out and mounted the few shallow steps before the door without haste. He paused within a foot of her, and she was conscious of his eyes resting upon her for the briefest of moments before he walked, still without haste, across to the porter’s lodge. She was left with the impression of size and height and unhurried calm, but by the time she turned round to take another discreet look, there was no sign of him.

      She was half-way up the stone staircase to the first floor when she met Miss Stokes coming down. Miss Stokes, who by virtue of the Salmon Scheme had turned from Office Sister Stokes to a Number Seven in the hierarchy of the nursing profession, smiled and stopped. She had been at Queen’s for a very long time, long before Serena had arrived there to do her training, six years earlier. She was a pleasant, good-natured body, in whom young nurses willingly confided and with whom the older, more experienced ones conferred.

      ‘Busy day, Sister Potts?’ she wanted to know, and sounded as though she were really interested.

      ‘Very, Miss Stokes, and if you can spare a second, when is it convenient to have a word with you?’

      ‘Now,’ said Miss Stokes, who was an opportunist by nature.

      ‘Nurse Harris—’ began Serena, and her superior nodded understandingly. ‘Could she be moved, do you think? She’s quite unsuited to Cas work, she—she isn’t quite quick enough.’

      ‘I know—I don’t know where to put that girl. She’s theoretically brilliant and she hasn’t even mastered the art of making a patient comfortable. I had hoped that in the Accident Room she would be able to apply her knowledge.’

      ‘She does,’ said Serena, ‘but the patients can’t always wait while she does.’

      Miss Stokes allowed herself a smile. ‘I can well imagine she’s somewhat of a responsibility. I’ll move her, Sister, don’t worry.’

      ‘Thank you, Miss