Sister Peters in Amsterdam. Betty Neels

mother how to get to the ward, then began to clear up; there wasn’t a great deal for her to do. She made up a fresh tracheotomy pack and put it in the autoclave, then stripped the linen off the couch and made it up anew. She was washing her hands at the sink when the professor returned.

      ‘The child’s fine. Zuster Zijlstra’s a wonderful nurse.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Staff Nurse?’

      Adelaide dried her hands carefully. ‘At home. She lives in Amsterdam.’

      ‘You took over her duty.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

      ‘Yes, sir. I don’t mind in the least. I wasn’t going anywhere.’ She sounded quite cheerful about it.

      ‘You should have taken your off-duty,’ he said evenly.

      She threw the paper towel in the bin, and went to turn off the autoclave.

      ‘I rang Dr Beekman.’ Her voice held a question, politely put.

      The professor was getting into his coat.

      ‘Touché, Sister Peters. I have taken Beekman’s duty over until midnight; his people have come down from Drente for St Nicolaas.’ He grinned at her, called good-night, and was gone.