“I’m nothing of the sort!” Andrea retorted defensively. “Godfrey and Martin are two entirely different people.”
“And so?”
“Well, my friendship with one is nothing to do with how I feel about the other. Godfrey and I have known each other for so long. We understand one another perfectly. As for Martin, we had become friends — and I valued the friendship. Now——” Her words ended almost in a sob and tears were not far away.
Quickly Virginia crossed over and knelt by her chair.
“Andrea, dear, please don’t take Martin too much to heart. Don’t expect anything of him and don’t build any castles in the air. You’ll break your heart if you do. Real friendship with a man like Martin is very difficult. In fact ‘friendship’ at all between any man and woman is a very doubtful state. I’m sure Godfrey doesn’t look on you merely as a ‘friend.’ He’s a nice boy, Andrea, and he loves you. Accept his love and be happy in it.”
Andrea smiled a little. “You speak such sound common sense, Virginia. I wish I were more like you. You seem to take life so calmly, whereas I always seem to be getting worried and het up about something.”
“Perhaps you’ve got a more vivid and active imagination than I — a kind of three dimensional thinking, seeing so vividly past, present and future, while I concern myself more with the present — one thing at a time. That is, in my own affairs.”
“You’re quite a philosopher, Gini.”
Virginia laughed and got to her feet. “Oh, sure.”
Andrea leaned back in her chair. “Virginia, play something — that is, unless you’d rather rest.”
“Good heavens, no. I’d love to play.”
She went over to the piano and ran her fingers lovingly over the ivory keys. For a while she improvised, then gradually drifted into quiet melodies thinking as she played. She was more worried than she had shown. Was Andrea falling in love with Martin — if so, what about Godfrey? Virginia hated the idea of him being hurt. Andrea was fond of him, but she treated him more as a favorite brother. It was easy to be flattered by the attentions of a man like Martin — easy to fall in love with him, and so very easy to be hurt by him. Perhaps when Andrea was moved out of theatre at the next change over, and she came less into contact with him, she would turn more to Godfrey, and stop thinking so much about Martin. He would never be serious about any nurse, she felt sure.
Andrea lay back in her chair, her eyes closed. Virginia was such a comfort, but why did she persist in turning the subject to Godfrey every time Martin was mentioned? They were not rivals. It was absurd to treat them as if they were. Her friendship with Martin did not affect Godfrey in the least. It was just that she liked and admired Martin.
She gathered up the cups and plates. If only she could escape from the torment of her thoughts.
In the following week, she tried hard to shut out all thoughts of Martin. Off duty she tried to concentrate on her studies, too tired when she got into bed at night to do anything but sleep immediately. On duty, she redoubled her efforts to please Sister, and though Julia still kept up a barrage of fault-finding, much of the sting had gone out of her tongue. Andrea tried also to remain unaffected by Martin’s presence in the theatre, but this proved more difficult, for from ignoring her, he began to reprove her. Sometimes he seemed almost to take words out of Julia’s very mouth.
“Lift carefully, Nurse Grey,” he said once. And another time: “Wake up, Nurse. Don’t stand there dreaming.” Andrea would infinitely have preferred the biting tongue of Sister Fisher, who was afforded great satisfaction by Martin’s rebukes.
One afternoon near the end of a long and serious abdominal operation during which Andrea had watched Martin with renewed admiration, he suddenly snapped out: “Swab count, Nurse Grey.”
Andrea gave a slight start and glanced hurriedly at the tray on the floor where she had arranged the swabs in fives.
“Fifteen, Mr. Graham.”
Julia glanced at her dressing trolly. “One missing, sir.”
“Count again, Nurse Grey, and this time, be accurate.”
Stung and hurt by his tone, Andrea picked up a forcep and counted as carefully and quickly as she could.
“Sixteen. I’m sorry, Mr. Graham.” She turned mortified and pleading eyes to Martin.
“Re-check, someone — and hurry,” he said uncompromisingly.
George, at the patient’s head, eyed Martin questioningly. What was he trying to do to the girl?
The patient was laid gently on the stretcher and wheeled out. Martin pulled of his mask and gloves.
“Where is Nurse Grey?” he demanded. Andrea came and stood before him. “Well, Nurse? What have you got to say for yourself?” Julia smiled to herself in the back-ground.
“I — I can only say I’m — sorry,” Andrea faltered, shrinking from the steely eyes, so different from the ones she had come to know.
“Is that all? Do you realize that precious time was lost — greatly to the detriment of the patient’s condition? The longer an operation takes, the greater the degree of shock. He had already been exposed long enough — now too long due to your — your failure to keep alert.” His eyes flickered, and, turning, he added abruptly: “Don’t let it happen again.”
With an impatient movement, he stripped off his gown, threw it on the floor and stamped quickly out of the theatre.
A malicious gleam in her eyes, Julia Fisher said:
“Nurse, I have never seen Mr. Graham so upset, I shall speak to Matron about this.”
Andrea never knew how she got through the rest of the afternoon. At six o’clock, she stumbled blindly to her room and buried her face in her pillow in a flood of weeping. Martin had shown her without any doubt whatever that their friendship was at an end. But to do it so cruelly——
“Oh, Martin, Martin, how could you” she sobbed.
“Andrea, my dear, what on earth is the matter?”
Virginia put an arm round Andrea’s heaving shoulders. “Don’t cry any more, dear — don’t. You’ll make yourself ill.”
Gradually the sobbing subsided. Later, composed, but strangely pale, Andrea said in a quiet, toneless voice:
“Virginia — I’m in love with Martin.”
There was a startled silence. Virginia drew in her breath sharply. “Oh Andrea — no!”
“Are you surprised?” asked Andrea quietly.
“No” Virginia said shortly after a slight pause. “Not really but I’ve been — hoping it wouldn’t happen, that’s all.”
“I think I began to fall in love with him from the very first time I saw him.”
“Yes,” Virginia said in a low voice. She knew now that it was true. “It’s an impossible situation, Andrea. There just seems nothing you can do about it.” She wondered where Godfrey came in and whether Andrea would tell him.
As if in answer to Virginia’s unspoken question, Andrea said: “I don’t know what to do about Godfrey. As things are, there’s not much point in telling him. He realizes that my feelings for him are rather uncertain. One thing I do know. I shall never feel about anyone the way I feel about Martin. There’s no uncertainty about that. Godfrey seems content to wait a few years. Perhaps by that time I shall not feel quite so badly about — Martin. Or Godfrey will have met someone else.”
“That I very much doubt,” interposed Virginia.
“In any case,” Andrea continued. “If and when the question of marriage to Godfrey comes up, I shall tell him how I feel. That is, if I can do so without hurting him. I wouldn’t do that for anything. For in a way, I do love Godfrey and I suppose it is possible to be honest with a person without hurting, if it is done lovingly.” Suddenly she covered her face with her hands. “Oh Gini, I do wish things were different.”
Virginia got to her feet. “So do I,” she said quietly. “Good night, Andrea.”
The door closed behind her. For a moment Andrea stared after her, a puzzled frown on her face. Slowly she stood up, took off her dressing gown and got into bed. It was long past midnight before she finally drifted into sleep.
It was some days before Andrea realized that Julia’s nagging had all but ceased, or at least, that she herself was no longer being singled out for reprimand. This, however, afforded her little comfort, knowing that Martin had ceased even to want her friendship. Time passed without having any meaning to it. She tried to avoid watching him operate, and so long as someone was at hand to fetch and carry and do the swab count, Julia no longer seemed concerned about what Andrea was doing. She even sent her round to the theatre kitchen to make coffee one morning. George came in as she was setting the tray.
“What’s the matter, Andrea?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing.”
“That nearly always means ‘something,’ “ he said. “You’re looking almost ill.”
“I’m all right.” She continued with her task.
He hesitated before saying: “Is it Martin?”
At the mention of Martin’s name, she seemed to freeze. Then she said jerkily: “I’d rather not talk about — Martin.”
He looked at her anxiously. “Don’t take him too seriously, Andrea. He doesn’t mean to hurt you.”
Hurriedly she made her escape, not trusting herself to reply.
Julia had apparently either changed her mind about reporting Andrea to Matron or had forgotten the matter. At any rate, Matron did not send for her. There was a change of theatre staff, but Andrea remained where she was, though she found herself no longer junior in theatre. Shiela McAllister and Judith Scott were replaced by two others. The off duty was also changed, so that Andrea and Nurse Craig were once more working together, generally in the afternoons and evenings. More responsible duties, such as the setting of the sterile instrument trollies were now allotted to Andrea. This meant studying and learning by heart, all the instruments required for the different operations and laying them out in the order in which they would be required. Life had at once become more interesting and infinitely more pleasant, yet at the same time more tortuous. She loved Martin with all her heart, yet to him she was as nothing. He thought her clumsy, even careless. To add to her misery, the memory of the night he had taken her out to dinner and of his kiss became more and more vivid. Her new duties brought her into closer contact with him in theatre. One afternoon she scrubbed up for the first time to assist with a double Hernia. Acutely conscious of Martin, Andrea handed the instruments to him in turn. This was what she had dreamed of so often — of one day being able to assist him in an operation, but now — her longing to be on the old, friendly footing was almost overwhelming, yet she knew that such a thing was impossible. Even if he himself wanted it, their relationship would never be the same again for her. Her hands shook as she handed him the clip holder. She felt his eyes above his mask search her face, but with a fast beating heart, she deliberately kept hers averted.
“Thank you, Nurse Grey,” he said quietly as she took his gown when the operation was over. “You did very well.”
Once his words of praise would have meant so much to her. She suddenly wanted to bury her face in his gown in an agony of feeling. Instead, she dropped it in the linen bin and set about clearing away the instruments.
“What sort of day have you had, darling?” asked Godfrey when he met her that evening to take her to a film.
“Oh, busy as usual,” she answered, then added: “I helped with an operation.”
He gave her a quick glance. “Why, darling! That’s wonderful — isn’t it?”
She smiled a little. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“You don’t sound very thrilled.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap. “I suppose, like many another looked-forward-to experience, when it actually happened, it wasn’t nearly so exciting as I’d thought it would be.”
“All part of the day’s work, eh?”
“Something like that.”
They fell silent, Andrea re-living the afternoon, Godfrey, troubled once gain about Andrea. Always these days, he was conscious of something not quite as it should be with her. As usual, he told himself that she was just extra tired, but that did not make him feel any better.
Presently, Andrea said: “Have you come across the right car for you yet?”
“No darling, not yet. I’m going to have a look at one tomorrow. There are plenty advertised really, but when one goes to look at them there’s generally some snag.”
“I suppose so.”
A few nights later, Andrea was awakened in the small hours of the morning by the light of a torch being flashed in her face and someone gently shaking her shoulders.
It was Night Sister. “Wake up , Nurse. There’s an emergency in theatre. I’ve called Nurse Craig — and there will be a cup of tea waiting for you in theatre kitchen.” She switched on the bedroom light now and looked anxiously into Andrea’s face. “Are you wide awake, Nurse?”
Andrea sat up. “Yes, Sister. I’m awake. I’ll get up right away.”
She slid out of bed and was struggling into her clothes as Sister went out of the room.
The Nurses’ Home was strangely silent as Andrea softly closed her bedroom door and flung her cloak around her shoulders. She made her way along the dimly lighted corridors out into the star-lit night. The Nurses’ Home was in complete darkness — each nurse asleep in her bed; the hospital adminstration building silent and deserted, the wards dimly lit. Here and there the shadowy figure of a nurse bent over some restless patient. Gradually Andrea felt a peace descending on her own troubled heart. What a privilege it was to be here; to be hurrying while the rest of the world slept, to help perhaps save a life. Suddenly she felt ashamed at the prominence she had been giving to her own state of mind lately. What did her private feelings matter in the face of the life and death work which went on unceasingly day and night? A deep thrill welled up in her heart and she quickened her footsteps. It was a wonderful privilege to be working alongside a great man like Martin. She would love him always, but without hurt or demand. She would give herself entirely to his work.