She entered the hospital buildings by a side door and made her way to the theatre kitchen where Jean Craig was already drinking a quick cup of tea. She greeted Andrea with a smile.
“Hello, Grey. Help yourself to a cup. Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, thanks, Nurse. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? What’s the case?”
“Perforated gastric ulcer with peritonitis. Night Sister has turned all the sterilizers on and I’ve put the instruments and the anaesthetic syringe in to boil. If you will “towel up,’ Night Sister will set the anaesthetic trolly. We’ll have to stand by with suction and blood transfusion.” She put down her cup. “We’ll have to get going.”
Andrea gulped down the rest of her tea and followed the Staff Nurse round to the theatre. In less than no time at all, she had taken the catdhes off the drums, set out lotions and laid out sterile covers on the instrument and dressing trollies, pausing to fasten Jean’s gown and mask. By the time the Staff Nurse had pulled on her gloves, Andrea was ready to bring her the tray of sterile instruments.
Meanwhile, George had entered the theatre and was scrubbing up. As he passed through to the anaesthetic room, Martin came in followed by his assistant.
At the sight of Martin, her heart gave a great bound. I love you, she thought as she prepared the suction apparatus. In a moment he would be putting on his white skull cap and mask. She went over and stood by his side. With quick but unhurried movements he was fixing on his cap. He held his mask and stood still for her to fasten the tapes. Only when she was tying the tapes of his gown did he speak to her.
“We’re ‘preping’ the patient on the table, Nurse Grey. Have all the lotions ready.”
“Yes, Mr. Graham.”
The patient was wheeled in and placed on the table and the surgeons took their places.
“Dressing forceps and swabs, Nurse Craig,” said Martin.
“Dressing forceps and swabs, sir,” Jean responded.
“Ether soap, Nurse Grey.”
Andrea held out a gallipot containing the lotion. Next came the methylated ether and the patient’s skin was prepared.
“Transfusion, George,” Martin said briefly.
“Right.”
Andrea brought the apparatus and wheeled the stand to the patient’s side.
“The man has good veins, Andrea,” George said. “I’ll just put it straight in. No cutting down.”
In a matter of seconds new blood was flowing into the man’s veins. Andrea gasped with admiration at the speed and efficiency with which George had done the job. No wonder Virginia admired him.
Then Martin worked swiftly and surely. Aided by the houseman whom Andrea had seen on her first morning on Pasteur, George keeping an eye on the man’s pulse, Nurse Craig passing the instruments, Andrea and the Night Sister standing by to fetch and carry. Andrea marvelled that with scarcely a word spoken, each move was made so rapidly and without hitch. Each person knew what was expected of them. A quiet word from Nurse Craig or a nod from Martin.
Only once Martin jerked out an order in one word.
“Suction——”
Andrea, who had already fixed up the apparatus, wheeled it forward and held up the tubing for the insertion of the sterile connection. An urgent signal passed from Martin to George and coramine was administered.
Then the tension relaxed. “Swab count——” Martin’s eyes flashed to Andrea who already had the dressings laid out in fives.
“Twenty-four,” she told him.
Jean Craig glanced at her dressing trolly.
“Twenty-four is right.”
“O.K. Catgut——”
Five minutes later the patient was lifted gently on to the stretcher-trolley, the blood transfusion still operating— all done without a single order being issued.
“That, folks,” said Martin later as they all drank a cup of coffee, “is how an operation should be conducted —quietly, calmly and efficiently.” His eyes travelled from Andrea to Jean, then rested on Andrea. “You two nurses did a wonderful job. I’m proud to have you in theatre.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” Jean responded.
Andrea did not trust herself to speak. She merely smiled. There was so much she wanted to say. That it was she who was proud. Proud to be working with him and to be one of such a wonderful team. All at once, she was only dimly aware of the other people in the room — the assistant surgeon, George, Nurse Craig. Somehow it seemed as if she and Martin were there alone. Their eyes met for a brief second and in that second, her heart cried,
“I love you, Martin, I love you.”
With shaking fingers, she set down her cup and muttering her excuses, fled from the room. She was drying the gleaming instruments when Jean joined her.
“You came out rather abruptly, Grey. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you, Nurse. I hope you don’t mind. I — I felt a bit queer and didn’t want to make a fool of myself, but I’m all right now.”
“Well, we don’t need to do much clearing up tonigh.” She glanced round the theatre. “You seem to have cleared away most of the obvious things, I’ll just hang these gloves up to dry, then we’ll go. Don’t forget to change all the drums in the morning, will you? And see that the nurses get busy wiping everthing over.”
“Yes, Nurse.”
Jean looked at her closely. “You know, you look done in, Grey. I think you’d better get to bed. It’s your first night emergency and you did extremely well, but it’s a
big strain. You go. I’ll finish and lock up. Go on——” as
Andrea protested. “You’re called earlier than I am.”
Andrea thanked her and said good night. It was three a.m. and the moon in its last phase was just rising over the clock tower of the Nurses’ Home as she crossed the cobbled yard. It was chilly after the heat of the operating room and she pulled her red cloak more closely around her. She had not gone very far, when on the silent air came a voice calling her name.
“Andrea — wait——”
She stopped abruptly and her heart seemed to stand still. She turned slowly. Martin was hurrying toward her. With long strides he reached her side.
“Martin——” she breathed inaudibly.
He took her arm. “I’ll walk over with you,” he said.
“What if someone should see you?” she asked automatically — marvelling to herself that he should have sought her out. What did it mean?
“They won’t” he answered abruptly.
They walked quickly and he did not speak again until they had reached the shadow of the Nurses’ Home. He led her to a side entrance. “This door will not be locked, will it?” he asked.
“No——”
She was about to say a brief good night, not trusting herself to look at him, when he took her by the shoulders and turned her round to face him. Her heart thumped violently as he lifted her face to his and looked deep into her eyes. Unable to hide her love, even had she wanted to, she met his gaze fearlessly and adoringly.
He drew her to him in surprised wonder at the love he saw in her every feature.
“Andrea — darling. Oh, forgive me — I haven’t wanted to hurt you, my dearest.”
Her heart leapt at his words. “Martin. Oh Martin——” she breathed unbelievingly.
He kissed her then and she gave herself up to the moment, treasuring the feel of his lips firm upon her own and the pressure of his arms around her.
“I love you, Andrea. I love you,” he murmured.
She tensed then in sudden alarm. “Oh, Martin, no, you mustn’t.”
His face sobered, and his hold upon her slackened. “Because of Godfrey?”
“For your sake — for the sake of your work and your position here.”
“Nonsense, my dear. You can cut out that kind of thinking right away.”
She smiled and looked at him squarely. “As for Godfrey, I know now, that I don’t really love him. I never have, not in the way I — I love you,” she ended shyly.
“Oh, my love.”
He took her in his arms again and kissed her as though he would never let her go. Andrea responded to his kisses with a warmth and fervor she had never felt before. This indeed was love.
Presently he released her. “You’d better go in now, sweet, though what I’d really like to do, is just pick you up in my arms and carry you off to my lair, as if it were——” He smiled boyishly. “It’s such a wonderful night for romance.”
She followed his gaze and looked up at the jewelled sky. It
was
a wonderful night and she would remember it for ever. Then her eyes grew troubled.
“Martin——”
He searched her face with understanding eyes. “My dear, I know what is troubling you, but those things do happen. Don’t worry about it tonight. I love you, my darling. Go and get your beauty sleep now. Well fix up an evening out somewhere where we can talk and straighten things out. Good night, beloved.”
He kissed her tenderly then let her go.
Chapter Eleven
ONE ELBOW leaning on the mantelpiece of his sitting- room, George looked down at Martin, who was seated in an armchair.
“Where the devil did you get to last night after the op? I had a drink ready for you but fell asleep waiting.”
Martin examined his drink through the light. “I walked over to the Nurses’ Home with Andrea,” he said casually.
“You did what?” George asked in a startled tone. So that explained the other’s strange, intoxicated mood all day.
“You heard me, old man,” Martin said unconcernedly. “And you can say, ‘I told you so,’ or any other darned thing you like.” A slow contented smile spread over his features.
George looked at him and his expression softened. “Did you ask her to marry you?”
“No — but I will when I get around to it.”
“And what about the other poor devil?”
“Godfrey?”
“Yes.”
Martin sipped his drink. “Well, I feel sorry for him, of course, but this sort of thing has happened before and will happen again. I’m hoping she’ll break it to him as soon as possible. She’ll do it as kindly as she knows how, I know.”
“You’re sure of her then?”
“I had it from her own lips.”
“She’s not going to enjoy telling him. She’s a sensitive kid,” George said.
“Yes, I know. Still it’s got to be done. She always has struck me as being a bit uncertain of her feelings for him. Sometimes people just drift into these affairs, then one day something happens to shake them up.”
“Suppose she doesn’t want to tell him — doesn’t want to hurt his feelings?” George pointed out quietly.
Martin gave him a startled look, then relaxed with a smile. “Andrea is no coward. Besides, she told me herself some time ago that she is not engaged to him, so she is under no real obligation.”
“Except perhaps a moral one.”
“Ah, now come, George. Don’t be such a gloomy old pessimist. Congratulate me, or I shall think you’re peeved.”
George smiled. “Sorry, old man. Of course I congratulate you. She’s a nice girl and I think you will make each other very happy. Have you made any plans yet — about whether she will give up here and so on?”
“Don’t know yet. We haven’t had a chance to talk. By the way, how is your ‘affaire de coeur’ progressing?”
George picked up his glass and went to pour himself another drink, “My love affair?” he asked, lightly. “I don’t know that I have one. And I don’t think any member of the fair sex is losing any sleep on my account. Anyway, I’m not interested in love at the moment. My appointment at St. Giles — if I get it — means more to me.”
“Have you heard anything yet?”
“Of course not— or I would have told you. Have another drink?”
Martin put down his glass. “No thanks, George. I want to go and have a look at this morning’s ‘thyroid’ and call in theatre. I want a word with Andrea if possible. There was no opportunity this morning and she was off duty this afternoon.”
George grinned. “O.K., Romeo, go to it. See you later perhaps.”
Martin went out, wondering, as he made his way over to the hospital, if George was altogether accurate in saying that no woman was losing any sleep over him. He knew of at least one whose sleep might be being disturbed. His thoughts soon turned to Andrea, however, going over again that scene in the early hours of the morning when he had held her at last in his arms. His pulses quickened, and at the thought of holding her again and of one day calling her his wife, his heart lifted. She was wonderful.
He turned into Lister to see his patient and his thoughts switched back again to George as he was met at the ward door by Virginia. How could he say he wasn’t interested in love?
Andrea, when she had left Martin the previous night, or rather, morning— had slept like a happy child and had awakened refreshed and at peace. She told Virginia that she had been called to theatre during the night, but she did not mention Martin. If Virginia was to be told of Martin’s love, it must be done at the right time and after consultation with Martin. She could scarcely believe it herself yet. She almost wondered if she had dreamed it. As for Godfrey, she knew now that she could never marry him. She had been wrong all along to give him hope when her feelings for him had been so uncertain. She should have known that uncertain love is no sort of love at all.
It had been a busy morning in theatre. Martin had still been operating when she had gone to lunch at one o’clock, and she had not returned to theatre until four thirty when routine operations were over for the day. Consequently there had been no opportunity of so much as a word with him. An occasional glance, a smile, was all that had passed between them, but to Andrea, these had been more than enough to assure her that he loved her. There was plenty to do in the evening in the way of clearing up the theatre and replenishing dressings and gloves and so on, and it was after half-past seven when Jean Craig said: “How about a cup of tea, Grey? You pop round and make it and I’ll join you in about five minutes. Nurse Rivers will hold the fort here for a while.”
As Andrea had half hoped, Martin came into the sitting room as she was getting out cups.