The Gentle Surgeon Read online

Christine gave her a shrewd glance mingled with amusement. The girl had expressed no regret, conventional or otherwise, about the change of night nurse.

  “Dr. Marston and I are engaged. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “Pass me my hand mirror, Nurse, will you—and my hairbrush.” Obviously she had been told.

  “I’ll give you your mirror, but that’s all,” Christine said, opening the drawer of the bedside table. “Brushing your hair will take too much of your energy at this stage of your illness. I brushed it myself earlier on and it looks quite all right.”

  Sandra made a pathetic gesture. “If you say so. I’m at your mercy, of course.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m acting entirely in your interest, and you know it. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you...”

  “You know, I just can’t imagine you and Rob being engaged,” the other said unexpectedly.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “You’re not his type.”

  “And you are?” Christine laughed. “For your information we’re very much in love, and if Rob had his way we’d be married by now.”

  “Why did you put him off—if you’re as much in love as you say you are?”

  Christine’s dark brows raised a little. “Oh, I don’t aim to put him off much longer, I assure you. Goodbye.”

  Christine’s scarcely knew whether to feel angry or amused at the girl’s frank and rather impertinent remarks. She really had a right to be angry. And had she not been happy and secure in Robert’s love for her, she would have been. For this girl was no child, or even teenager, from whom one might perhaps tolerate frankness. She was not as young as she had at first appeared, or as young as Robert thought her. She was actually Christine’s own age. But if Christine had shown anything more than amused tolerance it would have been, perhaps, an admission of jealousy. And that would have been quite absurd. Robert regarded her as little more than a child whose parents were his friends. It was a comforting thought.

  Matron sent for Christine shortly before nine o’clock. The summons, however, was not entirely unexpected. As soon as her nurses became state registered, Matron no longer directed their movements through a senior but did them the courtesy of seeing them in her office.

  “Nurse,” she said when Christine presented herself, “I want you to go to Simpson One. On day duty. Get a few hours’ sleep and go to second lunch then go on duty at two o’clock. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes, Matron.”

  “As you may know, Staff Nurse Tebbs is taking two weeks of her holiday, so I shall want you to stay on there until she returns. After that—well, it will be either the theater or Harvey.” She smiled suddenly. “I expect you’d like it to be Harvey. But we’ll see.”

  Harvey was a medical ward. Christine was beginning to realize how very human Matron could be.

  “Thank you, Matron. But it doesn’t really matter. Just wherever you think best.”

  Matron inclined her head in acknowledgment. “You know, of course, that we have a new senior surgical registrar coming tomorrow? Dr. John Taylor. And as you did well in surgery—so Sister Tutor tells me—I shall expect the very best from you.” Christine had heard about the expected arrival of the new surgeon, of course. The coming of a new doctor always gave rise to a great deal of speculation; excitement, even, among those nurses with hopes of marriage but nothing—or no one—definite in sight. But to Christine, the arrival of John Taylor meant nothing more than a new surgeon whose methods she would have to get to know and get used to, and who might even prove difficult to get along with.

  Before she went to bed she phoned Robert and with great delight told him she was transferred to day duty.

  “I might even be off this evening. But in any case I could see you later on—around nine.”

  “Oh, nice work, Chris. I’ll see if I can wangle it. I’m supposed to be on call, but Webb might stand in for me if he’s not doing anything special. I’ve often done it for him. Anyway, I’ll give you a ring later.”

  She was about to say goodbye and hang up, but Robert said, after a pause, “By the way, how’s Sandra this morning?”

  “Sandra? Oh, she’s all right.”

  “You sound very casual.”

  Christine laughed. “You don’t want me to weep, do you? She’s doing very nicely, actually. She was quite perky when I left her this morning. I’ll tell you what she said when I see you. ’Bye now.”

  “Chris, what on earth—”

  “I must go and get some sleep. I have to be up again at twelve-thirty. See you this evening—I hope.”

  She remembered after she had replaced the receiver that she hadn’t told him which ward she was going on. But it didn’t really matter. He’d find out one way or the other.

  But Christine was to be disappointed about her early evening off-duty.

  “Sorry, Nurse,” Sister Abbot said briskly. “I had to go on duty this morning with the new surgeon coming. And for the same reason I didn’t want to leave you on your own straight away this afternoon. So I must take the evening off myself. I’ll make it up to you some other time.”

  Christine gave a weak smile. “That’s all right, Sister.” Sister Abbot, plump and verging on middle age, nodded approvingly.

  “That’s the spirit, Nurse. Now then, I’ll take you around. It will have to be a short one, I’m afraid. The next case is due in theater at two-thirty. Hemorrhoidectomy. He’s been prepped. They all have.”

  She bustled into the ward and Christine followed her. “Have you met Dr. Taylor yet, Sister?” she managed to ask before they reached the first bed.

  “Briefly, Nurse, that’s all,” Sister Abbot flung over her ample shoulders and immediately embarked on a short history of the patient in the first bed.

  As Sister took her briskly from bed to bed, Christine tried to fit face with diagnosis rather than name with case. She had practised this method ever since the time there had been two patients with the same name, one having a diseased left kidney, the other for removal of the right.

  They had reached the last bed when Jones, the theater porter, arrived with the stretcher trolley. Christine was detailed to go to theater with the patient and stay there until Simpson One cases were finished. There would be very little chance of phoning Robert before six.

  From the look of him inside his voluminous theater gown, the new surgeon was very tall, The eyes above the mask were calm and steady, but from where she was standing, Christine could not be sure of their color. He didn’t talk a lot as some surgeons did, but quietly carried on with his work. Was this because he was new?

  As the afternoon wore on, however, she became aware of a strength, a certain magnetism, about him. In some way, he seemed to have brought a new dignity to theater. The theater sister, who was known to be something of a “terror” to her nurses, sending them scurrying here and there at the bidding of her sharp tongue, was quieter than Christine had ever known her. And when Dr. Taylor thanked her, as he did after each operation, her eyes focused on him, large and luminous. Obviously Sister Kelly was already under his spell.

  Later that evening when he did a round of his operation cases on Simpson One, Christine was surprised by the lean, youthful appearance of the surgeon. But this impression of youth was only momentary. There was absolutely no doubt of his strength and his dignity as a man, nor of his experience as a surgeon. And—so often a missing ingredient in the make-up of the gifted—a most unusual courtesy.

  “Good evening, Nurse. May I see today’s theater cases?” he asked in a pleasant voice.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Christine waited for him to precede her out of the duty room, but he stood aside to allow her to go first.

  “I don’t think we’ve met, have we, Nurse?” he asked.

  “Not really, sir, though I was in theater this afternoon. My name is Townsend.”

  He inclined his head. “And how long since you took your finals, Nurse Townsend?”

  “Only quite Recently, I’m afraid,
sir.”

  He smiled and seemed in no hurry to start his round. “Don’t be afraid. It’s an advantage being fresh from your exams. And by the way, Nurse, go easy on the “sir.” I regard the nurses on my wards and in the theater—particularly the trained staff—as colleagues.” She turned and looked at him and found his brown eyes regarding her speculatively.

  “Very well, Dr. Taylor. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Good. After you, then, Nurse.”

  Christine felt a tremendous admiration for the new surgeon. How totally different he was from his predecessor, or indeed from most of the surgeons she knew. His predecessor had been a bustling, hearty sort of man, clever but coarse and ill-mannered. Some of the others, in particular the consultants, were either so dignified they seemed scarcely human, or else treated the nurses as though they had neither brains nor common sense or feelings of any sort.

  He soon showed he was different in other ways, too.

  “Tell your nurses to carry on with what they’re doing,” he said as he entered the ward. “There’s no sense in the routine work being held up because I’m here.”

  He had a word or two with almost every patient in the ward as well as his own cases and ordered sedatives and other treatment where necessary, referring constantly to Christine for details of their progress. She found herself anxious for his approval and wished she were more knowledgeable about the patients. But if he were gallant and charming, little escaped him, and she imagined he could come down heavily if need be.

  When the round was finished he indicated that he had other things to say to her.

  “I didn’t ask you how long you’ve been on this ward, Nurse Townsend,” he said.

  “Only today.”

  “I see.” Suddenly he smiled at her. “I think you did rather well. I noticed that when you didn’t know a patient’s name, at least you knew what was wrong with him. That was good.”

  Her spirits lifted again. “I find faces easier to remember than names. Also, though two patients often have the same name, they rarely look exactly alike.”

  “That’s very true. Well, I’ve never yet operated on the wrong patient myself—though I’ve heard of those who have—and I hope I never will. Certainly, with a nurse like you in charge of things, there’s not much likelihood. Now, tell me what you think of early ambulation.”

  She hesitated. He was extremely nice, but did he really want absolute frankness? It was rather risky when, as yet, she didn’t know his own views on such a matter.

  “Come on,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “Tell me honestly what you think. You don’t have to agree fully with any surgeon’s methods if you don’t want to, even though you’re bound to carry out his wishes.”

  Christine noticed the firmness of his chin and the strong lines of his mouth. Was he really as tolerant as he sounded? She very much doubted it.

  “As you wish, Dr. Taylor. My own opinion is that, in some cases, early ambulation can be over-stressed. I think just as much harm can be done by getting patients out of bed too soon as by letting them stay in too long. Maybe that sounds obvious, but...” She stopped, not wanting to say too much.

  To her relief he nodded. “I agree with you entirely, Nurse. There’s always a sensible medium to be struck in most things. I’m glad to find we have so much in common.” He looked at her in silence for a moment, then said surprisingly: “I wonder you managed to get as far as your S.R.N. without someone wanting to marry you. How did you?”

  Her eyes widened. Then suddenly she smiled goodhumoredly. “By dint of great strength of will and determination, Dr. Taylor.”

  “Good for you. And I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor. I can’t bear women who are easily offended.”

  He brought the conversation to an end then and Christine saw him off the ward. She decided she liked the new surgeon.

  It was not until almost an hour later, only half an hour before the night nurse was due, that she remembered Robert still had not called her, nor she him.

  An apology hovering on her lips, she went to the telephone and asked the switchboard operator to put her in touch with him.

  “Personal call, Nurse Townsend? As if I didn’t know!” the man said jokingly. There was a slight pause, then: “Sorry, Nurse. Dr. Marston’s out. Went out about half an hour ago.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Shall I give him a message when he comes in?”

  Christine sighed a little worriedly. “Yes, please. Ask him to call me either on Simpson One or at the nurses’ home.”

  She went slowly back to the duty room to write the evening report. It was odd, Rob going out like that. He could easily have found out where she was on duty and let her know if he had to go out for some reason.

  It was almost nine o’clock when she heard from Robert. “Where on earth have you been, Rob?” she asked. “I called you over an hour ago.”

  “Yes, I know. I knew you’d still be on duty. Do you want to go somewhere now, or do you think it’s too late?”

  Swift surprise caught her. Normally he was so anxious to see her that there was no question of the lateness of the hour. “It’s up to you, Rob. Don’t you want to see me or something?”

  “Silly! Of course I do. I just thought with being on duty last night and not much sleep today, you might want an early night. I’ll bring the car around to the side entrance of the home. Be there in about five minutes.”

  Somehow the joy had gone out of meeting him. For the very first time there had been a lack of eagerness, of urgency, on Rob’s part to see her. But as she pulled on the coat and hurried down to the basement, which led to the quieter side entrance of the home, she told herself not to be silly. They were in love and engaged to be married. Rob was only trying to be considerate.

  “Where shall we go?” he asked as she slipped into the car beside him. “To the coffee club?”

  “If you like.”

  Again there seemed something wrong. They often went to the coffee club, of course, but...

  “What happened, then, Rob?” she asked.

  “Hm? What do you mean?”

  "I mean—why did you have to go out?”

  “Oh, that. Sandra asked me to get one or two things for her from her flat.”

  “I see.” For a moment Christine hovered on the edge of annoyance. Then she gave a brief laugh. “Good heavens, Rob, since when have you started running errands for the patients?”

  There was a moment’s silence. “Sandra happens to be a friend. And the girl she shares a flat with hadn’t been to visit her.” Then he added, “I don’t have to ask your permission, Chris, every time I go out. We’re not married yet.”

  A sharp stab of pain ran through her. “Rob!”

  He glanced at her swiftly, then brought the car to a sudden stop. “Chris darling, I’m sorry.”

  He turned to her and drew her toward him, and for a moment they stared at each other in dismay. Then he bent his head and kissed her.

  “Chris, I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have phoned and told you. Of course I should. I only wish we were married. Let’s set a date.”

  “Oh, Rob!”

  Frightened, that they had come near to quarreling, they clung to each other and kissed each other fiercely.

  “Darling, I love you. Let’s not go to the coffee club, after all.” He kissed her with a new hunger, a new urgency. “Chris...”

  But she pushed him gently from her. “Rob, drive on. Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can have a drink and talk. Not the coffee club. It’s too noisy.”

  Robert breathed heavily and started the car again, letting the hand-brake go with unusual force. He drove to a quiet little place they knew where they could have a drink—and talk—or so Christine hoped. But a sort of tension held him. Christine waited for him to bring up the question of their marriage, but instead he started talking about hospital matters.

  “Seen the new surgeon yet?” he asked.

  She nodded, almost
sick with disappointment. “I rather like him. In fact,” she swallowed against the feeling, “I like him very much.”

  “You do? Why? I found him a bit on the supercilious side and too cool and calculating for words.”

  Christine’s eyes sparked. “Really, Robert, how can you be so unfair! Give the man a chance.”

  “I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I? You liked him. I didn’t. Why argue about it?”

  Christine was silent. She felt near to tears. They had never bickered like this before. What was wrong with them? Was it just the waiting? She felt too miserable to protest, to tell him she loved him, to mention plans for their marriage, or even to suggest they begin to search for a flat.

  Perhaps Robert was feeling like that, too. “Let’s go, shall we?” he said abruptly a little while later. And without giving her a chance to agree, he rose to his feet. In silence he drove back to the hospital, and the kiss he gave her when he said goodnight was deliberately restrained. Worriedly, Christine made her way to her room.

  To her surprise she found that opinions differed with regard to the new surgeon. A few of the nurses shared Robert’s view of him, and some of the ones who actually liked him were inclined to be sceptical as to whether he was really genuine.

  “I can’t quite make him out,” the staff nurse on Simpson Two said at lunch one day. “He’s so quiet and unassuming.” “Obviously it won’t last,” another said. “You know what they say. A new broom...”

  “What do you think, Townsend? Do you like him?”

  Christine felt exasperated with them. “Yes, I do. I don’t know what’s the matter with all of you. When somebody—well—nice and decent does come along you’re not satisfied. I think he’s just about the most decent surgeon this hospital has ever had, and—” She was interrupted by a chorus of exclamations and laughter. “Just listen to her!”

  “Better not let Rob hear you singing Taylor’s praises!”

  “What’s the matter, Townsend? Rob going off the boil? You should have married six months ago.”

  “They say he spends half his time in that side ward on Cavell One. A pneumonia case. She’s supposed to be a friend of his. That’s why he’s keeping her in the side ward.”