A Girl Named Rose Part 8

They parted presently with polite good nights, he to go to the consultants' room to have a final brief talk with Mr. Cresswell and his registrar, and she to the office where the night staff were waiting impatiently for the report. It took longer than usual for there were all the extra instructions for s.h.i.+rley's pre-op treatment. By the time Rose got to the canteen, suppers were over and the counter was bare.

The night cook and her companions in the kitchen were getting the night nurses' midnight meal ready. Rose went over to her room and then joined her friends in Sadie's room to drink tea and eat biscuits. But she was still hungry. There was a coffee stall down the street from the hospital where one could buy hot baked potatoes and pies. She fetched her purse and nipped out of a side door, bent on buying hot potatoes for herself and various of her friends. It was just unfortunate that on her return she should run full tilt into Mr. Werdmer ter Sane crossing the forecourt to his car. He stood her upright and looked at the bag of potatoes she was clasping with both hands, and although he hadn't said a word she felt compelled to speak.

"So sorry. Sir-- I was in a hurry..."

"Supper?"

"Yes, I was too late for the canteen." She gave him a disconcertingly clear look from her brown eyes and slipped past him and through the side door again. Mr. Werdmer ter Sane, bidden to dine with friends at the Savoy, angrily spurned the feeling of positively tender compa.s.sion which seized him. The ridiculous thought that he would like to see her smile, hear her laugh, take the pins out of her severe bun of hair and buy her more flowers than she could hold in her arms, received the same severe treatment.

He muttered a few telling phrases in his own language, got into his car and drove to his hotel to change for the dinner party. The friends he was dining with had a charming daughter, pretty and witty and always dressed in the forefront of fas.h.i.+on. Undoubtedly she would dispel the extraordinary ideas he had; he had known her for some time and was aware, without conceit, that she would marry him if he asked her. He didn't love her and he was sure that she didn't love him, but 'they had similar interests and he had the money which she found essential to her way of life. He had come to the conclusion some years ago that there was to be no ideal woman for him; for one thing, he wasn't sure what she would be like.

The dinner party was delightful, Charmian, the daughter, wittier and prettier than ever, the food delicious. Halfway through the boeufbourguig- non, he found himself wis.h.i.+ng that he was eating baked potatoes with Rose. The thought merely made him more attentive to Charmian, nonetheless he left early with the pretext that he was operating early the next morning.

Rose, gobbling her potato with a healthy appet.i.te, listened to the chatter around her without hearing it. She was thinking lovingly of Mr. Werdmer ter Sane, blissfully aware that she would see him for hours on end the next day even though they wouldn't exchange a word. But just to be there, watching him operate was something she recognised as a bonus. He would go back to Holland almost at once, she supposed, for he was a busy man but in the meantime she would see him again. It was a pity that they had met on her way back with the potatoes. She was roused from her thoughts by someone wanting to know if she intended to apply for the post of junior night sister which was unexpectedly vacant at the end of the month. No one seemed to want it--night duty was never popular, but as Sadie pointed out, it was a useful stepping off ground for a day sister's post if one became vacant.

"Not that I want it," said Sadie, tossing her curls, "I dare say we'll get married next year. Rose, you are going to be a bridesmaid so don't go deciding on any holidays until I know the date."

Rose went on duty early so that she could do all the last-minute ch.o.r.es for s.h.i.+rley before she took the child to the theatre. The small leg had already been prepped; she sat the drowsy child on her lap and tied the theatre gown down her back, and sat quietly then with s.h.i.+rley cuddled up to her own theatre gown. s.h.i.+rley opened a sleepy eye and Rose beamed down at her.

"Beautiful moppet," she said softly, 'you'll grow up to be a gorgeous princess and a handsome prince will come along and marry you and you'll be happy ever after and your leg will never hurt again, so just you close that eye and go to sleep again and when you wake up I'll be here to tell you more about that prince. "

Mr. Werdmer ter Sane, on the ward earlier than expected, paused in the doorway and listened to Rose's soft voice, staring at her small straight back and neat head crowned by the stiffly frilled cap the staff nurses wore. He was sure, without conceit, that if any one could save s.h.i.+rley's leg, he could, at the same time he was glad that Rose would be there in theatre; she was just as sure as he was and two determined people were so much better than one. He retreated soundlessly and then retraced his steps, and made just enough noise for her to hear him come.

His "Good morning. Rose', was pleasantly ,c , he bent over s.h.i.+rley for a moment, remarked that he would see them in the theatre very shortly, suggested that Rose should carry the child there instead of using the usual trolley, and went away again.

s.h.i.+rley didn't rouse as Rose wrapped her in a blanket and carried her the short journey to the theatre wing. The anaesthetist grunted at her as she laid the child carefully down; he was a dour Scot who had a marvelous way with children but wasted few words on anyone else. Rose said good morning cheerfully in answer to the grunt and began her various duties without fuss. She liked theatre and the surgeons liked to have her there; she was quiet and did what she was told at once and had a tremendous capacity for staying on her feet for hours at a stretch. Mr. Cresswell, coming in to take a look, said: "Hullo Rose, ready for a hard day's work, I hope," and went away again and presently they were all in theatre, ready to start.

Mr. Werdmer ter Sane was operating; n.o.body had attempted that particular surgery in England; although he had had success with two cases in Vienna, so that he would take the lead, inaugurating a new technique which Mr. Cresswell would continue with further cases. It was daring, but s.h.i.+rley was going to die if nothing was done and the previous patients were doing well. He bent his great height over the table and started his work.

It was long, tedious and painstaking work; the two men with the registrar and one of the house surgeons a.s.sisting, cut, sawed, dissected, trimmed, pinned and plated with controlled patience, muttering to each other from time to time, pausing momentarily to a.s.sess their work. Theatre Sister, known throughout the hospital as Clean Kate because of her obsessive cleanliness, stood stolidly pa.s.sing instruments and swabs for the almost six hours which the operation took, although the scrubbed staff nurse backing her up was replaced half way through by a second. The theatre nurses did the same, but Rose stayed where she was by the anaesthetist, with a short break for a cup of coffee towards midday.

The operation was going well; when she wasn't attending to the anaesthetist's wants. Rose watched Mr. Werdmer ter Sane's large hands fitting things together with the precision of a skilled needlewoman making a patchwork quilt. She found it fascinating, hardly noticing the hours slipping away, until at length he and Mr. Cresswell stood back leaving the registrar to the final st.i.tching. After a moment they stripped off their gloves, thanked everyone there for their help and left the theatre. Rose pictured them swallowing hot coffee and devouring sandwiches in Sister's office; they must be famished, and come to think of it she was famished too.

It was another hour before she was relieved for her own meal. First there was s.h.i.+rley to escort to intensive care where she would remain for the rest of the day and the following night and in the morning she would be transferred back into Rose's care.

Midday dinner had been cleared away for an hour or more by the time she got to the canteen but cold meat and pickles and a bowl of lettuce had been left for those who had been in theatre. Rose ate this sustaining but unexciting meal in the company of the theatre staff and then went back to the ward, for there were still two hours of duty to get through.

Not that she had time to grumble about that; the room in which s.h.i.+rley was to be nursed had to be prepared, the equipment, and there was a lot of it, tested and put in place, the panic trolley positioned so that it could be got at in seconds, and when Rose was at last satisfied that everything was as it should be, there were a couple of dressings to do on the ward before Sister c.u.mmins came on duty for the evening. By the time she had given the report, gone over the operation in detail, conned the off-duty with her so that there would be sufficient staff to cover the next day, it was half past five.

Too late for tea and too early for supper. She went to her room, had a shower and got into a cotton dress, tied her hair back and looked at her clock. There was still almost an hour before the canteen would be open and she was too tired to get on a bus and go to one of the cheaper restaurants in Oxford Street. She lolled out of the window; it was such a lovely evening that even the shabby roofs and chimney pots around the hospital looked different. Then someone tapped on the door and she said "Come in' without looking round.

"Don't ask me to go out," she began and saw that it was the home warden, a

middle 3 aged bony lady of uncertain age who gave the strong impression of disapproving of anyone under the age of forty. She said now in a severe voice, "There's someone in the visitor's room to see you."

"Not me," said Rose instantly, "I don't know anyone...1 expect it's Staff Nurse Chumley you want, she's got dozens of boy friends."

The warden gave her a nasty look.

"I don't make mistakes in names," she observed chillingly.

"Staff Nurse Comely I was told to fetch, and that's what I'm doing."

"Do you know who it is?"

"No, I do not. Nor is it my business to ask." She turned such a basilisk stare upon Rose that she said, "Oh, well I suppose I'd better go down."

She skipped past the warden who warned, "Not the Sister's lift. Staff Nurse."

So of course Rose felt compelled to do exactly what she was told not to do.

The visitor's room had been designed to damp any ardour felt by the nurses'

men friends, it smelled of polish and the linoleum floor struck chill into their hearts as well as their feet. The chairs were tubular steel and imitation leather and gave no comfort to the sitter.

There was a plain wooden table in the exact centre with a rubber plant upon it.Rose opened the door slowly, wondering who she would see. The sight of Mr.Werdmer ter Sane sitting on the table with the rubber plant was rather morethan she had expected. Her "Oh, heavens above, it's you," was spontaneous if unflattering. She paused inside

the door and he got to his feet making the small room even smaller.

"In person. Rose, We've had a hard day; I wondered if we might enjoy one of your high teas together?"

She goggled at him."High tea?" she repeated unnecessarily."They don't have high tea in the sort of restaurant you'd go to.""Something which must be remedied. The porter tells me that there's a small restaurant opposite Charing Cross station. I don't know about you but I'm

famished."

She stayed where she was, her hand still on the door k.n.o.b.

"Why do you want to take me?" she asked.

"There's Sadie...I know she's off this evening."

He said patiently, "That was quite a job we did today, I'd like to mull it

over with someone who knows what I'm talking about."

She nodded her head, it wasn't exactly a flattering reason and it didn't do

much for her ego, but she understood how he felt.

"Yes, it's not fas.h.i.+onable but the food's good and they don't rush you."

"Let's go then?"

She hesitated.

"My hair--and I haven't got my purse."

"The hair's fine." Like a small girl's, he thought, very clean and s.h.i.+ning.

"And you won't need a purse, will you? I've a handkerchief with me and small

change." He added kindly, "Your face doesn't need any fussing over."

She didn't answer, well aware that no amount of fussing would turn her into a

beauty.

"Then I'm ready," she told him quietly.

He ignored his car in the park.

"Nowhere to leave it," he explained, 'we can take a taxi. "

Which they did, not speaking much as they were driven from the East End along

the Commercial Road and Fleet Street and into the Strand.

The restaurant looked welcoming as they stood looking at it from the pavement.

"It's not in the least like that marvelous place the ter Brandts took me to,"

observed Rose doubtfully.

He didn't answer her, but swept her inside and sat her down at a table for

two in the window, and then handed her the menu and said, "Now, choose our high tea." The place was brightly lit even though it was barely dusk and the smell of food was delicious. Besides it was almost full of customers, eating and drinking and talking and laughing. Rose was aware that it was hardly her companion's scene but since he wanted high tea he was going to get it.

"Tea for two," she told him, 'a pot of tea-- bacon and egg and sausages and tomatoes, toast and b.u.t.ter, jam and a plate of cakes," She cast a quick look at him but not a muscle of his face moved.

"Scottish high tea has scones, baps and soda bread," she explained.

"It sounds delightful but we'll make do with the English version, shall we?"And when the waitress arrived he ordered everything she had suggested, andwhen the tray of food arrived he ate it with an enjoyment which was muchenhanced by the sight of Rose, obviously enjoying every mouthful. And if hewould have liked something else to drink other than the strong tea he wasoffered he didn't say so, and throughout the meal he talked of this and thatand in such an undemanding way, and it wasn't until Rose had polished off aDanish pastry and poured the last of the tea, that he spoke of the operationthat day. He hadn't meant to do more than make some light reference to italthough he had told her otherwise, but that, he had to admit, had beenbecause he wanted an excuse to take her out. A meal at Lyons was hardly hisidea of taking a girl out, but then Rose wasn't his kind of girl. Hecouldn't call to mind any of his girl friends who would have listened to himboring on about pins and plates and shortening of the bone. But Rose wasn'tbored. What was more, she asked sensible questions and listened to theanswers. He paused presently.

"Am I boring you?"

She gave him the clear look he found so disquieting.