A Secret Infatuation

The fine weather held although there was a chill in the air. Eugenie wrote to offer a tentative return date to go back to the hospital and began to make plans for her future. Regrettably, she was told, her post as ward sister had been filled; she would spend her outstanding month in the operating theatres since the second sister there would be going on holiday. She would be given an excellent reference and without a doubt she would find a similar position to suit her.

She put the letter in her pocket and didn’t tell her parents of its contents, only that she would be going back to theatre work instead of her ward.

‘That will make a nice change, dear,’ observed her mother, whose ideas of hospitals were vague, ‘as long as it isn’t like that nasty Casualty we see on television.’

Eugenie left home during the first week of May, on a cloudless morning when the moor had never looked more beautiful, driving her own little car and hating to leave. She took the Buckfastleigh road since she wanted to stop in Holne to say goodbye to a friend of hers who helped out in the little coffee shop there during the summer months, and although it was still early in the morning the two of them spent half an hour pleasantly enough over coffee. Eugenie got up reluctantly presently. ‘I’d better go. I don’t want to get caught up in the early evening traffic in London.’

She promised to let her friend know if she got another job, and went back to the car. There was no one much about. The caretaker was still in the little school getting ready for the morning’s classes, and the pub on the corner showed no sign of life. In another month, she thought, it would be bustling with tourists, for it was on the very fringe of the moor.

She drove past the reservoir, going slowly because of the sheep, resisting an urge to get out and take one last look around her from one of the tors on either side of the road. Instead she drove on steadily through the narrow streets of Buckfastleigh and on to the A38 which would take her to Exeter and the road to London.

London looked its best in the afternoon sunshine but nothing could disguise the overbearing gloom of the hospital. She parked her car behind the building and presented herself at the porter’s lodge to be much cheered by the pleasure of Mullins, the head porter, at seeing her again.

‘Nice to see you back, Sister. You are to report at five o’clock.’ He glanced at the clock behind him. ‘Time enough for you to go to the nurses’ home and get the key to your room.’

The warden was new and looked grumpy, and the room to which she led Eugenie was at the back of the building overlooking chimney-pots and brick walls.

‘I understand you are leaving at the end of the month and your old room is occupied.’

She went away, and Eugenie reflected that the last warden would have offered her a cup of tea and stayed for a gossip. There was time to make a cup of tea for herself, though, so she went along to the pantry and found two of her friends there. They at least were pleased to see her and, much cheered by their gossip and several cups of tea, she made her way to the office.

She was welcomed with as much warmth by the principal nursing officer as that lady was capable of showing. An austere woman, handsome and cold in manner, in her presence Eugenie always felt too large and too full of life.

She was to start in Theatre in the morning. The sister she would replace would work with her for two days until she felt confident. ‘That should present no difficulty, Sister Spencer; you were Staff Nurse in Theatre and Acting Sister before you had your recent post, and you have from time to time returned there for holiday duties, have you not?’

Eugenie agreed politely. She regretted giving up her ward but she liked Theatre.

She spent the evening unpacking and catching up on the hospital news, telephoning her mother and then going to drink tea with those of her friends who were there, and finally going to her bed to sleep soundly until morning. She thought briefly and lovingly of Aderik Rijnma ter Salis before she slept, and her first thoughts were of him when she woke. He was the first person she saw as she went through the theatre block’s swing doors.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b92135e2-6cd3-58fc-b9de-8b8bb7b68f17)

EUGENIE’S beautiful face glowed with delight. She looked up into his calm face. ‘I knew we would—meet again, you know. Didn’t you?’

He had shown no surprise at the sight of her, and now he said, ‘Yes, I knew.’ He stared down at her from his great height. ‘You are to work here as one of the theatre sisters?’

She nodded. ‘For a month. I thought you were a doctor …’

‘A surgeon.’

She nodded again. ‘Of course—Tom Riley had a pace-maker fitted—you were going to see him …’

‘Yes.’

She beamed at him, ‘I expect I shall see you again.’

He stood aside to let her pass. ‘Oh, undoubtedly.’ She thought that she had seen pleasure on his face when they had met, now he was coolly aloof—almost austere. Feeling deflated, she went along to Sister’s office and reported for duty.

That lady greeted her with relief. ‘Well, at least I’m to have some help,’ she grumbled, ‘and you do know your way around, don’t you? There have been several changes since you were last here—last year, wasn’t it? While Sister Thorpe was off sick. I haven’t changed, of course.’

Nothing would change Sister Cross. Elderly, bony and hawk-nosed, with small black eyes which missed nothing, she was a by-word among the student nurses who poked fun at her behind her back but were frankly in awe of her when they were sent to work in Theatre. She was remorseless in her insistence on high standards and ruled the three theatres with a firm hand. Even some of the housemen thought twice before displeasing her. But the surgeons loved her for she was utterly dependable.

Eugenie liked her too; they had always got on well once they had each other’s measure and she found that Eugenie wasn’t in the least scared of her sharp tongue and, when called upon, could work almost as well.

She was bidden to sit down while Sister Cross gave her a brief resumé of the week’s work ahead. ‘We have a visiting consultant—Mr Rijnma ter Salis—Dutch—a first-class surgeon, specialises in cardiac cases. Over here at Mr Pepper’s invitation to demonstrate a new technique with valve replacements. Here for a couple of weeks then goes to Edinburgh and Birmingham. Very civil and easy to work for.’

Eugenie debated to herself whether she should tell Sister Cross that she had already met him, and decided that she had better do so.

Sister Cross heard her out, said, ‘Hm,’ and told her to go and check the second theatre where a staff nurse would be getting ready for a succession of minor ops.

There was a heavy list, starting with a heart valve bypass ‘And you might as well scrub,’ said Sister Cross. ‘The quicker you get back into the routine the better.’

So Eugenie scrubbed and took the case for Mr Rijnma ter Salis, who treated her with an aloof politeness which she found deflating to her feelings. She hadn’t expected him to be overwhelmingly friendly, but on the other hand he had no need to hold her at arm’s length with that icy courtesy …

She need not have worried about being thrown in at the deep end. He was unhurried and unworried as he worked, his massive person bent over the small boy on the operating table, patiently cutting and stitching, so calm that Eugenie, who had been doubtful as to her capabilities, settled down without a single pang of doubt about them. In fact, after the first few minutes, she began to enjoy herself—she had always liked theatre work and it was reassuring to find that she hadn’t forgotten any of her old skills.

The operation wasn’t straightforward, taking more time than expected, so that the list, scheduled to finish sometime after midday, was running late. Mr Rijnma ter Salis finished at last, thanked Eugenie politely, stripped off his gloves, stood while the nurse stretched up to untie the strings of his gown, and went away, then Mr Pepper took over for pacemakers and a cardiac catheterisation. She went away to a very late dinner and the afternoon was taken up by an appendicectomy and a strangulated hernia. By six o’clock she was more than ready to go off duty, hardly cheered by the reminder from Sister Cross that she would be on call for the night. ‘Shortage of staff and holidays,’ said that lady. ‘The night staff nurse for Theatre is capable of taking any routine case; you will only be called for something she might not be able to manage.’

Eugenie spent the evening writing home, gossiping with her friends, and wondering where Mr Rijnma ter Salis had gone. She went to bed presently feeling vaguely ill done by, although when she thought about it she had no reason to be.

At two o’clock in the morning she was shaken awake by an urgent hand. ‘There’s a gunshot wound, Sister, pellets in the heart. Can you be in Theatre in ten minutes? Staffs getting ready.’

The student nurse had switched on the bedside light and put a mug of tea beside it. ‘You’re wide awake?’

Eugenie got out of bed. ‘I will be by the time I get to Theatre. Thanks for the tea, Nurse.’

She dressed within minutes, bundling her abundant hair into an untidy and ruthlessly pinned knot and cramming her cap on top of it. She swallowed the tea, turned out the light and went quietly through the nurses’ home and into the hospital. It was very quiet, the time of night when most of the patients were sleeping. Only the faint metallic sounds of bedpans being fetched, cups and saucers being arranged in the kitchens and the tread of quiet feet could be identified. She reached the theatre wing and went through the swing doors to be met by the night staff nurse, looking relieved. ‘He’s here already,’ she said. ‘I’ve put everything I could think of out, Sister.’

‘Good. The patient isn’t up yet?’

‘No. Will you scrub now, Sister?’

‘Yes. Have IC been warned?’

‘Yes, Sister. Will you be able to manage, just the two of us? Night Sister says she is short-handed …’

‘Then we’ll manage.’ She smiled reassuringly and went down the corridor to scrub. As she passed Sister’s office she was halted.

‘Sister Spencer, a moment please.’

Mr Rijnma ter Salis was sitting at the desk, already in his theatre smock and trousers. He looked up as she went in. ‘Sorry to get you out of bed. A lad in a street fight, took the full blast from a shotgun in the chest. There are pellets in his heart—a wonder he’s still alive—I’ll do a median sternotomy. There are a couple of pellets embedded in the pericardium and at least one in the right ventricle. Mr Symes, the senior registrar, will be here in a moment and a couple of the housemen. I understand your technician has been sent for. Do you need more nurses?’

‘Night Sister left a message for me to say she’s short-handed. Staff Nurse is very competent. If the anaesthetist needs a nurse I’ll ask for one.’

For answer he drew the phone towards him. ‘Run along,’ he told her, ‘and get scrubbed.’

He appeared not to see the indignant look she cast at him. She ran along all the same. There was no time to speak her mind to him, but later … Run along, indeed! She emptied her head of resentment and went to scrub.

In Theatre presently, sorting out her instruments, making sure that the elaborate equipment was ready with Keith, the technician, she discovered that there was a nurse for the anaesthetist and a senior student to help the staff nurse.