Uncertain Summer

He smiled nicely at her and set to work to examine the patient. ‘Nice-looking bloke,’ he commented as he explored the scalp wound. ‘Do we know who he is?’

‘Not yet…’

‘Unconscious when they found him?’

‘No—not all the time, and he was conscious for a very short time when he got here.’

He gave her an understanding look. ‘Hippy on last night?’

Serena nodded. ‘I’ll go through his pockets as soon as you’ve been over him.’

‘Um,’ agreed Mr Thompson. ‘Where’s this leg?’

She whisked back the blanket and pointed with a deceptively useless-looking little hand. There was a discoloured bump just above the ankle and a sizeable bruise. ‘Pott’s,’ she said succinctly. ‘Now you’re here I’ll get this shoe off.’

Mr Thompson obligingly held the leg steady while she eased it off and after he had taken a closer look said: ‘You’re right— X-ray, and we’d better see to that head too. I’ll do it now, shall I? It only needs a couple of stitches, so if everything’s ready I’ll get down to it, then Orthopaedics can take over when he’s been X-rayed.’

Serena waved a hand at the small trolley Harris had wheeled in. ‘Help yourself. Do you want a local? He might come to.’

She looked down at the man on the examination table and encountered bright blue eyes staring at her. He smiled as he spoke, but she was unable to understand a word. She smiled back at him and said to no one in particular: ‘Foreign—I wonder what he said?’

Her query was answered by the patient. ‘I will translate. I said: “What a beautiful little gipsy girl.’” His English was almost without accent. He smiled again and watched admiringly while Serena’s dark beauty became even more striking by reason of the colour which crept slowly over her cheeks. It was Mr Thompson’s chuckle, turned too late into a cough, which prompted her to say coolly, despite her discomfiture: ‘We should like your name and address, please, so that we can let your family know. Could you manage to tell us?’

He closed his eyes and for a moment she thought he had drifted off into unconsciousness again, but he opened them again.

‘Van Amstel, Zierikzee, Holland,’ he said. ‘Anyone will know…’ He turned his eyes on Mr Thompson. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘I’m a doctor, so presumably I may be told.’

Mr Thompson told him. ‘I’m going to stitch that scalp wound,’ he went on, ‘then you’ll have an X-ray. We’ll have to see about the leg too.’

‘I must stay here?’

‘I’m afraid so—for the moment at least.’

The young man looked at Serena again. ‘I find nothing to be afraid of myself,’ he said. ‘On the contrary.’ He stared at Serena, who returned his look with a bright professional smile which successfully hid her interest; he really was remarkably good-looking, and although she was a kind-hearted girl, and felt genuine sympathy for the patients who passed through her capable hands on their way to hospital beds, just for once she found herself feeling pleased that Doctor van Amstel should be forced to stay in hospital. She reflected with satisfaction that she was on excellent terms with the Surgical Floor Sister; she would be able to find out more about him. Her hands, as busy as her thoughts, passed Mr Thompson the local anaesthetic, all ready drawn up as she told one of the nurses to get the porters. ‘X-ray, Nurse, and please go with the patient. He’ll be coming back here to see the Orthopaedic side afterwards.’

She was spraying the wound with nebecutane when the patient spoke again. ‘Sister, will you telephone my cousin? Ask for Zierikzee—the exchange will know—it’s a small place, there’ll be no difficulty.’

‘Has your cousin the same name?’

‘Yes, he’s a doctor too.’

Serena nodded. ‘Very well, I’ll do it while you’re in X-ray. Am I to say anything special?’

He frowned a little. ‘No—just tell him.’ He closed his eyes again and as he was wheeled away Mr Thompson said: ‘Nasty crack on the head. Was it his fault?’

Serena led the way to her office and found the note the ambulance men had thoughtfully left for her. She found a policeman too, who wanted to see the patient and take a statement. She left Mr Thompson to talk to him while she got the exchange. She was connected with Zierikzee very quickly, and it was only when someone said Hullo that she realized that she didn’t know if the cousin understood English. Obedient to her patient’s instructions, however, she asked for Doctor van Amstel’s house, adding that it was urgent. Apparently the operator understood her, for after a few moments a deep voice said in her ear: ‘Doctor van Amstel.’

‘Oh,’ said Serena foolishly, because she hadn’t expected it to be as easy as all that. ‘I’m telephoning from London.’ She added in a little rush, ‘You understand English?’

‘I get by,’ the voice assured her.

‘Well, we have a Doctor van Amstel in our hospital— Queen’s. He’s had an accident…’

‘An RTA?’ inquired the voice surprisingly.

‘Yes.’ She hadn’t known that Road Traffic Accident was a term used in other countries. ‘His car hit a bus.’

‘His fault?’

Heartless man, thought Serena, worrying about a mere car when his cousin was injured. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said coldly, and was taken aback when he chuckled.

‘All right, Nurse—or is it Sister? Let me know the worst.’

She told him a little tartly and he said: ‘Tut-tut, the same leg as last time, but at least it’s not an arm this time.’

She asked faintly and against her will: ‘Does—does he do this often?’

‘Yes. I’ll keep in touch, and thank you, Sister—er—?’

‘Potts.’

‘Incredible…goodbye.’

She put down the receiver slowly, wondering why he had said ‘incredible’ like that. Perhaps his knowledge of English wasn’t as good as he would have her believe. A nice voice, though, although he had sounded as though he had been laughing. She dismissed him from her thoughts and turned to the work awaiting her.

There was no skull fracture, said the radiologist, just a nasty crack on the head and a clean break of the tib and fib, but the orthopaedic registrar, pursing his lips over the discoloured swelling, decided to call in Sir William Sandhurst, his consultant, not because he didn’t feel more than capable of reducing the fracture and applying the plaster himself, but because the patient was a doctor and rated private patient treatment. For the same reason, Serena was asked to arrange for him to have one of the private rooms on the surgical floor, and thither, after the necessary treatment, the Dutch doctor was borne. Serena was busy by then, dealing with the wide variety of accidents which poured in non-stop during the day, but he had still contrived to ask her if she would go and see him later in the day and she had agreed. Moreover, when she had a moment to herself she had to admit to herself too that she was looking forward to seeing him again.

The morning slipped into the afternoon with the shortest of pauses for dinner because a bad scald came in and she didn’t want to leave it; she went with the pathetic, mercifully unconscious child to the Children’s Ward and returned to find a policeman bringing in two youths who had been fighting, using broken bottles. Teatime came and went before they were fit to be handed over to the ward. She heaved a sigh of relief as they were wheeled away and the junior nurse, just back from tea, said:

‘I’ll clear up, Sister. Agnes—’ Agnes was the department maid who, between bouts of swabbing floors and washing paint, mothered them all ‘—has made you some tea, she’s taken it into the office.’

Bill Travers had been doing the stitching; he caught Serena by the arm remarking: ‘I hope I’m included in the tea party,’ and when she declared that of course he was, walked her briskly to the office where the admirable Agnes had not only produced an enormous pot of tea but a plate of buttered toast as well.

As Serena poured out, Bill asked, ‘Off at five? Are you going out?’

Serena was annoyed to feel her cheeks getting warm. ‘Not just…that is, perhaps—later on.’

Her companion eyed her narrowly. ‘What’s this I hear from Thompson about the handsome young Dutchman brought in this morning? Called you a beautiful little gipsy, didn’t he?’

She looked suitably reproving. ‘You are a lot!’ she declared wrathfully. ‘Nothing but gossip from morning to night!’ she snorted delicately. ‘He didn’t know what he was saying.’

‘Come off it, Serena, don’t tell me you don’t know by now that you are a beautiful little gipsy—at least you look like one. He must have been instantly smitten.’

Serena tossed her rather untidy head. ‘Nonsense!’ She caught her companion’s eye and giggled engagingly. ‘As a matter of fact, he was rather interesting.’

‘And you’re going to see him on your way off duty, I suppose? just to make sure Joan Walters isn’t pulling a fast one on you? He’s on Surgical, I take it.’

‘Don’t be beastly! Joan’s my best friend. I’m only going to see if there’s anything I can do—after all, he is a foreigner.’