Wish with the Candles

‘There’s a lobectomy at half past two; he’ll be using his new technique, so there’ll be an audience in the gallery and the patient will go to Margaret—she’s got the others. Why don’t you go up and see her? You might be able to meet him, he’s sure to be in and out of there for the next few hours after theatre’s finished.’

Several pairs of suspicious eyes were turned upon her. ‘You’re very casual, Emma. If I were you I’d keep him to myself,’ remarked Casualty Sister, a striking girl with corn-coloured hair and enormous eyes.

Emma helped herself to treacle tart and gave the speaker a considering look. ‘If I were you, Sybil,’ she said reasonably, ‘I jolly well would.’

The afternoon’s work went perfectly, probably because neither Sister Cox nor Jessop were there. The professor worked smoothly, his quiet voice detailing every stage of the operation he was performing to the audience in the screened-off gallery. When he had finished he thanked Emma nicely and left, closely followed by Little Willy and Peter Moore. Little Willy came back after ten minutes or so and asked Emma if she had made up her mind about going to the cinema. It was, he pointed out, a rather super film and if she could get away in time… And Emma, who, for some reason she didn’t care to name felt restless, agreed to make the effort. Two hours later, as they were leaving the hospital by its main entrance, they passed the professor coming in. His ‘good evening’ was casual, but his green eyes rested thoughtfully for several moments upon Emma.

The next day he wasn’t operating at all; Mr Soames did a short list and then an emergency on a stoved-in chest. The professor, Emma was informed at dinner, had spent most of the morning in ICU getting to know the nurses…a most unfair state of things, someone remarked, for Margaret, who was in charge, was happily married. Madge had had a visit from him too, which had caused her to go all dreamy-eyed and thoughtful.

‘He turns me on,’ she sighed. ‘I know he’s quite old, but he’s got such a way of looking at you.’ She added complacently, ‘I think he likes me. Is he nice to you, Emma?’

‘He’s very pleasant to work for,’ said Emma sedately, ‘but he can be quite stern—Mad Minnie didn’t stand a chance with him; a good thing she’s going off to Sick Bay tomorrow. By the time she gets back he’ll be gone.’

She suffered a pang as she spoke which was almost physical.

Kitty was waiting for her when she came off duty that evening, sitting on the bed reading the latest book on theatre technique which Emma had just bought herself. She got up to embrace her sister, observing:

‘Darling, what a conscientious girl you are—this is only just out.’

Emma cast her cap on to the bed and started to take the pins out of her neat topknot. ‘Yes, I know, but things change all the time. How are you, Kitty?’

She smiled at her sister as she divested herself of her uniform. Kitty was four years younger than she was and by some quirk of nature, although they were alike, Kitty had been cast in a more vivid mould. Her eyes were brown and fringed with extravagantly curling lashes whereas Emma had to be content with hazel eyes and lashes of the same soft brown as her hair so that she had recourse to the aid of mascara when she had the time and patience to use it. Kitty’s hair was a rich glowing brown and her nose was small and straight, while Emma’s tilted at its end. They had the same mouths, though, rather large and turned up at the corners, and they both had the same sweet smile.

‘How did the exams go?’ inquired Emma. Kitty was a second year medical student at one of the London hospitals and doing well.

‘I passed. I telephoned Mother yesterday. She seems to have enjoyed herself in Holland. Who’s this man she babbled on about?’

She went to the mirror and began to re-do her face. ‘She said you had an accident and you’ll have to pay for the repairs—poor you! Look, Emma, I can manage without the money you send me for a month or two, perhaps that would help to pay it off.’

Emma was struggling into her dressing gown and her voice was muffled in its folds. ‘That’s decent of you, Kitty, but I think I’ll be able to manage. I haven’t any idea how much it is—I suppose I shall have to ask him.’

‘How can you do that?’ Kitty wanted to know.

‘Well, it’s quite a coincidence; he’s working here for a couple of months—he’s a cardiac-thoracic man and they invited him over to demonstrate some technique he’s thought up—he’s had a lot of success with it. He’s in our theatre.’

Kitty put away her compact. ‘Well, well, darling, how nice for you—or isn’t it?’

Emma was doing up buttons. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she sounded composed. ‘Wait while I have a bath, will you? I shan’t be two ticks.’

They went out presently and had a meal in the town and then went back to the hospital car park where the Ford Popular stood rather self-consciously among its more modern fellows. ‘For heaven’s sake, go carefully,’ Emma besought her sister. ‘I’ll need it when I go home next week-end. Leave it here on the way back, as usual, will you? I’ll try and pop down for a minute.’

Kitty got in and started the engine and said yes, she’d be very careful and took the little car out of the hospital forecourt with a spurt of speed which caused Emma to close her eyes. Kitty always had the car when she went home unless she herself was using it. One day, Emma promised herself, opening her eyes again to watch her sister go round the corner, she would have a new car—something low and sporting, a Sprite perhaps. She went back into the hospital, passing the consultants’ car park as she went and pausing by the professor’s Rolls to see if she could make out any signs of damage on its polished perfection. She could see nothing at all, but probably Rolls-Royces were inspected for damage with magnifying glasses. She patted its bonnet and then rubbed where she had patted in case she had spoilt the polish. As she turned round she found Professor Teylingen standing behind her watching, so that, taken by surprise, she said weakly, ‘Oh, hullo. I—I was looking to see if anything showed, you know—from the bump I gave you.’ She gave him a direct look and went on in a carefully matter-of-fact voice, ‘I should like to have the bill, so that I know how much…?’ Her voice tailed away under his cool stare.

‘I’ve no idea at the moment, Miss Hastings, I imagine it will reach you in due course.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Who was the pretty girl who drove away in your car?’

And where was he hiding to see us? thought Emma crossly. ‘My sister,’ she told him shortly.

‘Oh? Also a nurse?’

‘No—she’s a medical student. She’s very clever as well as being pretty.’

‘And she borrows your car?’

‘Well, of course,’ explained Emma patiently. ‘She comes down from London and drives home from here, then brings the car back on her way to catch the train.’

It sounded a little complicated, but all he said was simply, ‘Why?’

She wasn’t going to tell him it was cheaper that way, so she said, faintly irritated at his persistence, ‘It’s easier that way,’ and glared at him in case he should dispute the explanation. ‘Besides,’ she said with finality, ‘it means she’s free to go where she likes or take Mother out.’

‘And so you walk until the car is returned?’

‘I have good legs,’ observed Emma rashly, and went pink as he said quickly, ‘Yes, you have, quite delightful,’ and when she made a small sound, said in the most casual way imaginable, ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

She wished him good night rather stiffly and walked through the hospital and out of a small door at its back, crossed the inner courtyard to the Nurses’ Home, where she joined her fellows round the TV and drank tea she didn’t want, and tried not to think about Professor Teylingen.

They met a good deal during the following days, but always in a professional capacity. If they had exchanged half a dozen words of ordinary conversation during that time, it would have been a generous estimate. Margaret and Madge had fared better—he had lingered for tea with each of them when he had visited his patients during the afternoons and they had gleaned, between them, quite an amount of information about him, none of which, however, cast any light upon his private life. Nor did he show any sign of dating Madge or Sybil, who had contrived to meet him too. Consultant staff weren’t in the habit of asking members of the nursing staff to go out with them, but it didn’t seem quite the same with the professor; he was a foreigner for a start, which for some reason made a difference, and as far as they knew, he was unmarried—but there again, they weren’t sure. It was annoying; it also gave them an unending topic of conversation.

It was a couple of days later that Emma, not on duty until one o’clock, decided to go out and buy herself a dress. She had no money to speak of and the need for a new dress wasn’t actually pressing—it was merely that she wanted to cheer herself up. She had tried telling herself that there was no reason why Professor Teylingen should take an interest in her; she was perfectly aware that she was neither particularly exciting as a companion or even passably good-looking, which was probably why she was on such excellent terms with most of the men she worked with, all of whom were prone, if they talked to her or took her out, to spend a great deal of time telling her about their girl-friends. Even the occasional outings she had with Little Willy were like going out with a brother and just about as exciting, and she had never forgotten that on one occasion when she had listened sympathetically to some minor upheaval in his day, he had told her that although she was a homely little body, she was one of the nicest girls he knew. He had said it so nicely that she hadn’t had the heart to be annoyed. She had taken a good look at herself in the mirror when she got back to her room and been forced to admit to herself that he was probably right about her being homely—a detestable word, she raged, tearing her clothes off and bouncing into bed—just because she hadn’t got great blue eyes and masses of curly hair; but her rage hadn’t lasted long, for Little Willy so obviously liked her.

She walked across the hospital forecourt now, trying to decide what colour she should have and how much she could afford to spend, and half-way over the Rolls overtook her and slowed to a halt.

‘May I give you a lift?’ Professor Teylingen’s voice was casually friendly and when she said, ‘No, thank you,’ surprised her by asking her why not.

‘Well, you don’t know where I’m going,’ she stated, rather at a loss.

He opened the car door. ‘Naturally not. You can tell me as we go.’ His voice sounded patient, but Emma still hesitated. ‘The thing is,’ she said at length, ‘I’m not sure where I’m going myself—it’s shopping.’

He nodded in an understanding way. ‘Ah, no, of course not—how could you? Suppose I take you into town and you can tell me where to drop you.’ He added suavely, ‘Unless you dislike my company?’

Emma’s usually serene face became animated with surprise so that she looked suddenly pretty. ‘Dislike you?’ she repeated parrot fashion. ‘Why should I dislike you? Of course I don’t.’

‘Then get in.’

It seemed foolish to waste any more time; she got in and he leaned across her and shut the door, and without bothering to say any more, guided the car sleekly through the gates and on to the main road. They were well into the city before he spoke again.

‘Could you spare time for a cup of coffee? I’m going to the Dolphin, I can leave the car there.’

It seemed churlish to refuse—besides, suddenly the new dress didn’t seem important any more. Emma thanked him nicely as he turned the car into the arched entrance to the hotel and allowed herself to be led into one of the large bow-windowed rooms facing the street. Afterwards, thinking about it, she was unable to remember what they had talked about while they drank their coffee, only that the professor had maintained a steady flow of easy talk which required very little answering. When she at length rose with a garbled little speech in which thanks were rather wildly mixed with a quite unnecessary description of the shops she intended to visit, she was interrupted by his quiet, ‘I shall be in town myself until midday. I’ll wait for you here.’

‘Oh, will you?’ asked Emma, astonished. ‘But I can go back by bus—they run every ten minutes.’

‘I daresay they do,’ observed the professor, not very much interested in the local transport service. ‘I shall wait for you here.’

She arrived back at five minutes past the hour, without the dress because she had been unable to put her mind to the task of searching for it with the proper amount of concentration such a purchase deserved.

‘I’m late,’ she began, breathless, to which the professor replied with calm, ‘For a woman who has been shopping, I imagine you are remarkably punctual. Where do you lunch?’

She hadn’t given lunch a thought—she would make a cup of tea in the Home and there were biscuits in a tin somewhere or other. She didn’t answer as he wove the car like a gleaming black silken thread through the fustian of delivery vans and long-distance transports.