Free Tender Nurse by Hilda Nickson

room where Nurse Craig was sorting out catgut. Sister Fisher was off duty.
    “Hello, Grey,” she said. “You’re looking fed up.”
    “It’s nothing. Can I help in here?”
    Jean Craig looked at her shrewdly. “The gossip in there getting you down? Tell you what, go and make some tea. We can pop round in relays to drink it.”
    Thankfully, Andrea went round and put the kettle on and got out cups and saucers. If this was what Sundays in theatre were like, she’d rather have busy week-days when there was little time for gossip. A little curiosity about the private lives of the “great” was natural enough, but the way their every movement was criticized and speculated upon was too much. She almost felt sorry for Martin Graham.
    “Hello, having another party?”
    She swung round to see Martin himself.
    “Every time I see you,” he said, “you seem to be making tea — or coffee.”
    He went to the cupboard and took out a file and began to hunt through some papers.
    “I’ll fetch Staff Nurse, Mr. Graham,” she said quickly.
    He smiled as she went out of the door. She had become almost demure.
    She was back a few minutes later with Nurse Craig.
    “It’s all right, Staff Nurse, you can carry on, I’ve got what I wanted.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ll have a cup of tea with you, if you can spare it.”
    “Why, of course, sir. Thank you.”
    “Are you settling down in theatre, Nurse Grey?’ he asked, taking the cup of tea Jean Craig offered him.
    Andrea’s eyes shone. “Oh, yes. I love it.”
    He looked at her keenly. “You may be a Theatre Sister yourself one day. If you ever were, what changes, if any, would you make in today’s theatre?”
    “Well, I——” she hesitated.
    “Go on,” he encouraged.
    “Well, it’s only a small point, but I was thinking the other day how dazzling the white gowns and covers are. Wouldn’t it be better perhaps to have everything in a darker color, say dark green?”
    His eyes widened. “Are you aware that in some hospitals that color is already used?”
    “Why, no.”
    “Well, it is. But I give you full marks for thinking it out for yourself. Now I must go,” he finished abruptly, and went out.
    The two nurses looked at each other.
    “You seem to be loosening him up, Grey,” Jean said. “I’ve never known him to unbend so much.” She looked at her watch. “We’d better go now and let the others come.”
    It was nearly time to go off duty for the day when the telephone rang. Jean picked up the receiver. Andrea heard her give a shocked exclamation as she held the instrument to her ear. Finally she replaced it on its cradle.
    “Emergency,” she said briefly. “Nurse Wainwright has taken suddenly ill with acute appendix.”
    She gave some rapid orders and went into action herself.
    “Blast!” muttered Janet Scott as she dropped a syringe into the sterilizer. “I was going out straight after duty. Now, goodness knows when well be off.”
    “What about poor Rita?” sympathized Andrea as she filled the lotion bowls. “She must be going through agonies.”
    “Well, she’d been itching to come into theatre, now she’s got her wish,” Janet said sourly. “But it’s just my luck it should happen tonight.”
    “Stop grumbling, for goodness sake,” admonished Jean Craig. “How can you be so heartless? Let’s only hope the poor girl will be all right. If all goes well and there are no complications, we shan’t be all that late.”
    Five minutes later, a pale, distraught Rita was wheeled into the anaesthetic room. George scrubbed up.
    “Bad job this,” he muttered to Andrea. “The poor kid must be going through hell. She won’t have pentothal. Wants to have a spinal so’s she can see what’s going on. Nurses are given the option, you know.”
    Martin hurried in then. “Quick as you can, George,” he said briefly. “It hasn’t perforated—yet.”
    George hurried through to the anaesthetic room and Martin scrubbed up.
    “Is everything ready,