Free Tender Nurse by Hilda Nickson Page B

in the tea pot.
    “That was a very nice party you gave last night,” Martin said. “I liked your flat.”
    Andrea looked at him uncertainly. “Thank you.”
    She wanted to say, “I hope you’ll come again,” but he was the senior surgeon and her superior. One did not, it seemed, treat them quite as human beings.
    Jean came back and presently, Martin rose.
    “Think I’ll go along and take a look at Nurse Wainwright,” he said. “Thanks for your assistance, both of you, and for the tea.” His gaze rested on Andrea for a brief moment.
    “Good night.”
    Jean followed him to the door to accompany him to the end of the corridor.
    “Have you much more to do, Andrea?” George asked. “Some mopping and a little tidying. I’d better go and get on with it.”
    “I’ll come and give you a hand.”
    Andrea protested, but he was insistent.
    “Well, of course, if you insist, I suppose I can’t stop you,” she said, laughing.
    “You have a grand set of friends, Andrea,” he said as he mopped vigorously. He paused for a moment and looked at her keenly. “Is Godfrey the number one man in your life?”
    “I suppose so, though we’re not exactly engaged,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
    He shrugged and began wielding the mop again.
    “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

    The next few weeks were supremely happy ones for Andrea. Now thoroughly familiar with the routine of the theatre, she was enjoying every minute of every busy day, though often, she went to bed tired and exhausted. During these days her admiration for Martin as a surgeon grew, and her respect and liking for him as a person deepened.
    At first, it amused Virginia to hear Andrea speak enthusiastically of the formerly despised Martin, but there came times when she eyed her friend dubiously. Somehow she felt that Andrea was skating on very thin ice indeed, and that one day it would crack beneath her feet.
    Godfrey, too, sensed a change in her. The edginess she had previously shown disappeared and she became infinitely more dear to him.
    Dear Godfrey, Andrea thought as she hung up clean masks and gowns. Sometimes she wondered if she was being really fair to him in keeping him waiting. Yet he seemed content, if not determined, to do so.
    She put on her mask and gown and went into the body of the theatre where preparations were well under way for the day’s operations. Pat Rivers was laying out sterile covers on the instrument trolly; Janet Scott was setting the anaesthetic trolly and Nurse Craig, already scrubbed up, was preparing sutures. Any minute now, George and Martin would come in for a brief word with the first patient who was even now being wheeled into the other room.
    George came in first. “Good morning,” he sang out cheerily. He winked at Andrea and began to scrub his hands.
    “Do you like music, Andrea?” he asked suddenly.
    “What kind of music?” she countered in surprise.
    “The Doyle Carte opera company are coming to the Theatre Royal at Cliftonville next week. A fellow I know has a leading role. He sent me four tickets. He can manage a box for four if I let him know what night.”
    “Four?”
    He grinned. “Virginia is coming, so I thought you might like to.”
    Andrea presumed he would be using one ticket himself and was about to ask him who the fourth person would be, but Martin and Julia Fisher came in and further talk was suspended.
    “See you later,” George said, and went to give the anaesthetic.
    Julia Fisher eyed Andrea suspiciously as she scrubbed her hands and went to wait for Martin at the operation table. Martin scrubbed in silence, but as Andrea was fastening the tapes of his gown he said:
    “Has George asked you about the Gilbert and Sullivan?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you want to go?”
    She hesitated, and he added. “Perhaps your off-duty is all booked up?”
    Before she could answer, Julia Fisher’s voice cut across the intervening space sharply.
    “Nurse Grey.”
    “Yes, Sister.”
    Julia rapped out an order,