The Nightingale Nurses by Donna Douglas Read Free Book Online

table.
    ‘Just a bit.’ He grinned back. ‘But she gave me an extra big slice of sponge cake, so I’m not complaining.’ He slid the tray deftly on to the table with one hand. ‘See? Not a drop spilt.’
    ‘I didn’t think for a moment there would be,’ Helen replied primly.
    ‘Of course you didn’t!’ Charlie pulled out his chair and sat down, shifting his leg stiffly into place. ‘Well, this is nice, isn’t it?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Tea and a stale slice of cake in a station buffet. Don’t ever say I don’t know how to treat a girl.’
    ‘I don’t mind.’ Helen smiled, pouring the tea. ‘We can pretend it’s the Ritz.’
    Charlie looked at her consideringly. ‘You know, you’re not like other girls, Helen Tremayne.’
    ‘I know.’ She grimaced.
    ‘I meant it as a compliment.’ He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. ‘I love you. Have I told you that recently?’
    ‘Charlie!’ Helen glanced around, heat rising in her face. ‘People might be listening.’
    ‘I don’t care. I’d shout it from the rooftops if I could get up a ladder!’ He grinned.
    Helen handed him his cup. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
    ‘And you use too many long words.’ He picked up his fork and started digging into his cake. ‘Come on, then. How was your first day in surgery? Seen any gruesome operations yet?’
    Helen shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t let me near anything like that,’ she said. ‘All I have to do is sterilise the instruments, make sure the surgeons have exactly what they need laid out for each operation, and then scrub down the theatre afterwards.’
    ‘Sounds like a lot of hard work to me,’ Charlie said through a mouth full of cake.
    ‘It is,’ Helen admitted. ‘Everything has to be just right. And all the surgeons have their different preferences when it comes to the instruments they like to use, and there’s hell to pay if you get it wrong. Like yesterday, when Mr Latimer was doing a laparotomy, and I put out the Dever’s retractors . . .’ She broke off, seeing Charlie’s fork poised halfway to his mouth. ‘Sorry, you don’t want to listen to me going on and on about hospitals and operations, do you?’
    ‘Who says? I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know, would I?’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Stop apologising. You don’t go on and on, and even if you did, I love listening to you. Your work is a lot more interesting than my woodworking factory. Who wants to hear about boring old lathes?’
    ‘I do,’ Helen insisted loyally.
    ‘Well, I don’t want to talk about them.’ Charlie put down his fork and sat back. ‘So what are the people like? I suppose the Sister’s just as fierce as all the others?’
    ‘Worse, if anything!’ Helen shuddered. ‘Theatre Sisters have a reputation for being a tough and unforgiving bunch, and Miss Feehan more than lives up to it. She turns me into a nervous wreck even when she’s trying to explain something. I nearly fainted dead away yesterday when she was describing how to take instruments out of the steriliser. And as for the surgeons . . . they’re absolutely terrifying. They’re treated like gods. The only time they notice us nurses is when we drop an instrument, or take too long passing them something, or breathe too loudly.’
    Charlie laughed. ‘They don’t tell you off for breathing, surely?’
    ‘Mr Latimer does. He has to have complete silence while he’s operating, apparently. He once had a junior nurse thrown out for sneezing while he was trying to take out an appendix.’
    ‘So there are no handsome young surgeons I need to worry about?’ Charlie lifted a quizzical brow.
    Helen pretended to think for a moment. ‘Well . . . there is one,’ she admitted slowly. ‘He’s a registrar on Gynae. Tall, dark and a devil with the ladies, apparently. I haven’t seen him operate on anyone yet, but the Theatre nurses all seem to find him very dashing.’
    ‘Oh yes?’ Charlie’s smile