Tender Nurse by Hilda Nickson

concerned. Sir Roland was tying the last stitch.
    Suddenly there was a clatter. Startled, Martin saw Andrea slump to the floor, the swab forceps slipping from her fingers as she fell. Instantly Martin dashed round to the other side of the table and bent over her.
    A look of anger passed over Julia’s face. To what lengths would that girl go to to attract Martin’s attention?
    “Nurse Scott will attend to her, Mr. Graham,” she called out.
    “I’ll attend to her, Sister,” Martin answered firmly. He picked Andrea up in his arms. “Open the door someone.”
    Janet Scott opened the door and Martin carried her round to the sitting room. George picked up the brandy from the stimulant tray and followed him.
    “Is she all right?” he asked as Martin set her gently down in an armhcair.
    “Yes, she’s coming round. It’s infernally hot in there and the poor kid has had no tea.”
    “She’s not used to anaesthetics, either, and Fisher has been in a hell of a temper.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    Martin’s voice was serious. Julia ran the theatre with efficiency but she had a harsh tongue and often for some obscure reason, picked out one particular nurse for her venom. He hoped she was not going to start on Andrea.
    She was opening her eyes now. He wiped the perspiration from her brow with his handkerchief. George had poured out a measure of brandy and Martin took it from him.
    “Drink this, Andrea,” he said gently.
    Her fingers shook and he helped her to hold the glass to her lips. Hazily aware that he had used her Christian name, she took a sip of brandy, then looked at him apologetically.
    “I’m awfully sorry.”
    “Sorry? Nonsense, my dear. You couldn’t help it. Come along now, drink up.”
    She put the glass to her lips again. Who had carried her here from the theatre? She had been vaguely aware of being lifted up into someone’s arms. Could it have been Martin?
    “I could do with a drink myself,” George said, eyeing the small medicine bottle. “Do you think the Fish will miss it?”
    “She’ll be round here in a minute, I expect,” Martin warned him. “Sir Roland will have finished by now.”
    Startled, Andrea sat up. “I—I’m all right now,” she murmured. “I’d better get back to the theatre.”
    “You’re off duty now, surely?” George said.
    “But there’s clearing up to do.”
    At that moment, Julia Fisher, accompanied by Sir Rowland, came hurrying in.
    “Staff Nurse will have a cup of tea ready for you in just a few minutes, Sir Rowland,” she was saying in honeyed tones.
    “No hurry, Sister,” came the answer quietly. “Now where’s this poor nurse who passed out, eh?”
    He looked at Andrea kindly. “Well, Nurse? Feeling better now?”
    “Yes, thank you, Sir Rowland. I—I’m sorry I caused such a disturbance.”
    “You did no such thing, child.”
    Julia glared in the background. Who did this girl think she was—the three of them dancing attendance on her?
    Andrea caught a warning look from her and moved toward the door.
    Martin said quickly, but firmly: “Nurse is off duty now, isn’t she, Sister?”
    “Why yes, Mr. Graham. I was going to send her off in any case.” She turned to Andrea. “You can go, Nurse.”
    “Thank you, Sister.”
    George followed her out. “Get out of your gown, Andrea,” he said. “I’ll come over with you. I could do with some fresh air myself. Besides, I want to call in sickbay. Rita Wainwright was transferred over there this morning.”
    They went out by a side door. “She’s done well, hasn’t she?”
    “Yes. She’s been wonderful.”
    Andrea gave him a surprised look. That was praise indeed.
    “How’s your head now?” George asked.
    “Much better, thanks.”
    “The fresh air I suppose. But you’d better come and see the Home Nurse and get a couple of aspirins, and I’ll give your heart a once over.”
    “Oh, good heavens, there’s no need for that,” she protested, but he wouldn’t listen to her.
    “Nurse Grey