A Surgical Affair Read Online Free

for the next case, Diana. Then you can paint up the patient and put the towels on. Three more, aren’t there?”
    “Mmm,” she replied, between gulps of tea, “but all fairly short ones.”
    They began again, scrubbing hands and arms and putting on clean gowns before each case. With Mr. Cole away, the atmosphere in the theater was less strained. The nurses became more relaxed. Diana realized that she was finding it all extremely interesting and exciting.
    Two hernia operations followed. Neatly and systematically the weak place in the groin was found and repaired, “like darning a sock,” as Mark said. Diana noticed that, if the thread or catgut were to break, he would mutter angrily under his mask but never blame the nurse.
    Finally, Mark took out a thick, swollen, useless varicose vein, which, like a blue snake, had twisted and curled its way up from the foot to the thigh.
    Ten to six, and the end of the day’s list. Mark threw his cap across the theater and kicked off his bloodstained rubber boots. Then he sauntered into the changing room.
    Diana watched a junior nurse picking up the cap and boots. Sister Jay explained. “We let him do that, if it makes him feel better. All surgeons have to release their nervous energy somehow. Don’t you agree, Dr. Field? Some do it by shouting, others by dropping sterile instruments onto the floor. That’s just Dr. Royston’s way. Quite harmless, really!”
    Diana started collecting together the notes of all the patients. They could hear Mark having a shower, whistling, Who wants to be a millionaire?
    A nurse came into the theater and knocked loudly on the changing-room door.
    “Telephone for you, Dr. Royston!” she shouted. “A personal call on the outside line!”
    “Thanks, Nurse!” he yelled. “Tell her I’ll call back!”
    As Diana walked out of the theater she couldn’t help wondering if it was Mark’s wife. Or perhaps he wasn’t married? Perhaps it was a girl friend?
    It was only when she arrived back at her room that Diana realized how tired she was. But it was a satisfying kind of tiredness, as if she had climbed to the top of a mountain and found a wonderful view waiting for her. She didn’t want to rest.
    As Diana left her room after a wash and change, Mark Royston appeared in the doorway opposite.
    She greeted him, smiling. “Hello! So it’s your records I heard last night.”
    “Sorry. Were they too loud?” They were walking along the corridor.
    “Oh no! I liked them. Quite a mixture you have.”
    “I picked up over 100 of them, at bargain sales in New York. What sort do you prefer? Jazz, straight or in between?”
    She thought for a moment. “I like classical and light music, but no jazz.”
    He looked amazed. “But jazz is great! I used to go to the Hollywood Bowl whenever I could. All the world’s top jazz artists performed there. It was terrific! One thing about the States that I miss.”
    “Perhaps I haven’t really tried to understand it,” she admitted, as they went downstairs. “It just seems to be a lot of noise, with no tune.”
    “You have to be in the right mood for it. I’ll play you my Louis Armstrong records some time,” he told her as they walked into the common room.
    Diana decided that she lik e d Mark and was glad to be working with him. He was so enthusiastic about everything; he made operating seem fun, not a dull, routine job.
    She picked up a glossy magazine and flicked through it. It was relaxing to gaze at the colored photographs of models in luxurious clothes, to escape from reality for a moment.
    Suddenly Mark’s voice came from the other end of the room, asking the switchboard girl for an outside number, “Chelsea 8644.” The room was quiet. Tony Spring was lying on the sofa fast asleep; another doctor was absorbed in a crossword puzzle.
    “Hello, dear. I was taking a shower.” Although he spoke softly, Diana could hear every word Mark was saying as clearly as if he had been sitting next to her.
    “Why