Читать книгу Only by Chance - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

MR. ROSS-PITT slid to a gentle halt behind the van and got out of his car to find the van’s owner waiting for him. ‘Mrs Gregg’s gone up ter see ter the room,’ he explained. ‘Do you want an ’and?’

‘I think I can manage. The room is upstairs?’

‘Top of the ’ouse, mate. Bit of a climb, but she’s not all that ‘eavy.’ He grinned. ‘And yer no lightweight.’

Mr Ross-Pitt smiled. ‘I’ll carry Miss Cowper upstairs. Thanks for your help—quick thinking on your part to bring her to the clinic.’

‘My old lady’s been on and off. Thinks ’ighly of it.’

‘Thank you.’ Mr Ross-Pitt opened the door of the car and lifted Henrietta out.

She roused herself from a feverish doze to protest. ‘I’m very comfortable, thank you, if I could just go to sleep...’

Mr Ross-Pitt trod up the narrow stairs, his magnificent nose flaring at the all-pervading smell of cabbage, cooked to its death, mingled with a strong whiff of onions. By the time he reached the top floor the smell was fainter, but it was a good deal colder and the room he entered, the door obligingly left open by the landlady, was icy.

‘I’ve lit the fire,’ Mrs Gregg told him unnecessarily. She was smoothing the rumpled bed and shaking out Henrietta’s nightgown—a sensible garment chosen for its warmth rather than its glamour.

He took a quick look round the room, laid Henrietta on the bed, and said, ‘I’ll be outside on the landing. I’ll take another look at Miss Cowper when you’ve put her to bed.’

He paused as he went to the door. Sitting in his cardboard box, Dickens was glaring at him, the kitten huddled against him. ‘Well, well,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, and went downstairs to find the van driver.

‘Will there be a shop open?’ he wanted to know. ‘Miss Cowper will need milk and eggs, some kind of cold drink, and there are two cats which will need to be fed.’

‘Two now, is it? Me shop’s shut, but I’ll bring what you want for her—I’m in the next street.’

Mr Ross-Pitt produced money. ‘That’s good of you. I take it Miss Cowper is on her own?’

‘Yes-‘as been ever since she came ’ere. And as nice a young lady as you could find in a month of Sundays. Never says nothing about ‘erself, though. Proper lady she is, too. I’ll be off. Bring it upstairs, shall I?’

‘Please.’ Mr Ross-Pitt went back upstairs, knocked on the door and was admitted. Henrietta was in her bed. Her appearance reminded him of a wet hen, and he studied her with no more than a professional eye. She was flushed and hot, and her hair, of which there seemed to be a great quantity, covered the pillow.

He took her wrist and frowned over her rapid pulse. If he had known that she lived in an attic with, as far as he could see, few comforts, he would have driven her to St Alkelda’s and had her admitted. She opened her eyes and he said kindly, ‘You’re back in your bed. Stay there for a couple of days and take the pills I’m going to leave with you.’

‘Dickens,’ she whispered from a sore throat, ‘and Ollie. Don’t let them out.’

‘No, no, they are sitting in a box. I’ll feed them before I go; that’s what you want, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘Please.’ She turned her head and saw Mrs Gregg on the other side of the bed. ‘Sorry to be such a nuisance...’ She added anxiously, ‘Don’t let them out...’

Mr Ross-Pitt took her hand. ‘I promise you your cats will be taken care of until you feel better. Mrs Gregg is going to keep an eye on you and them, and someone will be along to see how you feel tomorrow.’

There was a knock on the door and the milk and groceries were handed in. Mr Ross-Pitt took them, refusing to accept the change with exactly the right casual air. ‘Certainly not, my dear chap; we’re beholden to you.’

‘Oh, I’ll nip off ’ome then; the missus will be wondering where I’ve got to. So long, guv.’

‘So long.’ Mr Ross-Pitt went back into the room and stowed everything away tidily, fed the animals and then thoughtfully put them on the end of the bed. Henrietta didn’t open her eyes but he saw her little smile.

‘Will you leave a small light on, Mrs Gregg? Perhaps we might have a word downstairs.’

The word, accompanied by the handing-over of suitable financial support, didn’t take long. ‘Miss Cowper should be in hospital, but I am sure that you will take good care of her. Someone will visit her tomorrow to make sure that she is quite comfortable, but I know I can depend on you, Mrs Gregg.’

Mrs Gregg fingered the notes in her pocket and assured him that she would look after Henrietta like a mother.

Which she did. She wasn’t one to bother about her various tenants—as long as they paid their rent and kept quite quiet she felt no concern for them—but Henrietta was a good tenant, paid her rent on the dot and was as quiet as a mouse. No gentlemen-friends, either. Mrs Gregg would have done her best for her even without being paid for it.

As it was, she rose to the occasion, going upstairs several times during the night and following morning, warming milk, offering cold drinks, feeding the cat and kitten. She washed Henrietta’s face and hands and straightened the bed while Henrietta tottered, wrapped in her dressing gown, down to the floor below to the loo, where she was quietly sick, to return, very wobbly on her feet, and climb thankfully back into bed.

The doctor with whom she had registered came to see her later that day. He was a busy man with a large practice but, asked courteously by Mr Ross-Pitt to visit Henrietta, he had consented to do so. He had agreed, too, to let him know if she showed signs of improvement.

He had been taken aback at the sight of the attic; she had been to his surgery once or twice and he had formed the vague opinion that she was a cut above his usual patient, probably living in one of the new blocks of flats springing up on the bulldozed sites of abandoned terraced houses.

He examined her carefully, wondering why Mr Ross-Pitt, whom he had met once or twice at the hospital, should take an interest in her. He had said something about her working at St Alkelda’s, which would account for it, he supposed.

He phoned the hospital later and, since Mr Ross-Pitt wasn’t available, he left a message. Miss Cowper was suffering from flu and not feeling too good, but she seemed a sensible young woman, taking her antibiotics and staying in bed, and her landlady appeared to be a good sort.

His message was received with a grunt as Mr Ross-Pitt bent over the operating table; the girl was in good hands now, so he forgot about her, absorbed in a tricky bit of surgery which demanded his powerful concentration.

At the end of the day Mr Ross-Pitt remembered Henrietta again, though. It would do no harm to make sure that Mrs Gregg was looking after her. He stopped the car outside a small flower shop near the hospital gates, picked a bunch of daffodils and narcissi at random and drove to Mrs Gregg’s house.

Waiting for her to open the door, he felt impatient; he had had a long day and he would have to spend the night at his flat It was imperative that he visited his patient later that night and if necessary in the early morning; the quiet evening that he had been looking forward to would have to be curtailed.

The door opened at last and Mrs Gregg stood aside and allowed him to enter.

‘Upstairs I was, sir; came as quick as I could. Do you want to see Henrietta?’

‘Please. I understand her doctor has been?’

‘S’ right. In a bit of an ‘urry, but took a look at ’er. Told ‘er ter take them pills regular and come and see ’im if she wasn’t well in a few days.’

They had been climbing the stairs as she spoke; now she opened the attic door and stood aside to let him into the room. ‘Ere’s yer doctor, love.’ She went on, ‘And while yer ’ere I’ll see to them cats.’

Henrietta sat up in bed, aware that she wasn’t looking her best. Her hair felt like damp seaweed, she was hot and sticky, and she was wearing a grey cardigan over her nightie. She said, ‘Hello,’ in a gruff voice and eyed him with peevishness. ‘I’m much better...’

‘I am glad to hear that. I was passing and hoped you wouldn’t mind me calling to enquire.’ He laid the flowers on the bed and she put out a gentle finger to touch them.

‘For me? How very kind. They’re beautiful. Thank you, and thank you for calling. I really am feeling better. I shall get up tomorrow.’

‘You will stay in bed tomorrow,’ he told her quietly, ‘and on the following day, if you feel well enough, you may get up. You will take things easily for the rest of the week. Presumably your doctor will sign you off as fit for work when he thinks it right.’

‘Well, yes, I’m sure he will. I must write to Mrs Carter...’

‘I’ll leave a message with Reception.’

‘Oh, will you? How kind.’ She smiled at him from a white face, and he thought uneasily that she should be in more comfortable surroundings.

‘Have you lived here long?’ he asked.

‘A few years.’ She didn’t enlarge on that, and he didn’t ask any more questions for he guessed that she wasn’t going to tell him anything. Presently he wished her goodnight and went away, escorted by Mrs Gregg.

‘I’ll look after ’er,’ she assured him. ‘Independent, that’s what she is. Never a word about where she came from nor nothing about ‘er family. Always ready to give an ’and—elps that greengrocer on ’is stall of a Saturday afternoon. Well, every little ‘elps, don’t it?’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, putting a hand into his pocket.

Two days later Henrietta got up, assuring Mrs Gregg that she felt fine and that there was no need for that lady to toil up and down the stairs any longer. ‘There’s plenty for me to eat in the cupboard. I must owe you a lot of money...’

‘That doctor wot brought you ’ere, he asked Mr Biggs where ‘e could get milk and such and, Biggs being a greengrocer, ’e fetched what was wanted.’

‘So I owe Mr Biggs?’

‘Well, that doctor paid for everything.’

‘Oh, dear, I’ll have to write him a note and ask him how much I owe him. Mrs Gregg, I don’t suppose there was a message from the offices?’

‘Yes, there was. One of the girls wot brought you ’ere sent a note ter say yer job’s still waiting for yer.’ Mrs Gregg eyed her anxiously. ‘But you’ll not be going back until the doctor says so.’

‘Of course not,’ said Henrietta, not meaning a word of it. ‘Thank you for looking after Dickens and Ollie.’

Monday was only two days away. Over the weekend Henrietta swallowed her pills, ate the contents of her cupboard, shutting her mind to what they had cost and how she was ever going to pay for them, washed her hair and made her plans.

She didn’t think she had better go back to the hospital on Monday. She hadn’t been to the doctor, and she supposed that she would have to wait for him to tell her that she might go back to work. No one knew about the offices, though—only Mrs Gregg, and she didn’t get up very early. Henrietta reckoned that she would be back in her room by the time her landlady was up and about.

She had to admit to herself that she didn’t feel as well as she had hoped as she caught the early bus on Monday morning. Probably the weather, she told herself; bitter cold and an icy wind. ‘Going to snow,’ said the conductor, taking her fare.

The other cleaning ladies were glad to see her back. ‘Cor, we was afraid you’d get the sack,’ she was told. ‘Lucky you came this morning; there’s plenty wanting to step into yer shoes. OK, are yer?’

Henrietta agreed that she was perfectly OK, donned her apron and got to work. It was the prospect of losing her job which kept her on her feet. The vacuum cleaner was like lead, the bucket of soapy water she needed to clean the paintwork weighed ten times as much as it usually did, and when she polished the desks they danced drunkenly under her eyes.

She managed to finish on time, however, put away her cleaning equipment, assured everyone that she felt fine, and, wrapped in her elderly coat, left the building to catch the bus.

Mr Ross-Pitt, driving himself home after an urgent summons to the clinic to do what was possible for Mr Wilkins, who had been found moribund in the street by one of the volunteer helpers, saw Henrietta walking with exaggerated care along the icy pavement. He stopped the car and got out and faced her, and since her head was bent against the wind she didn’t see him.

‘You little fool,’ he observed, in a voice so cold that her head shot up to meet his eyes, which were as cold as his voice. ‘Have you no sense? Are you doing your best to get pneumonia?’

He took her arm and bundled her into the car. ‘You will go back to your room and go back to bed and try for a little common sense.’

He started the car and drove in silence, and Henrietta sat without saying a word; she felt peculiar for one thing, and for another she really couldn’t be bothered to think of anything suitable to say. Besides, Mr Ross-Pitt was angry—coldly and quietly furious with her. She closed her eyes and dozed off.

He turned to look at her as he stopped before the house. She was asleep, long lashes curling onto her pale cheeks, her mouth slightly open. In no way was it possible to consider her pretty, even passably good-looking, and yet he found himself smiling a little, wishing that she would open her eyes. Certainly she couldn’t go back to that attic room.

He got out of the car and knocked on the house door. Mrs Gregg, dressed but with her hair still in curlers and a pink net, opened it.

‘Well would yer believe it? What’s up, Doctor?’

‘I have brought Miss Cowper back to her room. I cannot think why she should be out in the streets at this hour.’

‘Lor’ bless yer, sir. Coming ‘ome from her cleaning job. Goes every morning, though she didn’t say nothing ter me about going terday.’ She peered past him to the car. ‘In the car, is she? Well, she won’t be going to the ’ospital this morning, that’s a cert.’

‘Indeed not. Would you be so good as to pack a few necessities for her? She should be in hospital for a day or so until she is quite recovered. Obviously she isn’t capable of looking after herself.’

Something in his voice warned Mrs Gregg to keep quiet about that. ‘I’ll pop upstairs and bring a bag out to the car,’ she promised. ‘Wot about them cats?’

Mr Ross-Pitt sighed. ‘The cats... I’ll return within the hour and collect them; my housekeeper will look after them until Miss Cowper returns here.’

‘Suits me. I got enough ter do without being bothered with cats.’

He went back to the car and found Henrietta still asleep. She was a nasty colour, and every now and then she gave a little rasping cough. He picked up the car phone and dialled the hospital. He had had an almost sleepless night and a heavy day’s work ahead of him; now he had saddled himself with this foolish girl and her cats. He glanced at his watch and asked to speak to the medical officer on duty.

Mrs Gregg came presently and handed over a cheap cardboard case. ‘You’ll be back?’ She sounded anxious. ‘I’ll ’ave ter know if she’s going ter be away long—‘er rent’s due—and then there’s the cats.’

He put the case in the boot. ‘I’ll be back, Mrs Gregg, and we can settle things then. Expect me in an hour.’

He drove to the casualty entrance of St Alkelda’s and watched as Henrietta was wheeled away, awake now but not at all sure of where she was. Indeed, she felt too ill to bother.

‘I suspect pneumonia,’ observed Mr Ross-Pitt to the young medical houseman on duty. ‘Good of you to admit her. Entirely her own fault; she had flu and went back to work at some unearthly hour this morning. I’ll speak to Dr Taylor presently.’

He got back into his car, leaving the houseman agog with curiosity. Mr Ross-Pitt was liked and respected; he expected his students to work hard and his standards were high, but he had never been known to rebuke any of them before anyone else and he was fair. He was always ready to listen to the young surgeons in his team and he was a splendid lecturer. On the other hand no one knew anything about him.

The houseman, making his way to the women’s medical wards, decided that he would say nothing. Probably some employee—a domestic working for him, wherever he lived.

He wasn’t so sure about that when he examined Henrietta. She was awake now, feverish and fretful, but she answered his questions in a small, husky voice and thanked him politely when he had finished. A pretty voice, he decided, despite the huskiness, and an educated one.

He wrote up his notes ready for Dr Taylor, went to see the ward sister and took himself off to breakfast, uneasy at Henrietta’s anxious enquiry as to Dickens and Ollie, whoever they were. He had told her easily that they would be taken care of, but the memory of her anxiety stayed with him.

Mr Ross-Pitt, back at Mrs Gregg’s house, wasted no time. He suggested once more, in a voice which compelled her to agree, that he should take the cats with him. ‘My housekeeper will look after them until Miss Cowper is well again,’ he repeated. ‘Is there any rent owing?’

That was more like it. She said at once that there would be two weeks to pay on Wednesday. He was aware that this wasn’t true, for she didn’t look at him as she said so, but she probably needed the money. He paid her and fetched the cats, with Dickens indignant at having a cloth tied over his box while the kitten cowered beside him.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, and drove himself to his flat. He deposited Dickens and Ollie by the fire, offered refreshment and went to bath and change, wasting no time over it as he was due to operate later that morning. Over breakfast, cooked by the cleaning lady who came each day, he applied his powerful brain to his problems.

Henrietta was, for the moment, dealt with. There remained the cat and kitten, sitting by his fire, watching him anxiously. There also remained Henrietta’s future. It was unthinkable that she should go back to that attic room, where she would probably get ill again unless there was someone on hand to make her see sense. Another job was the answer, of course—somewhere where she could have the cats and work reasonable hours. That would settle the question nicely.

He gave careful instructions to the cleaning lady about Dickens and Ollie and then left for the hospital. There was no time to do more than go straight to Theatre, where he became at once immersed in his list—a lengthy one—starting with a craniotomy to arrest haemorrhage from a meningeal artery and ending hours later with a delicate operation on an elderly man with Parkinson’s disease.

He was in Sister’s office, having a cup of coffee and a sandwich before he went to the outpatient’s clinic at three o’clock, when Dr Taylor phoned him.

‘I’ve examined this girl you brought in, Adam. Pneumonia. I’ll keep her in on antibiotics—they should do the trick. A bit under the weather, though; she could do with a week or two off work, whatever she does.’

‘She works part-time in Occupational Therapy, and I believe she has an early-morning job, cleaning offices.’

‘Really? She doesn’t seem the type. No family?’

‘I believe not. If someone comes to visit her, perhaps Sister could find out?’

‘Yes. I’ll keep you posted.’

“Thanks, Bob. Next time I’m at Occupational Therapy I’ll see if Mrs Carter can’t give her a full-time job. There’s always the chance that she has friends or family who will help her.’

He put the phone down; Henrietta was all right for the moment; he had done what he could for her. But surely there were friends...? He went off to his clinic.

It was after six o’clock by the time he had seen his last patient, and he thought with relief of his drive home, with Mrs Patch waiting with a delicious meal. First, though, he had to go and see Henrietta.

She was awake, her face flushed, her hair plaited severely, a hospital nightie several sizes too large hardly adding to her appearance. Mr Ross-Pitt accompanied Sister to her bed and stood looking down at her.

‘I’m glad to see you looking more comfortable,’ he told her kindly. ‘I hope you will do exactly as Sister says so that you may get well as quickly as possible.’

She stared up at him. He made it sound as though she had been a naughty small girl, but how could she expect him to understand? He lived in a different world, where there was always money in his pocket and abundant food and drink in the larder. She said, ‘Dickens and Ollie...’

‘Ah. yes, I have them safe. If you agree I will let my housekeeper look after them until you are well again.’

‘You’re kind. Thank you. She won’t mind?’

‘Not in the least. When you are discharged I’ll arrange for them to be brought back to you.’ He sounded brisk and impersonal. ‘Goodbye, Miss Cowper.’

She closed her eyes as he walked away. She wasn’t going to see him again, after all; he had been kind, especially taking Dickens and Ollie to his home, but she had sensed his impatience. Of course, he didn’t want to be saddled with her; he had been angry and she thought that he still was. She must hurry up and get well and get back to work again...

It was a good thing that she didn’t know that her cleaning job had already been given to someone else, and Mrs Carter, when apprised of her illness, had immediately gone to see the hospital manager and demanded that she had a replacement at once.

‘She’s bound to be off sick for some time,’ she pointed out, ‘and I simply must have more staff.’ She added mendaciously, ‘Her family will want her to go back home; she can probably get a job out of London.’

Mr Ross-Pitt drove to his flat, spent ten minutes with his secretary in his consulting rooms on the floor below, and then fed Dickens and Ollie, put them back in the cardboard box and took them down to the car, making a mental note to purchase a suitable cat-basket. Not that either of them gave him any trouble. They had had a bewildering day and huddled together on the back seat, making no sound.

He drove fast, anticipating a quiet evening with no need to return to his consulting rooms until the following early afternoon. He would have to call in to the hospital to check on his patients, but even so he wouldn’t need to leave home until noon. It was with quiet pleasure that he saw the lighted windows of his house, and a moment later Mrs Patch opened the door, allowing Watson to dash past her to greet his master.

Mr Ross-Pitt stopped to fondle him. ‘Hello, old fellow. I’ve a surprise for you.’ He picked up the box and bore it indoors. ‘Mrs Patch, you have no idea how pleasant it is to be home—and I have brought a problem with me.’

The box he was holding heaved, and Mrs Patch said, ‘Lawks, sir, an animal—?’

‘Two. A cat and a very small kitten. I will tell you about them presently. Could they stay in the kitchen for the moment? If I put their box by the Aga, perhaps they could have a saucer of food? They’ve had a tiresome day.’

He went along to the kitchen, leaving a puzzled Watson in the hall, and undid the cloth over the box to meet Dickens’ baleful eye. Mrs Patch, without asking questions, found a saucer, chopped up cold chicken from the fridge and set it close to the box. A saucer of milk was put down too, and then Dickens and Ollie were left to themselves.

Over a glass of sherry Mr Ross-Pitt explained. ‘There was really nothing else to be done,’ he observed, topping up his housekeeper’s glass. ‘I hope that it will be for a short time only. I suppose I could find a cattery...’

‘No need, sir. Once Watson’s seen them and they’re a bit used to us they’ll be no trouble. I’ll be sure and keep them indoors to start with. And the young lady? What about her? Poor child.’

‘Well, it’s really no concern of mine, Mrs Patch, but unfortunately she appears to have no family, and her living conditions are appalling. Perhaps I should ask around and see if there is more suitable work for her.’

‘Young, is she?’ asked Mrs Patch. ‘A young lady?’

‘Both young and ladylike, if that isn’t too old-fashioned a word to use.’

Mrs Patch tut-tutted, then asked, ‘Pretty?’

‘No. No, not in the least. The cat and kitten are our immediate problem; you are sure you can manage?’

‘Lord bless you, sir, of course I can. Watson and I will look after them.’

Rather to his astonishment there were no difficulties. Dickens, introduced cautiously to Watson—thoroughly upset since his little world had come adrift—accepted the dog’s friendly approach, and the kitten, too small to know better, wound himself round Watson’s legs. If his friend Dickens accepted Watson, then he would too.

The next afternoon Mr Ross-Pitt drove himself back to London; Henrietta and her cats could be shelved for the moment He enquired as to her condition when he got to the hospital, was reassured that she was responding to treatment, and promptly forgot about her. It wasn’t until he was on the point of driving home that he remembered to leave a message for her to say that Dickens and Ollie were safe and well.

They had settled down nicely, Mrs Patch told him when he got home that evening, and Watson had adopted them without fuss.

‘Splendid,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, and spent an agreeable evening catching up with his reading, Watson draped over his feet, a wary Dickens sitting before the log fire, and Ollie bunched up beside him.

‘I only need a wife sitting on the other side of the hearth,’ mused Mr Ross-Pitt, ‘to be completely domesticated.’

It was two days later that he chanced to meet Dr Taylor in the consultant’s room. ‘That patient of yours, Adam—she’s doing very well. Up and trotting round the ward. Fit to go home in another three or four days. Asked her if she had family or friends to go to; she was a bit vague—said she would be quite all right, had somewhere to go. Nice little thing.’

That afternoon Mr Ross-Pitt found time to go to Occupational Therapy. Mrs Carter came to meet him. ‘You’ve come to see Miss Jenkins? She’s doing splendidly.’

He spent some time with that lady, expressed his pleasure at her progress, and as he went away asked, ‘Mrs Carter, is there a chance that Miss Cowper could be employed full-time? She has been ill, as I’m sure you know—’

Mrs Carter laughed. ‘They say it’s an ill wind... I wouldn’t wish the girl harm, but from my point of view things couldn’t have turned out better. I saw the hospital manager as soon as I heard about it, and I have a full-time replacement. Henrietta will get a week’s notice when she leaves hospital—paid up, of course.’

She glanced up at him, smiling with satisfaction, and took a step back. He wasn’t frowning—there was no expression on his face—but she knew that he was very angry. All he said was, ‘Ah, yes, quite so, Mrs Carter. Good day to you.’ He had gone before she could say another word.

He contained his rage with an iron hand and went to see the medical ward sister. Henrietta was doing well, she told him; did he wish to see her? ‘No, there is no need, but will you let me know when she is to be discharged?’ He smiled suddenly. ‘My housekeeper has charge of her cats.’

Sister smiled too. ‘I’ll leave a message at Reception, sir. And she’s been a good patient.’

There was something else which he had to do. That evening he went to see Mrs Gregg, who opened the door to him looking so guilty that he knew what she was going to say.

‘Let ’er room sir; couldn’t ‘elp meself, now could I? Need the cash, and not knowing when she’d be back. ’Er bits and pieces are in a case, and the furniture’s in the basement. Got somewhere to go, ‘as she?’

‘No, Mrs Gregg, she hasn’t,’ he said gently, ‘but I don’t suppose that will worry you unduly.’ He turned to go and she called after him.

‘Wot about ’er furniture? It can’t stay here...’

‘Dispose of it, Mrs Gregg.’

He was glad of the drive home; it gave him time to think. Whether he liked it or not, it seemed that he was saddled with Henrietta and her cats. A job and a home for them must be found within the next few days, and there was no likelihood of either.

Beyond a ward round and a handful of private patients in the morning, Mr Ross-Pitt had little to do the following day. He drove back directly after lunch to spend an afternoon walking Watson and catching up on his post.

In the evening he had been bidden to dine with the owners of the big mansion which dominated the other end of the village. He knew them well, for they had lived there all their lives, inheriting it from ancestors and managing somehow to preserve it for their children by opening the house and grounds to the public on several days of the week.

Their youngest daughter had just become engaged, and the dinner was to be a black-tie affair in her honour. When he arrived there he found the sweep in front of the house already full of parked cars.

He was too old a friend to stand on ceremony, greeting their elderly butler with a gentle slap on his shoulder and going straight to the drawing room.

Lady Hensen put up her cheek for his kiss. ‘Adam, how nice to see you—Peter’s at the other end of the room with Felicity and Tony. I suppose you’re up to your eyes in work; we don’t see enough of you. It’s time you found a wife; I’m longing to dance at your wedding.’ She laughed up at him, still a pretty woman, with kind eyes and a serene manner.

He found Sir Peter, congratulated Felicity and her fiancé, and then wandered around greeting other friends. He was well-known and popular, and Lady Hensen had seen to it that he was seated between two of the prettiest girls there. They were intelligent and amusing as well as pretty, and he enjoyed his dinner.

It was some time later that he found himself with Lady Hensen. She patted the sofa beside her. ‘Sit down for a while, Adam; here is a chance to talk, for probably we shan’t see you again for weeks. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself, other than bending over the operating table.’

‘Very little, I’m afraid. I quite often need to stay in town overnight, and it’s difficult to arrange anything in case I’m wanted. When I’m here there is the garden to see to and Watson to take for walks.’ He smiled. ‘I think I must be solitary by nature.’

‘Only until you find the right girl. Did you know that we are planning to open on five days of the week instead of four? We did quite well last year and hope to do even better. Of course, the difficulty is finding people to work for us. Not everyone is keen to be buried in the country...’

‘What kind of people?’ he asked idly.

‘A girl Friday! Isn’t that what they are called? Someone who will turn her hand to anything, and I mean just that. The young just don’t want to know; they want bright lights and discos and money to buy clothes, and the wages we offer are paltry.’

Mr Ross-Pitt turned a suddenly thoughtful face to her. ‘She would live in and get her food and so on?’

‘Well, of course. She’d have to share one of the lodges, but we certainly feed our employees...’

‘In that case, Lady Hensen, I believe I know of just the right person.’