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