by Betty Neels
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 backseat, 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.’
CHAPTER THREE
LADY HENSEN GAZED at him. ‘You mean you actually know of someone who might like a job? A girl?’
‘Let me explain...’ Which he did, giving her the facts in an impersonal voice. ‘She is normally a healthy girl, surprisingly tough. Used to hard work and looking after people.’
He hesitated. ‘I suppose she is that old-fashioned thing—a lady fallen on bad times, I imagine. There is one problem; she has a cat and kitten.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I’ve got them at present—there was nowhere else for them to go. She is to be discharged from hospital in a few days’ time and has nowhere to go.’
‘The poor child. I’ll speak to Peter, and if he agrees she can come here and see how she gets on. A week’s notice on either side and she’s welcome to bring the cat and kitten. She can have a room in the south lodge with Mrs Pettifer. She will have to work hard—make her understand that.’ She paused. ‘Not physical hard work so much as being at everyone’s beck and call...in a nice kind of way.’
‘You are very kind; I’m sure she will be delighted to have work and a roof over her head. Also away from London.’
‘She doesn’t like town?’
‘Not that part of town where she is living at present—or rather was living. You would wish to see her before you employ her?’
‘No. No, Adam—you vouch for the girl; that’s good enough for us. As I said, let her come and see how she gets on. Will she be fit to start work in a week’s time?’
‘As far as I know, yes.’
‘Then I’ll speak to Peter this evening. Shall she find her own way here?’
‘I’ll bring her.’
He went back home with the pleasant feeling that everything had been nicely settled. He would have to find out when Henrietta was to be discharged. If that was to be before the week was out he would have to arrange for her to stay somewhere. Tiresome, he thought with impatience, but the last of the obstacles before she could be settled and hopefully become a vague memory.
He told Mrs Patch his plans the next day. ‘We shall have to keep Dickens and Ollie for another few days. I’ll bring Miss Cowper with me once everything is arranged, and we can collect them on the way to Lady Hensen’s.’
‘When will that be, sir?’
‘Oh, within the week, I hope. If she is discharged before then I’ll get my secretary to find her lodgings for a couple of days.’
Which was exactly what happened.
Four days later, Henrietta, warned that she was to be discharged on the following day, was swallowing sudden panic when Sister said, ‘You’re to go to the manager’s office; he’ll explain things.’
She was a busy woman, so Henrietta didn’t waste time asking questions but presented herself before a bad-tempered-looking girl who looked up from her computer long enough to say, ‘Through that door.’
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The man on the other side of the door looked just as bad-tempered. ‘Miss Cowper? You’re leaving us, I’m told. Here’s your back pay, and you can apply for a reference if you should need one.’
‘Leaving?’ Henrietta drew a breath and willed her voice to remain steady. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘Lack of communication somewhere. The chief told me that Mrs Carter had said you had family who wanted you home again. I suppose no one told you since you weren’t well... Is there somewhere...? You’re going home now?’
She gave him a steady look. ‘Yes, I’m going home now.’ She even smiled. ‘Good afternoon.’
She went back to the ward and found Sister. ‘Will it be all right if I go home now?’ she wanted to know. ‘It would be much more convenient for my family if I went today. I’ll get a taxi...’
Sister looked doubtful. ‘We did say tomorrow. On the other hand I do need your bed. You’ll be all right? There will be someone there when you get home?’
Henrietta thought of Mrs Gregg—she was someone, wasn’t she? So she wasn’t fibbing, just being a bit misleading, perhaps, but Sister wanted her bed anyway. ‘Yes, there’ll be someone there. I’ll be in nice time for tea.’
Sister, picturing a happy family reunion round the tea-table, gave her permission. Henrietta didn’t waste time; she said hurried goodbyes to her fellow patients, thanked the sister and took herself off. She had two weeks’ pay in her purse, but she wasn’t going to squander any of it on a taxi. She joined the queue and stood at the bus stop.
* * *
MR ROSS-PITT, a satisfactory afternoon’s work behind him, remembered that Henrietta was to be discharged on the following day. He would have to go and see her and arrange to pick her up and take her to the respectable boarding-house that his secretary had found for him. In two days’ time he would collect her once again—hopefully for the last time, he reflected—and take her to Lady Hensen’s.
He should have gone to see her and explained that there was a job waiting for her, that Mrs Gregg had let her room and that she had got the sack from Mrs Carter, he thought, but he had had busy days and busy nights, and it would be easier to explain to her in person, rather than sending a message or a note.
