Only by Chance

‘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.