Only by Chance. Бетти Нилс

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