"Richard! Richard, you've got to come quickly," her voice, sharp, panicked, far from its usual tone, issued from the telephone receiver, waking him up like nothing else could. He gripped the telephone tightly in his hand.

"Isobel, just calm down for a second and tell me nice and slowly what's wrong," he told her.

"It's Helen," came the reply, "I don't think she's very well. Will you come and have a look at her?"

He had to admit, he felt his own stomach lurch unpleasantly at her words.

"Of course I will," he replied swiftly, "What's the matter with her, Isobel? What are her symptoms?"

"She's coughing," she told him, "And I think she's running a temperature. She's feverish. She's only little," her voice rose painfully, he could tell she was trying to stop it but she couldn't, "I don't want anything to happen to her, Richard."

"Alright, it's alright, I know you don't," he soothed her, "I know she's just little but it sounds like she's just got a little bit of a cough. I'll come straight away, of course I will," he added swiftly when he heard an intake of breath as if she was about to protest, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Make sure you keep her warm."

"Of course I'll keep her warm!" came the slightly shrill reply, "What sort of a nurse do you think I am?"

"Alright," he replied, choosing not to reply, "I'll be there directly."

He was at her door within five minutes of putting the receiver down; his overcoat on over his pyjamas and dressing gown; tonight of all nights Isobel would not care in the slightest. She let him in without a word.

"She's in the crib in the living room," she told him, indicating rather shakily with her hand, "I didn't want to move her."

"Alright," he told her, gently taking her hand and squeezing it for a second before he passed her, "It's alright."

He found Helen asleep, fitfully, her breathing a little uneven. He put his stethoscope in his ears and listened to her chest, and then took her temperature. All the while Isobel hovered beside him, her arms folded tightly across her chest, watching him closely. Finally, he tucked the baby's blankets back, making sure they were fastened safely.

"It seems that it's just a cold," he told her, stepping away from the crib and putting his stethoscope back in his bag, "It will pass, and she will be fine."

Inadvertently, she made a sound of great relief. Her hand moved to her chest over the white cotton of her dressing gown and rested there, almost as if she had felt a pain in her chest.

"Are you alright?" he asked her carefully.

"Yes," she replied shortly, "I just feel relieved... And stupid."

"Don't feel stupid," he told her, "You did the right thing. I'm glad you telephoned for me, and if you're ever worried again, I want you to do exactly the same."

She shook her head gently, her eyes closed.

"I was hysterical," she told him quietly, "I was so worried. I panicked. What sort of a nurse am I?"

"You panicked because you care so much," he replied gently, "Don't tell me you never panicked about something tiny and called for Reginald when Matthew was little?"

She did not say anything for a moment, and then;

"That was different. I was much younger then."

"That doesn't mean you care less now," he told her plainly.

"I know better now."

"Well, you don't," he replied flatly, "But I don't think the worse of you for it."

There was a pause.

"I just thought, what if she's ill and it's because of something I did when I found her," she told him, "I just kept thinking, what if it's something I did?"

"You did everything you possibly could have done when you found her," he told her, "Then and ever since. Do you know how many people would do what you've done for that little girl, Isobel? There can't be one in a million."

She sniffed quietly.

"What do I need to do?" she asked him, "To help her get better?"

"Look after her as you are doing," he replied, "Give her one or two drops of this medicine three times a day for a week. I'll see how she's doing after that."

He handed her a small bottle from out of his bag.

"Isobel, just keep going exactly as you are," he told her, closing his bag, "That is, if you can. This isn't wearing you out too much, is it?"

"A little," she replied cheerfully, "I don't mind."

"No, I know you don't," he replied quietly.

"Thank you for coming," she told him sincerely, "Thank you for being here so quickly. You were a great help."

"It was nothing," he replied, picking up his bag and following her through the sitting room door into the hall, "Anything for Helen, anything for you."

She smiled, but said nothing.

"I'll understand if we don't see you for the usual check-up tomorrow morning," she told him after a moment.

"Why?" he asked, "I will be there. Honestly, Isobel, do you not think I'm used to night-calls?"

She raised an eyebrow, smiling to herself a little.

"I shall see you tomorrow, then."

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