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shape of her parents but at the moment, as I told you, her husband is being hyper-protective.'
    'So he should be at such a ghastly time,' Anna said, and Rose agreed.
    Soon after lunch, during the quiet hour, Ellen Johnson was wheeled into number two side-ward by her young husband and helped into bed. She had been washed and tidied in Maternity but still had the look of having been through the wringer, whilst her husband, Hal, was almost as ravaged as she was and equally prone to tears.
    Theirs was a case, Anna decided, when sympathy conveyed by touch and a welcoming voice was less upsetting than a spate of words, which might come out all wrong. If Ellen wished to talk about it she could, but just now she plainly did not.
    'You'll be quiet in here—private, too.' Anna switched on a cooling fan for the afternoon was hot and humid; it was difficult to breathe. 'If you want anything press your bell, and someone will be with you at once.'
    They thanked her and she went out, quietly closing the door—which was against the rules but Ellen wasn't ill; all she needed was rest and quiet.
    Simon came on the ward at four-thirty, mainly to see Karen Miller. Although changed out of his theatre clothes, it seemed to Anna that he bore traces of having hurried to do so—his hair was tousled in front, his tie didn't lie absolutely straight and he smelled of Hibiscrub. 'I hoped to catch you before you went off duty,' he said. 'I'd like to see Mrs Miller, and also Alice Fotheringay. Meg told me about Alice's breathing difficulties; I'm not happy about her at all.'
    'She seems easier now and doesn't need her oxygen; she's being checked quarter-hourly,' Anna told him, getting out the two sets of notes.
    'OK, then.' Simon took them from her. 'Karen Miller first. That tumour of hers was benign, a corpus luteum as we thought. Her baby's safely tucked up inside her, and I see no reason why she shouldn't go on to full term with no problems at all.'
    'Yes, I saw that from the theatre notes...' Anna started to say, but Simon was already walking into the ward and she hurried to catch him up.
    Karen, still sleepy, was able to take his words in but only managed one of her own. 'Magic!' she said, smiling faintly, dark eyes shining between half-closed lids.
    Simon glanced briefly at the charts of five of the other post-op patients, after which he and Anna proceeded to the side-wards—running into Nurse Cheng who was leaving Alice Fotheringay's bed. 'She is awake and had asked for a drink,' she said, and went across the corridor to get it.
    What happened next was to stay imprinted on Anna's mind for days. As she entered the side-ward, Simon behind her, Alice Fotheringay raised herself from her mound of pillows, smiled and then fell back—eyes fixed, pallid-faced—as though struck by an unseen hand.
    'Arrested.. . Ring team!' Simon's hand was at the pulse spot on Alice's neck. Nurse Cheng returned and flew to the phone, whilst Anna jerked the pillows from under Alice's head then watched Simon begin the thumping movements of sternal massage, using the heels of his hands.
    After nine compressions she bent to seal Alice's mouth with her own, then, pinching her nostrils, she began to breathe down into Alice's lungs. Anna breathed gently but steadily, down and down, then came up to draw in more air and bent again to repeat the manoeuvre—then up, then down once more.
    Now Simon was restarting his massage movements; they were counting them together... Five.. .six. ..
    seven.. .eight... At that point they heard the sounds of the resuscitation trolley being rushed down the corridor... Nine...ten... And then the resuscitation team piled into the room, sending the door crashing back and connecting Alice to their sophisticated equipment in an attempt to save her life.
    At a glance from Simon Anna followed him into the office. 'There's not room to swing a cat in there,' he grunted, sweat beading his lip. Sternal massage was hard work. He looked down at the heels of