‘Um…doesn’t your wife cook?’ she asked, but the idea didn’t last. She almost forgot the question before it was out of her mouth. The heat of the fire, the morphine and the events of the night were catching up with her. Her words were slurring.

He smiled back at her. ‘You want to concentrate on staying awake till your bed’s made.’

She tried. But as he lifted her over onto the fresh sheets, as he drew the blankets over her, she felt her lids drooping and no amount of effort could keep them from closing.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. It seemed enormously important to say it. ‘Thank you for everything.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said in an odd, thoughtful voice. ‘It’s all my pleasure, Dr Carmody. You go to sleep and don’t worry about a thing.’

He touched her face. There it was again-this…strangeness. It was a tiny gesture and why it should seem so personal…so right…

There was no figuring it out. She was too tired to try.

‘G’nigh’…’ she whispered.

She slept.

He should start Easter buns again. It was not much after three in the morning after all.

Yeah, right. Sod the buns.

He crouched by Marilyn for a bit, watching her breathe in, breathe out.

‘You keep on doing that,’ he told her, and she opened her big eyes. She looked up at him, and amazingly her tail moved, just a fraction.

‘You’re wonderful,’ he told her. ‘Just like your mistress.’

Her tail moved again.

‘Hey, that’s enough effort,’ he told her. ‘Go to sleep.’

He watched as she did just that. She was a wreck, he thought, a disaster washed up on the jagged rocks of human cruelty. Like so many disasters. He had two of them sleeping upstairs right now.

Could he keep Marilyn as well? Could he keep three pups?

Not and keep working, he thought bleakly. But, hey, they all might find homes. Scrubbed and cared for, Marilyn might look quite…attractive?