As the attendant turned to manoeuvre the chair down the side alley that led to the garden, Frances lengthened her stride and caught up with him. ‘Excuse me, sir, but I was wondering if you might help me?’ she asked, hoping that he was the kind of man always ready to assist a female. She had adopted what she hoped was a tone of anxiety, trying not to let it descend too far into agitation. He paused and looked up with a willing expression. ‘Certainly, Miss.’ ‘I am looking for a relative, a Mr John Dixon, who I have only just learned might be a patient here. Is that correct?’ The attendant hesitated, his cheerful smile replaced by a more serious look. ‘I think you ought to speak to the supervisor, Dr Magrath. Just wait for me to settle my patient and I’ll let him know you are here.’ ‘But Mr Dixon is a patient here? I have not mistaken the place?’ ‘You are not mistaken,’ he confirmed gently. ‘I had wondered about that. It was my impression that this establishment is for the very elderly, and Mr Dixon is only fifty-two.
