Alfred nodded understandingly and put a finger to his lips to signify that he would henceforth speak in hushed tones, then he tiptoed back to the bed and gently stroked the curls from Zoie's troubled forehead.
“There now, dear,” he whispered, “lie still and rest and I'll go shave and wash up a bit.”
Zoie sighed her acquiescence.
“Mind,” he whispered to Aggie, “you are to call me the moment my boy comes,” and then he slipped quietly into the bedroom.
No sooner had Alfred crossed the threshold, than Zoie sat up in bed and called in a sharp whisper to Aggie, “What's keeping them?” she asked.
“I can't imagine,” answered Aggie, also in whisper.
“If I had Jimmy here,” declared Zoie vindictively, “I'd wring his little fat neck,” and slipping her little pink toes from beneath the covers, she was about to get out of bed, when Aggie, who was facing Alfred's bedroom door, gave her a warning signal.
Zoie had barely time to get back beneath the covers, when Alfred re-entered the room in search of his satchel. Aggie found it for him quickly.
Alfred glanced solicitously at Zoie's closed eyes. “I'm so sorry,” he apologised to Aggie, and again he slipped softly out of the room.
Aggie and Zoie drew together for consultation.