‘All right, then I’ll do the best I can as you are.’ I took the kitchen knife, which was a modern streamlined implement designed on the lines of a surgical scalpel. That seemed appropriate. ‘If you can just move your hands?’

Slowly she relaxed her grip of her stomach and I saw the entry point, to the left and just under the rib cage. There seemed to be very little bleeding but I didn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign. Maybe she was bleeding internally.

I turned to Leotta, who was watching my movements closely from the armchair. ‘Any advice?’ I asked.

‘You need to get a better look at it, find where the bullet went.’

I cut a hole carefully in the light cotton dress and saw the wound, a gaping red mouth against the pallor of Jill’s skin. It was quite small and only a trickle of blood came from it. I opened the first aid box and made up a pad from the medicated gauze. Holding it against the wound, I closed her hands over it. ‘Keep that there.’

Leotta said, ‘Where’s the exit wound?’

I took the knife again and cut away the dress from around Jill’s waist. I was dreading what I might find, but the skin of her back was unbroken, although there was a heavy and spreading bruise around a central lump. Tentatively I pressed the lump and Jill yelped, so I left it alone.

Jill said, ‘Bill!’

I moved to where she could see me. ‘Yes?’

‘I think I’m going. Everything is getting dark.’

‘You’re not passing out,’ I said. ‘It’s nightfall. I don’t want to turn on any lights.’

She sighed with relief.

Leotta said, ‘What did you find?’ When I didn’t answer, she said, ‘Tell me. I’ve treated gunshot wounds in New York. You won’t scare me.’

No, but I might frighten the hell out of Jill, I thought. I told Leotta what I’d found. ‘I think the lump is the bullet. There’s no exit wound so it must be.’

‘It should have gone right through at that range,’ she said.

I looked up as John came in with a tea tray. The old man worked fast. I said, ‘You’re the doctor, Leotta. There’s some hot tea here but I don’t …’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing to eat or drink after an abdominal wound.’

‘How about a flesh wound to the arm? We should see to that next.’

‘Just give me one of those gauze pads and a bandage. I’ll be fine.’

I did as she instructed and she deftly administered her own first aid one-handed. I provided some minor assistance with menial tasks such as cutting the bandage to size, but the handiwork was all hers.

When she was done she said, ‘We need to get Jill to a doctor. She needs proper treatment.’