by Robin Cook
At Deborah’s insistence, after leaving the apartment Helen took them on a short loop around the farm and even around the power plant before bringing them back to the main building. The only downside of the entire excursion was that Joanna and Deborah were never out of Helen’s earshot and had no chance to speak privately. It wasn’t until Helen deposited them back in the anteroom of Wingate and Saunders’s office to wait for Dr. Wingate that they had their chance to talk.
“What was your take on those pregnant workers in the dining room?” Deborah asked in a whisper to keep Gladys, the secretary, from overhearing.
“I was blown over,” Joanna said. “I can’t believe they have a whole group of migrant women who are being paid to become pregnant!”
“Do you think it is some kind of experiment?”
“Heaven only knows,” Joanna said with a shudder.
“The question is, What are they doing with the children?”
“I should hope the children are going back with the mothers to Nicaragua,” Joanna said. “I don’t even like to think of any other possibility.”
“The first thing that comes to my mind is that they are selling them,” Deborah said. “Surrogacy doesn’t seem likely since they are all so equivalently far along. Selling them could be quite a lucrative business on the side. Being an infertility clinic they certainly have the appropriate clientele, and when we were here a year and a half ago you were impressed with the money this place was seemingly raking in.”
“I was impressed with the money they have to be generating from the infertility business,” Joanna said. “With the numbers they’re obviously doing here, they don’t have to be in the baby business to make ends meet. It doesn’t make sense! Selling babies is against the law, pure and simple, and Helen Masterson was so upfront about it. If they were doing something against the law, she certainly wouldn’t have been so forthright.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Deborah said. “There has to be some reasonable explanation. Maybe they are women suffering from infertility themselves. Maybe helping them get pregnant is part of the deal to get them to come.”
Joanna treated Deborah to a look of disbelief. “That’s even less likely than surrogacy and for the same reason.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t think of any other explanation.”
“Nor can I,” Joanna agreed. “I’m going to be happy to learn about my eggs, and then turn my back on this organization. I felt uneasy about this place the first day we came here to donate, and today has just underlined that impression.”
The door to Dr. Wingate’s office opened and the doctor emerged with narrow-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Clutched in his hand were balance sheets, which he continued to examine intently up until the moment he placed them on the secretary’s desk. He didn’t appear to be pleased.
“Call the accountants,” he muttered to Gladys. “Tell them I want to see all four quarters of last year.”
“Yes, sir,” Gladys said.
Spencer gave the balance sheets a final knock with his knuckle as if he were still mulling over their contents before looking in the women’s direction. He took a fortifying breath and then walked over to where they were sitting. As he approached his expression softened and a tentative smile appeared.
“Good afternoon, Miss Marks,” he said, reaching out to shake Deborah’s hand, which he held for an extra moment as he locked eyes with her. Then turning to Joanna he said: “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name. Georgina mentioned it, but it’s slipped my mind.”
“Prudence Heatherly,” Joanna said. She shook Spencer’s hand and stared up into his face. Deborah had been right; the man didn’t look like her father, yet there was something about him that was similarly superficially appealing.
“I’m sorry to have kept you ladies waiting,” he said, switching his attention back to Deborah.
“We’ve been enjoying a chance to sit and relax,” Deborah said. She could tell the good doctor was having trouble keeping his eyes off her crossed legs. “Miss Masterson has kept us on a busy schedule.”
“I hope your visit has been successful.”
“Very much so,” Deborah said. “We’ll be starting work tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” Spencer said. “Excellent indeed.” He rubbed his hands restlessly and looked back and forth between the two women as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. He pulled a chair over and sat down across from them. “Well,” he said. “What can we get you: coffee, tea, or a soft drink?”
“Some sparkling water would be nice,” Deborah said.
“Same for me,” Joanna said reluctantly. She felt like the odd man out. She hadn’t particularly wanted to come to Wingate’s office, and now that she had, it was painfully obvious the man was unabashedly interested in Deborah. As far as Joanna was concerned, the way he was looking at Deborah bordered on disgusting.
Spencer told the secretary to get the cold drinks. While she was doing so, he made small talk about the clinic. When the secretary returned it was with only two small bottles of San Pellegrino.
“Aren’t you having anything?” Deborah asked.
“No, I’m fine,” Spencer said. But he didn’t seem to be. He crossed and uncrossed his legs several times while the women poured their drinks. He was obviously nervous about something.
“Are we taking too much of your time?” Joanna inquired. “Perhaps we should go and let you get back to your work.”
“No, don’t go,” Spencer said. “Timewise I’m fine. What I would like to do, Miss Marks, is have a word with you in private.”
Deborah took the glass from her lips and stared at Spencer. The question was so unexpected she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
Spencer pointed toward his office. “If we could just step into the other room for a moment, I would be appreciative.”
Deborah looked at Joanna, who shrugged, suggesting it didn’t matter to her, although Deborah could tell she was not amused about the whole situation.
“All right,” Deborah said, redirecting her attention back to Spencer. She put her glass down on the coffee table, and with a muffled grunt got herself to her feet. Following Spencer’s lead she entered the office. Spencer came in behind her and closed the door.
“I’ll come right to the point, Miss Marks,” Spencer said. For the first time he avoided looking at her by directing his attention out the giant window. “I’ve encouraged an unspoken policy here at the clinic discouraging social liaisons between management and employees. And since you will technically not be an employee until tomorrow, I was wondering if you would consider having dinner with me tonight.” The moment he got the last word out, he turned from the window and regarded her expectantly.
Deborah was rendered momentarily speechless. She’d been enjoying the part she was playing, but she hadn’t anticipated attracting anything more than a second look. She hadn’t expected to be asked out by the head of the clinic—a man who she’d assumed was married and who was at least twice her age.
“There’s a quaint restaurant not too far out of town,” Spencer said as Deborah hesitated. “I don’t know if you’ve been there yet. It’s called the Barn.”
“I’m certain it’s charming,” Deborah managed, finding her voice. “And it’s awfully nice of you to think of me, but there are some logistical problems. You see, my roommate and I don’t live out here. We live in Boston.”
“I see,” Spencer said. “Well, perhaps I could talk you into an early dinner. I believe they open as early as five-thirty, which isn’t very long from now. That way you could be on the road back to Boston as early as seven or eight o’clock.”
Instinctively Deborah checked her watch. It was almost four in the afternoon.
“I certainly enjoyed our little chat this morning,” Spencer added encouragingly. “I’d love to continue it and learn more about what aspect of molecular biology captures your fancy. I mean, we obviously have common interests.”
“Com
mon interests,” Deborah scoffed to herself while she stared into the man’s blue eyes. She sensed a touch of desperation in this successful—and reasonably attractive—physician. Deborah decided to test the water. “What would Mrs. Wingate say about this idea?”
“There is no Mrs. Wingate,” Spencer responded. “Unfortunately my wife divorced me a number of years ago. It was unexpected. In retrospect I suppose I was too dedicated to my work and neglected my marriage.”
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said.
“It’s all right,” Spencer said, lowering his eyes. “It’s a cross I’ve had to bear. The good side is that I’ve finally come to terms with the situation, and I’m ready to get out there and socialize to some extent.”
“Well, I’m flattered that you have thought of me. But, I am out here in Bookford with my roommate, and we have only one car.”
“You don’t think she could entertain herself for a couple of hours?”
Deborah could not believe this guy. Did he truly believe that she’d be willing to ask her best friend to twiddle her thumbs for two hours so they could have dinner? It was so absurdly egocentric she couldn’t think of an immediate reply.
“There’re plenty of things she could do in town,” Spencer said. “There’s a nice little bar and a surprisingly good pizza place. And the local book store is a favorite hangout with an espresso bar in the back.”
Deborah was about to tell the good doctor to go jump in the mill pond when she held back. A way of turning the unexpected situation to her and Joanna’s benefit occurred to her like a bolt out of the blue. Instead of telling Spencer off, she said: “You know, dinner at the Barn is starting to sound very tempting!”
Spencer’s face brightened. “I’m pleased, and I’m sure Penelope, or what ever her name is, will find checking out the town enjoyable. As for you, I’m sure you’ll find the Barn a surprisingly good restaurant. The food is country style but tasty, and the wine list isn’t so bad either.”
“Her name is Prudence,” Deborah said. “The deal is that Prudence comes to the restaurant as well.”
Spencer’s expression clouded. He started to protest, but Deborah cut him off.
“She’s a great kid,” Deborah said. “Don’t be too quick to judge because of her style. She might look conservative, but let me tell you, she can be a hell-raiser when she gets a few drinks under her belt.”
“I’m sure she’s lovely,” Spencer said. “But I was hoping to have some time with you alone.”
“You might find this hard to believe,” Deborah said. “But we often go out on dates together with the same guy, provided the guy is willing to have an open mind.” Improvising in hopes of being seductively coquettish, she winked while touching her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.
“Really?” Spencer commented as his imagination took wing. He’d never been with two women before, although he’d seen such episodes in X-rated videos.
“Really!” Deborah said, trying to make her voice huskier than it really was.
Spencer gestured with his palms up, fingers spread. “Hey, I certainly have an open mind! Let’s do it!”
“Wonderful,” Deborah said. “We’ll meet you at the Barn at five-thirty. And do me a favor.”
“Certainly,” Spencer said. “What?”
“Don’t work too hard the rest of the afternoon. It will be better if you’re not too tired.”
“You have my word,” Spencer said, raising his hands in surrender.
JOANNA SLAMMED THE CAR DOOR AND STUCK THE KEY IN the ignition, but she didn’t start the car. Instead, she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel while Deborah got in on her side.
“Now run this by me once more,” Joanna spat. “Did you tell me that you agreed for the two of us to go to dinner with this disgusting lecher who you admit has some sort of sexual fantasy in mind? Tell me that I’m just dreaming this all up!”
“No, you got it right,” Deborah agreed. “But I’m surprised at your description of the good doctor. This morning you said he was distinguished.”
“That was in response to his appearance, not his behavior; and that was this morning, not this afternoon.”
“Well,” Deborah said. “You should have let me know you felt so strongly before I was carried off into his office.”
Deborah knew she was taunting Joanna, but her roommate hadn’t given her a chance to explain the situation. As they left Wingate’s office, Deborah had mentioned the evening’s plans, and Joanna had immediately launched into an angry diatribe. Then, without allowing Deborah so much as another word, Joanna had stormed out of the Wingate Clinic.
“This car is going back to Boston straightaway,” Joanna announced. “If you want to stay out here and get it on with that rake, that’s your business, but personally I think you are crazy.”
“Will you calm down!” Deborah said.
“I’m quite calm enough,” Joanna said. “Now, are you getting out or what?”
“Shut up and listen!” Deborah ordered. “I had the same reaction as you when he first suggested dinner. But then it occurred to me he has something we want and need: something critical!”
Joanna took a deep breath to keep from lashing out again at Deborah. As usual Deborah was forcing her to ask. “Okay,” Joanna said at length. “What does he have that we need?”
“His blue access card!” Deborah said triumphantly. “He’s more than a department head, he’s the founder! His blue card will certainly open the door to the server room and probably every other door in the entire place.”
Joanna lifted her head from where she’d been leaning it against the steering wheel. What Deborah was saying was undoubtedly true, but what did it matter? She looked at her roommate. “He’s not going to give us his access card because we go to dinner with him.”
“Of course not,” Deborah said. “We’re going to take it! All we have to do is get him drunk, and while one of us is diverting him, the other snags the blue card.”
At first Joanna thought Deborah was just being her blithe self and that she’d laugh and say she was just kidding. But she didn’t. She returned Joanna’s gaze with a look of self-satisfaction.
“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “Sounds easy on paper, but difficult to execute.”
“You said yourself we were going to have to be creative to get into the server room,” Deborah said. “This is creative.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” Joanna said. “How do you know he drinks? Maybe he’s a teetotaler.”
“I don’t think that’s a worry,” Deborah said. “He mentioned that the restaurant where we’re supposed to meet him has a good wine list. Wine and women are definitely on his mind.”
“I don’t know about this idea,” Joanna said reluctantly.
“Oh, come on,” Deborah said. “Admit it’s a good idea! Have you come up with another plan for getting into that room?”
“No, but . . .”
“But nothing,” Deborah interjected. “What do we have to lose?”
“Our dignity.”
“Oh, please! Give me a break!”
Just then Dr. Donaldson and Cynthia Carson came out through the clinic door. Joanna suddenly scrunched down and ordered Deborah to do the same.
“Now what?” Deborah asked, mimicking Joanna and flattening herself below the level of the window.
“Dr. Donaldson and Cynthia Carson just came out of the clinic,” Joanna whispered. A few minutes ticked by. The women heard car doors open and slam shut followed by the noise of the tires moving on the gravel-strewn pavement. Only then did they sit up.
“I’m getting out of here,” Joanna said after making sure the coast was clear. She started the car, jammed it in gear, and backed out of the parking spot.
“So,” Deborah said, “are you with me or not?”
Joanna sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll give it a try. But to get that blue card will take more than dinner. We’ll have to get him to take us back to his house.”
“Probably,” Deborah admitted. “But we might get lucky.”
“As far as the division of labor is concerned, I want to make it clear that you’ll be doing the distracting and I’ll be doing the extracting.”
“I think we’ll have to play it by ear. As I said earlier, he’s expecting some kind of ménage a trois.”
“Good grief!” Joanna exclaimed as she nosed the car up to the gate to get it to open. “None of my old friends in Houston would believe this!”
The women drove into town and revisited the RiteSmart drugstore to ask directions to the Barn. The pharmacist had gained a few pounds but was just as cheerful as he’d been a year and a half previously.
“The Barn is about two miles north of town,” he said, pointing up Main Street in the direction they’d come. “It’s a good restaurant. I recommend you have the pot roast, double-baked potatoes, and the cheesecake with chocolate sauce.”
“That sounds like nice, light fare,” Joanna mocked as they returned to the street.
The women spent a half hour window shopping to pass some time before getting back into the car and driving out to the restaurant. It was a quaint establishment having been an actual barn in its previous life. Lots of old-fashioned farm equipment graced the grounds, and some was even attached to the side of the building. Inside, the animal stalls had been converted into eating areas with banquettes. The only windows were in the front creating a dark, cozy atmosphere in the interior.
“Miss Marks and Miss Heatherly?” the hostess asked before the women had a chance to say a word. When they answered yes, she motioned for them to follow. Clutching several menus, she led them to the rearmost stall. There in the dim, candlelit recess was Dr. Spencer Wingate decked out in a blazer with an ascot and matching pocket square. When he caught sight of Joanna and Deborah, he bounded out from behind the table, gallantly kissed each woman’s hand, and then graciously gestured for them to sit down. The hostess placed menus in front of each woman, smiled, and disappeared.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some wine before you got here.” He reached out and turned the labels of the two bottles sitting on the table toward the women. “A crisp white and a full-bodied red! I like my reds full-bodied.” He laughed briefly.
