"Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

'In ten minutes. Mrs. Fairfax. All her records are on your table. There isn't much mail, so you should get through it all by then.'

Dr. Petrie looked mock-severe. 'You really have me organized, don't you?'

Esther made big blue eyes at him. 'Isn't that what clinical assistants are for?'

He patted her shoulder. 'I sometimes wonder', he said. 'If you feel like making me some very strong black coffee, you may even find out'.

'Sure thing'. said Esther, and stood up. 'Just remember, though, that a girl can't wait for ever. Not even for Prince Valiant, M.D'.

Dr. Petrie went through to his clinic. It was built on the east side of the house - a large split-level room with one wide glass wall that overlooked a stone-flagged patio and Dr. Petrie's glittering blue swimming pool. The room was richly carpeted in cool deep green, and there were calm, mathematical modern paintings on every wall.

By the fine gauzy drapes of the window stood a pale marble statue of a running horse.

Dr. Petrie sat in his big revolving armchair and picked at the mail on his desk. Usually, he went through it fast and systematically, but today his mind was thrown off. He sipped his orange juice and tried not to think about David Kelly's flour-white face, and the anguished shivers of his grieving father.

There wasn't much mail, anyway. A couple of drug samples, a medical journal, and a letter from his attorney telling him that Margaret, his ex-wife, was declining to return his favorite landscape painting from the one-time marital home. He hadn't expected to get it back, anyway. Margaret considered that the home, and all of its contents, were fair pickings.

Esther came teetering in with his coffee. The way her breasts bounced and swayed under her white jacket, she couldn't be wearing a bra. Dr. Petrie wondered what she'd look like nude; but then decided that the real thing would probably spoil his fantasy.

She set the coffee down on his desk, and stared at him carefully. 'You don't seem yourself this morning.'

'Who do I seem like? Richard Chamberlain?'

'No, I don't mean that. I mean you don't look well.'

Dr. Petrie stirred Sweet 'n' Low into his coffee, and tapped the spoon carefully on the side of the cup.

'I'm worried.' he said. 'That's all.'

Esther looked at him seriously. 'Is there anything I can do?'

He raised his eyes. He gave a half smile, and then shook his head. 'I don't think so. It was what happened this morning. I was called out to help a young kid downtown. His father came all the way up here because I was recommended. He wanted the best, he said. But it was too late. The kid died on the way to hospital. He was only nine.'

'That's awful.'

Dr. Petrie rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. 'I know. It's awful. And that's all that I can say about it or do about it. I don't often feel inadequate, Esther, but I do right now.'

She gently laid her hand on him. 'If it helps any,' she said, 'you ought to think about the people you've saved.' Just then, the phone bleeped. Esther picked it up, and said, 'Dr. Petrie's clinic - can I help you?' She listened, and nodded, and then handed the phone over. 'It's for you,' she said. 'It's Miss Murry.'

Dr. Petrie took the receiver. 'You don't have to look so disapproving,' he told Esther. 'You and me, we're like the dynamic duo - Batman and Robin. Inseparable.'

Esther collected his empty orange-juice glass and tidied up his mail. 'How can we be inseparable, if we've never been together?' she asked provocatively teasing him, and teetered back to her desk.

Adelaide Murry sounded out of breath. Dr. Petrie said, 'Hi. You sound breathless.'

'I am.' said the sweet little voice on the other end of the phone. 'I've just played three sets with the new pro.'

'Is he good?'