We'll Meet Again

21

“Good morning, Doctor.”

Peter Black looked up from his desk. The uncertainty on his secretary’s face warned him that whatever she was about to say would not be welcome. As a person, Louise Unger was timid, but as a secretary she was extremely efficient. Her timidity annoyed him; her efficiency, he valued. His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. It was only 8:30. She had arrived at work early, as she often did.

He murmured a greeting and waited.

“Mr. Whitehall was on the phone, Doctor. He had to take another call but asks you to be available.” Louise Unger hesitated. “I think he’s very upset.”

Peter Black had long ago learned to control his facial muscles so that his emotions were not reflected in his expression. With a faint smile, he said, “Thanks for the warning, Louise. Mr. Whitehall is often upset. We know that, don’t we?”

The woman nodded eagerly, her birdlike eyes shining as she bobbed her head. “Just wanted to give you advance warning, Doctor.”

For her, this was a bold statement. Peter Black chose to ignore it. “Thank you, Louise,” he said smoothly.

The phone on his desk rang. He nodded, indicating that she should pick up the receiver.

She began to say, “Dr. Black’s office,” but got no further than “Doctor-” “It’s Mr. Whitehall, Doctor,” she said, putting the phone on hold. She knew enough to scurry out and close the door.

Peter Black knew that to show weakness to Calvin Whitehall was to be doomed. He had taught himself to ignore Cal ’s references to his drinking and was convinced that the only reason Whitehall restricted himself to one glass of wine was to prove his superiority of will.

He picked up the phone and spoke immediately.

“ Cal, how goes the empire?” Peter Black enjoyed asking that question. He knew it irritated Whitehall.

“It would go a lot better if Molly Lasch weren’t out there making waves.”

Peter Black felt as though the resonant tone of Calvin Whitehall’s voice was making the receiver tingle. Holding the phone with his left hand, Black deliberately stretched the fingers of his right hand, a trick he had picked up to relieve tension. “I thought we’d already established that she was making waves,” he responded.

“Yes, after Jenna saw her night before last. Molly wants me to locate Annamarie Scalli. She insists she has to see her, and obviously she doesn’t intend to be put off. Jenna was hammering at me about it again this morning. I told her I had no idea where Scalli is.”

“Nor do I.” Black knew his tone was even, his words precise. He remembered the panic in Gary Lasch’s voice: “Annamarie, for the sake of the hospital. You’ve got to help.”

I didn’t know at the time she was involved with Gary, Peter Black thought. What if Molly did get to her now? he wondered. Suppose Annamarie decided to tell what she knew. What then?

He became aware that Cal was still talking. What was he asking?

“… is there anyone at the hospital who might have stayed in touch with her?”

“I have no idea.”

After he put the receiver down a minute later, Dr. Peter Black spoke into the intercom. “Hold my calls, Louise.” He put his elbows on the desk and pressed his forehead with his palms.

The tightrope was fraying. How could he stop it from breaking and sending him hurtling to the ground?