88 88DR. WILLIAM LANE DINED AT LATHAM MANOR WITH SOME of the charter members of the residence. He explained Odile’s absence by saying that she was devastated to be leaving her dear friends. As for himself, while he regretted having to give up something that had been so pleasant an experience, it was his firm belief that, as the axiom goes, “the buck stops here.”
“I want to reassure everyone that this sort of outrageous indiscretion will never happen again,” he promised, referring to Janice Norton’s violation of privileged information.
Letitia Bainbridge had accepted the invitation to dine at the doctor’s table. “Do I understand that Nurse Markey is filing an ethics complaint against you, stating that, in effect, you stand by and let people die?” she asked.
“So I gather. It isn’t true, of course.”
“What does your wife think about that?” Mrs. Bainbridge persisted.
“Again, she’s truly saddened. She considered Nurse Markey a close friend.” And more the fool for it, Odile, he added to himself.
His farewell was gracious and to the point. “Sometimes it is appropriate to let other hands take the reins. I’ve always tried to do my best. If I am guilty of anything, it is of trusting a thief, but not of gross negligence.”
On the short walk between the manor and the carriage house, Dr. Lane thought, I don’t know what will happen now, but I do know whatever job I get will be on my own.
Whatever happened, he had decided he wasn’t going to spend another single day with Odile.
When he went upstairs to the second floor, the bedroom door was open and Odile was on the phone, apparently screaming at an answering machine. “You can’t do this to me! You can’t just drop me like this! Call me! You’ve got to take care of me. You promised!” She hung up with a crash.
“And to whom were you speaking, my dear?” Lane asked from the doorway. “Perhaps the mysterious benefactor who against all odds hired me for this position? Don’t trouble him or her or whoever it is any longer on my account. Whatever I do, I won’t be needing your assistance.”
Odile raised tear-swollen eyes to him. “William, you can’t mean that.”
“Oh, but I do.” He studied her face. “You really are frightened, aren’t you? I wonder why. I’ve always suspected that under that empty-headed veneer, something else was going on.
“Not that I’m interested,” he continued, as he opened his closet and reached for a suitcase. “Just a bit curious. After my little relapse last night, I was somewhat foggy. But when my head cleared, I got to thinking and made a few calls of my own.”
He turned to look at his wife. “You didn’t stay for the dinner in Boston last night, Odile. And wherever you went, those shoes of yours got terribly muddy, didn’t they?”