Robin Cook - Shock

Deborah looked at Joanna to see if she'd been listening. For most of the meal Joanna had been preoccupied by Dr. Donaldson's presence and the supposed need to keep her back to the table where the doctor had been sitting, but Dr. Donaldson had now left, and it was apparent to Deborah that Joanna had heard what Helen had said about the women laborers. Joanna returned Deborah's stare with a look that was a mixture of dismay and disbelief.

AFTER LUNCH HELEN MANAGED to get the two women into the golf cart despite Joanna's reservations. Once the tour began, even Joanna found it interesting. The size of the property was impressive, and most of it was covered with dense, old-growth forest. The residences of the upper-echelon personnel like Wingate, Saunders, Donaldson, and a few of the others were detached homes similar to the gatehouse in style although 'with white trim instead of black, making them significantly more appealing.

Even the average workers' housing was charming. The buildings were two-story row houses grouped together in a fashion reminiscent of a rural English village. The two-bedroom unit Helen showed the women was quite homey. Its front windows looked over a small, cobble stoned central square, while its larger rear windows faced south, affording a view over the millpond. Equally attractive was the rent: eight hundred dollars a month.

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 up-front 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; were still mulling over their contents before looking in the 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 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.