Sophie stopped cutting carrots into neat batons with surgical precision and stared at Lindsay. “Ian McIntosh? You’ve got to be joking! He’s all mouth and trousers. You’re not seriously trying to tell me he was bonking Alison Maxwell?”

“Why not?”

“Well . . . It’s just that he’s one of those guys who’s always cracking double entendres and pretending he’s a superstud. In my limited experience, those types seldom actually do what they’re always mouthing about. He’s not been married that long. Can’t be more than eighteen months or so,” she added thoughtfully.

“And is his wife a nurse?” Lindsay probed insistently, her earlier misery forgotten in the joys of the chase.

Sophie nodded. “Yes. A theater sister, I think. But how on earth would he have met Alison? I can’t imagine their social circles overlapping,” she mused as she threw the carrots into the big wooden salad bowl and started to cut up some cauliflower florets.

“Maybe she was his patient,” Lindsay said.

“Dear God. I suppose you could be right. Do you want me to see if I can take a look at the records?”

“Would you? That would be terrific,” Lindsay enthused, glad to feel she was getting somewhere at last.

“No problem. I like to feel useful.” Sophie threw the last of the ingredients in the bowl and took a bottle of homemade dressing from the fridge. She sprinkled it over the salad and began to toss it vigorously. “Besides, I don’t like doctors who abuse their position.”

“Good. Then can you arrange for me to meet this guy McIntosh?”

Sophie laughed. “My God, I’d forgotten what a pushy little shit you can be when you’ve got a bee in your bonnet. I’ll see what I can do.”

After they had eaten, Lindsay curled up on the couch and continued to read Cordelia’s new novel. Sophie settled down beside her with the British Journal of Obstetrics, a comforting arm round Lindsay’s shoulders. Just after eleven, Sophie finished reading her periodical and yawned expansively. “I’m ready for bed,” she said. “How are you feeling now?”

Lindsay shrugged. “Pretty raw, to tell you the truth. Losing Cordelia’s taking a bit more getting used to than I expected.”

“Come to bed with me, then,” Sophie said. Seeing the look of surprise on Lindsay’s face, she laughed softly. “Sorry, not the most romantic proposition you’ve ever had, is it? It’s just that . . . well, you look fairly cuddle-starved to me. We both need a bit of loving and comfort, I’d say. And we’ve been friends for long enough to trust each other. No strings, Lindsay, just a bit of shelter in the storm.”

Lindsay felt the prickle of tears in her eyes as she hugged Sophie. “Thanks,” she whispered. “If you hand out prescriptions like this to all your patients, no wonder you’re such a success!”