There was nothing one could say to that and remain within the realms of social politeness, Lindsay thought. Ignoring him, she turned to Sophie and said, “By the way, before I forget. Helen rang just as I was leaving the flat. She asked if you could ring her between seven and half past. She said it was urgent.”

Sophie nodded. “Thanks.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll give her a ring in a minute.”

“Don’t let me interrupt your professional conclave,” Lindsay said. “Just ignore me if you’ve still got business to discuss.”

“Ignore you? Impossible,” McIntosh said archly. He smoothed his light-brown hair in what was clearly a habitual gesture.

“It’s all right, we’ve finished. Ian’s given me a couple of ideas about procedures we can implement that should reduce our infection rate.”

“Think nothing of it, Soph,” he said magnanimously, turning his calculated smile on her. “But let’s not bore your friend talking shop. Soph tells me you’re a journalist. What sort of stuff do you do?”

Lindsay shrugged. “This and that. Anything that comes along, really. I’m a freelance, you see, so I have to pick up every little tidbit I can. You live by your wits, and what you can winkle out of people.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “It must be very interesting.”

“People always think so,” Lindsay replied ruefully. “But it’s not always glamorous or exciting. A lot of the time it’s excruciatingly boring. You can spend a whole day waiting for the one phone call that you need before you can get an inch farther on a story. Or you can sit and freeze in your car outside someone’s house waiting for them to come home. And you have to be just as polite to the creeps as the nice guys. It’s not a bit like All the President’s Men.”

Sophie got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just make that phone call,” she said.

“Don’t leave us alone too long,” McIntosh replied with an exaggerated wink. “We might not be able to control our basic animal urges, you know!”

Lindsay watched Sophie cross the room, wondering how she put up with men like McIntosh with such equanimity. Collecting herself, she turned back to the gynecologist and said casually, “I used to work at the Clarion here in Glasgow. I believe we had a mutual . . . how shall I put it? Acquaintance?”

He looked slightly disconcerted and flashed the grin at her. Lindsay looked forward to wiping it off his self-satisfied face. “Really?” he said casually. “I don’t think I know anyone who works there.”

“She doesn’t work there any more. She’s dead now. Alison Maxwell?”

McIntosh refused to meet Lindsay’s eyes and nervously ran a hand over his light-brown hair. “Maxwell . . . Maxwell? Oh yes, I remember now. She was a patient of mine for a short time about a year ago.”