Miriam walked her down the stairs. “When you get back to Riverside, they’re going to want to know what you accomplished. Tell them I’m still trying to make up my mind.”

“You?” For a moment Sarah was utterly confused, then she remembered the purpose of her visit. “Oh! Yes. I’ll tell them that.”

Miriam took both of Sarah’s hands in hers. “I called a cab. It’ll be here any minute.”

How considerate, Sarah thought.

Miriam leaned toward her, smiling. “You smell like a—”

“A rose?” Sarah offered.

A dark look crossed Miriam’s face. “I never use them in fragrances.” Her voice was harsher, almost strident. Then it all evaporated into another of those wonderful, warm smiles.

On the way to Riverside as Sarah lay back in the cab, she thought of how long it had been since she had enjoyed the special friendship of another woman, how very long.

Tom looked up as Sarah came slowly into his office. He had been developing a table of organization for the Blaylock project—if only he could find a way to split it off from Hutch’s control. He had been about to greet Sarah, but her condition silenced him. Her clothes weren’t on straight, her hair was tangled, and she smelled like a cathouse. When she saw his expression she returned a guilty look.

“I took a bath,” she said. He heard a lot of strain in that voice.

“You sick?”

She shook her head, then dropped to the couch. “I feel hot. Is it hot in here?”

Maybe it was, a little. He pushed the window open the inch it would go. “Did you see Mrs. Blaylock at all, or just go home?”

He was stunned to hear her laugh, bitter and raucous. “I took the shower at her house.”

He was at a loss for words. Her house? “You mean—Miriam Blaylock’s house.”

Sarah smiled mirthlessly. Her face dissolved by anguished degrees. He knew how she hated to cry. To see her try not to was more painful than if she had done it. Tom went to her, sat down beside her. The smell was quite sickening this close. It was one of those foul covering perfumes that must have been popular in the days before people bathed.

“I’m sorry. Very unprofessional of me.” Now she broke down, grabbed his shoulders, and buried her face in his chest. Twisting as far as he could, he managed to kick the door closed. He wasn’t entirely sure why she was so agitated, but he didn’t try to find out more details. That would come later. Right now she needed reassurance and a little tender care. He held her, stroking her hair. He would have kissed her but for the repellent odor. Despite himself he just could not get that close to it.