Robert, sensing that the doctor was about to beat a retreat, and seeing an opportunity opening up, put a hand on his arm. “No, I’m sorry, Doctor. You delivered Genevieve into the world. You’ve known her all her life. It’s natural that you should speak about her in a friendly and familiar tone.” And then, “She looks up to you, you know. Holds you in the highest possible esteem.”

“Does she?”

“Oh, yes. I should have thought that would be obvious. After all, you’ve stood by this family through thick and thin, haven’t you?”

“Well, I suppose, I…”

“There was that other difficult time, wasn’t there? A few years ago, when Genevieve was still a girl?”

Doctor Peters was looking uncomfortable. “I should go back inside.”

But Robert wasn’t ready to let it go. “Were you called to attend her much during that time?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re referring to.” He wasn’t looking Robert in the eye. And Robert knew what it meant when a man couldn’t look you in the eye.

“Yes, you do.”

“Well.” The doctor loosened his tie a little. “Then you’ll appreciate that I can’t discuss the matter. No offense intended.” He was up on his feet now and starting to walk away, but Robert quickly stubbed out his own cigar and fell into step alongside him.

“So.” He struggled for a change of subject that would keep Doctor Peters talking. “A sudden death, was it? Bolt out of the blue?”

“Absolutely. A terrible shock to all of us. Her health was pretty good right up until the end. Headaches, trouble with sleeping—all the sort of things one might expect from a woman of her age with a nervous disposition. But nothing serious. Her heart—well, there was never any hint of a problem.”

“I gather she was found out here.” Robert gestured at the roses. An almost obscene proliferation of life and color.

“That’s right. It seems she was cutting a few blooms for the house. She was very fond of her rose garden. It would have been quick. No pain.”

“Be sure and tell that to my Genevieve, Doctor. She was close to her mother, as you know. And she’s a high-strung girl.”

Almost imperceptibly, the doctor quickened his pace.

“There are things I need to know about. So I can be a good husband to her.”

“Goodness, look at the time! You’ll have to excuse me—” These last words were uttered as the doctor suddenly broke away.

“Doctor Peters!”

He was scampering off with an odd, bow-legged gait—first toward the house, but then, with a crazy zigzagging change of direction, to the main gate.