“What are you doing with a prospectus on the Women’s Clinic?” Marissa asked. “I thought it was a private company.”

“They floated a big stock offering a few years ago to finance their nationwide expansion,” Robert explained. “It’s been a good stock. I’ve been very pleased with it.”

“You own stock in Women’s Clinic?” Marissa asked.

“Yes,” Robert said. “I have a significant position with both the Women’s Clinic and FCA.”

“You own stock in FCA as well?”

“Sure do,” Robert said. “I bought it on the Sydney Exchange.”

“Sell it!” Marissa shouted.

Robert laughed. “Now let’s not confuse emotions with business,” he said. “I see both stocks splitting in the near future.”

“I think there is something seriously wrong with these companies,” Marissa said with vehemence. “I don’t know what it is they’re up to, but I think it may be linked to these cases of TB salpingitis.”

“Don’t tell me you’re back on that crusade,” Robert whined.

“Just sell the stock,” Marissa said.

“I’ll take your recommendation under advisement,” Robert said evasively.

Marissa slammed the phone down, cutting off Robert before he could say more.

Anger had now overcome to a large degree her sadness about Wendy. Although she thought that her hormone-induced hyperemotional state might have had something to do with her change in mood, she didn’t care. Instead of giving in to depression, she opted for action. Picking up the phone, she called the Royal Flying Doctor service in Charleville.

“Yes,” the woman at the other end of the line told her, “Dr. Tristan Williams is with us, but he’s out at isolated cattle stations at the moment. He won’t be back for several days.”

“Does he have a specific schedule?” Marissa asked.

“Indeed he does,” the woman said. “Unless there is an emergency. Our doctors have a regular route whenever they leave for a loop of the outback.”

“Could you tell me where he will be two days from now?” Marissa asked. She thought that should give her enough time to get there no matter how far away it was.

“Hold the line,” the woman said. She was gone for several minutes. When she came back on the line she said, “He’ll be near a town called Windorah. He’s to make a call at the Wilmington Station.”

“Does Windorah have a commercial airport?” Marissa asked.

The woman laughed. “No, not quite,” she said. “In fact it doesn’t even have a bitumen road.”

Marissa next called the airport to see about connections to Charleville. With reservations made on an airline called Flight West, she quickly packed her bags and went down to the lobby. After making arrangements for Wendy’s bag to be brought to the hotel’s storage room, she checked out.