“First let me give you this.” He pushed a manila envelope across the table. “It’s another installment of the document. Not a transcript this time. A photocopy of the original. A little hard to read but maybe more revealing.”

The envelope was dismayingly thick. Not that Sandra was reluctant to take it. Her professional curiosity had been piqued. What she resented was that Bose was still being cagy about what he wanted from her. “Thank you,” she said, “but—”

“We can talk more freely later on. Say maybe tonight? If you’re free?”

“I’m free now. I haven’t finished my salad yet.”

Bose lowered his voice: “The problem is, we’re being watched.”

“Excuse me?”

“Woman in the booth behind the plastic plants.”

Sandra canted her head and nearly laughed out loud. “Oh, god!” Whispering now herself: “That’s Mrs. Wattmore. From State. One of the ward nurses.”

“She followed you here?”

“She’s a hopeless busybody, but I’m sure it’s a coincidence.”

“Well, she’s been taking a pretty deep interest in our conversation.” He mimed a cupped-hand-to-ear.

“Typical…”

“So—tonight?”

Or we could move to a different table, Sandra thought. Or just keep our voices down. She didn’t suggest it, however, because it was possible Bose was using this as an excuse to see her again. And she wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Was Bose a colleague, a collaborator, a potential friend, maybe even (as Mrs. Wattmore no doubt suspected) a potential lover? The situation was ambiguous. Perhaps exciting for that reason. Sandra hadn’t been involved with a man since she broke up with Andy Beauton, another State physician who had been fired in last year’s downsizing. Since then, her work had eaten her alive. “Okay,” she said. “Tonight.” She was reassured by the smile he gave her. “But I still have an hour on lunch.”

“So let’s talk about something else.”

About each other, as it turned out.