“Ma’am?” the maid prompted.

What was going on with me and the ma’am thing today? Had I suddenly become a senior citizen without even noticing?

“No message,” I said. “Do you know when I can try to reach her?”

“I’m not sure. I believe she’s at the gym.”

Even grief couldn’t get in the way of Barbara’s strict workout schedule. “I’ll try back,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Good day, ma’am.” The maid hung up the phone. That was two ma’ams in one short phone call. A complex was beginning to take root.

Well, I knew one phone call I could make where I wasn’t in danger of being on the wrong side of a ma’am. Edward and Helene Porter weren’t in my Blackberry, but their number in Louisburg Square was listed. They were both members of Grenthaler’s board of directors, and they might have some insight as to what Barbara was planning to do with her shares. Furthermore, if a takeover was, in fact, in the works, I could trust that they would be firmly aligned with Sara, and I wanted to prepare them for the remote possibility that we would need to mount a defense. Especially since I didn’t want Sara worrying about it in her current position. Mrs. Porter answered the phone on the third ring.

“I don’t know if you remember me, Mrs. Porter. This is Rachel Benjamin from Winslow, Brown. We met at a Grenthaler Media board meeting last year when I gave a presentation about the company’s acquisition strategy.”

“Certainly, dear. The redheaded girl.” That was more like it. Of course, Helene Porter must have been pushing ninety, so a girl in her book was probably anyone not eligible for Social Security, but I’d take it.

“I’m glad you remember me.”

“You were very memorable. Edward and I were both impressed by you.”

“Well, thank you. And I’m sorry about what happened to Sara this morning.”

“Yes, it was quite a shock for us. Fortunately, the doctor thinks she’ll be as good as new in a couple of days. We just got back from the hospital, and she definitely seems to be recovering nicely. Now we just have to find out who did this to her.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “You must be very concerned.”

“Well, she’s only a child, and Cambridge ’s gotten so dangerous. We wish that she would live with us, but she insists on staying in the dorms.”

“Still, it must be nice for her to have you so close by.”

“I think we’re more of a nuisance than anything else, but that’s sweet of you to say.”

“Mrs. Porter, if it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping that I could pay you and your husband a visit. There’s some company business I’d like to discuss, and I don’t want to bother Sara right now.”

“We would love to see you, dear. Perhaps you could come by tomorrow morning?”

I would have to get out of interviewing again, but Cecelia would cover for me. “That would be great,” I agreed. We set a time and she gave me their address.

My Blackberry buzzed on the desk as we were saying goodbye. I checked it, wondering if Jessica had already managed to dig up the Grenthaler charter. But it was an e-mail from Peter.

Locked in a meeting right now, and it looks like it’s going to go long. Really long, unfortunately. I think I’m going to have to take a rain check on tonight. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. So so sorry. PF

Disappointment flooded through me. I’d been looking forward to a quiet romantic dinner for two, especially after the day I was having. I wanted to tell Peter about everything that had happened. More than that, I wanted to see him, to be reassured that all of my concerns about him and Abigail were in my head. That, as Luisa had said, I was creating problems where none existed.

I read the message again, trying to decipher any hidden meaning it might contain. And the more I read it, the more I realized that I was feeling something other than disappointment and concern. I was annoyed, too. Unfairly, probably. But would it have been that much harder for Peter to call me? He knew I’d be upset, and e-mailing me to cancel seemed like a cop-out. Sure, he was trapped in a meeting, but he could have stepped out for a minute to make a quick call and talk to me in person, couldn’t he?

I was composing a reply when the phone rang. I picked it up with happy relief. It hadn’t taken Peter long to recognize the error of his ways.

But it wasn’t Peter.

“Rachel? It’s Jonathan Beasley.”

I was in a vulnerable state from Peter’s e-mail, but that wasn’t enough to explain the effect Jonathan’s voice had on me. Parts of my body tingled. Tingled! That shouldn’t happen with anyone but Peter.

I feigned calmness. “Oh. Hi. Any news?”

“No, not really. I spoke to UHS a few minutes ago, and Sara’s doing well. Nothing much from the police yet.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks for keeping me posted.”

“I thought you’d want to be kept in the loop.”

“I do. Thank you.”

He paused. “Listen, you’re probably booked, but-”

“Aagghh!”

“Rachel, what happened? Are you all right?”

I’d gotten up to retrieve a Diet Coke from the minibar and promptly stubbed my toe on the coffee-table leg. Now I was hopping around the room, waiting for the agony to recede.

“Uh-huh,” I gasped, my teeth clenched against the pain. “Just bumped into something, that’s all.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure,” I responded, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“Well, as I was saying, I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight.”

I forgot about my toe. “Dinner? Tonight?”

“Sure. There’s a little Indian place I know in Central Square. They do a mean vindaloo.”

I’d been thinking that I’d call Jane and go over there, now that I had no plans, but I’d be seeing all my friends the next night. In fact, we’d be seeing each other all weekend. And I loved spicy food.

“I can do that,” I said.

“Really?”

“Sounds good. Where should I meet you and when?”

He gave me directions. “Eight o’clock work for you?”

“Eight is fine,” I affirmed.

“Great. Then I’ll see you there. I’m looking forward to it.”

I hung up the phone and limped into the bedroom. Housekeeping had been there, and the bed was now freshly made. Which reminded me that yet again I’d managed not to mention Peter to Jonathan.

I felt a brief twinge of guilt but quickly brushed it away.

It was only dinner.

I t was time for the recruiting roundup session. I shut down my laptop, put my suit jacket back on, stuffed my feet, complete with throbbing toe, into my shoes and grabbed my shoulder bag and coat.

Skipping the elevator, I took the service stairs to the floor below and headed down the corridor to the Winslow, Brown suite. I heard Scott Epson’s nasal voice before I saw him.

“…can only benefit us,” he was saying. Actually, he was bloviating, as he was wont to do. “Yes, it’s unfortunate, but it does weaken their position.” I turned the corner and nearly ran into him, which would have been a far less pleasant experience than smashing into, say Jonathan Beasley. Although I doubted Scott’s concave chest would pack as much of a wallop.

“Hi, Scott,” I said, stepping to the side to avoid a collision.

He gave a start of surprise then put his hand over the mouthpiece of his cell phone. “Oh. Hi, Rach. Just wrapping up an incredibly important call. I’ll be right in.”

“Sure,” I said. He seemed strangely flustered, but I didn’t give it much thought. It was Scott, after all.

I passed through the open door of the suite and selected a can of Diet Coke from the refreshments table. Several of my colleagues had already gathered, and most were busy on their assorted phone and e-mail devices. I said hello to Cecelia and made small talk with a guy from the Capital Markets department. Scott joined us a couple of minutes later, and when everyone was seated I called the meeting to order so that we could begin our tedious rehashing of the day’s interviews.