"Mercedes Lackey - EM 3 - The Serpents Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

kind of office that Doctor Clayton-Smythe had. The wallpaper, a warm
Morris print, softened the impression given by the rows of medical
texts on the wall and the plain, uncompromising desk. The woman
waiting there stood up slowly. The velvet coat lying beside her, the
collar of jet beads at her throat, and the abundance of maroon lace
making up the ornamentation of her deep red dress was nothing at all
compared to the impact of her wide, limpid blue eyes and the shining
mass of her golden hair. She could have been the wife of a peer, or a
successful man of business-could have been, but was not. There was
something indefinable about her dress and air-or perhaps it was only
Maya's own ability to see deep past the surface of things. At any
rate, there was no doubt in the young doctor's mind that this was one
of the ladies with whom Gupta had left her card this morning.
Maya extended her hand across her desk, and it was taken tentatively
by the other. "I am Doctor Witherspoon," Maya said, in a firm, but
friendly tone. "Would you care to have a seat and tell me what brings
you to my surgery, Miss-" she hesitated just a moment, then finished,
"-Smith?" A raised eyebrow meant to convey a tacit understanding that
there would be no real names used here evidently translated her
meaning perfectly.
The woman released Maya's hand, and a smile curved those knowing
lips, about which there was more than a suggestion that the ruddy
color was not entirely due to the hand of nature. Certainly the pure,
pale complexion had nothing at all to do with nature, and very much
to do with the ingestion of tiny daily doses of arsenic or lead, a
dangerous practice that many professional beauties resorted to,
sometimes with fatal results. "Very good," she said, seating herself.
"Miss Smith, indeed, will do as well as any other name."
Maya seated herself and folded her hands on the top of her desk.
"Does anything bring you here besides curiosity, Miss Smith?"
"Your card." The woman slipped two fingers inside a beaded reticule
and extracted the rectangle of heavy card stock. "I came to see-" She
seemed for a moment at a loss for words.
"To see the horse, and perhaps try its paces?" Maya supplied, and
again that winsome smile appeared. Calculated, perhaps, but this lady
was a professional in every sense.
"Indeed. And I am not disappointed, although I expected to be. Too
often those who advertise discretion are anything but discreet." Miss
"Smith" placed the card back in her reticule. Maya made another
addition to her mental assessment; though her caller might look
little more than eighteen, she was much older-in spirit and
experience if not in years. "As you might assume, although I am
currently in good health with no-complaints-I am in need of a
personal physician.
As are several of my particular-circle. We conferred over tea, my
friends of the theater and I, and I was chosen to approach you."
Aha. Candor. I, too, shall be candid. So this lady was from the
theater-not in the chorus, probably not a dancer, or she might have
mentioned it.
"In that case, if you will give me your medical history and any