"Wilson, F Paul - adversary 3 - The Touch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

with the paper-shufflers. It won't codify, and if they can't stick me into their
computers, they'll want to either change me or get me out of the picture."
"Because you tend to fly by the seat of your pants?"
Alan couldn't help but smile. "I like to think of it as using intuition based on
experience, but I guess you could call it that. I'm flying by that pants seat
tonight with Jeffy."
Concern lit in her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Well, according to the rules laid out in the Medical Guidelines bill, I'd be
required to send you and Jeffy along to the ER tonight for a stat blood count
and abdominal X rays to rule out appendicitis because the history and the
physical exam suggest that as a possible differential diagnosis."
"Then why aren't you?"
"Because my gut tells me he doesn't have appendicitis."
"And you trust your gut?"
"My malpractice carriers would have a heart attack if they knew, but, yeahЧI've
learned to trust it."
"Okay," Sylvia said with a smile. "Then I'll trust it, too."
She was staring at him appraisingly, a half smile playing about her lips. Her
stare had a way of stripping away all artificiality and pretense.
Alan stared back. He had never seen her like this. She was always dressed to
kill, even when she brought Jeffy to the office. It was part of her image as the
rich and wild Widow Nash. Yet here she was with no makeup, her dark, almost
black hair simply tied back, her slim figure swathed in a shapeless robe, and he
found her as attractive as ever. What did she have that drew him so? She was a
woman he could not help being aware ofЧas if she were emanating something like a
pheromone. He wanted to reach out andЧ
This was what he had been afraid of.
Her voice suddenly changed to an exaggerated seductive simper that broke the
spell. "Besides, I kind of like the seat of your pants."
Here we go, he thought: her Mae West routine. Now that he had told her Jeffy was
safe, she was back to the old, taunting Sylvia.
"As a matter of fact, if I'd known it was this easy to get you out to the house,
I'd have made a night call years ago."
"Time to go," Alan said.
He led the way downstairs to the foyer. Something classical was playing softly
through the speakers.
"What's that music?"
"The Four Seasons. Vivaldi."
"Not Vivaldi," Alan said, repressing a smile. "Valli. Frankie Valli sang with
the Four Seasons. And that ain't them."
She laughed, and he liked the sound.
Then she spoke in a little voice. "Gee, Doc, I can't pay you tonight. I'm a
little short. Will you take something else in place of money?"
Alan had been expecting this. "Sure. Gold will do. Jewelry."
She snapped her fingers in disappointment. "How about a drink then?"
"No, thanks."
"Coffee? Tea?"
"No, really IЧ"
"Me?"
"Coffee! Coffee'll do fine."