"We don't have an agenda to hand out today," Martin said with
uncharacteristic seriousness. "Let's begin." He nodded to
Matthew, then diverted his attention out the window, avoiding
Peter's puzzled expression.
* * *
Greta Locke awoke with no great desire to leave her warm bed. She
had slept fitfully; Matthew had tossed and bucked through the
night, and the few times she tried to soothe or comfort him, he
had turned on his side with an irked sigh.
She wondered if the board meeting at Wallaby had started. It
didn't matter really, everything was going to be just fine.
Stretching, she sat up and adjusted her silk gloves. She leaned
across the bed to the night table and opened its drawer, taking
from it a fine Swiss biscuit that she unwrapped and bit into as
she pulled the sheets from her body and got out of bed. She
didn't feel like taking a shower, not right now, anyway. She took
her silk robe from the door hook as she passed the bathroom.
Slowly she descended the stairs. With each step her mind turned
over her options for the day ahead. Stanford Mall? Union Square
again? Clothes? Gourmet food?
Her housekeeper, Marie, appeared at the bottom of the stairway.
She was wearing rubber gloves and carrying a bucket filled with a
strong-smelling ammonia solution. She greeted Greta with an
obedient smile.
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