I also had Ellen Jaffe there.

Ellen was a hotshot anesthesiologist over at St. Vincent's, with wavy auburn hair, a small button nose, and long, slim runner's legs that were a joy to behold. We'd met at a clambake thrown by a friend of mine and been together for the past two years.

Ellen was pretty, smart as a whip, and just as dedicated to her career as I was to mine. That was a problem. I worked days-and half the nights, lately, preparing the case. She was taking doctoral classes at Cornell Medical and doing her hospital rotations at night. We used to spend entire weekends together in bed. Now we could barely find a night to be in the same room and watch TV.

She said I was fixated on Cavello, and she was probably right. I shot back that she must be having an affair with Dr. Diprovan-Diprovan being the solution of choice when putting people under these days.

Whatever it was, it was killing me how things were sliding downhill between us. But you either fight for it or you don't, and lately, neither of us was fighting a lot for anything.

So I stopped at Pietro's on the way home and picked up an order of the bestamatriciana in New York -Ellen's favorite. She didn't work Monday nights. Let's not call it a party, but it would be the first quality time we'd spent with each other in at least a week.

Add to that a bouquet of sunflowers from the Korean grocer up the block. I had also left Ellen a message on the machine to set the table.

I turned the key in the front door and saw the table in the dining alcove set for one.

"Buonasera, signorita."

"Nick?" I heard Ellen call from the bedroom.

She came out of the bedroom in her navy Burberry windbreaker and running shoes, knotting her long brown hair. Not exactly the fantasy I had in mind."I'm sorry, Nicky. I was going to leave a note. Benson just called. They're on overload tonight. They need me in."