She said, “I know what you are.”

He nodded mildly, as if to say, Yes, all right He shifted a stack of magazines to make room for himself on the sofa. “You’re one of Max’s students?”

“I was,” she corrected. “Molecular biology. I took a sabbatical.”

“Money?”

“Money mostly. My father died after a long illness. It was expensive. There was the possibility of loans and so forth, but I didn’t feel—I just didn’t enjoy the work anymore. Dr. Kyriakides offered me a job until I was ready to face my thesis again. At first I was just collating notes, you know, doing some library research for a book he’s working on. Then—”

“Then he told you about me.”

“Yes.”

“He must trust you.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’m sure of it. And he sent you here?”

“Finally, yes. He wasn’t sure you’d be willing to talk directly to him. But it’s very important.”

“Not just auld long syne?”

“He wants to see you.”

“For medical reasons?”

“Yes.”

“Am I ill, then?”

“Yes.”

He smiled again. The smile was devastating—superior, knowing, but at the same time obviously forced, an act of bravery. He said, “Well, I thought so.”

* * *

Susan had no relish for this talk of illness. Her father’s illness had dominated her life for almost a year, keeping her on a dizzying rollercoaster of falling grades, missed deadlines, serial flights to California. In her graduate work she had been doing lab chores for Dr.