He went across and shook her. She opened her eyes, blinked, and smiled up at him.

He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, love. Except I feel so tired.”

“Did you stay up late?” Drake had been downtown to hear a performance of one of his own recent works, and glad-handing his public afterward had kept him out until after midnight.

Ana shook her head. “I was in bed by ten. I’ve been feeling this way a lot recently. Weak and feeble. But never as bad as this.”

“It’s not like you. Why don’t we give Tom a call?”

He had expected her to say it wasn’t necessary, that all she needed was a little more relaxation — Ana, between singing engagements and teaching, drove herself hard.

To his surprise, she nodded. “Would you call him for me?” She lay back and closed her eyes. “I just want to lie here for a little longer.”

Drake had worried from that moment on, even if at first no one else seemed to. Tom Lambert was a close friend as well as their family doctor. He came over the same evening, grumbling about what other patients would say if they thought he made house calls.

He examined Ana for a long time. He seemed more puzzled and curious than concerned.

“It could be simple fatigue,” he said when he was done. He accepted a small Scotch in a large glass and added lots of ice. The three of them were sitting in the den. Tom raised his glass to Ana before he took a sip. He sighed. “All I can say is, if it is anything, then it’s something that I’ve never seen before.”

“Do you think we should just forget about it?” Ana asked. She was sitting on the couch with her feet tucked under her. Drake, studying her now rather than simply accepting her presence, decided that she seemed thinner. “You know, take two aspirin and wait for tomorrow.”