For the very first time since Noah had been fretting about the upcoming M&M Conference, he felt a glimmer of hope that he might possibly be able to survive his presentation with minimal fallout. At least now he had a BMH attending who was on his side, even possibly a collaborator of sorts, willing to counter Dr. Mason’s interpretation and his apparent desire to divert the conversation away from the real issues. Vaguely, he wondered why she believed Dr. Mason did not like her and whether he’d find out that evening, provided, of course, he could leave the hospital. At least her house was close to the BMH if he had to get back in a hurry.
After checking his watch to be sure he had enough time before afternoon work rounds, he headed back into the OR. His intention was to find the two anesthesia residents, Wiley and Chung. What he wanted to learn was the inside, “resident” scoop on the Vincent case, and whether the general feeling of the anesthesia residents corroborated Dr. London’s beliefs about her performance. There was always a resident grapevine that was invariably more truthful than the involved attending’s interpretation.
8
FRIDAY, JULY 7, 8:15 P.M.
It was still light outside when Noah exited his apartment building on his way to Louisburg Square, one of the tonier sections of Beacon Hill and sharply different from his much more modest Revere Street environs. When he’d finally gotten out of the hospital, he had decided to dash back to his apartment to get out of his hospital whites and take a quick shower. After all, it had been fifteen hours he’d been on the go.
Noah had put on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt that were reasonably clean. He chose them because he thought they were flattering. He’d considered wearing his only jacket and a tie but had dismissed the idea as too old-fashioned and proper. As he was dressing he admitted to himself that he was energized but nervous about the upcoming visit with Dr. Ava London above and beyond the need to prepare for the damn M&M. She had unnerved him at their little tête-à-tête in the surgical lounge, and now that he was actually en route he felt the same way. Instead of trying to understand his reaction, he concentrated on the destination. Over the five years he had been in Boston, he had walked through Louisburg Square innumerable times and had wondered what the houses were like on the inside. Now he was going to find out. He was also curious about Dr. London and how she would act in her home environment.
Noah had hoped to be out of the hospital much earlier, and he had become progressively worried Dr. London might have evening plans and change her mind about seeing him. The problem had been a surgical consult that had gone bad, requiring Noah to smooth the feathers of one of the internal medicine chief residents who had requested the consult. It ended up being more of a personality clash than anything else, but it took time for Noah to resolve the issue without causing anyone to lose face. For Noah, it was yet another learning experience to emphasize that diplomacy was one of the major jobs of a super chief resident, a skill that he knew was going to be sorely tested at the M&M.
As Noah walked up Pinckney Street, he thought about what the two anesthesia residents had told him that afternoon when he’d cornered them in the anesthesia office. They said that the case had been a widespread topic of conversation right after the incident, and everyone without exception backed Dr. London’s interpretation. For the most part, they blamed the debacle on Dr. Mason’s cavalier attitude and willingness to have three patients under anesthesia at the same time while he flitted back and forth from room to room. As Noah trudged up the hill, he briefly wondered if he should mention what he’d learned to Dr. London, as it was certainly supportive, but almost immediately he decided against the idea. Since he was just getting to know her, he reasoned it would not be diplomatic to admit he was spying on her behind her back.
Reaching the square that was actually a rectangle, Noah stopped long enough to appreciate its suddenness as an unexpected oasis in the middle of a warren of brick tenements, brick sidewalks, and black macadam pavement that made up the rest of Beacon Hill. With its soaring elms, it was a true hideaway of lush greenery surrounded by an imposing wrought-iron fence. There were a few children playing on the enclosed lawn, and their shouts reverberated off the brick fa?ades of the surrounding town houses.
Number 16 was on the downhill side of the square, whose long axis was oriented perpendicular to the rise of the hill. After climbing a half-dozen granite steps, Noah faced an imposing mahogany door. Searching for a doorbell and not finding one, he entered the foyer. There he found a bell. He pushed it. When nothing seemed to happen, he was tempted to try it again while suppressing a sudden worry that he was going to be stood up. After all, he’d not provided his mobile number. He’d thought about texting Dr. London earlier to say he would be late but had decided against it, at least partially for superstitious reasons.
Suddenly the door was pulled open fast enough to create a mild breeze that ruffled his hair. Standing in front of him at the base of an elegant carpeted staircase was Dr. London, who appeared far different than he was accustomed to seeing her. Instead of baggy scrubs, bouffant cap, and face mask, she had on form-fitting black yoga pants and an athletic tank top. For fear of making a fool of himself, he glued his attention to the woman’s blue eyes to avoid staring elsewhere.
“Welcome, Doctor,” Dr. London said with a gracious sweep of her hand, gesturing through an archway immediately to her right. “Please come in!” In sharp contrast to her professional froideur in the hospital, she seemed remarkably hospitable. There was not a speck of staff-versus-resident condescension.
“Thank you, Dr. London,” Noah managed, glad to be able to redirect his eyes into the room. He found himself in a large, high-ceilinged living room that extended from ten-foot-tall double-hung windows in the home’s bow front all the way to the rear of the house, where there were French doors. The decor was restrained Georgian with period moldings. To Noah’s eyes everything seemed new, as if it had just been constructed. On the south wall were a pair of period black-marble fireplaces. Partially dividing the room into two spaces were several fluted Corinthian columns. In the section of the room facing the square were two large, dark green sofas facing each other. Between them was a marble coffee table with several stacks of large, colorful books. On the walls were a collection of gilt-framed oil paintings. In the back section of the room beyond the columns stood a grand piano. The air was cooled and dehumidified.
“First and foremost,” Dr. London said as she followed Noah, “let’s dispense with the formalities. Please call me Ava, and I presume I can call you Noah.”
“By all means,” Noah said. He allowed his eyes to look back at his hostess, but he immediately redirected them to the surroundings. It was going to take a few minutes for him to adjust to her outfit, which he jokingly thought could have come from a spray can. He had sensed she had an athletic figure. Now he was sure of it. The definition of the muscles of her legs was all too apparent. Same with her arms but slightly less so. Sudden movement on the staircase captured his attention. Two sizable cats streaked down the stairs to race into the room. Both stopped and cautiously sniffed Noah’s leg.