Hush

been no big revelation from Sydney. And yet there’d been that odd discrepancy. Her chart had said ten viable embryos had been produced, whereas Sydney Kastner thought there were only three. Levin may have lied to her so that she’d agree to another round of ovulation-stimulating drugs, ratcheting up her bill. It was certainly a possibility, but Lake wondered how she’d ever prove it.

The last thing she wanted to do right now was to have a drink with Hilary and Steve. And yet she knew that it would be good to see Steve away from work. He had the inside track there and maybe she could get him to talk about the clinic and see if he inadvertently revealed something worth knowing.

She’d been to their apartment just once before, when Sonia, Steve’s sister, had been in town several years ago. It was all the way back on the West Side, in one of the luxury high-rises just north of Lincoln Center. Tonight when Hilary greeted her at the apartment door and Lake stepped inside she saw that “fixed it up” had been a gross understatement. The rooms had been reconfigured and redecorated within an inch of their lives. The furniture was sleek and modern-lots of white leather-and the walls displayed huge abstract paintings with designs that seemed to actually throb.

“Wow, you’ve done an amazing job,” Lake said.

“We had help, of course,” Hilary said. “I have a wonderful decorator. I’d be glad to give you her number if you’re interested.”

“How do you prevent all these white surfaces from getting smudged with little fingerprints?” Lake asked, thinking of Matthew, who had to be close to two now.

“Oh, this room is off limits to little boys,” Hilary said.

“When do I get to see Matthew, anyway?”

“In a few minutes. The nanny is giving him his dinner right now. Would you like some white wine?”

They’d wandered to the far end of the massively large living room with sweeping views of the Hudson River and New Jersey beyond. On the coffee table was a bottle of white Burgundy chilling in a bucket, a huge wedge of soft cheese, and tiny cloth cocktail napkins. Hilary gestured for Lake to sit on the couch and poured them each some wine. Her white capris, Lake noticed, were as perfectly pressed as the napkins. On top she wore a sleeveless white tunic embellished with stones that matched the bronzy color of her sandals. Vanished was the beleaguered look she’d had Monday.

“Where’s Steve?” Lake asked.

“Oh, he’s running late-there was a problem at the clinic.”

Lake tried to keep her face straight. “Oh?”

“A patient had a reaction to one of the drugs,” Hilary said, to Lake’s relief. “I’m just glad I never had to deal with any of that.”

“Me, too. I feel so bad for those women, especially the ones who go through round after round of IVF.”

“I guess,” Hilary said, shrugging a tanned shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Lake asked, puzzled by her reaction.

“It’s really their own choosing. No one is forcing them to do it. And it’s such a drain on insurance companies. I don’t understand why these people can’t be more accepting of their situation-or why they don’t adopt, like Angelina did. There are millions of needy children out there.”

Lake felt at a loss for words. Hilary had always struck her as shallow, but Lake couldn’t believe her insensitivity. She wondered if she’d have the same disdain for someone who used insurance dollars to have a birthmark removed.

“The desire to carry a child can be pretty intense in women,” Lake said.

“Well, then, why don’t they start earlier? It’s not as if there aren’t plenty of articles saying that, duh, your fertility drops after thirty-five. In a way I think fertility clinics encourage women to wait longer to conceive because they know they can fall back on procedures like IVF.”

“Steve doesn’t have any regrets about his career, does he?”

“No. But I think he’d be better off if he’d stuck to his original plan: plastic surgery. It’s not so morose, if you know what I mean.”

Lake could hardly stand listening to her. “But is he happy at the clinic?” she asked. If Steve was involved in anything unethical, it might translate at home as nerves or discontent.

“Well, he’s certainly not thrilled with what’s going on now.”

“What do you mean?”

“The murder, of course,” Hilary said. “How creepy, right?

“You know what I think?” she continued. “A woman did it.”

“Oh?” Lake asked, wondering what was behind this speculation. “Why is that?”

“He was a horrible flirt,” Hilary replied, looking straight at Lake. Her gray eyes were as cold as two river stones. “I bet he finally made one woman jealous enough to kill him.”

Was the comment loaded? Lake wondered. She remembered Hilary catching the look she’d exchanged with Keaton at the dinner that night. She had to fight the urge to look away. To her relief, a Latino woman dressed in a white uniform suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Matthew’s ready to say goodnight, Mrs. Salman,” she announced.

“All right,” Hilary said. She turned to Lake, all smiles again. “I can’t wait for you to see him. Bring your wine if you want.”

Lake followed Hilary through the dining room into a sleek white-and-stainless-steel kitchen. Matthew was sitting in a high chair, banging on the tray with a spoon. He’d grown from a gorgeous chubby baby with huge brown eyes to an exquisite toddler. Lake felt a visceral rush of pure delight at the sight of him.

“Matthew, what a big boy you are,” Lake gushed. He offered a gummy smile back. Lake turned to Hilary. “He’s just so precious.”

“He is now,” Hilary said, folding her arms across her chest. “He just started throwing temper tantrums, and you should see him then. She turned to her son. “You’re Mommy’s little terror, aren’t you?”

“Steve must be on cloud nine,” Lake said.

“Oh, he is. I just wish he were around a little more to help. Jenny, you can wash him up now-and then you can put him to bed.”

“Can you show us how tall you are?” the nanny asked him sweetly. Matthew’s arms shot up. The nanny grinned back and pulled him out of the high chair and left the kitchen.

“Oh, let me show you his playroom,” Hilary declared. “The decorator did an amazing job on it.”

“All right,” Lake said. Her head was beginning to pound. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine.

Hilary led her down a long hallway, past both the master bedroom and Matthew’s. At the end was a small, carpeted room lined with bookshelves and painted with murals. As they stepped inside, a phone rang in another room.

“Excuse me a sec,” Hilary said. “The murals were all painted by a children’s book illustrator,” she called as she hurried away.

Lake ran her eyes around the room. So this was where Matthew was parked so he couldn’t mess up the living room. How ironic, Lake thought. The woman who’d had no trouble conceiving could barely be bothered with her child. Suddenly Lake felt overwhelmed with the urge to just get the hell out of there.

“That was Steve,” Hilary said, reentering the room. “He’s really sorry but he won’t be home for at least an hour.” She rolled her eyes.

“No problem,” Lake said, relieved for the excuse. “We’ll do it another time.”

“You certainly don’t have to rush off,” Hilary said.

“Why don’t we just reschedule. I’m sure you have stuff to do.”

“Is something the matter?” Hilary asked almost petulantly.

“No, no. I-I’ve just been fighting off a cold lately.”

The two women walked back to the living room and Lake grabbed her purse and said goodbye. Her apartment was within walking distance but she didn’t have the psychic energy to get there on foot. She found a cab and climbed gratefully into the back. She wondered if Steve’s excuse had been legit. Or maybe he was trying to avoid her. Her snooping may have been reported to Levin, and in turn to Steve. For the past few days she’d felt she was up to her neck in water but still able to breathe; now she felt close to drowning. Her only hope had been to find evidence she could take to Archer, but she’d come up with nothing.