“Oh,” she said, starting, as she noticed Erik for the first time.
He leaned forward to acknowledge her but he was too late. By the time his gaze hit her face she was looking back at her grandfather.
“I didn’t realize you had company.”
Erik watched her smile evaporate as her back straightened even more and her chin rose.
“I don’t,” said Jurgis. “You have a new patient.” He peeked at Erik and gestured back toward his granddaughter. “Katerine, this is Erik Sokoloff.”
Erik watched her study him as he reached for the briefcase. He placed it between his feet, bracing it with his ankles, and wondered what her dark eyes saw when she looked at him. In a few days she would know his most intimate secrets but right now, he thought, she would guess he was about forty. She would pay special attention to his immaculate linen shirt and the crisp pleat in his khakis. Women who carried themselves the way Catherine Blacke did appreciated details like that, he told himself.
“How do you do,” she said, facing him fully this time.
Before Erik could respond Jurgis interrupted.
“Catherine,” the old man said in a low voice, “Erik is ready to begin treatment.”
“How do you do,” Erik said. He spoke as slowly as he dared, suddenly finding himself hoping that the unnatural speech pattern would minimize his accent. Will she recognize it as a Boston accent, he wondered.