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then—can’t put much past this husband of hers; mental note. She turned to look up at him, fingering the ends of her hair. “No one ever married? Of the four of you, I mean.”
    “No. I was the first.”
    “Good one.”
    “Very good one,” he agreed, and kissed her again.

CHAPTER 9
    I T WAS CLEAR TO D OYLE THAT C AROLINE MADE AN EFFORT THAT evening to modify her behavior. When she arrived with her brother, she presented Doyle with a bottle of wine in a very friendly manner and suggested they share it, glancing at Acton to make sure that he observed this show of good grace. Doyle was forced to confess that she didn’t drink alcohol, but Caroline laughed good-naturedly and promised to bring ginger ale the next time.
    Once they advanced to the cards portion of the evening, Caroline insisted they play Forty-five, the game Doyle had taught them. She’s to be killing me with kindness, thought Doyle, which is rather sweet and shows how much she values Acton’s good opinion. The game commenced, and if Caroline was operating under duress, the only symptom was that she drank scotch along with the men and the wine went untouched.
    Timothy did surgeries once a month at a charity medical clinic, and he related some amusing stories of the unusual conditions he was forced to confront because a large percentage of the patients were recent immigrants from third-world areas. Doyle found it very interesting and asked many questions, wishing she had some skill to offer those less fortunate—she couldn’t very well offer to tell them if they were lying, after all. The clinic was funded by the local Catholic diocese and this led Timothy to ask if Doyle attended a church in the area.
    “St. Michael’s,” she replied. They looked at her a bit blankly and she added, “Near Chelsea; not a very large parish, I’m afraid.”
    “We attend Holy Trinity,” explained Caroline. “You must join us; it would be closer for you.”
    Doyle was not certain what to reply, as it had never even crossed her mind to transfer from her old parish.
    “I am taking instruction at St. Michael’s,” interjected Acton smoothly.
    “Why, Acton, that is wonderful,” exclaimed Caroline in astonished surprise. “To think that Kathleen has managed such a feat—well, well done.”
    Doyle blushed with embarrassment; faith, everyone would be much more comfortable if Caroline took her new attitude down a peg or two. Deftly, she changed the subject by asking the other woman about her work.
    “We are making enormous headway with enzymatic applications for nonregenerative cells,” Caroline enthused as she looked up from her cards. “It is very exciting.”
    “That does sound excitin’,” offered Doyle, who hadn’t a clue.
    But Caroline only smiled in good-humored acknowledgment as she made a discard. “It’s very dry and dull, unless you’re immersed in it, as I am. And so I’ll say no more, except that I’m to speak at a conference next week, and I haven’t yet been told what I’m supposed to speak about. I hope it is nothing I have to get up to speed on.”
    “Out of town?” asked Acton as he took his turn.
    She laughed, as though this were a private joke, and said as an aside to Doyle, “He knows that I think civilization ends at the city limits, and I rarely set a foot outside.” Playfully, she tapped Acton’s arm with her cards. “You are not one to speak, Acton—you never go anywhere, either.”
    “There are too many people gettin’ themselves murdered in London,” Doyle offered, hoping to avoid a discussion of Acton’s reclusive habits. “He’s in dire need, here.”
    “Perhaps we should all take a trip together,” the other woman offered with a friendly smile at Doyle. “I imagine if we put our minds to it, we could all find the time.”
    Doing it too brown, thought Doyle, who was well-aware that Caroline had not the smallest intention of going anywhere with the likes of her.
    “Have you traveled much, Kathleen?” Timothy