Intrusion: A Novel by Mary McCluskey Page B

corridor, watched as a tall male doctor came for Sarah, placed a hand on the small of her back, and guided her forward as if leading her onto the dance floor. He took her along the corridor and through double doors into the clinic. Helen followed behind, her hands clenched into fists. An interminable time later, Sarah emerged through the double doors with Helen’s arm tight around her shoulders. Both looked pale and shaken; neither of them spoke. That night, at Lansdowne, Sarah had been shivering badly, unable to get warm, and Helen gave her a whisky toddy, made with hot water and honey. Kat offered her the duvet from her own bed, piling it on top of the extra blankets that Mrs. Evans, the housekeeper, had produced earlier.
    In the middle of the night, Kat woke to hear Sarah whimpering. The sheet and duvet were dark with blood; she had bled right through the bulky sanitary pad.
    “I need more pads,” she whispered to Kat, her face ghostly white in the dim bedroom light. “I daren’t move.”
    “I’ll get Helen,” Kat had said, terror causing her voice to shake.
    Throughout their school years, and even during college, Sarah rarely spoke of that day, or the surgery that was necessary afterward, and never to anyone but Kat. She referred to the experience always as that clinic visit . Kat had never heard her use the word termination before.
    Now, Sarah waited.
    “You do remember?”
    “Of course I remember,” Kat said.
    “Well, the reason I got involved with the adoption charity is not only because of that clinic visit. No, it’s so that those nice Catholic girls who make one silly mistake don’t ruin their lives by being saddled with a baby. And go on to have a dozen more, just like their mothers. And so many couples want babies desperately and can’t have their own. So—perfect. A solution! You’re amazed, aren’t you, that I should become a charity matron?”
    “Surprised. Yes.”
    “I have a number of them. Sam had his own favorites. Alcohol abuse, drugs, those kinds of things.”
    She studied Kat’s face and smiled.
    “There are good solid tax reasons for this, Kat. Ask your husband. I see his firm is involved in pro bono work. Some gangland project. A lad called Chiller ! Well, that could be fun for everyone.”
    Sarah reached for the wine bottle to pour more wine. Kat held her hand over her glass, suddenly tired. Since Chris’s death, she had avoided social lunches and casual conversation. Sarah’s energy and intensity, once invigorating, now felt exhausting.
    “Sorry,” Kat said. “But I have to get ready for the interview. I rescheduled my appointment for four o’clock.”
    “You can’t cancel?” Sarah said.
    “No. I really can’t.”
    Sarah shook her head, then stood and lifted her bag.
    “Would you like to meet for lunch in Beverly Hills sometime? Make a nice change for you.”
    “Maybe in a week or so?” Kat said evasively.
    “I hope we can be friends again, Kat. We’re going to be meeting from time to time. At least, I hope we are.”
    Kat was not sure whether Sarah meant to remind her that she was Scott’s client, or whether she was hinting at some future social meetings.
    “Of course,” she said.
    Sarah moved to the hallway. Kat held the door as Sarah stepped outside, adjusting the bag over her shoulder, slipping on her sunglasses. As she did so, Brooke’s red Miata turned the corner and with a screech of brakes slammed into the driveway across the street. As Brooke climbed out of the car, she looked over to Kat, waved, and then took in Sarah. Kat imagined her doing a swift assessment of Sarah’s clothes and shoes.
    “And is that big-hearted Brooke?” Sarah said. “You’re right. She doesn’t look like the home-baking type. Well, so lovely to see you.”
    “Thank you for the lunch,” Kat said.
    “My pleasure. Absolutely. I’ll be in touch,” said Sarah, before walking briskly down the path to her Jaguar.

    Kat closed the front door and sat back down at the dining