In Winter's Grip Read Free

white will do. Make sure it’s good and chilled. No vegetables, please but could I have extra rice? Thanks. Also, bring two waters on your next visit.” After she’d made her order, Fiona smiled widely and her stern face transformed into nothing short of beatific.
    The girl smiled back then turned to stare at me. Her features settled back into polite disinterest. I glanced up at her over my menu.
    â€œNever can decide,” I mumbled and looked back down, my eyes skimming the choices once again. Von’s menu offered several dishes that I liked. Fiona cleared her throat. I looked across at her. Her head was tilted to one side, and she was studying me with mock exasperation. She’d given up commenting on the tortured process I had for making meal decisions. I tucked my head back behind the menu and took a deep breath.
    â€œAll right. I’ll have the grilled shrimp and a house salad,” I said, all the time wondering if I should have ordered the steak sandwich. I’d certainly planned to when I’d opened my mouth.
    â€œAnything to drink?” The girl shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
    â€œThe water will be fine,” I said. I handed over the menu and tried to appear as officious as Fiona.
    Fiona leaned forward as the girl retreated with our order. “You aren’t joining me in a glass of vino? It’ll take the edge off and make the afternoon go way smoother.”
    â€œI’m heading to the Riverside to do a facelift at two. The patients get a little nervous when the surgeon comes in smelling like they’ve belted back a few.”
    â€œI suppose. You really should find another line of work.”
    â€œYou should talk,” I said. “Child psychologist with the most troubled youth in Ottawa. Your job is much tougher than mine.”
    Fiona relaxed back into her chair, and it was my turn to study her face. Soft brown eyes, high cheekbones and oversized lips that gave her the pouty expression so in vogue with models. Her hair was gleaming auburn, cut in spiky chunks that would have looked boyish on most other women. Fiona had an Irish spirit that radiated from her eyes and creamy skin. The most attractive thing about her, though, was her indifference to her own beauty.
    â€œI like my work,” she said. “That makes what I do much easier than what you do.”
    â€œI don’t hate my work.” I met her eyes. “I’m just not convinced that what I’m doing now is one hundred percent worthwhile.”
    â€œThen quit and find somewhere else to use your talent. God knows there are people who really need a good plastic surgeon.”
    I looked past Fiona to our waitress, who was laughing at something the other waiter had whispered into her ear. Her cap of red hair crackled like fire in the overhead light. They looked so young and carefree that I felt a momentary sadness for a time long past in my own life. Had I ever been that happy?
    â€œIt’s not that easy,” I said at last, pulling myself back. “I signed a five-year lease on my office. Besides, if Sam is serious about retiring, we’ll need my salary.”
    â€œNonsense. Sam must have a pension, and you’ve got to have enough socked away to keep you in fine style.”
    I didn’t want to tell Fiona that I had no idea the state of our finances. It all went into a joint account that Sam looked after. If Fiona knew, she’d give me a royal raking over. She’d told me more than once that for a brilliant doctor, I was lax about the details of my life.
    â€œI couldn’t imagine not working,” I muttered as the waitress placed water glasses in front of us.
    After that, I steered the conversation away from me. I’d learned long ago that people like to talk about themselves and their own lives, and I could ask questions to nudge them there. Even Fiona, my best friend and a good psychologist, was susceptible. She went on at length