“No, I’m not, darling,” she said, bending over him and kissing him on the forehead.
“She called nine-one-one, and an ambulance and a cop showed up. The cop recognized you and called me.”
“That’s it,” the doctor said. “We need to get him to bed now.”
“Good idea,” Stone said, closing his eyes.
Chapter 32
Amanda looked into the mirror and was horrified at what she saw. God knew she had been under a lot of stress lately, if anger caused stress, but this was the absolute end! High on her left cheek was an irate, fiery-red pimple. A pimple! She had not had a pimple since high school!
She covered the protuberance with makeup as well as she could, then finished dressing and went to her office. Her staff of three was already hard at work as she entered. “Messages,” she said to Martha without so much as a good morning.
“Good morning, Amanda,” Martha said, handing her a stack of pink slips.
Amanda went into her office without a word and closed the door, tossing the messages onto her desk. Lately she had been operating at a high level of irritation, and at times she had had a very hard time to keep from losing her temper, something she never did. This DIRT business had gotten under her skin, and nearly two weeks had passed since she had hired Stone Barrington to get to the bottom of it, with no visible results. She picked up the phone and dialed his office number. His secretary answered.
“Good morning, Ms. Dart, how are you?”
“Terrible, thank you. Let me speak to Stone.”
“I’m afraid Stone won’t be at work today,” the woman said, “and possibly not tomorrow.”
“He’s taking a vacation?” Amanda spat. “On my time?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Amanda got hold of herself. “What I mean is, is Stone taking some time off?”
“He is ill at the moment.”
“I’ll? Then I’ll call his home number.”
“He’s not at home, Ms. Dart.”
“Where, then, is he? I want to speak to him immediately.”
“He’s in Lenox Hill Hospital.”
“What?” She hoped to God he hadn’t had a heart attack on her.
“He’s at Lenox Hill, but he can take phone calls. I’ll give you the direct number for his room.”
Amanda scribbled down the number. “Thank you,” she said, and hung up. She dialed the other number, and it was answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Stone? It’s Amanda. You sound terrible.”
“Thanks, Amanda.”
“What on earth is wrong?”
“Concussion, they tell me. They want to keep me here and observe me for another day.”
“Concussion? How the hell did you get a concussion?” she demanded, as if a concussion were a personal affront to her.
“Amanda, are you quite all right?”