There were tables of nurses having coffee and breakfast between shifts, residents taking a break, interns finishing a long night with a hot meal or a sandwich, and one or two civilians sitting bleakly at tables on the sidelines, undoubtedly people who had been up all night watching for news of critically ill relatives or friends. There was one woman crying softly and dabbing at her eyes with a hankie as a younger woman dried her own tears and tried to console her. It was an odd scene of contrasts, the silent fatigue of the young doctors, the mirth and chatter of the nurses, the sorrow and tension of people visiting patients, and behind it all the clatter of trays, and steaming water being splashed on dirty dishes in efficient machines. It looked like the operations center of a strange modern city, the command post of a spaceship floating through space, totally divorced from the rest of the world.

As Melanie looked around, she wondered which white-coated figure was Peter Hallam. There were a few middle-aged men in starched white coats, conferring solemnly at one table over donuts and coffee, but somehow none of them looked the way she expected him to, and none of them approached her. At least he would know what she looked like.

“Miss Adams?” She was startled by the voice directly behind her, and she wheeled on one heel to face it.

“Yes?”

He extended a powerful, cool hand. “I'm Peter Hallam.” As she shook his hand, she found herself looking up into the sharply etched, handsome, well-lined face of a man with blue eyes and gray hair and a smile that hovered in his eyes but didn't quite reach his lips. Despite their conversation on the phone, he wasn't at all what she had expected. She had painted a totally other mental picture of him. He was much taller, and so powerfully built, his shoulders were pressed into the starched white coat he wore over a blue shirt, dark tie, and gray trousers, and one instantly guessed he had played football in college. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all.” She followed him to a table, feeling less in control than she would have liked. She was used to having a certain impact on her subjects, and here she had the impression of simply being dragged along in his wake. There was something incredibly magnetic about him.

“Coffee?”

“Please.” Their eyes met and locked, each one wondering what they would discover in the other, Mend or foe, supporter or opponent. But for the moment they had one thing in common. Pattie Lou Jones, and Mel was anxious to ask him about her.

“Cream and sugar?”

“No, thanks.” She made a move as though to join him on the food line, but he waved a hand toward an empty chair.

“Don't bother. I'll be right back. You keep an eye on the table.” He smiled and then she felt something gentle wash over her. He looked like a kind man, and a moment later he returned with a tray bearing two steaming cups, two glasses of orange juice, and some toast. “I wasn't sure if you'd had breakfast.” There was something so basically decent and thoughtful about him. She found herself instantly liking him.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him and then couldn't hold back any longer. “How's Pattie Lou?”

“She settled in nicely last night. She's a courageous little kid. She didn't even need her mother to stay with her.” But Mel somehow suspected that had to do with the comforting welcome she got from Peter Hallam and his team, and she was right on that score. His patient's mental well-being was of major importance to him, which was extremely rare for a surgeon. He had spent several hours with Pattie Lou after she arrived, getting to know her, as a person, not just an accumulation of data. With Sally gone, Peter had no other major crisis to attend to and now he wasn't thinking of Sally, only Pattie.

“How do her chances look, Doctor?” Mel was anxious to hear what he thought, and hopeful that the prognosis would be good.

“I'd like to say good, but they aren't. I think fair is a more accurate assessment of the situation.” Mel nodded somberly and took a sip of coffee.

“Will you do a transplant on her?”

“If we get a donor, which isn't very likely. Donors for children are very rare, Miss Adams. I think my first thought was the right one. Repairing her own heart as best we can and maybe putting in a pig valve to replace a badly damaged valve.”

“A pig's valve?” The thought unnerved her a little.

He nodded. “I think so, that or sheep.” The use of an animal valve had long since been common, at least to Peter.

“When?”

He sighed and narrowed his eyes, thinking about it as she watched him. “We'll run a battery of tests on her today, and we might do the surgery tomorrow.”

“Is she strong enough to survive it?”

“I think so.” Their eyes met and held for a long moment. There were no guarantees in this business. There were never sure wins, only sure losses. It was a tough thing to live with, day by day, and she admired what he was doing. She felt a strong urge to tell him that, but somehow it seemed too personal a statement to make, so she didn't, and kept the conversation to Pattie Lou and the story. After a while, he looked searchingly at Mel. She was so interested, so human. She was more than just a reporter. “What's your interest in all this, Miss Adams? Just another story or something more?”

“She's a special little girl, Doctor. It's difficult not to care about her.”

“Do you always care that much about your subjects? It must be exhausting.”

“Isn't that true of you? Do you care about them all, Doctor?”

“Almost always.” He was being very honest with her and it was easy to believe him. The patient he didn't care deeply about would be a very, very rare exception. She had already sensed that about him. And then he looked at her with a curious smile; her hands were folded in her lap as she watched him. “You didn't bring a notebook. Does that mean you're taping this?”

“No.” She quietly shook her head and smiled. “I'm not. I'd rather we get to know each other.”

That possibility intrigued him, and he couldn't resist asking another question. “Why?”

“Because I can do a better job of reporting what you do here if I learn something about you. Not on paper, or on tape, but by watching, listening, getting to know you.” She was good at what she did, and he sensed that. It was just that she was well known in the business, a star actually, she was in truth a real pro, and an unusually good one. Peter Hallam liked that. It was like being perfectly matched to your opponent in a competitive sport, and it gave him a feeling of excitement, which suddenly led to an offer he hadn't planned to make her.

“Would you like to follow me on rounds this morning? Just for your own interest.”

Her eyes lit up. She was flattered by the unexpected offer, and hoped that it meant that he liked her, or better yet, was already beginning to trust her. That was important for the smooth flow of any story.

“I'd like that very much, Doctor.” She let her eyes convey to him how touched she was by the offer.

“You could call me Peter.”

“If you call me Mel.” They exchanged a smile.

“Agreed.” He touched her shoulder as he stood, and she leapt up, excited by the prospect of following him on rounds. It was a rare opportunity and she was grateful for it. He turned to her again, this time with a smile, as they left the cafeteria. “My patients will be very impressed to see you here, Mel. I'm sure they've all seen you on T.V.” For some reason, the remark surprised her and she smiled.

“I doubt that.” There was a modesty about her that those who knew her well always teased her for, especially Grant and her daughters.

But this time he laughed at her. “You're hardly an anonymous figure, you know. And heart patients watch the news on TV too.”

“I just always assume that people won't recognize me off camera.”

“But I'll bet they do.” He smiled again and Melanie nodded in answer. It was intriguing to him that she hadn't let her success go to her head over the years. He had expected someone very different.

“In any case, Dr. Hallam,” she went on, “you're the star here, and rightly so.” Her eyes shone with frank admiration, but this time a similarly humble side turned up in him.

“I'm hardly a star, Mel.” He was serious as he said it. “I just work here, as a part of a remarkably good team. Believe me, my patients will be a lot more excited to see you than me, and rightly so. It'll do them good to see a new face.” He pressed the button for the elevator, and when it came, he pressed six, and they entered amidst a group of white-coated doctors and fresh-faced nurses. The shifts were just changing.

“You know, I've always liked your views, and the way you handle a story.” He spoke softly as the elevator stopped at each floor, and Mel noticed two nurses staring discreetly at her. “There's something very direct and honest about your approach. I suppose it's why I agreed to do this.”

“Whatever your reason, I'm glad you did. Pattie Lou needed you desperately.” He nodded, he couldn't disagree with her on that score. But now there was more to it. He had opened himself up to an interview on network news, and as they sat in his cubicle on the sixth floor, a few minutes later, he looked with honesty at Mel and tried to explain to her the risks and dangers of transplants. He warned her that she might even come away from the story with negative feelings about them. It was a possibility he'd thought of before agreeing to the interview, but he was willing to take that risk. There was more to be gained by telling all than by hiding from the press, and if she handled it right, she could warm up public opinion considerably, but she seemed startled by the risks he described and odds he gave.