Two hours later, she was still there. Victoria had set the bottle of Dewar’s Scotch Whisky on the coffee table in front of Dorothy, who was now pouring herself a third glass. Victoria had hoped Dorothy might loosen up with a drink or two, but this was better than she had expected. Dorothy was quite garrulous. “Don’t you see, Mrs. Trumbull, the man’s under tremendous stress. Something’s wrong with him.” “Really,” said Victoria. “Please tell me more.” Dorothy seemed to have some goal in mind, but Victoria hadn’t been able to figure out what that goal might be. Dorothy’s conversation slipped into a first-name basis. “I met with Finney Solomon this morning, Victoria. I don’t believe you know him.” “I’ve never met him.” Victoria had served herself a weak Scotch two hours earlier, but hadn’t touched it. It didn’t seem in character for this tightly controlled woman to allow herself to talk too much. Puzzled though Victoria was, she felt satisfaction in seeing Dorothy a bit tipsy.
