I'll Be Seeing You by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

the walkway.
    Marge Walters was at her receptionist best, firm with the reporter. “Dr. Manning declines to be interviewed until he has investigated the allegations,” she said. She was unable to stop the cameraman, who began to videotape the room and its occupants.
    Several clients stood up. Marge rushed over to them. “This is all a misunderstanding,” she pleaded, suddenly realizing she was being recorded.
    One woman, her hands shielding her face, exploded in anger. “This is an outrage. It’s tough enough to have to resort to this kind of procedure to have a baby without being on the eleven o’clock news.” She ran from the room.
    Another said, “Mrs. Walters, I’m leaving too. You’d better cancel my appointment.”
    â€œI understand.” Marge forced a sympathetic smile. “When would you like to reschedule?”
    â€œI’ll have to check my appointment book. I’ll call.”
    Marge watched the retreating women. No you won’t, she thought. Alarmed, she noticed Mrs. Kaplan, a client on her second visit to the clinic, approach the reporter.
    â€œWhat’s this all about?” she demanded.
    â€œWhat it’s all about is that the person in charge of theManning Clinic lab for the last six years apparently was not a doctor. In fact her only training seems to have been as a cosmetologist.”
    â€œMy God. My sister had in vitro fertilization here two years ago. Is there any chance she didn’t receive her own embryo?” Mrs. Kaplan clenched her hands together.
    God help us, Marge thought. That’s the end of this place. She’d been shocked and saddened when she heard on the morning news of Dr. Helene Petrovic’s death. It was only when she arrived at work an hour ago that she’d heard the rumor of something being wrong with Petrovic’s credentials. But hearing the reporter’s stark statement and watching Mrs. Kaplan’s response made her realize the enormity of the possible consequences.
    Helene Petrovic had been in charge of the cryopreserved embryos. Dozens upon dozens of test tubes, no bigger than half an index finger, each one containing a potentially viable human being. Mislabel even one of them and the wrong embryo might be implanted in a woman’s womb, making her a host mother, but not the biological mother of a child.
    Marge watched the Kaplan woman rush from the room followed by the reporter. She looked out the window. More news vans were pulling in. More reporters were attempting to question the women who had just left the reception area.
    She saw the reporter from PCD Channel 3 getting out of a car. Meghan Collins. That was her name. She was the one who’d been planning to do the television special that Dr. Manning called off so abruptly . . .

    Meghan was not sure if she really should be here, especially since her father’s name was certain to come up in the course of the investigation into Helene Petrovic’s credentials. As she left Phillip Carter’s office she’d been beeped by the news desk and told that Steve, her cameraman, would meet her at the Manning Clinic. “Weicker okayed it,” she was assured.
    She’d tried to reach Weicker earlier, but he was not yet in. She felt she had to speak to him about the possible conflict of interest. It was easier for the moment, however, to simply accept the assignment. The odds were that the lawyers for the clinic would not permit any interviews with Dr. Manning anyway.
    She did not attempt to join the rest of the media in flinging questions to the departing clients. Instead she spotted Steve and motioned for him to follow her inside. She opened the door quietly. As she had hoped, Marge Walters was at her desk, speaking urgently into the phone. “We’ve got to cancel all of today’s appointments,” she was insisting. “You’d better tell them in there that they’ve got to make some kind of