Sins of the Flesh by Colleen McCullough

was more than a psychiatrist. She was also a neuroanatomist and a neurosurgeon.
    In a way, Walter was famous, though his kind of fame was that of a medical “first” and would never be sung to the multitudes. To Jess, Walter was the equivalent of splitting the atom.
    Her safe was closed—bless Walter! If he hadn’t come in, she would have gone to sleep at her desk surrounded by files only she (and Walter) had access to. Anyone might have raided them and used the photocopier ….
    It was no one’s business save hers what, for instance, Walter’s I.Q. was, or how her primate study of rage centers was going—a long, long list of data gathered here in these files alone. Hers was the overall command, and she intended to keep it firmly hers. In which resolution, Walter Jenkins was her most valuable ally.
    Ivy arrived for lunch, though Delia had wondered whether she would, given the direction her confidances seemed to be taking at the salon. Still a little intoxicated by the music and the company, Delia hadn’t gone to much trouble over her luncheon menu—just toasted cheese sandwiches, mineral water, and good coffee.
    “It’s changeover Monday tomorrow,” Ivy said, professing rather grateful pleasure at the menu’s simplicity, “and Rha is still in summer mode for the dresses. Jane Austenish sprigged muslin for the bridesmaids, though of course what Jane Austen called muslin is a far cry from ours. Mabel won’t complain, but Mavis and Margo will whine dreadfully.”
    “Mabel? Mavis and Margo?” Delia asked blankly.
    Ivy laughed. “The window mannequins, dear! Mabel is the bride, Mavis and Margo the bridesmaids. I love weddings!”
    Yesterday’s mood was entirely gone; today’s Ivy was happy and content. That put Delia in a quandary: ought she bring the matter up, or leave it lie? Ivy’s attitude suggested leaving it lie; Delia decided to see where today’s conversation went, now the sandwiches were eaten and they were seated at the window.
    “How long have you been at Rha Tanais Bridal?”
    “Since it opened—fourteen years,” Ivy said, face glowing. “It’s every woman’s big day, and I get to plunge into the middle of the plans, the arguments, the dreams, the impossibilities as well as the possibilities. Rha Tanais Bridal patrons don’t just buy a wedding gown and something for the bridesmaids, you know. We mostly clothe the mother of the bride and the mother of the groom as well, not to mention have a whole department to coordinate color themes, recommend venues, give ball-park figures for cost. You have no idea how much people are prepared to pay to throw a wedding, and I always feel it’s a part of my function to make sure they know what the cost is going to be.”
    “Well, it’s a little like sending a child to college, isn’t it?” Delia asked, fascinated. “There must be heaps of hidden expenses. I’m glad someone tells them what the bill is going to be before they really incur the debt.”
    “The loveliest weddings are often the less expensive ones, as a matter of fact. Big splashes scatter farther, and some of the places the water lands don’t bear being on display.”
    A novel thought had occurred to Delia. “Ivy, do you actually attend the weddings?”
    Ivy looked surprised. “If they’re within reach, always. I keep scrapbooks and albums. The albums can be very useful, since a lot of brides don’t have much idea what they want. I sit them down with a couple of albums of weddings in their price range and tell them to show me the look they like.”
    “And to think all of this originally started so a man could be sure his bride was an untouched virgin!”
    “Well, isn’t that another way of saying, that a man’s children are his? To be sure of it, he must marry a virgin and then make sure she can’t cheat on him,” Ivy said.
    “How depressing!”
    “But a very human conundrum, you must agree, Delia. A man yearns to know his children are his, and tries his hardest to ensure