The Clinic [antikvár]

"WE'RE two hundred mUes from San Francisco and beginning our descent," the pilot announced, shaking Peter de Haan out of his thoughts. He looked at his watch. One fifty. They would be ten minutes late in landing. Peter pushed back his blond hair and took a briefcase from under the seat before fastening his safety belt. The airliner came down slowly through Sacramento Valley clouds to the beauty of San Francisco on a clear day. The travelers looked out at the sun-flashed waters of the bay, at Telegraph Hill and the matchstick wharves of the Embarcadero, and the Pacific Ocean beyond the Gate. They stared at the bridges as they circled, and then the green stalk of the Peninsula, before they skidded to touchdown. Peter nodded to the smiling hostess as he stepped out the cabin door. Starting down the long corridors of the International Airport, the tall, uncommonly straight young man frowned to cover his excitement. In the waiting room he looked around carefully for his new employer's prominent figure. As his luggage finally appeared, he heard over the loudspeakers, "Dr. Peter de Haan, Dr. Peter de Haan, please report to the information booth." "I was being paged," he told the man at the information desk. "Yes, sir. The lady right here was trying to contact you." Peter turned in surprise to see a slim woman with red hair looking at him with a smile. As he stepped toward her, she put out a green-gloved hand. "You are Dr. de Haan?" she asked. Peter nodded. "I'm Mrs. Hatch, Rosalie Hatch. Dr. Hatch couldn't get here after all. He was very sorry. I know he looked forward to the chance for a visit, but emergency surgery came up, so I'm the substitute." She shook his 9 ]