In Kythara Alley, Sinclair Apothecary had already closed its doors.
The taxi driver kindly lent her an umbrella.
The rain was pouring heavily with wind. After Claire Prescott entered the courtyard through the side door and returned the umbrella, the lower part of her horse-faced skirt was soaked by the rain.
Once inside, the parrot in the cage started calling out "Septima, Septima" in a crisp and childish voice that echoed throughout the room, like a sound from a cartoon.
Claire Prescott knocked on its cage and said in a low voice, "Quiet down, no more noise."
As if understanding her words, the parrot fluffed its neck and silenced itself.
Unexpectedly, it still managed to wake someone up.
Septima Sterling draped a coat over her shoulders and came out of the bedroom, her eyes blurry with sleep.
Seeing her granddaughter drenched by the rain, she worriedly said, "Why are you back so late? Quickly take a hot bath, I'll make some ginger tea for you, don't catch a cold."
"Don't trouble yourself, Grandma, just go back to sleep. I'll just take a bath."
"No way, you always fall ill with the change of seasons, wearing so little." Septima Sterling gently tapped her on the back of her hand, pointed out that her hand was cold, nagged a bit, and went to the kitchen.
Unable to resist her grandmother's concern, Claire obediently returned to her room to find pajamas for her bath.
After drinking the ginger tea her grandmother made, warmth spread from the inside out.
She lay in bed, listening to the rain outside the window, and closed her eyes to dream.
Suddenly, Keane Lowell's distinguished face flashed through her mind, along with her actions tonight, and in an instant, her sleepiness vanished.
...
The next day, the rain stopped, but the sky remained overcast.
The Sinclair Apothecary signboard was washed clean.
Around two-thirty in the afternoon, a bright yellow Ferrari parked outside, and Jensen Hargrave stepped out, cursing, "What a ridiculous alley, winding and narrow."
In the daytime, the alley was regulated, and any outside vehicles were stopped by security at the parking area.
Passersby pointed and talked about the flashy sports car and its arrogant owner, wondering which wealthy family he was from.
Jensen Hargrave took off his sunglasses, standing in the pale daylight, his clean and extravagant attire exuded a brazen ostentation.
After calming down, he walked into the clinic.
The medicine cabinets leaned against the wall. The black script of the medicinal ingredients' names and the deep red paint added a thick sense of gravity to the entire clinic; the smell of herbs was overwhelming.
He interrupted the staff at the counter who was grinding medicine, saying, "Claire... is Young Dr. Prescott in?"
His tone was not exactly polite.
The staff didn't think much of it and pointed him in the direction, "Consulting room on the left."
Jensen Hargrave took strides and paused at the consulting room door, looking at the person sitting inside.
In a simple and elegant new Chinese-style cotton-linen Tang suit, her hair half-tied with a pin, the green embroidery of flowers and plants on her chest made her face particularly graceful.
Every time he met her, she was dressed in a semi-traditional Chinese style, gentle and elegant, with a bookish and medicinal fragrance, seeming to have no temper.
He thought she was a soft target, but after last night, his stereotype of her was utterly shattered.
Jensen Hargrave knocked on the door and walked in.
The young woman's expression was clearly stunned, then her face darkened, her demeanor showing everywhere that she was not pleased with his presence.
He chuckled lightly, "Don't be nervous, I'm here to settle the medical bill from last night."
"Did Keane send you?"
Listening to her saying Keane's name completely once again confirmed that they knew each other; maybe they were old flames.
However, Keane had been abroad for six years, just returned a few days ago. Six years ago, she should have been underage, and Keane wouldn't be lonely enough to make a move on a minor, would he?
"How long have you known Keane?" Jensen Hargrave countered, a bit gossipy.
Claire Prescott's eyes dimmed and said, "I don't know him."
She pushed his card back, "I won't charge you for last night's diagnosis. Don't bother me in the future."
Jensen Hargrave didn't take it, coaxing her good-naturedly, "You're so skilled in medicine, I can't not pay the diagnosis fee, can we forget about last night's matter, and you not hold it against me?"
There was disbelief in Claire Prescott's eyes.
It seems like whenever it involves Keane's people or matters, his attitude takes a 180-degree turn, easily conceding to others.
"I won't charge the diagnosis fee." She shifted her gaze and softened her voice: "If you give me Keane's contact information, I might consider forgiving your actions last night."
Jensen Hargrave detected another meaning from her words and looked at her with interest, "You just said you don't know Keane, and now you want his contact info. Are you interested in him?"
Being stared at so directly, Claire Prescott blushed and defended herself, "Who said wanting the contact info means I'm interested in him, can't it be for other reasons?"
Jensen Hargrave observed her reaction thoroughly and still didn't believe: "You really don't know him?"
Claire Prescott insisted, "I don't know him."
Jensen Hargrave didn't push her to admit it, the conversation returned to the main point, "Who is Keane? His private number wouldn't be given to just anyone."
"Forget it then." Claire Prescott's tone was light, seemingly unconcerned.
"Do you want his assistant's number?"
"No."
Jensen Hargrave was helpless.
In fact, he didn't even have Keane's contact information; he had only met Keane a few times at banquets, and he needed Milton Rivers' help to get the connection for yesterday's event.
He also wanted to get acquainted with Keane, but unfortunately, Keane didn't care for him.
Coming here today, hoping to get through her, but she didn't even have his contact information, made him doubt if they indeed met last night for the first time.
No money taken, and he didn't have a phone number to give her either.
Jensen Hargrave said in a negotiating tone, "How about we exchange contact information, and if there are any gatherings with him, I'll invite you."
This statement clearly assumed she was interested in Keane. With Keane's face, his identity, which woman wouldn't be tempted, wanting to stick to him?
Claire Prescott declined without thinking, "I'm not interested in your gatherings, and I don't add strangers' contact information. If there's nothing else, please leave, I have work to do."
The heavy solid wood desk was kept very clean, and medical books and ancient texts were neatly arranged on the bookshelf behind her, giving the entire consulting room a rich cultural atmosphere.
Her own aura was also like that, purely unique, just too individualistic and not easy to deal with, completely uninterested in his tricks.
Just about to speak, a patient appeared at the door, timidly asking, "Are you Dr. Prescott?"
"Yes, I am." Claire Prescott responded, giving Jensen Hargrave a glance.
Jensen Hargrave was tactful.
Remembering Keane's warning from last night, he dared not pester her any longer.
As he was about to leave, Claire Prescott suddenly called him back, reminding him, "Don't forget to take your card."
Jensen Hargrave hesitated for a moment, then obediently took the card from the desk, put it back in his pocket, and walked out proudly, turning back one last time to look at Claire Prescott from the doorway.
Seeing her, treating the patient, her gaze became gentler, and her tone softened.
"Where does it hurt?"
"Menstrual pain. It's been a few years; recently, I saw a Chinese medicine live stream online that said drinking Siwu soup can help, but after trying for a few months, there's no effect. I heard Sinclair Apothecary has two skilled doctors, so I came to try it."