beyond the wheelchairs , the woman , whose chestnut hair has been pinned back into an architectural whorl , strides on her high-heeled pumps through a pleasant lobby with blond wooden chairs and matching tables strewn artfully with magazines , marches past a kind of unmanned guardpost or reception desk before a handsome fieldstone wall , and vanishes , with the trace of a skip , through a burnished door marked william maxton , director .