Читать книгу Chistmas In Manhattan Collection - Алисон Робертс - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

‘OH, MY...’ VANESSA DAVENPORT looked slightly appalled as she peered more closely at what was being held up for her admiration. ‘What are they?’

‘Cookies, Grandma.’ Cameron was using that patient tone that told adults they were being deliberately obtuse. ‘We made them.’

‘And Gace,’ Max added.

‘Gace?’ Vanessa was looking bewildered now but Charles didn’t offer an explanation.

He was kicking himself inwardly. He should have known exactly what his mother’s reaction would be to the less than perfect cookies, but he couldn’t forgive the slap to his boys’ pride that had prompted them to insist on bringing their creations to the family afternoon tea.

It was the complete opposite end to the spectrum that Grace was also on. She’d been just as proud of the boys at the results of their efforts. This morning, she’d sent him the photo she’d taken of them sitting on the bench, their hands clasped and eyes shining with the tray of cookies between them. It even had Horse’s nose photobombing the bottom of the image and Charles had been so taken with it, he’d thought of using it for his Christmas cards this year.

Maybe not, if his mother was going to look like this.

‘Let’s give them to Alice.’ Vanessa was an expert in ignoring anything that she didn’t approve of. ‘She can put them in the kitchen.’

Alice was hovering in the background, ready to help with hanging coats up in the cloakroom, but she moved swiftly when there was another knock on the massive front door of the Davenport mansion. His father, Hugo, was coming into the foyer at the same time and the twins’ faces brightened.

‘Look, Grandpa...look what we made.’

‘Wow...cookies...they look delicious.’

‘Did I hear someone mention cookies?’

Charles turned towards the door. ‘Miranda. Hey... I’m glad you could make it.’

His half-sister had two brightly wrapped parcels under her arm and the twins’ eyes got very round.

‘Presents, Daddy. For us?’

But Charles had been distracted by someone who had followed Miranda into the house. He hadn’t seen his youngest brother, Zachary, for such a long time.

‘Zac... What are you doing here?’

‘I heard there was a birthday celebration happening.’

‘But I thought you were in Annapolis.’

‘I was. I am. I’m just in town for the day—you should know why...’

Charles had to shake his head but there was no time to ask. The shriek of excitement behind him had to mean that Miranda had handed over the parcels and, turning his head, he could see his mother already moving towards the main reception lounge.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said. ‘Let’s go somewhere a little more civilised than the doorstep, shall we?’

Charles saw the glance that flashed between Zac and Miranda. Would there ever come a day when Vanessa actually welcomed Miranda into this house, instead of barely tolerating her?

His father was now holding the platter of cookies.

‘Shall I take those to the kitchen, sir?’ Alice asked.

‘No...no...they have to go on the table with all the other treats.’

Charles felt a wash of relief. Families were always complicated and this one a lot more than most but there was still a thread of something good to be found. Something worth celebrating.

He scooped up Cameron, who was already ripping the paper off his gift. ‘Hang on, buddy. Let’s do that in the big room.’

Zac had parcels in his hands, too. And when the door swung open behind him to reveal Elijah with a single, impressively large box in his arms, Charles could only hope that this gathering wasn’t going to be too overwhelming for small boys. He thought wistfully of the relatively calm oasis of their own apartment and, unbidden, an image of the ultimately peaceful scene he’d come home to last night filled his mind.

The one of Grace, asleep on the couch, cuddled up with the boys and with a dog asleep on her feet.

So peaceful. So...perfect...?

‘I can’t stay,’ Elijah said, as they all started moving to the lounge. ‘I got someone to cover me for an hour at work. I’ll be getting a taxi back in half an hour.’

‘Oh...’ Miranda was beside him. ‘Could I share? My shift starts at five but it takes so long on the Tube I’d have to leave about then, anyway.’

‘Flying visit,’ Zac murmured. ‘It’s always the way with us Davenports, isn’t it? Do your duty but preferably with an excuse to escape before things get awkward?’

‘Mmm.’ The sound was noncommittal but Charles put Cameron down with an inward sigh. This vast room, with a feature fireplace and enough seating for forty people, had obviously been professionally decorated. Huge, helium balloons were tethered everywhere and there were streamers looping between the chandeliers and a banner covering the wall behind the mahogany dining table that had been shifted in here from the adjoining dining room. A table that was laden with perfectly decorated cakes and cookies and any number of other delicious treats that had been provided by professional caterers.

Cameron, with his half-unwrapped parcel in his arms, ran towards the pile of other gifts near the table, Max hot on his heels. A maid he didn’t recognise came towards the adults with a silver tray laden with flutes of champagne.

‘Orange juice for me, thanks,’ Elijah said. Miranda just shook her head politely and went after the twins to help them with the unwrapping.

‘So what’s with your flying visit?’ he asked Zac. ‘And why should I know about it?’

‘Because I’m here for an interview. I’ve applied for a job at Manhattan Mercy that starts next month.’

‘Really? Wow...’ Charles took a sip of his champagne. ‘That’s great, man. And there I was thinking you were going to be a navy medic for the rest of your life.’

Zac shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m thinking that life’s short, you know? If I don’t get around to building some bridges soon, it’s never going to happen.’

Charles could only nod. He knew better than anyone how short life could be, didn’t he? About the kind of jagged hole that could be left when someone you loved got ripped from it.

But that hole had been covered last night, hadn’t it? Just for a moment or two, he had stepped far enough away from it for it to have become invisible. And it had been that perfect family scene that had led him away. His two boys, under the sheltering arms of someone who had looked, for all the world, like their mother. With a loyal family pet at their feet, even.

But now Zac had shown him the signpost that led straight back to the gaping hole in his life.

And Elijah was shaking his head. ‘I hope you’re not harbouring any hope of this lot playing happy families any time soon.’

They all turned their gazes on their parents. Hugo and Miranda were both down on the floor with the twins. Miranda’s gifts of a new toy car for Cameron and a tractor for Max had been opened and set aside and now the first of the many parcels from the grandparents were being opened. It looked like it was a very large train set, judging by the lengths of wooden rails that were appearing. The level of excitement was increasing and Charles needed to go and share it. Maybe that way, the twins wouldn’t notice the way their grandmother was perched on a sofa at some distance, merely watching the spectacle.

‘Anyone else coming?’ Zac asked. ‘Where’s Penny?’

‘Still on holiday. Skiing, I think. Or was it sky-diving?’

‘Sounds like her. And Jude? I’d love to catch up with him.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Elijah’s eyebrows rose. ‘Being a cousin is a perfect “get out of jail” card for most of our family get-togethers.’

Charles moved away from his brothers. It was always like this. Yes, there were moments of joy to be found in his family but the undercurrents were strong enough to mean that there was always tension. And most of that tension came from Vanessa and Elijah.

You had to make allowances, of course. It was his mother who’d been hardest hit by the scandal of learning that her husband had been having an affair that had resulted in a child—Miranda. That knowledge would have been hard enough, but to find out because Miranda’s mother had died and her father had insisted on acknowledging her and bringing her into the family home had been unbearable for Vanessa.

Unbearable for everyone. The difference in age between himself and his twin might have been insignificant but Charles had always known that he was the oldest child. The firstborn. And that came with a responsibility that he took very seriously. That turbulent period of the scandal had been his first real test and he’d done everything he could to comfort his siblings—especially Elijah, who’d been so angry and bitter. To protect the frightened teenager who had suddenly become one of their number as well. And to support his devastated mother, who was being forced to start an unexpected chapter in her life.

Like the authors of many of the gossip columns, he’d expected his mother would walk away from her marriage but Vanessa had chosen not to take that option. She’d claimed that she didn’t want to bring more shame on the Davenport family but they all knew that what scared her more would have been walking away from her own exalted position in New York society and the fundraising efforts that had become her passion.

To outward appearances, the shocking changes had been tolerated with extraordinary grace. Behind closed doors, however, it had been a rather different story. There were no-go areas that Vanessa had constructed for her own protection and nobody, including her husband, would dream of intruding on them uninvited.

Charles had always wondered if he could have done more, especially for Elijah, who had ended up so bitter about marriage and what he sarcastically referred to as ‘happy families’. If he could have done a better job as the firstborn, maybe he could have protected his family more successfully, perhaps by somehow diverting the destructive force of the scandal breaking. It hadn’t been his fault, of course, any more than Nina’s death had been. Why didn’t that lessen the burden that a sense of responsibility created?

But surely enough time had passed to let them all move on?

Charles felt tired of it all suddenly. The effort it had taken to try and keep his shattered family together would have been all-consuming at any time. To have had it happen in the run-up to his final exams had been unbelievably difficult. Life-changing.

If it hadn’t happened, right after that night he’d shared with Grace, how different might his life have been?

Would he have shut her out so completely? Pretended that night had never happened because that was a factor he had absolutely no head space to even consider?

To his shame, Charles had been so successful in shutting it out in that overwhelmingly stressful period, he had never thought of how it might have hurt Grace.

Was that why she’d pretty much flinched during that kiss last night? Why she’d practically run away from him as hard and fast as she could politely manage?

Receiving that photo this morning had felt kind of like Grace was sending an olive branch. An apology for running, perhaps. Or at least an indication that they could still be friends?

The effect was a swirl of confusion. He had glimpsed something huge that was missing from his life, along with the impression that Grace was possibly the only person who could fill that gap. The very edges of that notion should be stirring his usual reaction of disloyalty to Nina that thoughts of including any other woman in his life usually engendered.

But it wasn’t happening...

Because there was a part of his brain that was standing back and providing a rather different perspective? Would Nina have wanted her babies to grow up without a mom?

Would he have wanted them to grow up without a dad, if he’d been the one to die too soon?

Of course not.

He had experienced the first real surge of physical desire in three long years, too. That should be sparking the guilt but it didn’t seem to be. Not in the way he’d become so accustomed to, anyway.

He wouldn’t have inflicted a life of celibacy on Nina, either.

Maybe the guilt was muted by something more than a different perspective. Because, after the way she had reacted last night, it seemed that going any further down that path was very unlikely?

The more he thought about it, the more his curiosity about Grace was intensifying.

She had felt the same level of need, he knew she had. She had responded to that kiss in a way that had inflamed that desire to a mind-blowing height.

And then she’d flinched as though he had caused her physical pain.

Why?

It wasn’t really any of his business but curiosity was becoming a need to know.

Because, as unlikely as it was, could the small part he had played in Grace’s life in the past somehow have contributed to whatever it was?

A ridiculous notion but, if nothing else, it seemed like a legitimate reason to try and find out the truth. Not that it was going to be easy, mind you. Some people were very good at building walls to keep their pain private. Like his mother. Thanks to that enormous effort he’d made to try and keep his family together during the worst time of that scandal breaking, however, he had learned more than anyone about exactly what was behind Vanessa Davenport’s walls. Because he’d respected that pain and had had a base of complete trust to work from.

He could hardly expect Grace to trust him that much. Not when he looked back over the years and could see the way he’d treated her from her point of view.

But there was something there.

And, oddly, it did feel a bit like trust.

Stepping over train tracks that his father was slotting together, smiling at the delight on his sons’ faces as they unwrapped a bright blue steam engine with a happy face on the front, Charles moved towards the couch and bent to kiss Vanessa’s cheek.

‘Awesome present, Mom,’ he said with a smile. ‘Clever of you to know how much the boys love Thomas the Tank Engine.’

* * *

That kiss had changed everything.

Only a few, short weeks ago Grace had been so nervous about meeting Charles Davenport again that she had almost decided against applying for the job at Manhattan Mercy.

What had she been so afraid of? That old feelings might resurface and she’d have to suffer the humiliation of being dismissed so completely again?

To find that the opposite had happened was even scarier. That old connection was still there and could clearly be tapped into but... Grace didn’t want that.

Well...she did...but she wasn’t ready.

She might never be ready.

Charles must think she was crazy. He must have sensed the connection at the same moment she had, when they’d shared their amusement about the spiders that had eyes on their legs, otherwise he wouldn’t have touched her like that.

And he must have seen that fierce shaft of desire because she had felt it throughout her entire body so why wouldn’t it have shown in her eyes?

Just for those few, deliciously long moments she had been unaware of anything but that desire when he’d kissed her. That spiralling need for more.

And then his hand had—almost—touched her breast and she’d reacted as if he’d pulled a knife on her or something.

It had been purely instinctive and Grace knew how over the top it must have seemed. She was embarrassed.

A bit ashamed of herself, to be honest, but there it was. A trigger that had been too deeply set to be disabled.

The net effect was to make her feel even more nervous about her next meeting with Charles than she had been about the first one and he hadn’t been at work the next day so her anxiety kept growing.

She had sent out mixed messages and he had every right to be annoyed with her. How awkward would it be to work together from now on? Did she really want to live with a resurrection of all the reasons why she’d taken herself off to work in the remotest places she could find?

No. What she wanted was to wind back the clock just a little. To the time before that kiss, when it had felt like an important friendship was being cemented. When she had discovered a totally unexpected dimension in her life by embracing a sense of family in her time with Charles and his sons and Houston.

So she had sent through that photo she had taken of Max and Cameron waiting for the cookies to cool. Along with another apology for the mess they had all created. Maybe she wanted to test the waters and see just how annoyed he might be.

He had texted back to thank her, and say that it was one of the best photos of the boys he’d ever seen. He also said that they were going to a family birthday celebration that afternoon and surprised her by saying he didn’t think it would be nearly as much fun as baking Halloween cookies.

A friendly message—as if nothing had changed.

The relief was welcome.

But confusing.

Unless Charles was just as keen as she was to turn the clock back?

Of course he was, she decided by the end of that day, as she took Houston for a long, solitary walk in the park. He had as big a reason as she did not to want to get that close to someone. He had lost the absolute love of his life under horrifically traumatic circumstances. Part of him had to want to keep on living—as she did—and not to be deprived of the best things that life had to offer.

But maybe he wasn’t ready yet, either.

Maybe he never would be.

And that was okay—because maybe they could still be friends and that was something that could be treasured.

* * *

Evidence that Charles wanted to push the ‘reset’ button on their friendship came at increasingly frequent intervals over the next week or two. Now that his nanny, Maria, had recovered from her back injury enough to work during week days, he was in the emergency room every day that Grace was working.

He gave her a printed copy of the photograph, during a quiet moment when they both happened to be near the unit desk on one occasion.

‘Did you see that Horse photobombed it?’

Grace laughed. ‘No...I thought I’d had my thumb on the lens or something. I was going to edit it out.’

She wouldn’t now. She would tuck this small picture into her wallet and she knew that sometimes she would take it out and look at it. A part of her would melt with love every time. And part of her would splinter into little pieces and cry?

She avoided looking directly at Charles as she slipped the image carefully into her pocket.

‘Did your cleaning lady resign the next day?’

‘No. She wants the recipe for your homemade mac and cheese.’

It was unfortunate that Grace glanced at Charles as he stopped speaking to lick his lips. That punch of sensation in her belly was a warning that friendship with this man would never be simple. Or easy. That it could become even worse, in fact, because there might come a time when she was ready to take that enormous step into a new life only to find that Charles would never feel the same way.

‘I’d like it, too.’ He didn’t seem to have noticed that she was edging away. ‘I had some later that night and it was the most delicious thing ever. It had bacon in it.’

‘Mmm... It’s not hard.’

‘Maybe you could show me. Sometime...’

The suggestion was casual but Grace had to push an image from her mind of standing beside Charles as she taught him how to make a cheese sauce. Of being close enough to touch him whilst wrapped in the warmth and smells of a kitchen—the heart of a home. She could even feel a beat of the fear that being so close would bring and she had to swallow hard.

‘I’ll write down how to do it for you.’

Charles smiled and nodded but seemed distracted now. He was staring at the patient details board. ‘What’s going on with that patient in Curtain Six? She’s been here for a long time.’

‘We’re waiting for a paediatric psyche consult. This is her third admission in a week. Looks like a self-inflicted injury and I think there’s something going on at home that she’s trying to escape from.’

‘Oh...’ His breath was a sigh. ‘Who brought her in?’

‘Her stepfather. And he’s very reluctant to leave her alone with staff.’

‘Need any help?’

‘I think we’re getting there. I’ve told him that we need to run more tests. Might even have to keep her in overnight for observation. I know we’ve blocked up a bed for too long, but...’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ The glance Grace received was direct. Warm. ‘Do whatever you need to do. I trust you. Just let me know if you need backup.’

Feeling trusted was a powerful thing.

Knowing that you had the kind of backup that could also be trusted was even better and Grace was particularly grateful for that a couple of mornings later with the first case that arrived on her shift.

A thirteen-month-old boy, who had somehow managed to crawl out of the house at some point during the night and had been found, virtually frozen solid, in the back yard.

‘VF arrest,’ the paramedics had radioed in. ‘CPR under way. We can’t intubate—his mouth’s frozen. We’ve just got an OPA in.’

Grace had the team ready in their resuscitation area.

‘We need warmed blankets and heat packs. Warmed IV fluids. We’ll be looking at thoracic lavage or even ECMO. Have we heard back from the cardiac surgical team yet?’

‘Someone’s on their way.’

‘ECMO?’ she heard a nurse whisper. ‘What’s that?’

‘Extra corporeal membrane oxygenation,’ she told them. ‘It’s a form of cardiopulmonary bypass and we can warm the blood at the same time. Because, like we’ve all been taught, you’re not—’

‘—dead until you’re warm and dead.’

It was Charles who finished her sentence for her, as he appeared beside her, pushing his arms through the sleeves of a gown. He didn’t smile at her, but there was a crinkle at the corners of his eyes that gave her a boost of confidence.

‘Thought you might like a hand,’ he murmured. ‘We’ve done this before, remember?’

Grace tilted her head in a single nod of acknowledgement. She was focused on the gurney being wheeled rapidly towards them through the doors. Of course she remembered. It had been the only time she and Charles had worked so closely together during those long years of training. They had been left to deal with a case of severe hypothermia in an overstretched emergency department when they had been no more than senior medical students. Their patient had been an older homeless woman that nobody had seemed to want to bother with.

They had looked at each other and quietly chanted their new mantra in unison.

‘You’re not dead until you’re warm and dead.’

And they’d stayed with her, taking turns to change heat packs and blankets while keeping up continuous CPR for more than ninety minutes. Until her body temperature was high enough for defibrillation to be an effective option.

Nobody ever forgot the first time they defibrillated somebody.

Especially when it was successful.

But this was very different. This wasn’t an elderly woman who might not have even been missed if she had succumbed to her hypothermia. This was a precious child who had distraught members of his family watching their every move. A tiny body that looked, and felt, as if it was made of chilled wax as he was gently transferred to the heated mattress, where his soaked, frozen nappy was removed and heat packs were nestled under his arms and in his groin.

‘Pupils?’

‘Fixed and dilated.’

Grace caught Charles’s gaze as she answered his query and it was no surprise that she couldn’t see any hint of a suggestion that it might be too late to help this child. It was more an acknowledgement that the battle had just begun. That they’d done this before and they could do it again. And they might be surrounded by other staff members but it almost felt like it was just them again. A tight team, bonded by an enormous challenge and the determination to succeed.

Finding a vein to start infusing warmed IV fluids presented a challenge they didn’t have time for so Grace used an intraosseous needle to place a catheter inside the tibia where the bone marrow provided a reliable connection to the central circulation. It was Charles who took over the chest compressions from the paramedics and initiated the start of warmed oxygen for ventilation and then it was Elijah who stepped in to continue while Charles and Grace worked together to intubate and hook the baby up to the ventilator.

The cardiac surgical team arrived soon after that, along with the equipment that could be used for more aggressive internal warming, by direct cannulation of major veins and arteries to both warm the blood and take over the work of the heart and lungs or the procedure of infusing the chest cavity with warmed fluids and then draining it off again. If ECMO or bypass was going to be used, the decision had to be made whether to do it here in the department or move their small patient to Theatre.

‘How long has CPR been going?’

‘Seventy-five minutes.’

‘Body temperature?’

‘Twenty-two degrees Celsius. Up from twenty-one on arrival. It was under twenty on scene.’

‘Rhythm?’

‘Still ventricular fibrillation.’

‘Has he been shocked?’

‘Once. On scene.’ Again, it was Charles’s gaze that Grace sought. ‘We were waiting to get his temperature up a bit more before we tried again but maybe...’

‘It’s worth a try,’ one of the cardiac team said. ‘Before we start cannulation.’

But it was the nod from Charles that Grace really wanted to see before she pushed the charge button on the defibrillator.

‘Stand clear,’ she warned as crescendo of sound switched to a loud beeping. ‘Shocking now.’

It was very unlikely that one shock would convert the fatal rhythm into one that was capable of pumping blood but, to everyone’s astonishment, that was exactly what it did. Charles had his fingers resting gently near a tiny elbow.

‘I’ve got a pulse.’

‘Might not last,’ the surgeon warned. ‘He’s still cold enough for it to deteriorate back into VF at any time, especially if he’s moved.’

Grace nodded. ‘We won’t move him. Let’s keep on with what we’re doing with active external rewarming and ventilation. We’ll add in some inotropes as well.’

‘It could take hours.’ The surgeon looked at his watch. ‘I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I’ve got a theatre list I’m already late for but page me if you run into trouble.’

Charles nodded but the glance he gave Grace echoed what she was thinking herself. They had won the first round of this battle and, together, they would win the next.

There wasn’t much that they could do, other than keep up an intensive monitoring that meant not stepping away from this bedside. Heat packs were refreshed and body temperature crept up, half a degree at a time. There were blood tests to run and drugs to be cautiously administered. They could let the parents come in for a short time to see what was happening and to reassure them that everything possible was being done but they couldn’t be allowed to touch their son yet. The situation was still fragile and only time would give them the answers they all needed.

His name, they learned, was Toby.

It wasn’t necessary to have two senior doctors present the whole time but neither Charles nor Grace gave any hint of wanting to be anywhere else and, fortunately, there were enough staff to cover everything else that was happening in the department.

More than once, they were the only people in the room with Toby. Their conversation was quiet and professional, focused solely on the challenge they were dealing with and, at first, any eye contact was that of colleagues. Encouraging. Appreciative. Hopeful...

It was an odd bubble to be in, at the centre of a busy department but isolated at the same time. And when it was just the two of them, when a nurse left to deliver blood samples or collect new heat packs, there was an atmosphere that Grace could only describe as...peaceful?

No. That wasn’t the right word. It felt as though she was a piece of a puzzle that was complete enough to see what the whole picture was going to be. There were only a few pieces still to fit into the puzzle and they were lying close by, waiting to be picked up. It was a feeling of trust that went a step beyond hope. It was simply a matter of time.

So perhaps that was why those moments of eye contact changed as one hour morphed into the next. Why it was so hard to look away, because that was when she could feel it the most—that feeling that the puzzle was going to be completed and that it was a picture she had been waiting her whole life to see.

It felt like...happiness.

Nearly three hours later, Toby was declared stable enough to move to the paediatric intensive care unit. He was still unconscious but his heart and other organs were functioning normally again. Whether he had suffered any brain damage would not be able to be assessed until he woke up.

If he woke up?

Was that why Grace was left with the feeling that she hadn’t quite been able to reach those last puzzle pieces? Why the picture she wanted to see so badly was still a little blurred?

No. The way Charles was looking at her as Toby’s bed disappeared through the internal doors of the ER assured Grace that she had done the best job she could and, for now, the outcome was the best it could possibly be. That he was proud of her. Proud of his department.

And then he turned to start catching up with the multitude of tasks that had accumulated and needed his attention. Grace watched him walking away from her and that was when instinct kicked in.

That puzzle wasn’t really about a patient at all, was it?

It was about herself.

And Charles.