Читать книгу Chistmas In Manhattan Collection - Алисон Робертс - Страница 17
ОглавлениеTHE SOFT TRILL advertising an incoming text message on his phone woke Charles.
It could have been from anyone. One of his siblings, perhaps. Or a message from work to warn him that there was a situation requiring his input.
But he knew it was from Grace.
He just knew...
And, in that moment of knowing, there was a profound pleasure. Excitement, even. An instant pull back into the astonishing connection they had rediscovered last night that was still hovering at the edges of his consciousness as he reached sleepily for the phone on his bedside table.
Okay, he’d broken rule number one, not only by allowing female companionship to progress to this level but by allowing it to happen under his own roof and not keeping it totally separate from his home life—and his children.
And he’d broken an even bigger, albeit undefined, rule, by doing it with someone that he had a potentially important emotional connection to.
Had he been blindsided, because that connection had already been there and only waiting to be uncovered and that meant he hadn’t been able to make a conscious choice to back off before it was even a possibility?
Maybe his undoing had been the way her story had touched his heart. That someone as clever and warm and beautiful as Grace could have been made to believe that she didn’t deserve to be loved.
Whatever had pushed him past his boundaries, it had felt inevitable by the time he’d led Grace to his bed. And everything that had happened after that was a blurred mix of sensation and emotion that was overwhelming, even now.
Physically, it had been as astonishing as that first time. Exquisite. But there had been more to it this time. So much more. The gift of trust that she’d given him. The feeling that the dark place in his soul had been flooded with a light he’d never expected to experience again after Nina had died. Had never wanted to experience again because he knew what it was like when it got turned off?
It was early, with only the faintest suggestion of the approaching day between the gap of curtains that had been hastily pulled. Grace would be at work already, though. Her early shift had been the reason she hadn’t stayed all night and Charles hadn’t tried to persuade her. The twins might be far too young to read anything into finding Grace and Horse in their apartment first thing in the morning but what if they dropped an innocent bombshell in front of their grandparents, for instance, during the family’s Thanksgiving dinner tonight?
He wasn’t ready to share any of this.
It was too new—this feeling of an intimate connection, when you could get a burst of pleasure from even the prospect of communication via text.
He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it himself yet, so he certainly didn’t want the opinions of anyone else—like his parents or his siblings. This was very private.
There was only one other person on the planet who could share this.
Can’t believe I left without doing the dishes again. I owe you one. xx
For a moment Charles let his head sink into his pillow again, a smile spreading over his face. He loved Grace’s humour. And how powerful two little letters could be at the end of a message. Not one kiss, but two...
Powerful letters.
Even more powerful feelings.
They reminded him of the heady days of falling in love with Nina, when they couldn’t bear to be apart. When they were the only two people in the world that mattered.
Was that what was happening here?
Was he falling in love with Grace?
His smile faded. The swirling potentially humorous responses to her text message vanished. He’d known that he would never fall in love again. He’d known that from the moment Nina’s life had ebbed away that terrible day and he hadn’t given it a second thought since. That part of his life had simply been dismissed as he’d coped with what had been important. His babies. And his work.
It had been a very long time before his body reminded him that there were other needs that could be deemed of importance. That was when rule number one had been considered and then put into place.
And he’d broken it.
Without giving any thought to any implications.
The jarring sound of his phone starting to ring cut through the heavy thoughts pressing down and suffocating the pleasure of any memories of last night. His heart skipped a beat with what felt like alarm as he glanced at the screen.
But it wasn’t Grace calling. It was his mother.
At this time of the day?
‘Mom...what’s up? Is everything all right?’
‘Maybe you can tell me, Charles. Who is she?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’m reading the New York Post. Page six...’
Of course she was. Anyone who was anyone in New York turned to page six first, either to read about someone they knew or about themselves. It was a prime example of the gossip columns that Charles hated above everything else. The kind that had almost destroyed his family once as people fed on every juicy detail that the Davenport scandal had offered. The kind that had made getting through the tragedy of losing his wife just that much harder as the details of their fairy-tale romance and wedding were pored over again. The kind that had made him keep his own life as private as possible ever since in his determination to protect his sons.
‘Why now?’ Vanessa continued. ‘Really, Charles. We could do without another airing of the family’s dirty laundry. Especially today, with it being Thanksgiving.’
He was out of bed now, clad only in his pyjama pants as he headed into the living area. His laptop was on the dining table, already open. It took only a couple of clicks to find what his mother was referring to.
The photograph was a shock. How on earth had a journalist got hold of it when it had been taken only yesterday—on Grace’s phone?
But there it was. The boys on their bikes on either side of Houston. Himself with his arm slung over Grace’s shoulders. And they were all grinning like the archetypal happy family.
His brain was working overtime. Had that friendly stranger actually been a journalist? Or had Grace shared the photograph on social media? No... But she had shared it with Stefan and Jerome and they had many friends who were the kind of celebrities that often graced page six. Easy pickings for anyone who contributed to this gossip column, thanks to a thoughtless moment on his behalf.
‘She’s a friend, Mom. Someone I went to med school with, who happens to be living downstairs at the moment. Dog-sitting.’
‘That’s not what’s getting assumed.’
‘Of course it isn’t. Why do you even read this stuff?’
He scanned the headline.
Who is the mystery woman in Charles Davenport’s life?
‘And why are they raking over old news? It’s too much. Really, Charles. Can’t you be more careful?’
Speed-reading was a skill he had mastered a long time ago.
It’s been a while since we caught up with the New York Davenports. Who could forget the scandal of the love child that almost blew this famous family apart? Where is she now, you might be asking? Where are any of them, in fact?
Moving on with their lives, apparently. Dr Charles Davenport is retired, with his notoriously private firstborn son taking over as chief of the ER at Manhattan Mercy in the manner of the best dynasties. He’s become something of a recluse since the tragic death of his wife but it looks as though he’s finally moving on. And isn’t it a treat to get a peek at his adorable twin sons?
We see his own twin brother Elijah more than any of the family members, with his penchant for attending every important party, and with a different woman on his arm every time. Their sister Penelope is a celebrated daredevil and the youngest brother, Zachary, is reportedly returning to the family fold very soon, in more ways than one. He has resigned from the Navy and will be adding his medical skills to the Davenport team at Manhattan Mercy. Watch this space for more news later.
And the love child, Miranda? Well...she’s so much a part of the family now she’s also a doctor and it’s no surprise that she’s working in exactly the same place.
Are the New York Davenports an example of what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Or is it just window dressing...?
Charles stopped reading as the article went on to focus on Vanessa Davenport’s recent philanthropic endeavours. His mother was still talking—about a fundraising luncheon she was supposed to be attending in a matter of hours.
‘How can I go? There’ll be reporters everywhere and intrusive questions. But, if I don’t go, it’ll just fuel speculation. Everybody will be talking about it.’
‘Just ignore it,’ Charles advised. ‘Keep your head high, smile and say “No comment”. It’ll die down. It always does.’
He could hear the weary sigh on the other end of the line.
‘I’m so sick of it. We’ve all been through enough. Haven’t we?’
‘Mmm.’ Charles rubbed his forehead with his fingers. ‘I have to go, Mom. The boys are waking up and we need to get ready. It’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade today and we’ll have to get there early to find a good place to watch. I’ll see you tonight.’
* * *
It should have been such a happy day.
Some of Charles’s earliest memories were of the sheer wonder of this famous parade. Of being in a privileged viewing position with his siblings, bundled up against the cold, jumping up and down with the amazement of every new sight and adding his own contribution to the cacophony of sound—the music and cheers and squeals of excitement—that built and built until the finale they were all waiting for when Santa Claus in his sleigh being pulled by reindeer with spectacular gilded antlers would let them know that the excitement wasn’t over. Christmas was coming...
This was the first year that Cameron and Max were old enough to appreciate the spectacle and not be frightened by the crowds and noise. They were well bundled up in their coats and mittens and hats and their little faces were shining with excitement. They found a spot on Central Park West, not far from one of their favourite playgrounds, and Charles held a twin on each hip, giving them a clear view over the older children in front of them.
The towering balloons sailed past. Superman and Spiderman and Muppets and Disney characters. There was a brass band with its members dressed like tin soldiers and people on stilts that looked like enormous candy canes with their striped costumes and the handles on their tall hats. There were clowns and jugglers and dancers and they kept coming. Charles’s arms began to ache with the weight of the twins and their joyous wriggling.
He wasn’t going to put them down. This was his job. Supporting his boys. Protecting them. And he could cope. The three of them would always cope. The happiness that today should have provided was clouded for Charles, though. He could feel an echo that reminded him of his mother’s heavy sigh earlier this morning.
That it was starting again. The media interest that could become like a searchlight, illuminating so many things that were best left in the shade now. Things that were nobody else’s business. Putting them out there for others to speculate on only made things so much harder to deal with.
He could still feel the pain of photographs that had been put on public display in the aftermath of the family scandal breaking. Of the snippets of gossip, whether true or not, that had been raked over. The fresh wave of interest in the days after Nina’s death had been even worse as he’d struggled to deal with his own grief. Seeing that photograph that had been taken at their engagement party, with Nina looking so stunning in her white designer gown, proudly showing off the famed Davenport, pink diamond ring, had been like a kick in the guts.
What if that photograph surfaced again now, with gossip mills cranking up at the notion that he’d found a new partner? Grace was nothing like Nina, who’d been part of the kind of society he’d grown up in. Nina had been well used to being in the public eye. Grace was someone who kept herself in the background, working as part of a team in her job where the centre stage was always taken by the person needing her help.
Or making two small boys happy by baking cookies and trashing his kitchen...
She would be appalled at any media interest. She’d as much as told him how she wouldn’t be able to cope.
‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like. Life can be difficult enough without having your privacy invaded like that. I couldn’t think of anything worse...’
The cloud settled even more heavily over Charles as the real implications hit him.
He knew her story now. That she had been broken by the reaction of the man who had been her husband to the battle she’d had to fight. That she’d actually hidden herself from the world to come to terms with being made to feel less than loveable. Ugly, even...
He hadn’t even noticed her scars last night. Not as anything that detracted from her beauty, anyway. If anything, they added to it because they were a mark of her astonishing courage and strength.
But he knew exactly how vulnerable she could still be, despite that strength.
As vulnerable as his younger siblings had been when the ‘love child’ scandal had broken. He’d learned how to shut things down then, in order to protect them.
Maybe he needed to call on those skills again now.
To protect Grace. He could imagine the devastating effect if the spotlight was turned on her. If someone thought to find images of what mastectomy scars looked like, perhaps, and coupled it with headline bait like Is this why her husband left her?
He couldn’t let that happen.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
He had to protect his boys, too.
They weren’t just old enough to appreciate this parade now. They knew—and loved—the new person who had come into their lives. Someone who was as happy as he was to stand in the cold and watch them run and climb in a playground. Who baked cookies with them and fell asleep on the couch with them cuddled beside her.
He wouldn’t be the only one to be left with a dark place if she vanished from their lives.
What about that different perspective he’d found the day after the twins’ birthday, when he’d known that he wouldn’t want his boys growing up without a dad, if the tragedy had been reversed? That he wouldn’t have wanted Nina to have a restricted, celibate life?
It was all spiralling out of control. His feelings for Grace. How close they had suddenly become. The threat of having his private life picked over by emotional vultures, thanks to media interest and having important things damaged beyond repair.
Yes. He needed to remember lessons learned. That control could be regained eventually if things could be ignored. He had done this before but this time he could do it better. He was responsible and he was old enough and wise enough this time around not to make the same mistakes.
He had to choose each step with great care. And the first step was to narrow his focus to what was most important.
And he was holding that in his arms.
‘Show’s almost over, guys. Want to go to the playground on the way home?’
* * *
‘There’s something different about you today.’ Helena looked up as she finished scribbling a note in a patient file on the main desk in the ER. ‘You look...happy.’
Grace’s huff was indignant. ‘Are you trying to tell me I usually look miserable?’
‘No...’ Helena was smiling but she still had a puzzled frown. ‘You never look miserable. You just don’t usually look...I don’t know...this happy. Not at this time of the morning, anyway.’
Grace shrugged but found herself averting her gaze in case her friend might actually see more than she was ready to share.
She’d already seen too much.
This happiness was seeping out of every cell in her body and it was no surprise it was visible to someone who knew her well. It felt like she was glowing. As if she could still feel the touch of Charles’s hands—and lips—on her body.
On more than her body, in fact. It felt like her soul was glowing this morning.
Reborn.
Oh, help... She wasn’t going to be as focused on her work today as she needed to be if she let herself get pulled back into memories of last night. That was a pleasure that needed to wait until later. With a huge effort, Grace closed the mental door on that compelling space.
‘I have a clown in Curtain Three,’ she told Helena.
Helena shook her head with a grimace. ‘We get a lot of clowns in here. They’re usually drunk.’
‘No...this is a real clown. He was trying to do a cartwheel and I’ve just finished relocating his shoulder that couldn’t cope. I want to check his X-ray before I discharge him. He has a clown friend with him, too. Didn’t you see them come in? Spotty suits, squeaky horns, bright red wigs—the whole works.’
But Helena didn’t seem to be listening. She was staring at an ambulance gurney that was being wheeled past the desk. The person lying on the gurney seemed to be a life-sized tin soldier.
‘Oh...of course...’ she sighed. ‘It’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade today, isn’t it?’
‘Chest pain,’ one of the paramedics announced. ‘Query ST elevation in the inferior leads.’
‘Straight into Resus, thanks.’ Grace shared a glance with Helena. This tin soldier was probably having a heart attack. ‘I can take this.’
Helena nodded. ‘I’ll follow up on your clown, if you like.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if she was expecting more gurneys to be rolling up. ‘We’re in for a crazy day,’ she murmured. ‘It always is, with the parade.’
Crazy was probably good, Grace decided as she followed her tin soldier into Resus.
‘Let’s get him onto the bed. On my count. One, two...three.’ She smiled at the middle-aged man. ‘My name’s Grace and I’m one of the doctors here at Manhattan Mercy. Don’t worry, we’re going to take good care of you. What’s your name?’
‘Tom.’
‘How old are you, Tom?’
‘Fifty-three.’
‘Do you have any medical history of heart problems? Hypertension? Diabetes?’
Tom was shaking his head to every query.
‘Have you ever had chest pain like this before?’
Another shake. ‘I get a bit out of puff sometimes. But playing the trumpet is hard, you know?’
‘And you got out of breath this morning?’
‘Yeah. And then I felt sick and got real sweaty. And the pain...’
‘He’s had six milligrams of morphine.’ A paramedic was busy helping the nursing staff to change the leads that clipped to the electrodes dotting Tom’s chest so that he was attached to the hospital’s monitor. His oxygen tubing came off the portable cylinder to be linked to the overhead supply and a different blood pressure cuff was being wrapped around his arm.
‘How’s the pain now, Tom?’ Grace asked. ‘On a scale of zero to ten, with ten being the worst?’
‘About six, I guess.’
‘It was ten when we got to him.’
‘Let’s give you a bit more pain relief, then,’ Grace said. ‘And I want some bloods off for cardiac enzymes, please. I want a twelve-lead ECG, stat. And can someone call the cath lab and check availability?’
Yes. Crazy was definitely good. From the moment Tom had arrived in her care to nearly an hour later, when she accompanied him to the cardiac catheter laboratory so that he could receive angioplasty to open his blocked artery, she didn’t have a spare second where her thoughts could travel to where they wanted to go so much.
Heading back to the ER was a different matter.
Her route that took her back to bypass the main waiting area was familiar now. The medical staff all used it because if you went through the waiting area at busy times, you ran the risk of being confronted by angry people who didn’t like the fact that they had to wait while more urgent cases were prioritised. If Helena was right, this was going to be a very busy day. Which made sense, because they were the closest hospital to where the parade was happening and the participants and spectators would number in the tens of thousands.
Had Charles taken the boys to see the parade?
Was that why he hadn’t had the time to answer her text message yet?
Grace’s hand touched the phone that was clipped to the waistband of her scrub trousers but she resisted the urge to bring the screen to life and check that she hadn’t missed a message.
She wasn’t some love-crazed teenager who was holding her breath to hear from a boy.
She’d never been that girl. Had never dated a boy that had had that much of an impact on her. She’d been confident in her life choices and her focus on her study and the career she wanted more than anything.
But she’d turned into that girl, hadn’t she? After that first night with Charles Davenport. The waiting for that message or call. The excitement that had morphed into anxiety and then crushing disappointment and heartbreak.
And humiliation...
Grace dropped her hand. They were a long way from being teenagers now. Charles was a busy man. Quite apart from his job, he was a hands-on father with two small boys. History was not about to repeat itself. Charles understood how badly he had treated her by ignoring her last time. He had apologised for it, even. There was no way he would do that again.
And she was stronger. He’d told her that. He’d made her believe it was true.
Walking past the cast room, Grace could see an elderly woman having a broken wrist plastered. There were people in the minor surgery area, too, with another elderly patient who looked like he was having a skin flap replaced. And then she was walking past the small rooms, their doors open and the interiors empty, but that couldn’t stop a memory of the first time she had walked past one of them. When she’d seen those two small faces peering out and she had met Cameron and Max.
It couldn’t stop the tight squeeze on her heart as she remembered falling in love with Max when he’d smiled at her and thanked her for fixing his truck and then cuddled up against her. He was more cuddly than his brother but she loved Cameron just as much now.
And their father?
Oh... Grace paused for a moment to grab a cup of water from the cooler before she pushed through the double doors into the coal face of the ER.
It hadn’t been love at first sight with Charles.
But it had been love at first night.
That was why she’d been so nervous about working with him again. He’d surprised her by calling her that night about the dog-sitting possibility by revealing that he’d been thinking about her.
And he’d made her laugh. Made her drop her guard a little?
She’d realised soon after that that the connection was still there. The way he’d looked at her that day at the park—as if he really wanted to hear her story.
As if he really cared.
Oh, and that kiss. In that wreck of a kitchen still redolent with the smells of grilled cheese and freshly baked cookies. Even now, Grace could remember the fear that had stepped in when he’d been about to touch her breast. As though the lumpy scars beneath her clothing had suddenly been flashing like neon signs.
Crumpling the empty polystyrene cup, she dropped it into the bin beside the cooler, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as if she wanted to hide a smile.
They hadn’t mattered last night, those scars. She’d barely been aware of them herself...
She was back in the department now and she could see a new patient being wheeled into Resus.
So many patients came and went from that intensive diagnostic and treatment area but some were so much more memorable than others.
Like the first patient she had ever dealt with here. That badly injured cyclist who’d been a casualty of the power cut when the traffic lights had gone out. And the frozen baby that she and Charles had miraculously brought back to life. Yep... Grace would never forget that one.
That time with just the two of them when it had seemed as if time had been somehow rewound and that there was nothing standing between herself and Charles. No social differences that had put them on separate planets all those years ago. No past history of partners who had been loved and lost. No barriers apart from the defensive walls they had both constructed and maybe that had been the moment when Grace had believed there might be a way through those barriers.
She’d been right. And Helena had been right in noticing that there was something different about her today.
The only thing that could have made her even happier would be to feel the vibration against her waistband that would advertise an incoming text message.
But it didn’t happen. Case after case took her attention during the next few hours. An asthmatic child who had forgotten his inhaler in the excitement of heading to watch the parade and suffered an attack that meant an urgent trip to the nearest ER. A man who’d had his foot stepped on by a horse. A woman who’d been caught up in the crowd when the first pains of her miscarriage had struck.
Case after case and the time flew by and Grace focused on each and every case as if it was the only thing that mattered. To stop herself checking her phone? It was well past lunchtime when she finally took a break in a deserted staffroom and sat down with a cup of coffee and could no longer ignore the weight and shape of her phone. No way to avoid glancing at it. At a blank screen that had no new messages or missed calls flagged.
Anxiety crept in as she stared at that blank screen. Was Charles sick or injured or had something happened to one of the twins? She could forgive this silence if that was the case but it would have to be something major like that because to treat her like this again when he knew how it would make her feel was...well, it was unforgiveable. All he’d had to do was send a simple message. A stupid smiley face would have been enough. Surely he would understand that every minute of continuing silence would feel like hours? That hours would actually start to feel like days?
But if something major like that had happened, she would have heard about it. Like she’d heard about Miranda being caught up in that tunnel collapse. A thread of anger took over from anxiety. How could she have allowed herself to get into a position where everything she had worked so hard for was under threat? She had come to New York to start a new life. To move on from so much loss. The loss of her marriage. The loss of the family she’d dreamed of having. The loss of feeling desirable, even.
Charles had given her a glimpse of a future that could have filled all those empty places in her soul.
This silence felt like a warning shot that it was no more than an illusion.
That the extraordinary happiness she had brought to work with her was no more than a puff of breath on an icy morning. The kind she had been making as she’d walked to Manhattan Mercy this morning in a haze of happiness after last night.
Last night?
It was beginning to feel like a lifetime ago. A lifetime in which this scenario had already played out to a miserable ending.
Anxiety and anger both gave way to doubt.
Had she really thought that history couldn’t repeat itself? This was certainly beginning to feel like a re-run.
Maybe it had only been in her imagination that her scars didn’t matter.
Maybe having a woman in his bed had opened old wounds for Charles and he was realising how much he missed Nina and that no one could ever take her place.
Maybe it had been too much, too soon and everything had been ruined.
For a moment, Grace considered sending another message. Just something casual, like asking whether they’d been to the parade this morning or saying that she hoped they were all having a good day.
But this new doubt was strong enough to make her hesitate and, in that moment of hesitation, she knew she couldn’t do it.
Her confidence was starting to ebb away just as quickly as that happiness.
