How to Heal the Surgeon's Heart
Autor
Ann McIntosh
Lecturas
19,7K
Capítulos
21
CHAPTER ONE
DR. DAVID KENNEDY settled into the back of the chauffeur-driven car as it left Liverpool’s Lime Street train station and pressed his knuckles against his eyelids for an instant. Then he twisted his head from side to side, trying to ease out the kinks. Beyond the glass, a damp drizzle fell, and the sound of the windshield wipers matched the throbbing in his skull. A tension headache had taken up residence in a band across his forehead, and his eyes were gritty from too little sleep.
Just over three weeks.
That was all the time left before the Rally Round campaign started, and there was so much left to do.
He’d been working nonstop on the logistics—liaising with the rally and classic-car clubs, expanding the events as needed, and drumming up support from news outlets across the UK. Already this morning he’d spoken to his personal assistant three times, answered umpteen emails, and done a radio interview via telephone, all before his eight-fifteen arrival in Liverpool.
That interview had severely tested his patience.
Instead of concentrating on the rally, or even the work of GDK Foundation, the host had wanted to dredge up David’s past. Even being adept at deflecting the conversation back to where he wanted it to go hadn’t stopped David’s temper from rising.
Now, rubbing the back of his neck, he tried to put it behind him, but it stuck in his craw.
Sixteen years was more than enough time for the story to become old news. Yet, nothing he achieved or attempted was enough to divert attention from the past headlines.
Billionaire Financier Dies Leaving Fortune to Son He Never Met
Sir Arthur Knutson’s Love Child with Black American Entertainer Inherits
Knutson’s Family Sues to Overturn Will
Salacious at the time, with the resulting smear campaigns and court case giving the papers an abundance of trashy headlines, but surely no one was interested anymore?
He was honest enough to admit part of the problem was his initial decision to capitalize on the unwanted publicity he’d received. It was a plan hatched at one of the lowest, most difficult times of his life. A time when he’d felt he’d lost almost everything he treasured and was desperate to make some good come of it.
His mother had once told him, “Davie, always remember this: pick your roles carefully, and then commit to them, completely.”
At the time he’d thought she meant it literally, in the show-business sense, so he’d dismissed the advice. Even then he’d been fascinated by science and dreamed of a career in medicine or aeronautics. But, as he’d gotten older, he’d realized her words had far wider applications.
They were words he could live by and did. He carefully chose what he was going to do and, once the choice was made, committed to the plan, fully.
He’d wanted to make a positive difference in other people’s lives, which led him to become a doctor. Then, spurred on by the mentorship of one of France’s top transplant experts, who was one of his mother’s friends, he’d specialized in transplant surgery and risen to the top of his field.
When he’d married Georgie, he’d committed to being the best husband he could be. The best father to her young son too, especially since Josh—like David—didn’t know his biological father.
And those decisions had led to what David considered a perfect life.
A normal life, far removed from the glamorous, peripatetic, showbiz one David had grown up in, but lovely in its very simplicity. Georgie’s brilliant personality, golden as her hair, had been the spontaneous, cheerful heart of their family. Josh—at first wary—had eventually thawed and even allowed David to adopt him legally. Mum—glamorous as always—had flitted in and out of their lives, loving and spoiling them all, while his work kept him busy and satisfied.
Perfection.
Which then began to fall, sickeningly, apart.
Georgie’s death from an aneurism, just five short years into their marriage, had almost broken him, the pain and guilt too much to bear.
Josh—who’d needed him more than ever—and his work had been the only things keeping David going during the first year. Those commitments got him out of bed each day and forced him to put one foot in front of the other.
But fate wasn’t done with him yet, as he found out all at once a year later.
A diagnosis of palmar fibromatosis put pay to his surgical career, just as he learned who his father had been and about the vast fortune he was to inherit. And when he realized his mother had been in contact with Sir Arthur over the years, David was incandescent with rage.
A rage that carried him through the legal battle and nasty rhetoric but left him cold and hollow inside, emotionally distant from everyone but Josh.
After all, with that much money in hand, who could he trust to be interested or invested in him rather than his fortune?
Once the courts had determined Sir Arthur’s will was legitimate, David’s mother had tried to calm the waters.
“Davie, if you just stay out of the spotlight, it will quiet down. You’ll see.”
He’d been too grief-stricken and angry—with her, with life—to listen. Instead, he’d taken a lump of his inheritance and created the Georgina Dolores Kennedy Foundation, dedicated to fostering transplant research, education, and networking. Then, as was his way, he committed himself to making the homage to his late wife work and grow, even as he maintained a consultancy practice as well.
Staying firmly in the spotlight allowed him to build the foundation into something truly worthwhile, and he was as committed to its growth as he’d ever been.
Putting his elbow on the door’s armrest and leaning his chin on his fist, David stared out the window at the now driving rain and exhaled hard. It was a mark of his exhaustion that he was even thinking about the past this way. Normally, he tried to forget about those horrible, excruciating years and concentrate on the present and the future. And the immediate future was all about the upcoming rally.
Rally Round, originally envisioned as a short classic-car run in the vein of the London to Brighton race, had grown much larger. He’d thought it a good way to publicize the important work transplant teams were doing across the UK, but once his promotional team had begun consulting their contacts to gauge interest, it had ballooned.
And David had let it.
Not everyone was impressed with the widening scope, and a few foundation directors had voiced their concern regarding the amount of money now being spent. David pointing out that they’d already raised public awareness and spurred an important conversation centered around the need for organ and blood donations hadn’t satisfied them.
“What you’ve done is wasted valuable time and resources and turned the foundation into a carnival, with you as the barker,” Sir Malcolm, the most vocal of the opponents, had rudely stated.
It was no secret Malcolm’s cadre would like nothing better than to oust David from his position as CEO and dismantle many of David’s more progressive programs. To them, the foundation was on the verge of collapse because David was determined to take advantage of new technology, particularly social media, to increase visibility.
On top of everything else that was happening, having to deal with their nonsense was exhausting.
This trip to Liverpool had come up unexpectedly but was, in a way, a welcome distraction. As a part of his consultancy practice, he was often called in to evaluate high-risk potential transplant recipients. The young lady he was going to see had both type 1 diabetes and progressive kidney disease, and a decision had to be made as to whether it was suitable to put her on the transplant list.
Being out of his office at the foundation meant he was less accessible and could screen both calls and emails for urgency. He’d always maintained an open-door policy at the London headquarters, allowing people to drop in to his office for a chat or to update him, but he didn’t have time for that just now.
For the next few days, his main focus would be on his patient, with the rally taking up whatever spare moments he had. But for these last few minutes, between the train station and the hospital, David tried to get his brain to slow and his shoulders to relax.
When his phone rang, he sighed.
Respite denied.
Then he smiled, as he saw Josh’s name on the screen.
“Morning, Dad.” Josh’s voice made David’s smile widen. “Heard you on the radio just now. You sounded like you were a hair’s breadth from giving that reporter a frosty tongue-lashing.”
David chuckled. “Well, I thought I was politely restrained.”
Josh chuckled too. “You were, but barely. Did you make it to Liverpool all right?”
“I’m almost to the hospital.”
“I’m close to work too but, I’ve been thinking...”
“Uh-oh. That sounds ominous.”
Josh ignored his interruption. “Why don’t you slow down a bit, after the rally?”
His son’s words made his heart rate kick up and caused a cold ball to form in his chest. Making his tone amused and slightly distant was instinctual.
“Oh? Why? Do you think I’m getting decrepit?”
“No. I think you’re overworked. You should get back to some of the things you love but don’t do anymore.”
There was a slight hesitation before he continued.
“It struck me when I heard you on the radio. I almost didn’t recognize your voice. And when I was arranging the delivery of the Daimler, I thought about that Austin we’d been fixing up and never got going because you’re always on the move. We should be driving that in the rally, not Mr. Granger’s fancy auto.”
Josh didn’t need to elaborate. There were times when David found himself watching his own actions—hearing his own voice—as though from a distance and wondered who that man was. Yet, the change was effective and suited his purposes. After the way he and his character had been called into question, both in court and the press, a facade of distant arrogance had seemed the best way to react.
“Dad.” Josh’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he grunted in reply. “I know how important the foundation is to you, but you deserve a life of your own. A regular, happy life, instead of all this rushing about and stress.”
“I am happy.” Infusing enthusiasm into his voice was far harder than it should have been. “You know I get intense satisfaction from the work I’m doing.”
“Yeah, I do, but think about what I’ve said anyway, okay?”
“I will.” He wouldn’t, but the lie tripped easily off his tongue. There was no reason to have Josh worrying unnecessarily.
“I’m just pulling into the hospital parking lot, so I have to go. Have a good day. Talk to you later.”
“Love you, son.”
And that was no lie. Adopting Josh and raising him after Georgie died were two things in his life David felt he’d done properly.
When he’d met Georgie, she’d been clear about not wanting any more children.
“I’ve made a hash of raising the one I already have,” she’d said, with a glint in her eye that told him arguing wouldn’t be a good idea. “If you want a child, you’re best off looking elsewhere.”
He’d already been too head over heels about her to care and, once they’d married, he’d happily taken on Josh as his own. No one knew that just before her death she’d changed her mind and they’d begun trying to get pregnant. Coming off the pill had thrown her reproductive system into disarray, but on the day she’d collapsed, she’d insisted David attend an all-day seminar, although admitting to a headache.
“Probably just hormones,” she’d said, refusing his offer to stay home with her. “I’ll take something and lie down for a little.”
The guilt of his decision to do as she said would never leave him, no matter how many years went by. He’d failed to protect her, to be there when she needed him most, and still hadn’t forgiven himself for that.
The rain eased slightly, and the traffic, which had slowed, picked up speed again. Pulling himself once more out of the past, he glanced at his watch. He should be on time for his appointment with the transplant-recipient coordinator, as the buildings of the St. Agnes Hospital were now visible, and the entrance was just around the next corner.
The car accelerated, and David opened his lips to tell the driver to slow down, but it was too late. With a whoosh, the vehicle hit a puddle, sending an arc of water toward the pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk.
“Slower, please,” he said sharply.
“Just trying to get you to your destination on time, sir.”
“I’m sure the people walking to work would prefer I be a bit late so they don’t get splashed with dirty water.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then, as the brief moments of inactivity were almost over, David prepared himself for his meeting and another long day.
Valerie Sterling squelched her way into the ladies’ room down the corridor from her office, going as quickly as she could on her aching ankle. The lower part of her coat and legs were soaked, as were her shoes.
If the start of the day was any indication, it might have been better had she stayed in bed.
Yet, there was no time to whinge, which wasn’t in her nature anyway. Dr. Kennedy was probably already in her office, and if she didn’t hurry, she’d be late.
Between the rain, a bus that broke down long before her stop, and a near fall that had left her with a twisted ankle and a ball of fear in her stomach, she was frazzled.
Being liberally splashed by a passing car had been the final straw.
Getting herself presentable and calmed down before her meeting, all within seven minutes, wouldn’t be easy. All she could hope was that Shala, the office assistant she shared with four other managers, wouldn’t leave the consultant cooling his heels in the reception area. Sometimes the younger woman could be scatterbrained, and Val could see her doing just that.
Unable to stand comfortably on her right foot, she backed into a cubicle and sat on the closed toilet seat to remove her shoes one at a time and wipe her feet and legs. Thank goodness, once she’d seen the overcast sky, she’d packed her court pumps in her tote rather than wearing them.
Of course, if she’d accepted her neighbor’s offer of a drive to work, none of this would have happened. But refusing Tony’s offer had been instinctive, and Val had no regrets.
He’d just moved in and had already told anyone who’d listen that he was newly divorced. The few times they’d spoken, he’d gazed at Val with the sort of puppy-dog eyes that had probably initially got his ex to marry him but left Val unmoved.
One thing the long-ago breakup of her marriage had taught her was that being independent and single was smart and putting your happiness in someone else’s hands was foolish.
The last thing she needed was to once more risk the type of embarrassment and heartbreak Des had caused.
With a grimace of pain, she got her right shoe on and stood up. The memory of falling, of the woman behind her grabbing her arm to stop her landing on the pavement, tried to intrude and had to be pushed aside.
She didn’t know what had caused her to lose her balance, and that was terrifying. If she allowed herself to think about that now, her chances of concentrating in the upcoming meeting would be naught.
Yet the specter of multiple sclerosis was never far from her thoughts these days. And, as she limped out of the ladies’ and toward her office, she couldn’t help paying intense attention to the sensation of her muscles moving beneath her skin. Checking to make sure they were working the way they should.
Getting to the reception desk, she forced herself to smile at Shala while looking around for the consultant, who was nowhere in sight.
“I put him in your office, Mrs. Sterling,” the young woman whispered. “And called down to get you a pot of tea.”
Leaning close, Val asked, “Has he been here long?”
Shala shook her head, causing her dangly earrings to dance. They were the kind of jewelry Val always admired but never bothered to buy, not thinking they’d suit her.
“No, he just got here.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, Val straightened and replied, “Bring the tea in when it arrives, please.”
“I will.”
She’d got to her door when Shala said, “Are you okay, Mrs. Sterling?” Val paused and looked back, lifting her eyebrows. “You’re limping.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, opening the door and stepping through before the younger woman could comment further.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said briskly, nudging the door shut and facing the man rising to his feet from the visitor’s seat.
She’d planned to shrug off her coat, but the first sight of David Kennedy had her freezing in place for an instant, her heart doing a crazy flip-flop.
What a magnificent man.
“Not at all,” he replied, his coolly polite words breaking her out of the trance she’d fallen under. “I only just got here myself.”
Turning away, she pulled off her wet mackintosh and hung it on the coatrack, her hands ridiculously clumsy and shaky. In her mind’s eye, she could still see him, and the image had tingles running up and down her spine.
Oh, she’d seen him in the media and knew he was handsome, but she’d been able to think so in a distant, disinterested way. Up close, though, in person, there was something downright electric about the dark, intent gaze, the way he moved with such fluid grace, and the rich, deep timbre of his voice.
Dressed in a suit that fitted his broad shoulders to perfection, his snowy-white shirt emphasizing the smooth, mocha-toned skin, Dr. Kennedy was just a smidge shy of beautiful. His elegant appearance, however, was perfectly balanced by the strength of his facial features and the cool intelligence in his eyes.
She’d raised a hand to smooth her hair when she realized what she was doing and let it fall. Hadn’t she read somewhere that a woman playing with her hair signaled sexual interest?
We’ll have none of that, my girl.
Instead, she flattened her expression and, ignoring the warmth rising into her cheeks, made herself walk across the room toward him, her hand outstretched.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kennedy.”
His fingers were warm, his handshake firm, but Val had to stop herself from jerking away when her nerves jangled with delight at his touch.
“The pleasure is mine,” he replied, and although his voice was still distant, his gaze seemed anything but, and Val had to turn away before she drowned in it.
Withdrawing her hand from his, she moved behind her desk to her filing cabinet, using the time it took to retrieve the patient’s file to gather her shattered composure.
It was going to be a very long three days working with him if she couldn’t get herself under control!
Taking a deep, silent inhale, she faced him and said, “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
