Falling for Her Secret Billionaire
Auteur·e
Rebecca Winters
Lectures
16,9K
Chapitres
9
CHAPTER ONE
THANK HEAVEN FOR a day off from the hospital!
This Friday morning, Françoise packed up some items in her apartment in Nice to ship to a storage unit in Paris. She didn’t want to have to take anything with her except a suitcase. In less than three weeks she’d be flying home to take the last of her medical boards. With luck she’d receive her doctorate.
The last item to go in the box was her father’s black medical bag. He’d never had another one and it was her most prized possession. Sixty-one-year-old Patrick Valmy, who had died five months ago, had been a distinguished doctor. His fatal heart attack shouldn’t have happened. Her mother, an incredible nurse who’d worked with him, had died a year before from pneumonia. She missed both of them horribly.
As she looked inside the bag one more time, it slipped from her hands and fell upside down on the floor. Out came the percussion hammer and stethoscope she’d played with as a child.
Surprised, Françoise leaned over to pick up everything, including an old dark brown billfold. For some reason it had been lying in the bottom of the bag with everything on top of it. She’d never seen it before.
Curious, she looked inside and discovered a faded document of some kind. When she pulled it out and opened it, the first thing to catch her eye was the print at the top of the paper.
Groupe Français pour l’Adoption
Adoption? She frowned. What was this paper doing in the bottom of her father’s bag? According to the information here, he’d delivered a baby. His patient’s? Or someone he’d helped in an emergency?
Une enfant femelle. Née 10 Fevrier
Docteur attitré: Patrick Valmy.
Mere: inconnue
Pere: inconnue
Inconnue... Unknown.
Françoise looked down at the signatures of the adopters.
Patrick Valmy and Dionne Valmy
What?
Those were her parents’ signatures!
They’d adopted this baby?
Françoise had been their only baby because her mother couldn’t have more children. She’d gone through three miscarriages before Françoise’s birth. If they’d adopted this child and it had died, why hadn’t she known about it?
Beneath their names was the year of the adoption. Twenty-eight years ago. She’d just celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday on February 10. Françoise did the math.
No, it couldn’t be!
She let out a gasp and fell back on the couch.
Something was very wrong here. She read it over and over again.
If this were to be believed, Françoise had been their adopted baby!
She wouldn’t have cared about being adopted, but she couldn’t imagine them not telling her everything. They’d had her whole life to be honest with her. Why hadn’t they wanted her to know? Why the secrecy? Did they think that she would love them any less, or resent them if she’d learned the truth?
The questions kept coming. Her mother had always said she wanted more children. Why hadn’t they adopted another child to give her a brother or sister? How had they kept her adoption a complete secret?
Françoise’s great-aunt on her mother’s side lived in a rest home at Bouzy-la-Forêt southeast of Paris. Their family had driven the two hours to visit her there on many occasions. The older woman who suffered from emphysema had never breathed a word about the adoption. Had it been so secret, her mother’s own aunt hadn’t even known?
There were no details of the baby’s weight, no names of the birth parents, no city or country named, no hospital, no official stamp with the name of a functionary. Nothing she could link to anything.
Who were her birth parents? Were they still alive? If so, where were they?
Until now, her parents had never hurt her. But this purposely withheld information caused her more pain than she’d known in the whole of her life.
Devastated, she reached for her phone to call information and discovered there was no adoption agency with that name in Paris. She asked the operator to do a global search around France. Nothing came up!
Shaken to her core, she looked up the number of a private investigator here in Nice and phoned for an appointment. She asked about their fee. Though she didn’t have much money, she would spend every last euro to get answers.
At two that afternoon she entered the office of Lameaux & Briand. Guillaume Briand invited her in. She showed him what she’d found and told him that no adoption agency by that name existed anywhere. “Is this even an official document?”
“I’ve never seen one like it, but the fact that it exists and has been hidden inside your father’s medical bag must be troubling for you until we can arrive at the truth. Where did your father get his medical degree?”
“In Paris at the Sorbonne. Both my parents were Parisians, lived there and did their studies there.” She gave him a full history on the family of what she knew, or thought she knew.
“That helps. So do the dates. You say you’re twenty-eight?”
She struggled not to tear up in pain. “Yes. With the same birth date as on the document.”
“Why did your parents move to Nice?”
“They didn’t. Three years ago, he was invited by the French government to start a health program in Rabat for the Moroccan government. I was already a resident working on my medical degree in Paris. My parents got me enrolled at Sophia Antipolis University here in Nice so I could continue my residency and be closer to them. When I could, I visited them in Rabat and they came to me.”
“I see.” He removed his glasses. “I’m going to do some investigating. Leave your number and address with the secretary and I’ll phone you the minute I have information.”
“Thank you. I’m still shocked that my parents kept this from me.” She prayed that during his search he’d discover a valid reason for what her parents had done without telling her.
“I’ll do my best to get answers for you.”
“Thank you.” She left his office so upset she didn’t know how she’d be able to function until the reason behind the adoption was uncovered.
The layout of Nice came into view as the military transport plane descended. Ten years out of the country hadn’t done anything to make this moment easier, but Jean-Louis Causcelle had been discharged from the army two weeks ago and forced to return to France for medical reasons. He’d been offered a medical discharge twelve months ago but had resisted until he had no strength left to refuse.
The medic who’d done what he could to help him during the last horror in Mali couldn’t tell him what was wrong. It didn’t matter. Jean-Louis had been suffering with certain problems that couldn’t be diagnosed in a war zone. For the last two weeks he’d sensed he was dying of some hideous disease picked up in Western Africa. He could still walk, but his recent weight loss and attacks of sickness seemed to have robbed him of strength.
There were hospitals throughout France where wounded vets could go to be treated. Since he couldn’t bring himself to return to his birthplace in eastern France, he opted to fly to Nice, the home of his war buddy Alain, who’d been killed in the Sahel two months ago. Once he’d paid his respects to his best friend’s family, he’d report to the vet hospital here in Nice, where he would learn how much longer he had before leaving this earth.
Once the plane landed, he got in line while an official looked through everyone’s paperwork. Jean-Louis still wore his uniform, but it hung on him.
“Le prochain? Capitaine Robert Martin?”
“Ici.”
Jean-Louis handed his papers to the man at the desk. Ten years ago he’d signed up for the army with a fake name. A friend had known a friend who’d helped him obtain a fake driver’s license and birth certificate. He’d shaved his head and grown a moustache so he wouldn’t be recognized in the photo as one of the famous billionaire Causcelle triplets.
Joining the army had made it possible for Jean-Louis to disappear. The deception had worked well enough to get him enlisted. However, regulations forbade facial hair, so he’d been forced to shave off the moustache.
The man stared at him for a long moment. “Now you have hair.”
“My bald head made me a target. But it no longer matters.” Nothing mattered.
“Soyez le bienvenu. Here is your stamped card. Show this to an official at any hospital for vets to get the treatment you need. Bonne chance.”
Welcome home and good luck?
Right.
“Merci.”
With his military career over, possibly his life, he walked out of the building on a Saturday morning in June carrying his duffel bag. He signaled for a taxi. “Darrieux Reparations Auto, 210 Rue Rossini, s’il vous plaît.”
After climbing in, he sat back taking in the sights of a world he’d been away from for a decade. Yet it wasn’t a world familiar to him. Ages ago Jean-Louis had taught himself not to think about the place his soul hungered for. To do so tortured him beyond endurance.
The driver took him along the Promenade des Anglais clustered with tourists toward his destination. The chatty man gave him a running commentary on great spots for soldiers, but Jean-Louis lost any concentration after they passed the glistening white Causcelle Prom Hotel. A nuclear bomb might as well have gone off inside him.
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shield himself against the invisible radiation from so many past memories. But it was too late. They penetrated to all his senses. The only reason he’d come back to France was to die.
After a few turns, the taxi came to a stop. Jean-Louis opened his eyes in time to see the small shop front where Alain had helped his father before joining the army. Both guys had been about to turn twenty. Alain’s family had little money and had never traveled anywhere. He’d wanted to see the world and enjoy a different life. He’d sent part of his monthly pay to his father over the years, and the rest he’d invested for his family’s future.
Jean-Louis, on the other hand, had only wanted to get away from the evil intrusion of the press and his widower father’s expectations. More than that, the military had offered him a solution to become anonymous and throw off his dreadful guilt over one family having such an insane amount of money.
He and Alain met in boot camp and had served together until recently. Early death and unexpected illness hadn’t figured in their plans to become career officers. Now it was time to face Alain’s father and mother. Their son had worshipped them and his younger sister. That much Jean-Louis could share with their family, plus a few photos.
He asked the driver to stay put because he’d be back out again in a few minutes. Leaving his duffel bag on the seat, he walked inside the small shop wishing like hell Alain were there with that great smile on his face.
“Salut, soldat! What can I do to help you? Our service building is in back where the service writer will fix you up.”
Jean-Louis turned to a man probably in his thirties. His nameplate said Michel. “I’m looking for the owner, Etienne Darrieux. Is he here?”
“Yes, of course. Is he expecting you?”
“No. I’d hoped to surprise him.”
The man nodded. “That’s his office right there.” He pointed. “Just give him a heads-up.”
“Merci bien.”
He didn’t have to walk far. Alain’s light brown-haired father had just gotten off the phone and looked up when Jean-Louis tapped on the doorframe. “Monsieur Darrieux? We’ve never met, but I’m Robert Martin, a friend of—”
He got no further because Etienne jumped out of his chair and came around to grasp Jean-Louis in a strong hug. “I know who you are...” He spoke with deep emotion. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
The resemblance between father and son through coloring and facial features couldn’t be denied, but it was their natural warmth that got to Jean-Louis. Meeting Etienne explained a lot. He saw framed photos of Alain on the desk.
“Please—sit down.”
“I can only stay a minute. I’m due to check in at Mercy Hospital here for a full medical examination, and my taxi is waiting. But I wanted to come by first and tell you how sorry I am about Alain. He thought the world of his family. No one ever had a better friend.”
Etienne’s brown eyes filled with tears. Jean-Louis struggled to fight his own. “He wrote about you so much, Robert, I feel like you’re part of our family.”
“I know the feeling, and I have some pictures of your son I’m sure you’ll enjoy.” He reached in his pocket for a dozen little photos. There was much more he needed to do for Etienne if death didn’t take him first.
The older man wept as he looked at them before his head lifted. “You have to come back for dinner this evening. The family will want to meet you and talk to you.”
“Thank you, but I won’t be able to. I’ve been discharged from the army because I’m ill. It all depends on what the doctors tell me. It could take a while.” But he doubted he’d see Etienne again. “I’ll phone you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
Jean-Louis left the shop. He asked the taxi driver to drive him to Mercy Hospital, where he got out at the emergency entrance with his duffel bag. Once inside, the staff processed him and took him to an examination room.
Up front the doctor on his case told him he’d have to stay at the hospital for tests for at least a week. That long? Jean-Louis figured he’d be dead in less time. He felt so exhausted and breathless, they moved him to a private room immediately.
Incredible but true, when the seventh day arrived after endless blood tests, X-rays and cardiograms, he realized he was still alive. “What’s the verdict, Dr. Marouche? How long do I have?”
“When you came in, you said you believed you were dying, but you’re not! Our epidemiologist has discovered your problem and will be in shortly to discuss it with you.”
His response angered Jean-Louis. The way he felt, he couldn’t imagine living any longer. “I can take bad news, and I’m not here to play word games. You don’t need to pretend with me.”
“I never pretend,” came the sober response.
Jean-Louis didn’t believe him. Since Alain’s death and his illness, he’d been waiting for this pointless existence to be over. His best bud’s friendship had helped compensate for the loss of his brothers, Nic and Raoul, from his life. Alain’s death had compounded his grief over the loss of his family when he ran away.
Ten minutes later, a different doctor entered his room. It was a brunette wearing a mask that hid her face from view. But her white lab coat didn’t prevent him from noticing her long legs and lissome body as she walked toward him. She looked attractive, as far as he could tell. Given how terrible he felt inside and out, it surprised him that she’d caught his interest at all.
Over the years in the army, he and Alain had enjoyed many women, but he’d never cultivated a long-lasting relationship. Besides his trust issues about being wanted for himself and not his money, he couldn’t envision himself settling down to marriage.
His own father had lost his life’s companion when Jean-Louis’s mother had died in childbirth. He didn’t dare put himself in the position of losing a wife. Nothing could be worth that anguish. Better to stay unattached. Safer.
It had been hard enough losing his best friend. They’d been through everything together. Alain’s death had been the coup de grâce, devastating him. He’d seen too many losses in war with his own troop and with the people in Africa. He was done with it all.
“Monsieur Martin?” The woman’s cultured voice forced him to pay attention. “I’m Dr. Valmy. Dr. Marouche asked me to talk to you.” She moved a chair over to his hospital bed with a certain grace and sat down. He watched her pull an electronic pocket notebook from her uniform.
“He says I’m not dying. But I don’t believe it when my body feels like I’ve just done ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer, and my head is like cotton wool. I’m twenty-nine, but I might as well be sixty.”
“By your morose reply, I get the impression you wish you were dying.” She’d said it kindly. “I can recommend an excellent psychiatrist here on staff you could talk to about your feelings.”
Jean-Louis shook his head. “No thanks. I’d really prefer not to waste anyone’s time. I’m not worth the trouble.” As he spoke, he looked up into compassionate green eyes staring at him above her mask. They were the color of the lush grass surrounding the château on his family’s estate.
“I’m sorry you feel so ill, but we’re here to help you. I’ll say it again. You’re not dying, and if you take care of yourself, you should live a long time.”
He still couldn’t comprehend it. After learning of his friend’s death, he’d sensed he would be next. Yet for the first time in many months, those beautiful eyes were giving him hope, something he’d thought was gone.
“I see here you joined the army at nineteen and served ten years. What I’d like you to do is think back before your military experience. Tell me if you had any of these symptoms you listed for Dr. Marouche when you were a teenager.”
He blinked. “A teenager?” Her question had surprised him.
“Yes. Tell you what. I’ll read each one you told him in order to jog your memory. Let’s start with tiredness and weakness. When did that begin?”
“To be honest, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel that way.”
“Can you give me an age?”
“Around fifteen I guess.”
“You never saw a doctor about it?”
“No. After school I liked to fiddle around in the garage and just figured I never got enough sleep.”
“I see. What about sweating at night?”
“I guess that’s what I’ve been doing for years. I thought it was normal.”
“Hmm. Around fifteen too?”
“Probably.”
“There are other symptoms here. I’m most concerned about the difficulty you have breathing when you’re lying down. Did you experience that in your teens?”
“Once or twice. When that happened, I assumed I’d caught a cold in my chest.”
“Your weight loss now is understandable considering how awful you feel. You did mention blurry vision. Did that happen at school years ago?”
“I think a couple of times.”
“You still said nothing to your teacher?”
“No. It went away fast. I played soccer at school. The coach warned us to drink a lot and not get dehydrated. I figured that was the reason.”
She flicked him a speaking glance. “You’re quite the doctor for a man with no medical training.” Beneath that professional exterior, the woman had a sense of humor.
“I hated going to one.”
“I understand. Most children hate it almost as much as twenty-nine-year-olds do.” She had him there and he actually chuckled. “Monsieur Martin, what I’ve found out from the latest tests is that you have an enlarged spleen. Your answers just now verify everything. You show no signs of malaria or other illnesses you assumed you’d picked up in Africa.”
“That doesn’t seem possible considering I feel like the walking dead. What does an enlarged spleen signify?”
“The spleen clears blood cells from the body, but it’s on overload. You have a blood disorder called polycythemia vera, or PV for short.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“PV occurs when there are too many red blood cells. These extra red cells make your blood thicker than normal, and the thickened blood flows slower and may clot. Red blood cells carry oxygen to organs and tissues throughout the body, so if the blood moves too slowly or clots, the cells can’t deliver enough oxygen. This situation can cause the kinds of complications you’ve been having since you were fifteen. Left untreated, they can lead to heart disease and stroke.”
He sat up in the bed. “That’s truly what’s wrong with me?”
“I’m positive. Twenty-two out of every one hundred thousand people have PV. But it usually hits men over sixty.”
“I’m not that old,” he murmured.
“No, you’re not.” She chuckled back, charming him.
“Why does it happen?”
“Because of a genetic mutation. You have one in the JAK2 gene. In most cases, PV isn’t usually hereditary, but it can be passed down. I found mutations in your TET2 gene too. PV is rarer in women. Are there any men in your family who have suffered from the same symptoms?”
“I don’t have family, and I’ve been in the army for a decade.”
“I see.”
Did either of his brothers have the same problem? He prayed they didn’t. The news about his condition astonished him. He really wasn’t dying? Then that meant—that meant there was still time to make restitution for so many things. “What can be done about it, Docteur?”
“We treat it with a phlebotomy that removes blood from your body. The red blood cells contain large amounts of iron. By getting rid of the iron, the production of red blood cells by the bone marrow slows down. We’ll get you started today.”
“The vampire method,” he muttered, but she heard him and her eyes smiled.
“Since I hope you trust me a little, I’ll do the procedure for you this first time.”
“Just to make certain I don’t live forever in a different sense?” he quipped.
“Exactly. You’ll die as a mortal when it’s your time, that is if you follow my instructions. Give me five minutes to get what I need and I’ll be back to help turn you into a new man.”
“Turn being the operative word.”
She laughed. “I may have superpowers, but would I do that to a courageous vet?”
Her friendliness had caught him unaware. He watched her womanly body leave his room and he realized he’d enjoyed talking to her. Another surprise on this day he hadn’t thought could happen.
In less than five minutes she returned wearing gloves. Within seconds she’d started the procedure by inserting a needle in his left arm. “I promise this won’t hurt.”
She did meticulous work. Finishing up, she put a plaster over it. “How was that?”
“On a chart of one to the proverbial ten for pain, it was a zero. Thank you.”
Her eyes searched his above her mask. “I’m glad to detect a change of mood in your voice. Good for the army for discharging you in time to help you get on with a new life. Not everyone is so lucky.”
With that last remark, Jean-Louis sensed a kind of sadness in her tone that puzzled him. He had an idea she was talking about herself, not him.
“We’ll do this in another seven days. Just so you know, you won’t be able to leave the hospital until after your next treatment because you’ll need monitoring for one more week. After that, you’ll have to come here every week and have this done until your red blood cell level gets closer to normal. Soon you’ll start to feel much better.”
“Is that a promise?”
“So, you really do want to live! Wonderful!” For a doctor, she had a refreshing personality and was easy to talk to. “In that case you’ll need to come for a phlebotomy every three months to keep levels normal. You’ll need treatment throughout your life because there is no cure, but it should be a whole long life and a rich one.”
“Is that a promise too?” For the first time since losing his friend, his world had started to open up to him. Her bedside manner had everything to do with it.
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Dr. Marouche told me the same thing.”
“Out of the mouths of two witnesses,” she reminded him. “I’m prescribing aspirin, which will be given to you every day for the next week. There’s also a medication called hydroxyurea you take that slows the production of red blood cells. Little by little you’re going to get back to normal. I wish all the patients here had a prognosis like yours. I’m sorry you don’t have family who will rejoice at your good news.”
But he did have family with brothers and sisters and a father he loved heart and soul. To have the chance to see them again...
“Take care of yourself.”
Before he could tell her to wait, she walked out of the room, leaving him oddly bereft. Her intelligence and appealing nature spoke for themselves. He hadn’t wanted their conversation to end, and it wasn’t just because he’d found out he wasn’t going to die.
The next week came and went with lots of sleep and good food. Dr. Marouche checked on him daily, but to his disappointment, there was no sign of Dr. Valmy. The rest of the time he spent on the phone putting Alain’s plans for his family into action.
On the weekend he had a surprise visitor before dinner. He recognized her from some of Alain’s latest photos. His sister was an attractive twenty-three-year-old with trendy short brown hair. She carried a sack in her hand. Etienne must have told her where he’d been hospitalized. The two men had talked several times on the phone in the last week.
“Capitaine Martin?”
“You have to be Suzanne.”
She broke into a smile like Alain’s. “Yes. Maman made you my brother’s favorite mille feuilles and I decorated them.” She put it on the bedside table. “My parents want you to come to dinner as soon as you’re able.”
“That’s very kind of them, but I’m still undergoing tests and don’t know when I’ll be able to leave the hospital.”
Her brown eyes wandered over him. “I’m sorry. It must be so boring for you lying here. Papa hopes when you’re better you’ll stay in Nice with us for a while if you don’t have other plans. He’d like you to come work for him too. I work there. I’m a service writer.”
“No doubt you brighten up the place. Alain told me you were the greatest sister in the world. He missed you a lot.”
She nodded. “It was never the same after he left.”
“I can see why. He was my best bud.”
They both heard voices outside the door. “The nurse told me I couldn’t stay long, and I don’t want to tire you out so I’d better go.”
“It means a lot to me that you came. I’ll call your father when I know more. Give my best to your family and tell your mother I’ll relish the mille feuilles. I happen to love them too. Thank you for your contribution.”
“A la prochaine, Robert. Is it all right if I call you that?” Her unexpected visit and the hopeful look in her eyes convinced him not to get involved. Now that he didn’t face a death sentence, he had other plans he’d only dreamed about. First and foremost, he needed to see his father again and hope to be forgiven for the impetuous actions that had separated him from his family for too many years.
“Bien sûr.”
She turned to go just as someone else came in. To his surprise it was Dr. Valmy, masked as usual. His pulse quickened. All week he’d been wondering why she hadn’t been to see him. “I didn’t realize you had a visitor, Monsieur Martin. How nice! I’ll come back.”
Dr. Valmy would have checked his daily history on the computer and knew he’d had no visitors until now.
“Non, non. Mademoiselle Darrieux was just leaving.”
He saw Suzanne stare at the doctor and cast him a frustrated glance before disappearing. She hadn’t been happy about this particular interruption.
The doctor walked closer to his bed. “You’re looking healthier and more human than a week ago. Are you feeling a little better in yourself? I hope so because I came in to tell you that the latest test indicates you’re not making more unwanted blood cells. That’s a good sign.”
She’d delivered her message, and he sensed her desire to escape, but he wanted to keep her talking. “I’ll admit I have a new lease on life and have been formulating some hopefully worthwhile plans to make up for lost time.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Her warmth enveloped him. It came as a surprise. He saw sincerity emanating from those lovely eyes, but he also noticed something else. It was that unexplained sense of loss in her gaze he’d seen before and it haunted him. “Just so you know, before dinner you’ll be given a second phlebotomy. Antoine will be here in a minute to do the procedure.”
Jean-Louis didn’t want someone named Antoine doing anything. “You’re not able to?” He trusted her. She’d been the doctor to find out what had been wrong with him.
“I’m off duty now, but be assured, he’s strictly human,” she teased. “Tomorrow you can leave the hospital and do whatever you want, but come back in one week. The staff at the front desk will arrange all your appointments from now on. If you have any problems, get in touch with Dr. Marouche, your doctor of record. Bonne nuit, monsieur.”
