Resisting The Single Dad

Gene leaned forward on the table, looking between his son and Cordelia. He ruffled Rory’s hair again. ‘Dad,’ said Rory, trying to shake him off, ‘stop that.’

Gene pulled his hand back and shrugged at Cordelia. ‘Apparently, it doesn’t matter what nursery or day care Rory goes to—his blond hair makes all the girls say he is cute.’

‘I’m not cute. I’m four,’ said Rory quickly.

Cordelia grinned as she sat down again. ‘I think four is kind of cute.’

Rory rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, not you too.’

Gene pulled a face at her and bent down to whisper in Rory’s ear. ‘Watch out, Rory. She might be like those other girls. She might want to kiss you.’

Rory gave a shudder and Cordelia laughed out loud. It was almost as if he could see the knot in her shoulders start to loosen.

They finished breakfast quickly and Gene scribbled a list for the housekeeper. ‘Remember red apples, Dad. And ’nanas.’ Gene added bananas to the list as Rory stuck his arms into his jacket. He was proud at how articulate his little boy was, but there were still some words that seemed like tongue-twisters to a four-year-old.

He swung Rory up into his arms. ‘Ready?’

Rory held up his fist and Gene bumped his against it. It was their move. Their superhero move.

Cordelia’s brow was wrinkled as she watched them. She had kind of a bewildered smile on her face as she stood next to the alarm, ready to punch in the code. ‘Let’s go then, guys.’

* * *

For the last week she’d breakfasted with Franc. It had been a much more genteel and sedate experience. This morning had been entirely different.

And it made her feel...odd.

She was getting to the stage in life where most of her friends had kids. Those who knew her best had enough awareness to realise that she occasionally found things tough. It wasn’t that she completely avoided kids. Of course she couldn’t. She just didn’t generally have them under her nose.

So this was different.

And even though part of her stomach twisted and turned, it was also nice. And that was unexpected.

This morning’s breakfast had been noisy, chaotic and maybe even a little fun.

They travelled the distance to the institute easily. It was close enough to the city centre for public transport but far enough away to be spacious and have adequate parking.

The institute employed more than three hundred staff. Physicians, nurses, researchers and admin staff. There was also a small day-care centre, which she prayed that Franc had remembered to book Rory into.

Helene, the woman in charge, gave the briefest of pauses when they entered, before putting a beaming smile on her face. ‘Ah, yes. Professor Helier mentioned that we might be getting a new recruit.’ She gave Gene a questioning smile. ‘I think he said for a month?’

Gene nodded. ‘Yes, my contract is just for a month.’

It was odd. Cordelia could tell he was a little nervous—but Rory clearly wasn’t. He might say he didn’t want to play with girls, but he wandered off straight away to go and join a group of kids. Helene walked quickly over to a desk and pulled out some paperwork and a pager. Gene smiled as he took it. ‘Haven’t had one of these since I was a hospital physician.’

Helene gave him a nod. ‘It’s just for the first few days. It means I can get hold of you quickly if Rory doesn’t settle.’ She ran through the paperwork, requesting medical history, allergies, immunisations and any special requirements. Rory was already babbling away in French to his counterparts. The kids in Switzerland spoke a whole variety of languages. It was fortunate that Rory had already spent some time in France.

Cordelia put her hand on Gene’s shoulder. ‘You okay?’

His eyes were fixed on Rory. He gave a nervous laugh as his dark brown eyes met hers. ‘Sure I am. The little guy never seems to have any problems fitting in. I just worry.’

Cordelia was curious. ‘Rory never stays with his mum?’

The look he gave her made her want to pull back the inquisitive words. What was it with her and this guy? He bit his bottom lip and put his head down, completing the paperwork, checking his pager was working and finishing with Helene.

Her skin prickled at the awkwardness of it all. He was new. They had visiting fellows at the Rueben Institute all the time. The institute was renowned. Their last Professor had won a special prize for his research. They had many joint projects with university hospitals across the globe. People wanted to work here. She counted herself lucky that she’d managed to secure a permanent position. If Gene Du Bois was going to be here for a month he’d have to lose a little of his prickliness.

She walked him out across the granite-floored, glass-fronted foyer. Above them was a glass atrium, showing the four floors of the institute.

She ignored the earlier hiccup and held out her hands. ‘Okay, Dr Du Bois, welcome to the Rueben Institute. Now that Rory is settled, let me show you around.’

* * *

Darn it. For some reason his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth and he’d been unable to answer her question. Last time he’d been tongue-tied he’d been around fourteen. This was ridiculous.

But what was even more ridiculous was the thought that had shot into his head when she’d asked about Rory’s mother.

He literally had the story off pat. He’d been asked on numerous occasions where Rory’s mom was. It was a sad story. But lots of kids all over the world had only one parent. It wasn’t the biggest deal in the world.

But this time, when he’d been asked, he’d just frozen. Maybe it was those green eyes. Maybe it was the shiny brown hair and the way it looked so good with her red dress. Maybe it was those darned curves in that red dress that seemed to make a swishy kind of noise every time she took a step—daring him to look at the swing of her hips.

Or maybe it was the tiny freckles running across the bridge of her nose.

Whatever it was, it was something.

He was tired. That was all. Probably jet-lagged too. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to start straight away. Perhaps he should have given them a few days to settle in. But, then again, Rory looked like he’d settled already. And Gene couldn’t help but be proud of the way his son had naturally babbled away in French to the other kids.

He pulled his eyes away from the swinging hips in front of him and looked up at the impressive foyer. He’d seen pictures of the institute before. But he hadn’t really expected this.

Cordelia had walked over to the back of the institute—or what should be the back wall of the institute. Instead of brick, there was a wall entirely of glass, letting the bright morning light stream in and giving a picture-perfect view of the Alps in the distance. It was like capturing a holiday snap. Or picking up a picture postcard.

The view was breathtaking. And unexpected. She gave him a nod as she stood alongside him. She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Whenever I get exasperated at work, or fed up, I always like to remember how lucky I am to work here.’

He stood for a few minutes, his eyes scanning the horizon. It was like taking a chill pill. He’d been on edge, agitated about the arrangements and worried about how they might affect Rory. But standing here, watching this, it was almost as if someone had just put his head on a lavender pillow and told him to relax and calm down.

He’d wanted to come here. He’d wanted to work with Professor Helier. And even if Professor Helier wasn’t here, the rest of his team was.

He glanced sideways at Cordelia. She was smiling, drinking in the scenery that she obviously saw every day. ‘It never gets old,’ she said quietly. ‘Every day is a new day, with a world of possibilities.’

He pressed his lips together and asked the question that was burning in his mind. ‘You said you’re Professor Helier’s second in command. What’s your background?’

She turned to face him with an amused expression. ‘What is this? An interview?’

She gestured towards the glass staircase leading up to the next floor.

‘Maybe.’ He shrugged.

She nodded her head thoughtfully. ‘Okay, then. But it works both ways. Deal?’

He held his hand out towards her. ‘Deal.’ The warmth from her fingers almost made him shudder, especially as they brushed against the inside of his wrist.

Cordelia walked up the stairs ahead of him. He had to tell himself not to focus on her legs. Or her hips. Or her...

She started talking and broke into his wayward thoughts. ‘I’m a physician. I trained in the UK.’

‘I take it your speciality was cardiology.’

She nodded. ‘Of course. And yours?’

He gave the briefest of smiles. ‘The same.’

She hesitated for a second. ‘I always had a special interest in cardiology.’ She gave a nonchalant wave of her hand. ‘Family stuff. So I decided to get into research.’ She hesitated once again and he was instantly curious as her eyes went up to the left for a second. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sign of thinking or processing?

They reached the top of the stairs and she took them down a different wing of the building. ‘This is the research labs.’ She gave a little smile. ‘This is where I get lost in the wonder of zebrafish and what incredible creatures they are.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘If only us humans had the power of healing and regeneration like they do.’

He stopped at the front doors of the lab and looked inside. As expected, it was white and pristine. There were several rooms. Laboratories where clinical scientists were processing blood tests. A vast room filled with computers where information was obviously being processed and analysed. In the middle of the room was an unusual spiral-shaped fish tank. Even from here he could see the tiny zebrafish swimming around.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at Cordelia curiously. It was almost as if she expected the question. ‘They teach us so much. And they give us hope. Professor Helier thought it was important that people didn’t just watch them in a lab. He wanted us all to appreciate them. That’s why he commissioned the special tank for right in the middle of the room.’

Gene nodded thoughtfully. ‘So many people are against research involving animals.’

‘And so many people would be right. Here, we don’t harm the zebrafish in any way. But we watch them. We learn from them and their DNA. And we try to replicate what they can do in a lab environment.’

He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. ‘I like the ethics here. I knew that before I came. It was one of the things that made me want to be part of the team—even if it is just for a short spell.’

Her phone pinged and she pulled it from her pocket, frowning.

‘What’s wrong?’ Her skin had paled and when she looked up her eyes were kind of watery.

She pressed her lips together. He could tell she was trying to keep it together. ‘Professor Helier’s sister has terminal cancer. She’s his only living family. He’s going to stay with her. He’s going to look after her.’

Gene felt his heart clench. It was selfish—he knew it. But part of the reason he’d come here had been to work with this man—to learn from him.

‘What does that mean?’

She blinked back the obvious tears as she tucked her phone back into her pocket. ‘It means that I’ll have to email everyone in the institute. Franc—he wants to call you tonight.’ Her bright green eyes met his. There was something in them. A wariness, but also a tiny hint of desperation. ‘The monitoring of the cardiomyopathy patients is at a really crucial stage. I suspect he’s going to ask if you’ll take over as head of the trial.’ Her voice was a little shaky.

He reached over and touched her arm. ‘Cordelia? Are you okay?’

She nodded and brushed the side of her eye. ‘Of course I am. I’m just being silly. I’m worried about Franc and how he’ll cope with nursing his sister.’ She held out her hands. ‘This place is virtually his life.’ She gave her head a shake. ‘I just don’t want to let him down in his absence. The work here is so important to so many people.’

It was the way she said the words. Everyone who worked here would be passionate about what they did. But there seemed to be a real emphasis on her words. As if there was something that he was missing.

And he got it. He got it better than anyone. Because the work on cardiomyopathy could end up being a lifeline for his son.

He watched her carefully. He could almost see her shaking off the overspill of emotions, tidying them back up and putting them in a box. His stomach roiled a little. It was the weirdest thing, but it was almost the same expression she’d had on her face at one point last night. He just couldn’t understand why.

And he definitely couldn’t understand why he was so curious.

She licked her lips and looked at him again. ‘My turn to ask the questions. I’m sure that Franc knew all this back to front. But I don’t. What’s your background?’

For a second he felt himself move into self-protect mode. The bit where he only gave the edited version of his life.

But he turned around as she led him back from the research wing and he was faced with the picture-postcard landscape again. The world was so vast out there. He was only a tiny bit of it. Why on earth did he feel he had something to hide?

He stopped walking and his fingers brushed against her elbow. She turned to face him. He almost laughed.

Yip. He was currently in a movie of his life. Cordelia was the heroine in this movie and she was standing in front of a green screen. Because this background was just too perfect to be real.

And as he stood a little longer, she began to look too perfect too. She was sharply in focus. Now he could appreciate the long, dark lashes. Now he could appreciate the smudge of red lipstick still on her lips.

Now...he was definitely losing his mind.

It was almost like hovering above and watching, instead of really taking part.

He shook his head. ‘I trained as a physician in Texas but lived my life between France and Texas. My mom—ma mère—was a French scientist. Somehow she managed to meet my rancher father and I lived between two continents.’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘Wow. That’s some childhood.’

He nodded. ‘I was lucky. I had barrel loads of love on both sides of the Atlantic. I had friends in Houston and in Paris.’

‘So what made you become a doctor?’

They walked along the corridor towards the other wing. ‘Oh, I always wanted to be a doctor. Right from when I was a little kid. My dad wanted me to take over the ranch and while I love it, my heart was never in it. Thankfully I’ve got a stepbrother who has ranch blood running in his veins.’

‘Oh, okay.’ He could see the obvious question running around in her head. He could avoid it—or ignore it—like he had before. But he had a reason for being here. He was invested in this research. And there was almost an ethical responsibility to say why.

He stopped walking. ‘Rory’s mom was a fellow doctor I met at a conference. We had a few nights together and then didn’t keep in touch. I met Rory when he was nine months old. Mindy had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. She was already in a degree of heart failure when she became pregnant and was advised not to continue with the pregnancy. I had no idea she was unwell and she didn’t listen. And she only contacted me when she’d been on the heart transplant list for a few months.’

Cordelia’s eyes were wide. He just kept going. It was easier to have it out there. ‘Three weeks later Mindy died. And it’s been just me and Rory ever since.’ He slowed down as the edges of his lips turned upwards. ‘My world.’

She didn’t speak for a few seconds, just stared at him. ‘That’s how you came into research?’

He nodded. ‘I was already in cardiology. But, you’ll understand, the clinical side is tough.’ He hadn’t asked her for her reasons for leaving her clinical role, but he’d understood the implication. People who’d spent years training to be a doctor didn’t walk away unless they had no real choice.

‘It didn’t work for me with no real help at home, covering emergencies and on calls with a baby. Research was the natural place. Find out what I needed to know, while still keeping a clinical role—in more manageable hours.’

She nodded as he continued. ‘And with the potential for Rory...’ He let his voice tail off.

The realisation didn’t take long to hit her. She worked in research. She knew exactly what he was getting at. Cardiomyopathy was a hereditary condition.

‘Rory has the gene?’

‘Rory has the gene,’ he repeated.

She didn’t hesitate. She reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘Oh, Gene. I’m so sorry.’

He drew in a deep breath. ‘So am I. But that’s life. You’ll know the odds. He had a fifty per cent chance of inheriting the gene—and he has. But so far there are no symptoms. No indication that there’s anything to worry about. That’s what I need to keep inside my head. But it doesn’t stop me making this my life’s work.’

He didn’t need to say any more. She’d know the potential. She’d know that hypertrophic cardiomyopathy was the condition frequently undetected then associated with young sportsmen suddenly dying.

That was why the ‘no symptoms’ was so important to keep in his head. Because late at night, when he looked at that gorgeous little mop of blond hair, every worst-case scenario in the world wound its way through his head.

Her voice had a sympathetic tone and he could see the understanding her eyes as she looked at him. ‘So you’re committed. You want to be here. You want to do the work.’

He could tell she was almost relieved. If he’d turned and walked out today because Professor Helier wasn’t going to be around, it could have potentially brought the research to a halt. But he’d never do that. He repeated those words. ‘I want to do the work. It’s important to me. It’s important to Rory. And it’s important to a whole host of other people all around the world affected by this disease.’ He didn’t have a single doubt about what he was saying.

She gave a nod of approval and held her hand out towards the next wing. ‘Well, in that case, Dr Du Bois, come and meet your fabulous team. And your fabulous patients.’

* * *

Her head was swimming as she pasted a smile on her face. Her heart ached for him—literally.

Now she understood—probably a whole lot better than he expected her to.

The thought that his gorgeous little son could have a ticking time bomb in his chest—similar to her own—was heart-wrenching. How must it feel to look at that little guy every day and wonder if at some point he would develop symptoms or become unwell? As a medic, one thing was crystal clear in her head. Parents shouldn’t outlive their kids. They just shouldn’t. There was something so wrong about that. Unbearable. And she wasn’t even a mother.

She’d worked with families who’d lost kids due to cardiac defects and anomalies and there was something so wrong about it all.

They walked down to the east wing—where all the patients were seen and monitored. The Rueben Institute was like many other cardiac research centres. They monitored patients with certain conditions, seeing if small lifestyle changes could have impacts on their lives, along with dietary changes and alternative therapies. They also monitored certain new medicines, making sure that patients didn’t have any side effects and comparing the differences between them and the existing medicines. There was no point introducing a new medicine to the world if it didn’t really make any improvements for patients.

There were similar institutes all over the world, but in the land of cardiac conditions, with or without any trials, patients’ conditions could change in an instant. The staff here were highly trained and the institute well equipped to deal with any emergency. Cordelia showed him from room to room.

‘We have twenty monitoring bays for the clinical trials. We also have overnight beds available with monitoring, too, for anyone feeling unwell.’

‘Who covers that?’

Cordelia dabbed an electronic tablet next to one of the doors and grabbed hold of one his hands. She pulled up a page and pressed his forefinger to the pad, shooting him a smile. ‘As quick as that—your fingerprint will open any of these. It gives a complete list of all patient details, contacts and staff on duty. At any time we have two doctors on—day and night—along with four nursing staff. We never fall under that ratio and are frequently above it.’

He frowned a little. ‘Do those numbers include you and me?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. We’re supernumerary—along with all the research staff. Around fifty per cent of our researchers have a clinical background. And working here helps them maintain their clinical registrations. You’ll frequently see our researchers doing the clinical monitoring of patients.’ She tried to choose her words carefully. ‘Quite often, our clinicians have had to go into research because of health conditions of their own. Working here helps them still have the patient contact that they love, as well as contributing to improving things for patients.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘So, what will be expected of me while Professor Helier isn’t here?’

She tried not to pull a face, hoping that nothing she would say would make him bolt for the door. She really didn’t know much about Gene Du Bois at all. He might seem like a stand-up guy, but some people couldn’t handle pressure, and he might not like what came next.

‘Professor Helier was very hands on. Every morning he would review every patient—usually around twenty, who would be involved in research in that day. The nursing staff would highlight any issues or concerns to him, and he might end up ordering cardiac echoes, ECGs, chest X-rays and listening to chests. He frequently adjusted medications for heart failure, arrhythmias, and so on. We do have protocols for all this,’ she added quickly. ‘You wouldn’t be doing it blind.’

He gave a quick shake of his head and a wave of his hand. ‘That all sounds fine. I like patient contact.’ He gave a smile and raised his eyebrows. ‘Some people might say I even crave it. Just a check, though—what if someone needs an intervention? Do we have links with a local hospital?’

Cordelia nodded and pulled up some more information on the tablet. ‘Here’s the contact details and private consultants we deal with. If, for some reason, someone had an aneurysm or needed a bypass, we have a red-button service with a private ambulance service here, and our patients would get seen right away.’

She looked at him warily. ‘How long since your last cath lab session?’

He pulled back in surprise. ‘Two weeks. Why?’

She frowned. It wasn’t quite the answer she was expecting, even though she was secretly relieved. ‘Why two weeks?’

He shrugged. ‘I covered sessions for doctors on annual leave at my last job. It was all daytime, scheduled theatre time, so I didn’t need cover for Rory. It worked out fine. Why?’

She smiled and led him to another door. ‘Because we have our own cath lab here. It was built for emergencies but has been used on a number of occasions. Our own doctors are perfectly proficient, but it’s best if you’re up to date too. We also have an anaesthetist on call, and all our usual cardiac technicians are available whenever required.’

He stepped into the white cath lab. All the equipment was state of the art and practically sparkling. He walked around, taking slow steps, checking it out, running his fingers over the monitors before finally giving an approving nod. He opened a few drawers, looked where equipment was stored and then had a final check, familiarising himself with the contents of the cardiac arrest trolley. ‘Emergency code?’

‘Code red.’ She pointed to a phone on the wall. ‘Pick up any phone, say the words “Code red” and an announcement will come over the Tannoy. You don’t even need to give your location. It automatically identifies where you are and gives the location in the call.’

He folded his arms as he turned to face Cordelia. ‘Everything seems very well organised.’