Just cholecystitis.
Not cancer.
Just a simple gallbladder inflammation. Painful as hell but not life threatening.
Adam breathed a sigh of deepest relief. He could see the same relief in George’s eyes. The man was a typical lawyer who didn’t allow himself to show emotion, but his arms held Millie tightly as she sagged against him, hands to her face, and wept.
“Thank God, oh thank God,” she said between sobs as her fiancé laid a cheek against her head and closed his eyes.
Adam found himself wanting to be somewhere else, to give them privacy. “I’ll go and see to Lord M.”
The real reason was that he felt a little awkward around George and Millie. It was never easy being close to something you can’t have. You wouldn’t parade your million-dollar wardrobe to a penniless refugee or discuss your new 40-bedroom mansion with a homeless teenager. No one should be that insensitive.
For that same reason, someone like him shouldn’t stand near the naked love and trust George and his fiancée clearly shared. That unspoken understanding, the way they anticipated each other’s needs and wordlessly reached for a hand, a touch, a hug.
Adam had given up on love a long time ago; it was easier when you didn’t allow yourself to hope or dream. So, there was no need to stand so close to the lovers.
He walked tp the far end of the hospital corridor where Lord M had a private room. At leasthecould always be relied on to be cynical and grumpy.
Sure enough, as soon as he walked in, the old man welcomed him with a reprimand. “I told you I was fine, but you had to go and meddle and cart me off to Guernsey.”
Adam smiled. “At least now we know what’s wrong and can treat it. It’s a very simple operation.”
“Young man, no operation is simple at my age. I have lived seventy-seven years without letting anyone cut me open, but four weeks with you and here I am about to have my liver chopped up.”
“No one is going to cut or chop anything. It’s a keyhole procedure to remove your gallbladder.”
“And if it’s a simple procedure, why couldn’t it have waited till after the wedding?”
“Or,” George said, walking in with Millie, “This would have been treated a month ago if you’d listened to Dr Mortimer earlier.”
“You’ll inherit my title soon enough; no need to push me into my grave.”
“I take it your pain is better since you have the energy to scold me again,” George replied without rancour.
Millie came to sit by Lord M and hold his hand. The old man instantly brightened and the fierce look in his blue eyes warmed and softened. “Are you sure you want to marry my son? He doesn’t deserve you.”
Laughing, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, but not before her eyes flicked to George for a private smile. It was so quick and fleeting, you’d think you imagined it. But Adam hadn’t imagined it. It had happened and was another sharp poke like a golden toothpick in his side.
“Well, if you’re determined to marry him, shouldn’t you be home getting yourself buffed and polished?” Du Montford was saying to Millie.
“Plenty of time for that afterwards. We’ll all go home together.”
“You’ll go home now, young lady. I have doctors and nurses coming out of my ears, and young Adam will be here to hold my hand.”
“I’m sure he’s wonderful but he can’t read poetry to you.”
“Oh, young Adam is a versatile fellow, and his voice is very soothing.” He looked up at an uncomfortable Adam and winked conspiratorially.
“Of course I can read you as much poetry as you like,” Adam said quickly. “I’ll stay until Lord M is fully recovered,” he assured Millie. “And bring him home in time to stand at his son’s side in the church.”
Lord M gave him a grateful look before turning back to Millie. “There, so you are redundant. Go.”
Before she could argue, George took her hand and pulled her out of the room.
Adam liked George. They’d barely known each other two days, but the young Seigneur of La Canette was intelligent, decisive and clearly cared about his father. As soon as he’d put Millie on the ferry, he returned to the hospital to wait with Adam while Lord M was wheeled into the operating theatre.
It was a simple operation, but it was still a considerable risk for a patient as old and frail as Lord M. At the very least, it would be an ordeal. George knew it, too; he paced the waiting room, his brows knitted.
