‘No,’ Oliver shook his head. It may not be a heart attack but he was damn sure it wasn’t panic either. Panic wasn’t in the Drummond nature. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’ He looked to Clara. ‘I wasn’t gasping for breath like some sort of asthmatic and I wasn’t panicked.’
‘Mr Drummond, it isn’t like most people think. Hyperventilation is a complex reaction the body makes when it needs to try to get you to slow everything down.’
He shook his head again. This did not compute. Whatever had happened was everything to do with his family history and nothing to do with being a lightweight.
‘I don’t do slowing down, Doctor…’ He scrutinised the identity badge hanging from a lanyard around her neck. ‘Doctor Khan. I run a global business.’
‘Oliver,’ Clara had her calming voice on now. It was the tone she used when she thought he’d gone too far in a meeting, whenhe’d made one heated comment too many. Well, he hadn’t in this case. He wasn’t going to listen to some junior doctor tell him the pain and his collapse was due to something excited teenagers got at a Taylor Swift concert.
‘Mr Drummond, I can only imagine the sort of pressure you’re under at work. People in your position, under that amount of stress on a regular basis, you’re susceptible to all kinds of health issues that aren’t always immediately apparent.’
She might be beautiful but he wasn’t going to let her tell him this was to do with panicking. He had never panicked in his life. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to do it.
‘You’re aware of my family history?’
‘Yes. I did a quick review of your file. Would you like me to?—’
He cut her off. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t a heart attack.’ It wasn’t a question so much as a statement.
The doctor nodded. ‘Your blood pressure is slightly elevated but everything else is completely as it should be. For complete peace of mind, my suggestion would be to?—’
He raised himself up off the bed, standing to his full six feet and picking his tie from the counter. ‘Thank you, but if I’m not dying today then I think we’re done here.’ He smiled at Doctor Khan, regaining his composure and control before dipping a hand into the pocket of his trousers.
‘My card,’ he said, offering it to her. ‘If you want to take me up on the dinner offer.’
He could almost feel Clara raise her eyes to Heaven.
5
MANCINIS RESTAURANT, 10TH AVENUE, MANHATTAN, USA
When you’d had your life flash in front of your eyes, everything was magnified. The times this had happened Oliver could only count on one hand, but he knew there would be more to come. It was as inevitable as Christmas and the start of a new year. But, for now, in this moment, there was simply clarity. It was a chance to take stock, to re-evaluate, every encounter enhanced.
Oliver raised the delicate-stemmed wineglass to his nose and savoured the aroma of the Merlot within. Oak, deep, dark berries, aged to perfection: the most expensive red wine they had on the list. He closed his eyes and put the rim of the glass to his mouth. He let the wine touch his lips first, before opening them up and allowing the liquid to reach his tongue. It was smooth, dense, like a velvet wrap had coiled itself around the flesh.
He finally swallowed the wine and replaced the glass on the table, surveying the rest of the restaurant. It was full and from his vantage point, he could see people being turned away at the front door. That’s what his status in the business community had bought him. A regular table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in thearea from just a phone call, no matter how late. Except he was alone. He’d called Tony, asked if he wanted to continue where they’d left off the night before, but apparently his invitation wasn’t quite as tempting as a night with a Polish girl called Erica. He didn’t blame his friend. Hell, if Doctor Khan had taken him up on his dinner offer, he wouldn’t have called Tony in the first place.
Oliver looked out the window, half-hidden by the heavy, gold-flecked curtains and a string of expensive-looking Christmas bells. The snow was coming down faster now and, as the temperature dropped, it was starting to layer up on the sidewalk. A couple, wrapped up in scarves, hats and gloves came into view. The woman, dark hair flying out from under her hat, screamed as the man hit her with a snowball. Their forms bobbed and swayed in front of the red and green lights of a flashing Christmas tree on the adjacent building. Oliver watched the woman bend to the ground and start to gather as much powdery white stuff as she could scrape up to counter his attack. She threw, but her aim was off and the ball hit the windscreen of a parked car. Shrieking, as her partner chased her again, they ran off up the road. He was still watching the situation play out when he heard someone clear their throat.
Oliver turned his attention back to the restaurant and looked up to see a waiter stood next to him, dressed in the Mancinis uniform of cream tuxedo with a maroon waistcoat and matching bow tie.
‘I apologise for disturbing you, Mr Drummond, but I wondered if anyone was joining you for dinner tonight,’ the waiter asked.
Oliver nodded his head. Yes, that was exactly what he needed to get over the earlier hospital drama. His mind wandered back to Doctor Khan. She had virtually prescribed stress relief. Maybe it was time to follow the doctor’s orders.
‘Absolutely, Ricco.’ Oliver let his eyes roam around the restaurant, falling on the other patrons. He looked away from the couples holding hands across the table, the businessmen, the over forties. Who was left? There was a group of four women half a dozen tables away from him, two blondes, two brunettes. They weren’t too loud, they hadn’t started eating yet and each of them was impeccably dressed. Then he spotted her. Sitting at a table in the very corner of the room, just close enough for him to see everything he needed to see. Hair the colour of honey, fingers wrapped around a glass of white wine, black day-to-night dress.
‘Ricco, send a glass of your best champagne to the lady over there and ask her if she’d care to join me?’ He nodded in the direction of the corner table.
‘Yes, sir.’
Before the waiter turned to depart Oliver spoke again. ‘And Ricco.’
‘Yes, Mr Drummond?’
‘We’ll both have the salmon.’
‘Very good, sir.’
