First Sight (7 page)

“All right. Then I will,” she agreed. Anything to buy time. She couldn’t allow herself to get sicker until Tuesday night. And hopefully, whatever it was would have disappeared by then. Maybe it really was only the flu, and he was wrong. She hoped he was.

“We have an agreement, then,” he said formally, as he stood up and replaced the chair he’d sat on to its original place. “I will hold you to it, for your sake. Don’t be afraid to call me. I take calls at any hour.” Although he wanted to impress her with the seriousnesss of the situation, he didn’t want to appear too intimidating or frighten her unduly. He didn’t want her to be afraid to call him if she got worse.

“Can’t you give me something in case I get sick again? Something to stop the vomiting?” She was still feeling nauseous as she lay in bed and talked to him, but she didn’t want to admit it to him. She had no intention of going to the hospital that night. He was probably just an alarmist, or maybe he was covering himself, she told herself. Maybe he was afraid of a malpractice suit if he didn’t at least suggest the hospital to her. Her thinking was very American, and she didn’t share any of it with him.

“That would not be wise,” he said stiffly, in response to her request. “I don’t want to mask whatever you have. That could be dangerous for you.”

“I had an ulcer several years ago, maybe it came back again.”

“That is all the more reason for you to have a scan. In fact, I’d like to insist on that before you travel again. When are you leaving Paris?”

“Not until Friday. I could come in on Wednesday, after the show on Tuesday afternoon.” She was hoping to be fine by then.

“I hope you will. Call me on Wednesday morning, and I’ll make an appointment for the scan for you.” He sounded businesslike and cool as Timmie decided his ego was bruised because she wouldn’t do what he said.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to have brought you here for nothing.” She looked genuinely apologetic, and for an instant he wondered if she was actually a nice woman. He couldn’t tell, all he had been able to see so far was how headstrong she was, and accustomed to getting her own way. It didn’t surprise him, given who she was. His assessment of her was that she was probably used to having control of everyone and everything in her world. The one thing she couldn’t control was her health.

“It was not for nothing,” he reassured her politely. “You must have been feeling very ill.” He correctly guessed that she was not the kind of person to call a doctor unless she thought she was dying, or very near. Jean-Charles had agreed to see her, as a favor to his patient from New York who had referred her. And there had been a tone of desperation in Timmie’s voice that struck him, even before he recognized her name.

“I was, but I’m feeling better now. I think you scared me,” she admitted, and he smiled.

“I wish I were able to ‘scare’ you into getting a scan tonight. I truly think you should. Don’t wait until you feel very ill again to call. It might be too late then, and if it is your appendix, as I suspect, it could explode.”

“I’ll try not to have any explosions between now and Wednesday morning,” she said with a grin, and he laughed as he picked up his bag. He liked her, despite the fact that he thought she was stubborn, and tough to deal with, as a doctor.

“I hope your show goes well,” he said formally, told her not to get out of bed until then, and to rest as much as possible over the weekend, and a moment later, he let himself out.

After he did, Timmie lay in bed, feeling terrified, but also as though she had escaped a dire fate. She had adamantly not wanted to go to the hospital that night. It all sounded much too scary to her. She hated hospitals, and even doctors sometimes. She rarely went, unless she felt deathly ill, and admittedly she had. She lay quietly after his visit, and a few minutes later, she called Zack. She was feeling lonely and scared and reached out to him. She didn’t want to worry David and Jade by calling them in London. By then it was three in the afternoon for him, and she assumed he’d be at home. He often was at that hour, particularly on a Saturday afternoon. He would be home from the gym, and it was too early to go out for whatever evening plans he had. But when she called, both at home and on his cell phone, it went to voice mail, and all she could do was leave him a message, tell him she was sick, and hope he’d call her back. She needed to talk to someone, and since he was the man she was sleeping with, however temporary their relationship, he seemed like a viable option. She just wanted to hear a familiar voice that would comfort her for a minute, a hand to hold on to in the dark.

She lay quietly in her bed for another hour, worrying about what the doctor had said, and finally around one-thirty in the morning, without throwing up again, she fell asleep. Zack hadn’t called her back, and she had no idea where he was.

She woke up at ten the next morning, and miraculously felt better. She called Gilles and told him she wouldn’t be going out. She had hoped to go to Sacré Coeur, because she loved hearing the choir of nuns who sang there, but she thought it would be smarter to stay in bed and not stir things up. She slept on and off all day, drank chicken broth, and tea, and finally ordered a little rice late that afternoon. She was feeling better by the time Jade and David came back that night, having had a wonderful time. They thanked her for dinner at Harry’s Bar, told her about the parties they’d gone to, and David raved about the Tate. She never said a word to them about how sick she’d been, calling the doctor, or what he’d said about her going to the hospital and having scans. She felt as though she’d had a narrow escape. She went to sleep early that night. And on Monday she felt like herself again, which in her opinion proved the doctor had been wrong, no matter how illustrious he was. It had obviously been just the flu, and she was greatly relieved as she put on jeans and a black sweater, her black ballerina shoes, and went downstairs to supervise the rehearsal in the rooms they had reserved for two days for their show.

As usual, the rehearsal was an utter mess. It always was. People went the wrong way, heading onto the runway from the wrong direction, looking dazed, models showed up late, the lighting was wrong, the music they had brought with them got lost and was finally found after everyone had left. It was the chaos she had come to expect over the years at rehearsal, and it made her doubly glad that she hadn’t been talked into going to the hospital, and maybe having an appendectomy unnecessarily. She didn’t trust medical care in France. She even went to dinner with Jade and David at the Voltaire that night, and stopped in at one of the parties afterward. It was hosted by Dior, and as always at their parties, it was a fabulous event. They had Lucite floors set over a swimming pool, topless models everywhere, and Timmie was utterly exhausted by three
A.M.
when they finally got back to the hotel and went to bed. But she was relieved to notice that even though she was tired, she didn’t feel sick at all. She felt absolutely fine and pleased to note the doctor had been wrong.

The next day their show went off as smoothly as it had gone badly at rehearsal the day before. She was extremely glad that she had been on hand. Without her meticulous eye surveying everything, she was sure that some of the details that mattered to her would have gotten lost in the shuffle. She didn’t trust anyone else to run the show. They all congratulated each other, and at eight o’clock that night Jade and David flew to New York. The last of the shows was over, and all they had to do before returning to Los Angeles was attend several days of meetings in New York. Timmie planned to be there on Friday, and spend the weekend in New York after visiting their factory in New Jersey. She had meetings set up for Monday and Tuesday, and Tuesday night they were all flying back to L.A. Timmie realized that Zack still hadn’t returned her call. She suspected that he was punishing her for not taking him to Paris, and saying she was sick on his voice mail had just encouraged him to punish her that much more. The opportunity was probably too good for him to resist, and he had gotten his wish. If sick, she was having a rotten time in Paris without him, so he didn’t bother to return her call. Her being sick and having a lousy time had probably given him a sense of having the upper hand. It sounded twisted, but Timmie knew he had a petty side to him that held a grudge.

She was so tired after the show and after having drinks with several journalists and editors from
Vogue
at the bar that she ordered room service. Jade and David had already left for New York. Timmie and the journalists were all exhausted after the grueling weeks of the ready to wear shows. Having done double duty in New York and Europe, Timmie felt as though she was ready to crawl as she went upstairs. She didn’t even bother to eat the dinner she had ordered, and fell asleep on her bed in all her clothes.

She had no idea what time it was when she awoke. It was dark outside, and all she was aware of was a stabbing pain in her right side. She was in such agony she could barely catch her breath, and this time she had no doubt what it was. Dr. Vernier had been right after all. She lay in her bed and cried, and frantically dug through the papers on her bed table, wondering where his number was. She was beginning to seriously panic when she found it, and, writhing in pain, she dialed his cell phone number. She saw on the clock then that it was four in the morning. And all she knew for sure was that she was in big trouble. She could hardly speak when he answered the phone on the second ring. For a moment, he had no idea who it was. She was sobbing, in agony and terror, and then in an instant, he realized who it was just as she said her name. And just as she had, he could easily guess what had happened. Just listening to her, he was sure that her appendix had ruptured, or was about to. He hadn’t heard from her in three days, and had hoped that all was well and he’d been wrong. It was obvious now that that was not the case.

“I’m sorry to call you so late, doctor …,” she said, gasping with the pain and crying. “I’m … in terrible pain.… I …”

“I know.” She didn’t need to explain as he came instantly awake and sounded calm. “I’ll send an ambulance for you at once. Stay in bed. Don’t move. You don’t need to dress. I’ll meet you at the hospital when you arrive.” He sounded cool and precise, and reassuring in his professionalism, like someone she could count on.

He could tell that she was in extreme distress and considerable danger. The situation was urgent.

“I’m really scared,” she said, crying harder, and sounding almost like a child. “I’m in so much pain … what are they going to do?” She knew without asking him, and he didn’t answer her directly. He just sounded reassuring and assured her everything would be all right.

“Are your assistants with you?” He wondered if she was alone. It sounded fairly dire to him, and he was worried about her. She had been foolish not to deal with it three days before, but it was too late now to worry about that. He was anxious to get her to the hospital and into a surgeon’s hands. They would do the scans now in the operating room, while preparing to operate on her.

“They left for New York,” she gasped.

“You’re alone?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have someone from the hotel wait with you. I’m going to call for the ambulance now. Madame O’Neill, everything will be all right,” he said in a strong quiet tone, which made only a small dent in her panic.

“No, it won’t.” She was crying like a child, and he had the feeling that something more was happening than just her appendix rupturing. She was obviously overcome with panic, but he didn’t want to waste more time.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital when you get there,” he said calmly, and hung up. He had no other choice. He was sending her to the American Hospital for her comfort, rather than the Pitié Salpetrière where he normally worked. He had privileges at both.

A few minutes later, Timmie rang for a maid, who very sweetly sat holding her hand until the paramedics arrived, and put Timmie on a gurney in her nightgown, covered her with blankets, and sped down the deserted hotel halls. The arrival of the paramedics had caused a considerable stir in the lobby and the assistant manager on duty appeared as she left. She was in the ambulance speeding through the night a few minutes later, crying softly. The paramedics spoke no English, and could say nothing to reassure her. Her eyes were filled with terror as they took her out of the ambulance, and the first thing she saw was Dr. Vernier waiting for her. He took one look at her face, and quietly took her hand and held it in his, as they rushed her into the hospital, and up to the operating room, which they were already preparing for her.

“I called one of the best surgeons in Paris for you,” he said quietly, as they wheeled her into the brightly lit operating room, and she looked at him with wild eyes.

“I’m too scared,” she said, clutching his hand, too paralyzed with pain to move anything else. “Please don’t leave me here alone,” she said, sobbing. He nodded and smiled at her, as a nurse approached with papers for her to sign. He explained to her what they said, and asked if there was someone they should call to tell them she was there, or in case the situation worsened. Timmie thought about it for a moment and told them not to call anyone. The person she listed as next of kin was Jade Chin, who Timmie explained was her assistant, staying at the Four Seasons in New York. She gave him her cell phone number, but told him not to call her unless something went wrong. There was no point upsetting her now. There was nothing she could do from New York. It struck him as sad as he listened to her that this woman who had so much, and was so important and respected in the world, had only a secretary to call now that she was ill. It told him a great deal about her life, the choices she had made, and the price she had paid for them. He felt sorry for her, as they did the scans and he held her hand. His prediction of three days before had proven to be accurate. Her appendix had ruptured, and toxins were rushing through her system as a result.

“Please don’t leave me,” she said, clutching his hand, and he held her delicate hand firmly in his own.