Page 29 of A Noble Affair
“Um yes. Yes…I understand that the pressure in his skull…” Here she choked a bit, and seemed to be trying to master her emotions. She cleared her throat and continued.
“I understand that the pressure has been alleviated, and that I shouldn’t expect him to wake up right away. And, but…that I can’t be certain he will wake up?”
Charles did not respond immediately. His eyes on her, he finally gestured to the chair she had just been occupying. “Please. Sit down.” He went to the neighboring room and pulled a chair from there.
Before he could take a seat, her words came tumbling out. “I’m sorry, Mr. de Brase. I don’t understand how you came to be here. You’re a doctor?”
“Is that so surprising?” The corner of his lip quirked upwards. People were always surprised by that fact.
“No, it’s just that I didn’t think you…youdidanything,” she blurted out.
Charles hesitated before replying, the whisp of amusement now gone.“It’s reassuring to know you have such a high opinion of me.” He perused the patient’s chart, hiding a rueful sigh. He hadn’t given her any reason to think he was anything but a profligate.
“No, no. I mean…I thought owning a château was a full-time job, and that if you did anything, it would be to manage your estate. I just have a hard time seeing you here—it’s all so unexpected.” She reached over to the bedside table and whisked a tissue out of the generic box, wiping her face and blowing her nose.
“I don’t know why I’m bringing all this up. Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. I’m not myself,” she added in a wateryvoice.
“You’re doing well, considering the circumstances,” Charles replied. “Docteur Bellamy was correct, but I think it’s too soon to look at the worst-case scenario.”
At those words, tears trickled down her cheeks again. “He’s all I have.” Chastity spoke in little more than a whisper. Charles had thought himself immune to the emotions of his patients’ families, and he was surprised when his throat tightened. He looked ahead into the corridor, giving her time to collect herself. She blew her nose and stood abruptly. Charles read the agitation in her gesture and followed suit.
“Let me have a look at his catheter.” He went over and examined thatand the ICP, his face unreadable. He scanned his notes again and pressed his lips together before speaking. “There’s a possibility we’ll have to temporarily remove part of the skull to allow the brain tissue to expand.” He shot her a glance. “I know such a procedure sounds terrifying, but if the pressure in his skull becomes too great, it will be the best course of action.”
“Oh, oh…okay. I didn’t know this could—” Chastity seemed to have trouble forming the words to match her patent horror at the idea of such a procedure. Finally she looked up, her eyes troubled. “Is this what the other doctors recommend?”
Charles overlooked any potential for insult and answered gently. “It’s simply the standard procedure for patients with severe brain trauma where the cranial pressure seems to build rather than decrease.” He leaned over and put his hand on the boys arm.
“What’s his first language?”
“English,” she answered.
He brought the chair up to the side of the bed and sat, laying his hand on Thomas’s arm again. “Good morning, Thomas.” He knew his English was nearly perfect. “You’ve had a car accident, and you’re in the hospital wherewe’re taking good care of you. My name is Docteur de Brase, and your mother’s here too. You can rest as long as you need. The important thing is for you to get better.”
He didn’t expect a response, but he stayed for a minute longer before standing and turning to face Chastity. She offered him a tremulous smile in return. “Thank you for taking such good care of my son.”
“Don’t lose hope,” he replied. “Do you have anyone here who can support you?”
“Um. I have a couple of colleagues…I think you know Elizabeth Mercer?” Charles nodded. “She stopped by early this morning.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning then, unless there’s a change in his—”
There was a bustle in the corridor as a young man—well-dressed, but with dissipated features, and smelling strongly of smoke—rushed into the room. “Chassy. You should have called me immediately. Oh my God. Thomas. How is he? Oh—bonjour Docteur. Comment va-t’il?” He switched to French when he saw the doctor standing there.
“And you are?” Charles felt the frown forming.
“I’m the boy’s father.” The man stepped back and put his arm around Chastity’s waist. Her face was drained of color, but otherwise remained expressionless.
“I see. A catheter has been inserted to relieve pressure from the swelling of his brain, and we’re monitoring it.” Charles knew there was no trace of the previous warmth in his face.
“Mademoiselle.” He nodded towards her. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He strode out of the room, and as he was leaving, heard the man say, “He’s not very friendly, is he?” Without waiting for an answer, “So.What happened?”
14
There was the man, who went by the name of Cyril, standing by the stone wall that overlooked the Seine. The same scene, but this time it was a different wall, a different part of the Seine. He waited in the bright sunlight, and having finished his cigarette, tossed it below onto the cobblestone walkway that directly bordered the river.
Cyril scanned the area impatiently, and at this cue, Jean didn’t waste any time jogging across the street to join him. “You kept me waiting,” was all the man said.
