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“And I think we should maintain a professional appearance here and take me off his case. I’m not comfortable…”
“Not comfortable giving the patient what he wants? Or needs?” Max shook his head and clucked his tongue. “This isn’t sounding at all like you, Catherine. Not at all. And don’t give me the excuse that you’re tired, because that’s not what this is about.”
She liked Max. Actually, in the short time she’d known him, she’d come to love the man like a father. In fact, years ago, when she had still been a medical intern, she’d moved heaven and earth to get to one of his symposiums. Dr Maximilian Aeberhard had been the best rehabilitation specialist in the world, and the instant she’d learned he was coming to Boston she’d finagled a spot in to hear him lecture. doctors from all over North America had been there, and she, a lowly intern, hadn’t been granted admittance. So she’d volunteered to be an usher that day, to escort other doctors to their seats. In exchange, she’d tucked herself into a nook at the back of the lecture hall and listened to the most brilliant doctor she’d ever heard.
Amazingly, she’d bumped into him in the elevator later on that day and, for whatever reason the gods had ordained, had been fortunate enough to take tea with him. Then they’d shared an evening meal at his invitation. The gods smiling on her again. After that she’d read everything he’d ever published, practically memorized every text he’d written, and eventually settled into a medical practice chocked full of Max Aeberhard teachings. Life had been good, she’d been advancing. All of a sudden, out of the blue, she’d received an invitation to come to Bern to be interviewed for a post at the Aeberhard Clinic.
Naturally, chances like that didn’t come up every day. Didn’t happen in most lifetimes. In fact, she’d firmly convinced herself it was some kind of a mistake until the day Max’s secretary had called to confirm her appointment. Then she’d had to pinch herself over and over to make sure it wasn’t a dream.
She’d come for that interview, of course, not even knowing or caring what kind of post it was. To be honest, she’d have been happy ironing his surgical scrubs, if that had been the position being offered, because it would have put her closer to the man she idolized. But as it had turned out, the post had been Max replacing himself as medical director in order to cut back on a few of his duties—a position for which she’d had absolutely no qualifications whatsoever. She’d walked away dejected and somewhat mystified that she’d received the invitation. By the time she’d returned to her room at the hotel, she’d convinced herself the invitation had been a mistake and Max’s interview merely a polite formality on the way to rejecting her. But then the phone call had come. He’d invited her to supper, and that’s when he’d made the offer.
Since then she’d asked him at least a dozen times, why her? Why not someone with more experience, more administrative qualifications, someone already working at the clinic who was familiar with its procedures? Dr Rilke would have been brilliant! All she’d ever got out of him, though, had been that he preferred to keep his reasons to himself. So she’d never pursued it any further.
Yet here she was. Medical Director of the Aeberhard Clinic. Living a dream. And the best part was that while Max had turned into a good-hearted mentor, he really did let her supervise the medical practice with almost no interference. It was still his clinic, though. No mistaking that. Otherwise she’d have written herself off the roster for a few days, made arrangements to be replaced, and gone away. Or, more like, run away.
“Did you know that Dante is a surgeon?” Five years out of practice maybe, but that didn’t take away his license. He still had claim to the title and, somehow, she still had a hard time seeing Dante as anything but a surgeon. And a very good one at that.
Max shook his head.
“We were medical colleagues. Had some…differences. I’m not sure I can be objective in his care.”
“And you’re not going to tell me about these differences?”
She shook her head. “Nothing important.” To Dante, anyway.
“Well, something suggests they weren’t professional. But I’m not going to pry into your affairs, Catherine.”
She shot him a caustic glance, but didn’t reply. Didn’t have to. The grin concealed under that beard told the story. Wily old Max Aeberhard knew everything. Or had a keen suspicion. Damn it! She hated being so transparent. “So no holiday? And I don’t get to get off his case?”
“That about sums it up.”
Catherine thought about it for a moment, then frowned. “I’ll accept that. But if I come to you, Max, and tell you that for the good of my patient, or the clinic, or my own personal sanity, you absolutely need to pull me off Dante’s case and let someone else take over, I expect you to do that.”
Max stood, adjusted the suspenders holding up his brown tweed trousers and headed for the door. “I’ll accept that, Catherine.” Then he gave her a wink. “But I think you need to do some soul-searching over someone who has you so bothered.” As he passed her he gave her an affectionate squeeze to the shoulder, then he was gone.
And she was definitely bothered.
It was late morning before Catherine returned to Dante’s room. Hans called and reported that Dante was doing fine, transferring himself into his wheelchair, so now it was time to have a look at what was going on with Dante’s ankle. He’d had surgery too many times. Had pins put in. Muscle repaired. Tendons sewn back together. A real mess, and the man wanted to get out of there and drive again. He’d be lucky to walk out without drastic assistance.
“I’m going to X-ray, then I’ll be taking Dant—Mr Baldassare on the grand tour,” she reported to Marianne on her way out. “Screen my calls, will you? If they’re medical, forward them to my cellphone. If they’re anything else, take a message.”
“I’ve had five in the past hour, requesting—”
“I know. An interview with Mr Baldassare.”
Marianne nodded eagerly. “He is so handsome, don’t you think?”
To a dreamy-eyed girl in her early twenties, like Marianne, of course Dante was handsome. She’d been that girl not so long ago. A little older perhaps, but still with the same dreamy-eyed feelings. No doubt there’d been a good many of them since her. More than she’d seen in those photos at various times. Apparently, there’d been a good many before her, too.
“He’s a patient.” Catherine struggled not to sound too affected. “I don’t notice handsome on patients. It’s not appropriate.” Such a huge lie where Dante was concerned. She only hoped Marianne didn’t see the look in her eyes. Dauncy, her mother called it. Youlie to me, Catherine, and I can always tell. You get that dauncy look in your eyes. Catherine blinked twice on her way out the door just to make sure anything dauncy that might be there was washed away.
Dante was actually sitting up in his wheelchair when she entered his room. Wearing pajamas. A richly embroidered silk robe covered them. Not at all Dante, she thought. He slept in the nude, put on a T-shirt to be modest. No pants. Never covered his splendid backside with anything. How many mornings had she awakened with a good dose of Dante padding across the carpet, her stare fixed on that backside? That, along with a cup of coffee, had been the perfect way to start the day, especially when he’d come back to bed to take care of the mood he’d always put her in.
There she went again! Just one look and she was off on another fantasy. Which she could ill afford, and didn’t want happening.
“You look like you’ve seen something awfully pleasant,” he commented. “Anything I might want to know about?”
“Don’t mistake my bedside manner for anything personal,” she warned, trying to sound professional when her skipping heart was anything but. “I’m always pleasant with my patients.”
“Except me.”
“You can certainly request another doctor, if you’re not happy with me. The owner of the clinic himself is available. He’s the finest rehabilitation specialist in the world, a very pleasant man, and I’m sure he’d be able to fit you into his schedule.”
“When did you become so uptight, Catherine? You used to have a spark about you. An eager optimism. You always smiled, yet I haven’t seen you smile since I’ve been here, and that’s a pity with your beautiful smile.”
“You haven’t earned the right to comment on my smile, Dante.” Her voice was so chilly it swept out of her on shards of ice. “Or anything else about me except my professional abilities.”
Naturally, he commented on that. “See what I mean? You’re uptight. Stiff. You don’t find any pleasure in your life, and it’s going to make you very old, very fast.”
“You don’t know me well enough any more to say those things.” Catherine stepped in behind the wheelchair, giving it a sharp nudge towards the door. “We had six months together, and in those months we never even…” Got to know each other. Got to be honest. “We were merely satisfying certain biological urges for a short period of time, and that’s all there was to it. We mistook hormones for emotions and thought that was enough to make a marriage.”
Dante laughed. “Hormones aren’t necessarily a bad way to start a marriage.”
“I’m not surprised you’d think that.” Although, with the chemistry they’d had between them, he wasn’t altogether wrong.
“Do you ever think about us, Catherine? Over the years, have you ever wondered what it might have been like if things had worked out differently?”
She had, on so many occasions. But she wouldn’t tell Dante that. “No. When it was over, I moved on.” Like he had, only he’d moved on even before it had been over. “No point in lingering over something that wasn’t meant to be.”
“Was I that despicable a lover?” he asked. “I thought I satisfied you, gave you what you wanted. I thought we were good together.”
“In bed, we were fine. You were fine. I had no complaints that way.” Just as they reached the hallway door, Catherine stopped pushing the wheelchair and spun it part way around to face her. Then she bent down to him. “But sex is all it was. Something convenient in two hectic lives. It happened, it ended. We’ve moved on. So, please, be enough of a gentleman to let it go. That will make your stay here much easier…on both of us.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Catherine,” he said, his voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. “I told you that every time I called. What happened to me wasn’t what I’d expected in my life. It was a difficult time.”
“Was it, Dante? Was it really?”
Briefly, he looked at a loss, but that passed all too quickly. “You don’t know a damned thing about it!”
“Don’t I? Because what I seem to recall is that you left medicine and became a race-car driver. People don’t just do something like that, Dante. You know, go to medical school all those years, become a surgeon, then drop all that to spend your life driving around a race track. And, oh, by the way, forget to mention that to the person they intend marrying.”
“And I did apologize for that. Besides, it’s not like you didn’t know my family was in racing. That I’d had a brief try at it when I was younger.”
“And your brother was better, but that was fine with you because your true passion was medicine. You told me all that, Dante. Silly me, I believed it.”
“My father needed me. My family needed me.”
“They needed you to make a worldwide announcement that you were returning to the sport before you even mentioned it to the woman who thought she was marrying a doctor? Or were you ever really planning on marrying me? Maybe that was just another of those conveniences we had, something to make us feel a little more proper about our relationship?”
“I told you—”
“What you told me, Dante, was that you had to race. That was it. No alternatives in there for me.”
“My father was sick, Dario was gone, the entire Baldassare racing team was struggling. At the time I was barely able to get through it, and I coped the only way I knew how. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Catherine, but I’m not going to apologize any more because it’s wasted on you.”
“Yes, it is wasted because while maybe you didn’t mean to hurt me, you also didn’t mean to think about me through all of it. You left me out, Dante. Totally out. But so you’ll know, I wasn’t hurt.” Such a lie, and she knew, full well, that dauncy look was creeping into her eyes again. “Just a little disappointed, but I got over it.”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you? You went on and found yourself a magnificent life. You’ve done well for yourself, and I’m not surprised about that. You were…are…a brilliant doctor. I’m happy you got the life you deserved.”
What was there to say about that? Nothing to argue, nothing to snap at. This was a bit of the old Dante, the one she’d never been able to resist, never been able to stay angry with for more than ten seconds. Damn it all, she still wanted to be angry. Wanted to snap at him, to argue with every little thing he said. But he’d just disarmed her, something he’d always been so brilliant at doing. He’d say something like he just had then they’d tumble into bed and…
Catherine cleared her throat. “I need a fresh look at your ankle, Dante. There’s a reason why you’re not healing as you should, a reason why you’re still having so much pain. The old X-rays your doctor in Tuscany sent didn’t show anything so I need a new look. With any luck I’ll figure out what’s going on, and by end of the day have you on a real road to recovery.” Then out her door, and out of her life. Again. But for good this time.
CHAPTER THREE
“AND the last room on the tour is the solarium.” The doors into the room opened automatically, and they entered. Catherine brought Dante’s wheelchair to a stop at a mosaic-topped table near the south-facing window, one that overlooked the craggy landscape outside.
While Aeberhard Clinic claimed Bern as its official address, it was actually situated outside the bustling, old-world city, in the Bernese Oberland, a lush area of Swiss lowlands, alpine foothills and alpine massif. Aeberhard Clinic was actually close to the massif, for which Catherine was grateful, as she particularly loved this view of it with its vast mountains, accented with cliffs and various rocky shelves.
It was especially a treat for her to get lost in the view of the great spires and turrets jutting up from Deuschler Castle, visible on a cliff in the distance. A small castle as castles went, it was still a private residence, she’d heard, as were many of the other castles dotting the countryside.
Now, with the snow settling in for the season, it was all a breathtaking fairyland. But it was also close to the time of year that so many of the ski injuries they would eventually treat would come in. She wasn’t going to think about that yet, however. It was still early in the season and the skiers wouldn’t be out for a while.
As she maneuvered Dante’s wheelchair so he could feast on the magnificent view that she herself tried to find time to enjoy at least once a day, Catherine noticed he wasn’t even looking outside. Rather, his gaze was fixed on the tile floor, his face twisted into a dispiriting scowl. Dante was worried about his condition, she guessed, as well he should be. He’d been that way throughout the tour of the entire facility, pretending interest but, in actuality, far away. Nothing she’d said had really snapped him out of it, and it was crossing her mind now that if this had been his normal state since his accident, he might well need attention for that, too. Somehow, though, she couldn’t see Dante giving in to depression. He was too strong-minded, too demanding of himself to stray off course.
But she hadn’t known him for a very long time now, had she? Things did change with people. She was a walking, breathing testimony to that! “We serve tea in the solarium every afternoon,” she said, taking her place next to him at the table. “It’s not required, of course, but we do like to give our guests a chance to unwind after the day and indulge in something that’s more traditional than medical. It works wonders for the psyche.”
“Guests? Psyche?” he snapped suddenly. “For God’s sake, Catherine. I’ve listened, ad nauseam, to your memorized speech about Aeberhard for the past hour. The spa, the pool, the hair salon, the gift shop, the catered menu, room service…If I’d wanted to go to a resort in Bern, I’d have checked myself into the hotel at Giessbachfälle. It’s larger, the amenities better and the beds more comfortable. But I’m not looking for a hotel!”
Not what she’d hoped for, but at least he was talking. It was a start. “Do you take antidepressants?” she asked, the way any good doctor would.
“You know better than that!”
“Actually, no, I don’t. In the scheme of things, Dante, I know nothing at all about you except what I’m seeing right now, which is a drastic mood swing.” She did know a little bit from the news accounts she’d read over the years, too. “So I’m obligated to ask you, do you take antidepressants or any other kind of medication that could bring about mood swings or personality changes?”
He finally looked at her, made direct eye contact, and stared, unblinking, for several seconds before he answered. “I don’t take antidepressants,” he answered, his voice totally void of expression. “Neither do I take pain medications of any sort, or anything else that might be addictive. I take vitamins, an assortment of essential minerals, and an occasional antacid before a race. I don’t consume alcohol, don’t use tobacco, don’t eat fried foods. Anything else you’d like to know, Doctor?”
He was so defiant, so angry. Perhaps he’d have been better off going somewhere else, somewhere without the obvious emotional friction she seemed to be causing. That was her concern as a doctor coming out, of course, and not her personal need to be rid of him. “You don’t have to stay here, and maybe it would be better if you didn’t. I’ll be glad to make arrangements to have you taken to another facility. There’s an excellent clinic in Frankfurt, which isn’t so far away, and we have a reciprocal arrangement with them.”
“And I could have gone there, had I not chosen Aeberhard. But I wanted Aeberhard initially, and I’ll stay here.”
“Exactly why did you choose Aeberhard, Dante?” Catherine asked.
“You think it’s because of you?”
“It’s an odd coincidence so, yes, that did cross my mind.”
He shook his head. “Reputation. That’s all. You put skiers back into shape all the time. Do a nice job of it, actually. My injury is like what a skier might sustain. Also, this is closer to my home than any of the other places, so it made perfect sense for me to come here. At the time!
Meaning that now, at this time, it didn’t. Well, he was right about that. It didn’t make sense to her, either. But what made even less sense was his insistence on staying. Too much water had flowed under the bridge for this to be anything but uncomfortable.
Catherine turned her focus to the castle in the distance, rather than staring back at Dante. His scrutiny made her nervous. It was like he was trying to read something in her, trying to probe deeper than he had a right to. Breaking the contact of his stare might make that jittery feeling skittering through her right now stop. “Just so you know, your X-rays are fine. Nothing out of the ordinary, which is why I called your previous doctor, to see what was going on. He told me you haven’t been the model patient in the past two clinics you’ve been in. You checked out early, went home, injured yourself again. Both times. They didn’t want you back. Both times.”
A slight smile cracked his face, a smile barely noticeable on his lips but quite apparent in his eyes. If she’d been looking. Which she was not. “And I didn’t want to go back. Both times. Simple as that.”
“With you it’s never as simple as that. You always had an agenda, Dante. I can’t imagine that has changed. In fact, I’m curious about your agenda in demanding that I be your physician. My guess is you mean to harass me because Friedrich Rilke is brilliant, and anybody with an ankle injury should want him rather than me, as that’s his specialty. Then there’s Dr Aeberhard, the best in the world. Yet you insist on me, which sounds like an agenda, as your choice goes against common sense.”
“My choice sounds like a patient exerting a measure of control over his treatment. I always advocated that, Catherine. Always insisted that the doctor be a partner to the patient, not a medical dictator. That’s the way the best medicine should work.”
She twisted to look at him and noticed that his eyes sparked for a moment. It had happened before, when he’d mentioned medicine. Did Dante miss it? “You’re suggesting that we be partners. But shouldn’t partners get along?”
“I recall a time when we did.” His tone lost its sharp edge for a instant. “And don’t dismiss your abilities. You’re good. I trust you to do what’s best in my medical care.”
“Oh, I don’t dismiss my abilities, Dante. But you’d still be better off with Friedrich. If my ankle needed mending, he’s the only one I’d go to.” Catherine’s voice was stiff. Dante couldn’t help but hear the discomfort there because she could hear it herself.
“I’d be better off with the partner I choose, and I choose you. Like I said before, it’s as simple as that.”
“And like I said before, nothing’s that simple with you, Dante.” Their gazes drifted together for a moment, stayed fixed for a short time before both of them glanced away.
“Why the resort atmosphere, Catherine? And why would you choose to practice this kind of medicine? You were always so traditional.”
“Dr Aeberhard, the founder of the clinic, believes that true healing has as much to do with non-medical issues as it does medical ones. He believes that a comfortable resort atmosphere is better suited to rehabilitation medicine than a hospital atmosphere would be.”
“Do you?”
She finally turned to face him fully, surprised that all the edge and anger was gone from his voice. His scowl had vanished too, and the man sitting there, looking at her, was…Dante. Simply Dante, being interested in medicine the way he’d once been. “Actually, yes, I do. Back in Boston, when we…when I was doing my residency, then later, when I took my first real position, it was in a typical rehab hospital facility. Looked like a hospital, smelt like a hospital, functioned like a hospital, with all the regular hospital accouterments. We had good results, but there didn’t seem to be anything spectacular happening. People came in broken, went out fixed. You know, typical course of treatment. When I arrived here, at Aeberhard, it was very different. People were happy. They recovered more quickly. In my opinion, a good many of the recoveries seemed more complete, and I knew there had to be a correlation between Dr Aeberhard’s philosophies and the results I was seeing. It was exciting, Dante. This was a whole new medical concept for me, and I fell in love with it.”
“You look happy,” he said, actually sounding pleased about it.
“I am. It’s a perfect situation for me.” Had Dante found his perfect situation in auto racing? Judging from the way he acted, from all the stress she saw on his face and strain she heard in his voice, it didn’t seem so. Of course, there might be other issues pressing on him…such as his child. Or a woman…a wife. “Look, Dante, your healing seems to be right on course. And you’re lucky, considering that you’ve reinjured yourself since the initial injury and surgery. So the problem is just the healing process, which you seem to undermine.”
He shifted his gaze off her to the outside. And straightened his shoulders. “Unfortunate accident.”
“Remember, I talked to your other doctor,” she said, her voice gentle. “I do know what happened. You went home too early, did too many things he’d told you not to do. It’s not easy being laid up the way you are, and I understand that. But you can’t keep going against medical advice.”
“Just one person’s opinion.”
“Two, actually. Two very good surgeons—the original one who repaired you and the one who repaired you after you reinjured yourself. Both dismissed you as a patient when you went against their orders.” A symptom of his fast lifestyle? Fast cars, fast women? Did he think he was impervious to the inevitable repercussions?
Her father had thought that, and it had gotten him killed.
“It was taking too long. I should have been up and about much sooner. They weren’t pushing me hard enough, and I don’t have months and months to spend on recovery. I need it…faster.”
“Is that a medical diagnosis?” she asked. “Because, as I recall, you were a general surgeon, not an orthopedic or rehabilitation specialist.”
“You know what they say…that doctors make the worst patients.”
“Except you’re a race-car driver who’s on the verge of losing a career if he doesn’t follow his doctor’s orders. It’s just that critical now. If you injure yourself again, there’s no guarantee you’ll ever walk normally, Dante. More than that, you might lose your ability to drive competitively. And while I’m not going so far as to say these were self-inflicted injuries, they were caused because you didn’t listen. Or you thought you knew more than your doctors did.”
