Reunited...in Paris! Page 8

  Since her revelation about Dad that morning he’d been adamant he had to keep his distance. It wasn’t what his father had suggested that got to him but that she’d believed in him, known he’d do what was right. It was what he’d expected, had barely hoped for on the bad days, but to have her tell him had shot straight at his heart, twisting the noose tighter. He was so screwed. He should’ve refused to come to Nice when he’d known Tori was going to be here.

  But that had been impossible. Seven years of missing her, needing her—even when in denial—had driven him to take a risk. He had wanted so badly to see her again, had truly believed this would help him move on. And now he was making mistakes like saying they had a date.

  ‘What are you ordering?’ John asked from across the table.

  The waiter was hovering at his elbow, ready to translate if needed.

  Ben pointed to the menu. ‘Steak, rare.’

  Tori laughed and held her hand out to Rita. ‘You owe me. Twenty euros, I believe.’

  ‘What?’ Ben looked from one smug woman to the other delving into her wallet to flourish a twenty-euro note.

  ‘The girls had a bet on what you’d choose. Steak or seafood.’

  And he’d missed that? Too much daydreaming and not enough concentration. Of course Tori would know what he’d choose. Steak had always been his favourite protein. ‘We are in France. Obviously I’m eating steak.’ He tipped a nod at Tori. ‘You’re having paella.’ She ate seafood in any way, shape or form at every opportunity.

  Her smile melted his gloomy mood and put him back in his happy shoes. ‘Duck à l’orange, or however it’s said in French.’

  So he’d got that wrong. He liked it that Tori could still surprise him. I’m not meant to be liking anything about her too much. True, but he was going to enjoy the evening anyway.

  John ordered champagne, and sparkling water for Tori. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing out on,’ he told her.

  ‘Sure I do.’ Her smile dipped.

  ‘When did you stop drinking wine?’ Ben asked.

  ‘A while back.’

  ‘I remember...’ He hesitated.

  ‘That I drank too much.’ A don’t-go-there look had crept into her eyes. ‘I’m sure you do.’

  When you said to drink French champagne in France would be the ultimate dream. Looks like she’d got over that.

  ‘Let’s order,’ Rita intervened, after a quick glance at Tori.

  The food was delicious, made more so by the setting and the company. At last Ben pushed his dessert plate aside and reached for his wine glass. He hadn’t had such a wonderful night in a long while. ‘Thanks, everyone. A great evening.’ He raised his glass to his friends. Tori? A friend? For lack of a better word, yes, but it didn’t sit easily. She was more than a friend, less than his wife.

  ‘I agree.’ John tapped his nearly full glass against everyone else’s and put it down, the wine untouched.

  ‘John? Something wrong with your wine?’ The man was a wine connoisseur, never missed an opportunity to try new vintages.

  He gave a single shake of his head. ‘It’s fine.’

  It should be, given it was one of the biggest names for red wine on the continent. About to push John about it, Ben backed off. If his mate didn’t want to say anything, then he’d respect that. He mightn’t want to be heard criticising the wine in front of the waiters.

  Rita said, ‘You don’t want your dessert, either? Can I try some?’

  ‘Go ahead.’ John pushed his plate towards his wife. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.’

  ‘It’s chocolate. Of course I have to have some.’ Rita spooned up a small mouthful.

  John said, ‘I think I’m having a heart attack.’

  What? Cold dread filled Ben. ‘John? Tori, get an ambulance.’ He was on his feet and at John’s side in an instant. ‘I’m taking your pulse, man. You’re sweating. Where exactly is this pain?’

  ‘Onto it.’ Tori was already halfway across the dining area, hurrying towards the head waiter. She was waving her hands and pointing to their table as she talked rapidly. Hopefully the waiter understood enough English to get the gist of her request. Now was not the time to have to be trying out her schoolgirl French.

  Rita’s spoon clattered onto her plate. ‘John? Please, tell me this is a joke.’

  John lifted his hand to his chest, rubbed round and round over his ribs, his heart, even up to his shoulder. ‘Here.’

  Rita cried, ‘John? Hold on for that ambulance. Think of the kids. Please.’ Her hand gripped John’s. ‘Don’t you dare go getting sick, love. You can’t.’ Despair had crept into her voice.

  Ben touched her shoulder. ‘We’ll soon have John in hospital.’ He had no idea what the response time would be like here, or how far away the hospital was.

  ‘There’s a hotel full of cardiologists ten minutes away,’ John quipped around a pain-filled grimace. ‘I’ll be fine, sweetheart.’

  Oh, sure. Ben barely stopped himself rolling his eyes. John was only trying to cheer up Rita, but one quick look at her told him how much she believed that.

  ‘They’re phoning for the ambulance now.’ Tori was back.

  ‘How can you be sure what they’re doing?’ The wobble in Rita’s voice was awful.

  Tori wrapped an arm around Rita’s waist. ‘I talked to a patron who spoke English and French. She’s organising everything.’

  John groaned and pitched forward into Ben’s arms.

  ‘Steady, mate. Let’s get you lying down.’

  A woman appeared by their table. ‘There’s a sofa inside that the waiter says you can use for your friend.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tori answered. ‘Now we need a man to help Ben shift John in there.’

  ‘The waiter’s willing to help.’ The woman fired off what was required to the man at her elbow.

  Ben stood up with John draped over him. ‘Come on, mate. We’re taking you in where you’ll be more comfortable.’

  John wasn’t answering. His mouth was slack and drooling.

  ‘Quickly, help me.’ Ben swallowed down on the flare of panic. This was not happening to John. No way in hell.

  Even as the woman translated the waiter was taking John’s other side. Between them they shuffled John inside and laid him on the sofa.

  Tori brought Rita inside and gently pressed her onto a chair. ‘I’m going to help Ben, okay? John’s in good hands.’

  Ben was counting John’s respiratory rate as he undid his tie and tore open his shirt. ‘How’s that pain, John?’

  ‘Worse,’ John croaked, then screwed his eyes tight.

  ‘I’m taking your pulse,’ Tori told him, her eyes scanning John’s face. ‘Very pale,’ she murmured.

  ‘Have you had pain like this before?’ Ben asked. Resp rate was low.

  ‘No,’ John muttered.

  ‘Pulse faint.’ Tori added to the dire picture.

  The woman who’d called for the ambulance said, ‘Do you want me to stay and interpret for you when the paramedics arrive?’

  ‘Yes, please. You can start by telling them we’re both cardiac specialists.’ They’d understand everything possible had been done correctly.

  John’s head lolled to one side.

  Tori flicked her head up. ‘Pulse gone.’

  Rita cried out. The woman moved to her side.

  Ben stood and pulled John onto the floor so there was something hard under his body. ‘Tori, I’ll take the compressions, you do the breaths.’

  ‘Onto it.’ She knelt at John’s head, snatched a cushion from a chair and gently slid it under John, tipping his head back to clear the throat.

  Ben’s laced hands were already regularly pressing down hard on John’s sternum. ‘Five, six, seven.’ Where the hell’s tha
t ambulance?

  Tori looked around, back to him and shook her head once.

  Had he spoken aloud? Or had she read his mind? He hoped the second option as he didn’t want to terrify Rita any more than she already was. But that ambulance was needed right now. If not minutes ago. There’d be a defibrillator on board to shock John. Hopefully bring him back to life. How far away was the nearest hospital? Or the ambulance station—if they had that system here. Why in France, John? I feel hog-tied. The language is foreign, the system unknown. But it didn’t really matter where they were. This was John, his best mate, and at the moment he’d give anything to see him open his eyes and ask what was going on.

  ‘Twenty-one, twenty-two.’

  Tori was ready to breathe two lungfuls of air into John the moment Ben reached thirty compressions. Then they’d start all over again. And again. Damn, he had never felt so helpless.

  His shoulders were tight, his arms already feeling a pain, but he’d keep going for as long as it took. This was John.

  The sound of a siren filled him with relief but he didn’t stop the compressions until two paramedics carrying a medical kit and the most important defibrillator he’d ever set his gaze on were beside him and calmly, quickly going about their jobs, attaching the pads for the electric current to John’s chest, feeling the carotid to confirm what was obvious but had to be checked.

  An ECG machine was applied as well, the flat line terrifying, despite how often Ben had witnessed that in his career. He looked for the woman to translate. ‘Tell them he went into cardiac arrest less than three minutes ago.’ Still time to get a favourable outcome. Barely, but barely was better than not at all.

  As the paramedics took over, Ben stepped back, reluctant to let go but aware these men knew how to do their jobs as well as he did. He reached for Rita, wrapped her in a hug. There was nothing he could say to alleviate her fear so he kept quiet. On his other side Tori stood watching every action, her body tight with worry.

  When one of the paramedics called out something they stepped back, before the woman had even interpreted the phrase as stand clear. They all stared at the monitor reading John’s heart, willing him back to life. Nothing happened.

  ‘Come on, John,’ Rita cried. ‘You can do it. You have to. Damn you, start breathing.’ Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘John. Please. Remember the kids.’

  Her anguish cut Ben deep. He felt so useless. A cardiac specialist and right now there was nothing he could do to save his friend’s life. He felt a hand on his arm, knew it was Tori. Thank goodness she was here with them. Her presence couldn’t change the outcome, but he did feel something soft curl around his heart because of her. She was rooting for John and Rita, for him. And right now he needed her.

  If the worst happened... He gagged. It won’t. It can’t.

  ‘Stand clear.’ The paramedic had reset the defibrillator.

  John’s body partially lifted off the floor. Then he slammed back down, his head hitting the cushion.

  ‘We’ve got a pulse.’ At least Ben presumed that’s what the grimly smiling paramedic said to them as he pointed to the ECG machine.

  Ben watched that line on the tiny screen as it flicked up and down, no longer ruler straight at the bottom of the picture. John wasn’t out of trouble yet, but he was a damned sight better off than he had been seconds ago.

  Rita collapsed against him, her body racked with shivers. ‘Is he...? Will he...?’

  ‘Shh. At the moment John’s heart is working, though nowhere near perfectly.’ That was going to take diagnosis and treatment, and a lot of time in bed. If he was lucky. ‘He’s breathing again.’ He’d learned at the beginning of his career to keep things simple when patients’ relatives were in shock. Rita was no slug but right now she’d barely be absorbing any details except that John was alive. ‘These men will transfer him to hospital where he’ll be put onto a heart support machine to be monitored thoroughly.’

  One of the paramedics held up a plastic board with a sheet clipped to it. ‘Nom?’

  ‘He needs John’s details,’ Tori said as she took the board. ‘What’s John’s full name, Rita?’

  ‘John Barry McIntyre.’

  ‘Date of birth?’

  Surprisingly quickly, Tori had filled in every line and was handing back the information. When the paramedic asked her another question she tipped her head slightly. ‘Pardon?’

  The helpful woman stepped up. ‘He’s telling you to bring insurance details to the hospital.’

  ‘But that’s back in our hotel. I’m not going there. I’m going with John.’ Rita turned to look at her husband. ‘I’m not letting him out of my sight.’

  Tori took her hand. ‘Tell me where you keep your travel documents and I’ll go get them. Though if you’ve got your credit card with you, that’s probably all you need to get sorted.’

  ‘Will you? Everything’s in the safe, and our code is four-five-three-two.’

  ‘I’ll need your room key.’ Tori spoke softly.

  ‘Duh. Of course. Tori, will John be all right now?’

  Ben’s stomach clenched at the unfair but expected question. No one knew the answer to that. He saved Tori by saying, ‘Rita, John is gravely ill. But he is alive. Hang on to that.’

  Rita’s bottom lip trembled. ‘I understand. I was looking for rainbows.’

  Tori gave her a sad smile. ‘I like that. Rainbows. You hang on to yours. Now, where’s our new friend? We need taxis and to find out where they’re taking John.’

  ‘All sorted,’ she was told. ‘One taxi will go to the hospital and the other will take you to the hotel and wait to take you to the hospital when you’re ready.’

  Ben reached out and shook her hand. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I hope all goes well for you.’ She nodded to Rita. ‘Times like this you wish you were at home, I know.’

  Never a truer word, Ben thought as he led Rita out to their taxi. But at least they could be thankful for the excellent hospitals here. Watching John being loaded into the ambulance, he said, ‘Rita, you can go with John.’

  ‘I’d like to. Would they mind?’

  ‘Looks to me like they’re waving you over. Go on. I’ll be right behind you all the way.’ If John arrested again the ambulance would pull over while the paramedics tried to resuscitate him and he’d be in that ambulance fast. But it wouldn’t be easy for Rita, being stuck in there and not understanding a word the men might say. Still he added, ‘You’ll be fine.’

  As the back doors closed John and Rita in, Ben looked around for Tori. ‘Hey,’ he called as she was about to get into her taxi.

  ‘Hey, yourself.’ Her smile was tired but full of understanding and something else. Not love? No, he’d got that wrong. Just because he wanted it, it didn’t mean he was going to get it. ‘See you shortly.’

  Then she was gone, the taxi speeding down the narrow road as though John was the passenger and not Tori.

  Tori. There when he’d needed her. Quietly efficient, backing his every move, even being one step ahead of him at times. Tori. They’d been in sync—unlike the end days of their marriage.

  The taxi moved forwards, tailing the ambulance, his driver obviously not finding it necessary to get him to the hospital any sooner than John. Which suited Ben just fine. He wanted to know if John had another heart failure. Wanted to be there for him, and Rita.

  God damn, John. How long have you been feeling unwell? All day? All week? Longer?

  Ben thought back to the first moment he’d seen his friend on day one of the conference. Other than the weight gain John had looked fine. But he’d been quiet throughout dinner, hardly touching his food. Well, mate, you’re going to get a telling off for scaring Rita and me. And Tori.

  Tori. Her name spun into his mind so fast he gasped. His wife. Ex maybe, but
still Tori. Not quite as he remembered her. She didn’t laugh so much these days, hardly at all really, and one of the things he’d loved about her was her laughter. Everything and anything had brought that deep, heart-warming sound bubbling over her lips. She’d taken her career seriously but she’d been full of sunshine and happiness.

  ‘Ici, monsieur.’

  ‘What?’ Ben looked around, surprised to find they were at the hospital and the ambulance was backing into the emergency bay. He handed over far too much money and leapt out to go be with Rita. He had her and John to think about now. Nothing else mattered until John’s prognosis was good and he was on the road to recovery.

  Nothing else.

  No one else.

  How long will it take you to get here, Tori?

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘GO AND GET something to eat, you two.’ Rita stood before them, looking exhausted and somehow smaller. ‘Or have a strong coffee anyway.’

  Tori eased herself up from the uncomfortable, moulded plastic chair she’d spent half the night on, and stretched up onto her toes, bent backwards to undo some of the kinks in her muscles. It had been a long night sitting outside the intensive care unit, gleaning the occasional piece of information about John’s progress. ‘Not hungry, but I could murder a coffee. Why don’t you come with us? We can go to the hospital cafeteria so you’re not far away from John.’

  Ben slowly unwound his tall frame and came to his feet. ‘How’s he doing now?’

  Rita dragged her hands down her pale cheeks. ‘Holding his own. The doctor says he needs complete rest and quiet. He’s been very lucky. We’ve been extraordinarily lucky.’

  This lovely couple had had a second chance. They were lucky. In some ways Tori hoped Rita didn’t understand how close she’d come to losing her husband or she’d spend the rest of her life worrying about him every time he so much as winced. During the night Monsieur Leclare had come to the hospital after hearing about John’s heart attack from the specialist treating him. The fact they were all attending the conference had made short work of the barriers usually surrounding a patient. Rita had been adamant that Tori and Ben be in on any conversation about John’s condition, and Luc had been exemplary in explaining everything.