small frown pleating her forehead told Dan that she had worked out for herself the reasons why they couldn’t use the alternative antidote, and admired the fact that her brain was still working just as fast as usual in spite of everything that had happened over the last day.
‘Also,’ Mr Shah continued inexorably, ‘we have no way of knowing how long the drugs have been in her system. If it is only a short time—less than eight hours—then it will not be such a big problem, but we cannot assume anything.’
Dan was watching Sara’s face as the consultant was speaking, so he saw the sudden widening of her eyes and the deepening of her frown. The expression must have pulled her stitches if the wince and the protective hand that came up to cover the dressing was any indication.
For a moment it was obvious that she was conducting some sort of internal debate and the way her hazel eyes darkened told him it wasn’t a pleasant one. Then her hand dropped to the curve of her belly in a protective gesture as old as time and panic roared through him. Was she in pain? Was she suffering a delayed reaction to her accident? Was she miscarrying?
‘Sara,’ he began, fighting for self-control when all he could think of was the precious picture propped on his mantelpiece, ‘is everything all right? Are you feeling—?’
The sudden sound of a hasty knock at the door cut him off as the consultant excused himself before calling, ‘Enter.’
‘Mr Shah, Zara Walker seems to be waking up. Did you want to—?’
‘Thank you. We will come now,’ he said swiftly, already pushing back his chair. ‘Do you want to follow me?’ he threw over his shoulder, but didn’t wait for a reply as he hurried out into the corridor.
‘Here, let me. It’ll be quicker,’ Dan said as he took over the propulsion of her wheelchair, leaving Sara to slump back into the seat.
She must be really close to the end of her tether, he realised when he saw the slump of her shoulders. Zara might be the professional model but Sara had an innate elegance and style of her own and poor posture wasn’t a part of it.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asked, taking advantage of the fact that there simply wasn’t enough space for the wheelchair in Zara’s room—there were just too many people in there at the moment. ‘For a moment, back in the interview room, you looked … worried. Is it the baby? You’re not having contractions, are you?’
‘Babies,’ she corrected softly. ‘And, no, I’m not having contractions, thank goodness. I was just …’ She paused for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No. It’s nothing.’
‘Are you sure?’ Some sixth sense was telling him to press her. ‘If it was something that could possibly help Zara …’
There it was again, a look of indecision, as though she couldn’t bring herself to say something … detrimental about her twin. He had no right to insist that she speak to him and was still trying to find a way to persuade her to trust him with … well, with whatever it was putting that frown on her face when an all-too-familiar voice called his name.
‘Danny?’ it quavered, but whether the weakness was real or feigned he wouldn’t like to hazard a guess. It could just as easily be either, knowing Zara. ‘Is Danny there?’ There was a plaintive note this time and he had to stifle a wry smile. Now certainly wasn’t the right time to question Sara, but he was definitely going to make a point of it before he left the hospital this time.
‘I’m here, Zara,’ he confirmed lightly, straightening up so that she could see him above the general mêlée of medical staff and her parents. Her vital signs had already been checked and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was more blood being drawn for another lot of tests to track the progress of the antidote.
‘Come closer, Danny,’ invited Audrey, beaming widely and beckoning with the arm not wrapped around her precious daughter’s shoulders. ‘Look! Isn’t it wonderful? Our Zara’s back with us as good as new. Isn’t she beautiful?’
Zara had been born beautiful, Dan thought dismissively. It was all on the surface, not something she’d had to work for … unlike Sara’s medical qualifications.
Zara’s initial expression when her mother drew her attention to him was one of open delight, then her wide hazel eyes drifted to one side as though she was trying to see what had attracted his attention away from her at such an important moment.
He took a step aside so that she could see her sister sitting in the wheelchair beside him. He was totally shocked when, instead of an expression of concern or, at the very least, an equally welcoming smile for her sister, her look was one of … what? It was definitely more than horror at the fact that she’d suffered such injuries, it was almost revulsion, or even … hatred?
Impossible. He must be more exhausted than he’d thought if he could imagine such a thing. Twins were closer than almost any other people, and in their case, with Sara putting herself through pregnancy on her sister’s behalf, they were bound to be closer than most.
Then, without a single question about how Sara came to be so injured, Zara held out a hand towards him in a blatantly theatrical plea.
‘Oh, Danny, I’m so sorry for putting you through this but …’ She bit her lip and peered up at him. ‘I just couldn’t cope with it any more. It was all just too much.’
‘Couldn’t bear what?’ he asked, not buying her pantomime for a minute, although there must be something serious behind her actions. Someone as self-centred as Zara didn’t do anything without planning it down to the last step, like her plan to seduce him.
‘Well, didn’t you read my note?’ she demanded crossly. She was clearly wrong-footed by the fact that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he had no doubt he would be hearing all about it in exhaustive detail.
‘I didn’t see any note. When did you write it? Where did you put it?’ he demanded. It certainly hadn’t been on the mantelpiece when he’d put the picture of the scan there, although he hadn’t really been looking at anything other than those two indeterminate dark blobs with the bright flashes where their hearts were beating.
‘Oh, Danny,’ she cried, and accepted the pretty handkerchief her mother offered, actually managing to squeeze out a tear or two. ‘I poured my heart out to you … told you how insecure I was feeling … how afraid that … Oh, what’s the use?’ she said petulantly, and turned her back on him.
‘She’s overwrought,’ Audrey said in a stage whisper. ‘She’ll feel better when she’s had a good night’s sleep in her own bed.’ She turned her attention to Mr Shah. ‘When can we take her home? Do we have to fill in any papers?’
‘Oh, my dear Mrs … Mrs Walker,’ he said after a quick glance at Zara’s notes to refresh his memory. ‘Your daughter is perfectly within her rights to sign her self out of hospital, but I certainly wouldn’t advise it.’
‘Why on earth not?’ challenged Frank. ‘We’ve all been waiting for her to wake up and now she has. Surely that’s an end to the whole miserable episode.’
‘I wish it were, sir, believe me,’ the consultant said with a shake of his head. ‘Unfortunately, the fact that your daughter has woken doesn’t mean that all the drugs have left her body, and until the drip has neutralised the paracetamol, the drug could still be doing damage to her liver.’
‘But …’ Audrey looked almost comically disappointed.
‘It really would be better if she stayed until we can give her a clean bill of health. She probably still feels rather shaky and tired and would rather not make a journey before she’s absolutely ready.’
Dan smothered a grin when he recognised the way the ICU consultant had got the measure of the Walker family. To suggest, obliquely, that Zara needed specialist attention for a little longer was the one strategy that her parents wouldn’t want to argue with.
After that, it wasn’t very