rel="nofollow" href="#u7339490b-b705-5e94-945d-74c2de70d1b7">Extract
CORDELIA GREENWAY RELAXED back into the chair as she tried to ignore the palpitations and light-headedness that had started. She breathed deeply and put her fingers to the side of her neck, massaging gently and closing her eyes as she waited for the manoeuvre to take effect.
Sweat started to run between her shoulder blades—another symptom. People were chatting all around her—no one seemed to have noticed her little ‘turn’. And that was just the way she liked it. She hated fuss. She hated being under the spotlight.
So she stayed quiet, gently continuing to massage, and willing her heartbeat to steady. She probably should have glanced at her watch to time this—but she was so used to dealing with it, so used to keeping it under the radar, that it hadn’t even entered her brain until now. She’d just gone into self-protect mode.
Her other hand lifted the hair off the back of her neck, where it was sticking. Ugh. But things were finally starting to work. She could almost hear out loud the beat of her heart starting to slow. Thank goodness.
After a few minutes she took a deep breath and rested her head on the cool desk for a second. Better. She tugged at her shirt, pulling it away from her body to let the air circulate. First thing she’d do when she got back home was jump in the shower.
There was a noise to her left. She stuck her head up above her cubby hole. Several of the other researchers were doing the same—they looked like a family of meerkats.
Professor Helier was pacing with his phone. The noise had come from his office. His voice squeaky. She didn’t hesitate. She was at the glass door in seconds. ‘Franc?’
Now he was nodding, scribbling things frantically on a piece of paper. He looked so pale. He swayed a little. She walked inside and held out her hands protectively behind him, in case he fell over. Professor Helier was the whole reason she was here.
When she’d found out that he was heading up the cardiac research at this lab, she had to be here. She would have done just about anything to work with this famed researcher.
But in the end all it had taken had been a few phone calls. She’d been head of the zebrafish research in the UK—leading the pioneering work into discovering their ability to regenerate heart muscle and how that could be transferred to humans. Professor Helier had embraced her interest instantly, inviting her to come and meet him, and asking if she wanted to lead one of his teams. She hadn’t hesitated for a second.
The chance to work in Switzerland. The rich, clean air, snow-topped mountains, and a whole host of chocolates she should never touch. When she’d explained her reasons for working in cardiac research he’d just given her a beaming smile, and patted her hand. ‘Cordelia, we all have our reasons for being here. That’s what makes us all special.’ He’d winked. ‘That’s what gives us all heart.’ And the bad jokes had continued for the last three years.
He swayed a little again as he replaced the phone. She felt instantly protective. Franc must be approaching seventy and time hadn’t been too kind to him. He always had a kind of frazzled appearance about him, along with his sometimes white coat and mass of grey hair. ‘Franc, what is it? What can I do?’
No one knew exactly how old Franc Helier was. Even doing an internet search didn’t help. He’d had the same mad grey hair and slim frame for the last forty years. Some of the junior staff joked that he looked like a mixture of Albert Einstein and a mad professor from a time travel movie. But for Cordelia it didn’t matter. He was her friend. And she was his. That was all that mattered.
Franc put both hands on the desk. ‘It’s Emily,’ he said a little breathlessly.
‘Your sister?’ He nodded, his expression a bit glazed. ‘That was the hospital in Marseille. Apparently she collapsed at home and needs emergency surgery.’
Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She lifted Franc’s hat and coat from the hook behind her, thrusting them towards him. ‘Go. Go now.’ As he took them with slightly shaking hands she walked around his desk and opened his second drawer. She really did know him like family. ‘Here. Your passport. Do you want me to book you a flight and arrange a pick-up? I can book a hotel for you too.’ She glanced at the name of the hospital written in scrawled script on the note. ‘I’ll find one near there.’
He blinked. And she reached out and touched his cheek. Franc had no other family. His wife had died ten years ago and all he had left was his sister. ‘Go, Franc. Go be with your sister. Everything will be fine here. You know it will.’
He nodded nervously. ‘Of course. I trust you, Cordelia. You know I do.’
She pulled up the collar of his jacket. ‘I’ll email you the details of the flight, transport and hotel. Just go home and pack a few things.’
He still looked a little stunned. Just what had they told him on the phone?
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Franc?’
It was almost as if she’d flicked a switch in his brain. ‘The Japanese investors are coming on Tuesday. Drug trials AZ14 and CF10 need to be monitored, with all data recorded by midweek. There are clinics to cover.’
She smiled and touched his arm. ‘I’ve got them. You know I’ve got them.’
His gaze met hers and it was the first time he’d looked a little more assured. Her illness had led her away from the traditional role of doctor. She’d spent years on wards dealing with her own symptoms, along with patients’. Long shifts and nights and nights of being on call had made her symptoms worse. When she’d finally realised she couldn’t do the job she loved, she’d picked the next best thing. Her role here was fifty-fifty. Fifty per cent researcher and fifty per cent doctor in a well-supported, controlled environment. It suited her. It let her be involved in research that could make a difference for millions of patients around the world—herself included.
Franc gave a little jolt. He waved his hand at the chaos that was his desk. ‘Oh, and we have a new doctor arriving. I’m supposed to pick them up at the airport.’
Cordelia winced and grabbed her notebook from her pocket. ‘Is it Geneva?’
He nodded. She had to check. They had staff flying in from all around the world, and they didn’t always arrive at the closest airport. ‘What’s the name?’
‘Jeanne DuBois. It sounds French but it’s American.’ Something must have flashed into his brain. ‘Oh.’
It was just the way he said it. ‘What?’ she questioned. ‘What’s “oh”?’
He pulled a face. ‘They’re supposed to stay with me. They were kind of a last-minute addition and hadn’t managed to sort out accommodation yet.’
Cordelia swallowed, then nodded her head appropriately. She gave a smile. ‘You’re turning into an old cat lady, Franc. Taking in every waif and stray.’
She shook her head. Her own apartment’s ceiling had collapsed last week after a neighbour upstairs had suffered a burst pipe. Franc had been gracious enough to let her stay in his own rambling mansion on the outskirts of Geneva. He often put up visiting researchers. Cordelia waved her hand. ‘Leave it with me. That probably makes things easier anyway. It means when I pick them up, I get to drive back home. Oops.’ She put her hand up to her mouth as she realised what she’d said.
But Franc just shook his head and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘My home is your home, Cordelia. It always will be. Here’s hoping they take more than a month to fix your ceiling.’ He closed his eyes for a second. ‘It could be that soon you’ll be the only family I have left.’
Her stomach flipped.