The Italian Doctor’s Mistress Read online

  “No,” she said. “I’d rather come with you. While you’re looking after your patient, I’ll spend time with my father.”

  This is why I abhor deceit, he thought wryly, realizing she’d painted him into a corner. Even with the best intentions, it inevitably traps the deceiver into more deception.

  “Carlo?” She was eyeing him curiously. “Why the indecision?”

  “I feel guilty for putting such an abrupt end to our lunch.”

  “Oh, rubbish!” she scoffed. “The matter’s settled, so let’s not stand here debating the issue. You’re needed at the hospital. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IF THEY hadn’t happened to arrive at the hospital to find various medical personnel in her father’s room, Carlo wouldn’t have left Danielle to wait in the visitors’ lounge. And if, having done that, he’d not left the lounge door ajar, she’d never have overheard the conversation taking place in the corridor outside. But both incidents did occur, and as a result, a day that had begun quietly, then brimmed with unexpected sweetness, turned sour.

  At first, Danielle didn’t pay much mind, partly because the men in question were speaking Italian, and also because they kept their voices reasonably low. But the repeated mention of Carlo’s name eventually caught her attention, especially when it was mentioned in conjunction with la donna americana, and Il Ristorante Lorenzo.

  Perturbed, she hobbled across the room and popped her head around the door. Not ten feet away, three interns stood at a water cooler, and one of them she instantly recognized as the young man she’d noticed sitting behind her and Carlo at lunch.

  Now wearing hospital greens like his colleagues, he was regaling them with an account that left them sniggering, and once again, Danielle didn’t need an interpreter to tell her why. What she and Carlo had fondly believed to be a discreet rendezvous, had been witnessed down to the last detail, and was already being planted on the hospital grapevine.

  How many people would hear the story by evening, and how much it would be embellished in the telling, made her shudder. She’d had enough of being made to look a fool, but more than that, she cared a great deal that Carlo should be made a laughingstock also.

  That that would happen, Danielle had little doubt. Zarah Brunelli had made specific reference to just such a development, during her Saturday night tirade.

  You have no right, she’d declared, to prey upon Dr. Rossi’s sensibilities. He cannot afford the complications you bring to his life. By staying here, you compromise his integrity. It is a well-established rule in our hospital that, under no circumstances, do staff members engage in personal relationships with patients.

  Offended by the woman’s presumption, Danielle had replied, Carlo’s a grown man. I hardly think he needs you or anyone else to intercede on his behalf.

  But, You know nothing about him, Zarah had snapped. If you did, you’d be well aware that he serves his own interests last. You take advantage of his generosity and care nothing for what it might cost him.

  The truth of her words now came home to roost with a disturbing vengeance. Utterly mortified, Danielle’s first reaction was to slink back into the lounge and ignore the unpleasant scene being played out in the hall. Hers, though, was not the name others would remember a month from now. Carlo was the one who’d pay the price.

  She might not be able to reverse the damage already done, she realized, but at the very least, she had an obligation to try to contain it. Bolstered by a surge of righteous indignation, she stepped into full view of the men, shook her cane at them, and fixed them in a glare that effectively wiped the smirks off their faces.

  “Do you speak English?” she inquired icily.

  “Si, signorina,” one of them stammered. “A little.”

  Limping closer, she pointedly took note of the name on his ID badge. “I’m so glad, Dr. Puddu,” she said, then turned her attention to the other two. “What about you?”

  “The same,” the one she identified as Dr. Esposito admitted, while the third, who’d been doing all the talking before she made her presence known, nodded and looked anywhere but at her.

  “Why so silent suddenly, Dr. Gallo?” she snapped. “You weren’t at a loss for words a moment ago. It surely can’t be the sight of me wielding a cane that’s scared you spitless?”

  “No, signorina,” he babbled. “Indeed we all wish you speed in recovery. To have suffered such an unfortunate accident…” He threw up his hands and lapsed into Italian.

  He was young, as were they all. Probably still in their early twenties, and just starting out in their field. But of the three, his discomfiture was so acute that Danielle felt almost sorry for him. Not enough, though, to let him off the hook.

  “I take it you know who I am, Dr. Gallo?”

  “Si, signorina,” he mumbled, his face scarlet. “You are the Signorina Blake.”

  “And you’re equally aware that I’m well acquainted with Dr. Rossi. What do you suppose his reaction would be, if I were to tell him what I just overheard, or worse, insisted you repeat to him, word for word, what you were so eager to impart to your colleagues?”

  The poor kid turned quite gray, and the other two didn’t look much better. Either there was no Italian equivalent of the old expression, Never let them see you sweat, or, if there was, they’d never heard it.

  “You understood every word?” Gallo asked, forcing the question past his bobbing Adam’s apple.

  “Enough, certainly, to create a great deal of trouble for you and your friends.”

  The collective reaction to her threat—the nervous clearing of throats, the appalled exchange of glances—gave her pause. Young Dr. Gallo was not the only one at fault. He might have fired the gossip cannon, but she and Carlo were the ones who’d supplied the ammunition.

  Wanting to be fair, she considered a moment, then said, “I suggest you go about your business, as I intend to go about mine.” She fixed Gallo in a blistering stare. “But if I hear that so much as a whisper of your gossip spreads any farther, I’ll know who to blame, won’t I?”

  “It will not occur,” he promised.

  “Then we’ll consider the matter closed, shall we?”

  The relief of all three was so palpable, she thought for a minute that they might fall down and kiss her feet. Instead, with many a fervent Certamente, signorina! Grazie, signorina! they hurried away to their duties. And not a moment too soon. Barely had they disappeared down the corridor than Carlo arrived, and one look at his face told her that more urgent matters were afoot than the tongue-wagging of three young interns.

  “I have news, Danielle,” Carlo said. “There are signs that your father’s condition is changing.”

  Her heart plummeted so abruptly that she’d have toppled over if he hadn’t been there to steady her. “Ch…changing how?” she faltered.

  “He has opened his eyes briefly, a number of times,” he said, guiding her back into the lounge.

  “But…isn’t that good news?”

  He sat down next to her on the couch and clasped her hands between his. “It’s remarkable, given that he’s been comatose for less than four weeks, and I’m cautiously optimistic that we’ll see further indications of improvement. But I don’t want to raise your hopes, only to have to dash them again. There are degrees of improvement, cara. For some patients, it’s eventually total. For others, it never progresses beyond a certain point.”

  “You mean, the most my father might ever achieve is opening his eyes?”

  “That’s one end of the spectrum. The other is that he’ll make a full recovery. But the gray area in between is where the uncertainty lies.”

  “What are you really saying, Carlo?”

  He tightened his grip, as though to sustain her for the worst. “The day we met, I explained the possibility that your father’s primary injury might result in secondary permanent paralysis. You need to be prepared for that, Danielle, because should it prove to be the eventual outcome, he won’t accept it easily.”
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br />   “Well, no! What man would?”

  “Very few,” Carlo admitted. “And that’s the point I’m trying to make. He might well take out his frustration on you. I’ve seen it happen many times where the patient punishes those closest to him by rejecting them.”

  “I’ve survived my father’s rejection before. I can do it again, if I have to. When can I see him?”

  “I’ll take you to him now.” He offered his arm for support and led her into the corridor. “By the way, what were you doing out here, just now?”

  “Stretching my legs,” she said airily.

  “What if you’d fallen, and done more damage to yourself?”

  “But I didn’t. The cane helps tremendously. In fact, I believe my ankle’s on the mend. It’s not quite as painful as it was yesterday.”

  “I’ll have the final say on that, Danielle. When you’re done visiting your father, I’ll give the ankle a thorough examination, and check your ribs again while I’m at it.”

  Check, as in subject her to his touch and, after Saturday night, expect her to sit there as if she were made of stone? She should let him trace his fingers deftly up her rib cage, and not quiver with pleasure when they happened to brush the underside of her breast? Should remain coolly immune as he cradled her foot and ran his hands up her calf, when every inch of her hummed with a tactile need so intense she wanted to scream?

  He was out of his mind!

  “Here we are,” he said calmly, swinging open the doors to the ICU wing. “Don’t expect too much, cara. Although you may not immediately notice a difference in your father, there has been a change.”

  It was as well he’d warned her what to expect. At first glance, her father seemed exactly as he was the last time she’d visited. But on closer inspection, she saw that his eyelids flickered as if he was dreaming.

  “Talk to him,” Carlo suggested quietly. “Call him by name, let him know you’re at his side. It’s entirely possible that he hears, even though he seems not to respond.”

  She searched for something meaningful to say. Had it been her mother lying there, she’d have had no difficulty pouring out her love and concern. No problem leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek. The words, the touches, would have flowed without effort. But her father…?

  Inching close to the bed, she said awkwardly, “It’s Danielle, Father. How are you feeling?”

  Shockingly his eyes opened, and it seemed to her they blazed with a scorn that suggested only a congenital idiot would ask such an inane question of a man hooked up to so many machines that he was stripped of all dignity. If he’d been able to speak, she had no doubt he’d have barked, How the devil do you think I feel, you fool?

  Painfully aware that she was making a complete mess of things, she looked to Carlo for help. And he, exactly sensing her unease, pressed her shoulder comfortingly and murmured, “Don’t be discouraged, Danielle. Just keep talking about everyday things—the weather, what you’ve been doing, where you went for lunch. Anything at all, no matter how trivial it might seem. I’ll be right outside, if you need me.”

  She watched as the door swished shut behind him, then turned again to her father. For all that they’d never been close the way most parents and children were, his slow blink this time expressed such despair that her heart bled for him.

  “I’m glad I’m here,” she said, taking his hand. “I’ll stay as long as you need me. Mom would want that.”

  Mention of her mother provoked another blink, then another, and she thought that, fleetingly, his fingers tightened a little around hers. But then, as though the effort of listening to her halting words had exhausted him, he closed his eyes and his hand lay limp in hers.

  “I’m sorry you’re laid up, Father,” she whispered. “I know how much you must be hating it. But you’ve never been one to give in without a fight, and you’ll win this battle, too.” She leaned over and kissed his sunken cheek. “I’ll leave you to rest now, but I’ll come back again tomorrow and bring you some recordings of your favorite operas.”

  Carlo had witnessed many a tragedy in his time, but none quite as pitiful as that being played out in Alan Blake’s room. Danielle was an intelligent, articulate woman. That she found it so difficult to communicate with her father bore out what she’d said about their relationship. There was no connection between them. They were not in tune.

  How lonely her growing years must have been, and what joy Alan Blake had missed by refusing to involve himself with his only child. Carlo could not conceive of such a state of affairs. Since he’d lost Karina, everything he was, everything he did, was for Anita. She was the sunshine of his days, the stars in his night, and without rival in his heart—until Danielle came into his life.

  The woman he’d initially dismissed as having nothing behind her beautiful face but a heart of stone, had let him see the scars inside. Had shown the soft, tender part of her soul that she tried so hard, and so unsuccessfully, to hide. And in doing so, she’d captivated him in a way none of the women he’d known since Karina had ever managed to do.

  Those others had been but a diversion, a brief and pleasant interlude whose names and willing bodies merged into a faceless blur of unremarkable memories easily pushed aside in the pressing urgency of his work. But Danielle, whom he’d known less than a month, crept into his dreams and occupied altogether too many of his waking moments.

  She brought to the fore the primitive male in him. He wanted to slay all her dragons. Stand between her and anything that threatened her peace of mind. Why else was he peering furtively between the slats of the blind covering the observation window into her father’s room, poised to rush to her rescue if visiting him became more of an ordeal than she could handle?

  She was a grown woman, for pity’s sake, and well used to looking out for herself. Intellectually, he knew that however cruelly Alan Blake had treated her in the past, he was powerless to hurt her now. Yet a wave of relief washed over Carlo when he saw her turn away from the bed and head toward the door.

  Instead of coming to where Carlo waited for her, though, she stopped just outside her father’s room, grasped the handrail, and pressed her forehead to the wall in an attitude of such profound sadness that it was all Carlo could do to maintain a professional front. But he had a position to uphold; an example to set, and was very much aware of the covert glances directed at him by the staff on duty. His interest in Danielle had not gone unnoticed. At the very least, he was obliged to abide by the standards he imposed on others.

  Balling his fists in impotent frustration, he fought the urge to go to her, to take her face between his hands and kiss her sweet mouth. To sweep her in his arms, and carry her away from this too-public arena, to a place where he didn’t have to worry about prying eyes, and could concentrate solely on her.

  He didn’t realize Zarah had been among those observing him until she sidled up to and, under pretext of examining a chart, said in a low voice, “Don’t be taken in by that little performance, Carlo. Your Miss Blake isn’t nearly as fragile as she looks. She’s fully aware of the tragic picture she paints, and isn’t above using it to her advantage.”

  “What are you suggesting?” he asked, disguising his resentment at her remark with hard-won calm. “That she’s unaffected by her father’s condition, or that her injuries aren’t real?”

  “Oh, she plays the role of devoted daughter well enough now that she’s here, but we both know how long she waited before bothering to fly to his bedside. As for her injuries, she might have twisted her ankle and sustained a few bruises, but she no more needs to be hopping pitifully around on a cane than do you or I. It does add just the right touch of drama, though, doesn’t it?”

  Cold with hidden fury, he said, “Such a lack of compassion hardly becomes you, Doctor.”

  “I am as capable of compassion as you, Carlo,” she shot back. “The difference between us is, I reserve mine for those who need it. I’m telling you frankly, that woman is milking her situation for everything it’s wort
h and you…!” She drew in an irate breath. “You have to know you’re walking a very fine ethical line in catering to her. Everyone in this hospital sees it. The talk is spreading like wildfire.”

  “We’ve already had this discussion once, Zarah, and I’m no more inclined to justify my actions now than I was the first time you brought it up,” he said brusquely. “In saving my child’s life, Danielle Blake put her own in jeopardy. I owe her an enormous debt of gratitude.”

  “I don’t disagree, but there are other ways of showing it than those you choose to employ.”

  Noticing that Danielle had recovered her composure sufficiently to make her way back to the visitors’ lounge, but was encountering difficulty with the wide swing doors separating ICU from the rest of the hospital, he said, “Take another look at her, Doctor. Notice how, even ‘hopping pitifully around on a cane,’ as you so charitably put it, she presses her free hand to her bruised ribs. I should leave her to fend for herself, knowing as I do that she has neither friends nor family close by to help her recover from injuries which, contrary to what you imply, have been verified through X-ray and impartial examination by well-qualified doctors on my staff? I think not!”

  With open disgust, Zarah slapped closed the chart she carried. “Clearly I am wasting my breath.”

  “Not to mention your time, Doctor,” he snapped. “That being so, I suggest you devote it to the patients most in need of it, instead of frittering it away on matters that are none of your concern.”

  She regarded him from wounded brown eyes. “In all the years we have worked together, you have never spoken to me so harshly or with such disrespect. In a matter of mere days, you have allowed a woman you scarcely know to turn you against me. She has bewitched you, Dr. Rossi!”

  Perhaps she had. If so, he was finding it an exhilarating experience, one he was not yet ready to end, not by a long shot. “I’m done here for today,” he told the ICU head nurse, and set off down the hall in search of Danielle.