Nothing probably. He was good at not answering.
Then she saw a young mother pushing a pram and she was instantly transfixed. She watched until they moved out of sight and then began to notice other prams and strollers with babies in the passing pedestrian tide—and toddlers, and girls and boys on their way home from school. She’d catch her breath from time to time, as though suddenly the sight of babies and young children left her breathless and spellbound. As if she were aware for the first time of the miracle of birth.
But a small panic also underlay her astonished wonder.
And a faint unsettling doubt washed over her in irresolute waves.
Jesus, what was she going to do with a baby?
That same afternoon, Dominic was surprised to get a call from Max well before their regularly scheduled time.
“I just wanted to let you know, Katherine went to Harley Street,” Max said.
“Yes, I already know.” GPS in action: map, street, address, name.
“She went to see a doctor.”
“Yes, I know. To get her contraception shot. It’s been three months.”
“She didn’t get her shot.”
Dominic shifted slightly in his desk chair and glanced at the clock in his Paris office as if on some subconscious level the time was significant. “You know that?”
“You wanted me to be thorough.”
“And? Cut the drama. If you have something to say, say it.”
“She’s pregnant.”
Dominic sat up like a shot. “Impossible.”
“Apparently, that’s what Katherine told the doctor.”
Dominic swore softly. “A fucking three percent chance? And the casino still wins? Jesus.”
“I didn’t know the odds, but the nurse mentioned it. I chatted her up. Nice older woman, two children, a new grandchild—”
“Christ,” Dominic muttered. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Fuck.” He slumped in his chair, shut his eyes.
“Katherine might decide she doesn’t want it.”
Dominic’s eyes snapped open and a collection of raw memory raced through his brain, images of Katherine fifty different ways. “I’m not sure that’s a solution,” he said, a brooding note in his voice.
“It might be for her.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dominic curtly replied. “Have a car waiting at Heathrow. I should be there in an hour, twenty.” Dominic was already punching numbers on his desk phone.
“Katherine’s still at work. You probably shouldn’t embarrass her there.”
“I’ll see the doctor first. George, file a flight plan for London. I’ll be at the plane in fifteen minutes.” Dominic slammed down the desk phone, came to his feet, and spoke into his cell. “Thanks, Max. Gotta go.”
TWENTY-NINE
The traffic from Heathrow had been an utter nightmare, so three hours later, Dominic was in Dr. Bryce Clifton’s personal office, his shoes leaving prints in the plush carpet as he crossed the large room. The paneled office was elegantly appointed, the eighteenth-century fireplace still in working order, a real Canaletto on the wall, antique furniture artfully placed to best show its lines. The doctor clearly made a very good living. Dominic almost asked, Is Amanda Parducci your patient? but he didn’t want to involve her. Katherine wouldn’t have found this man otherwise though. Clifton wasn’t the kind of doctor who advertised.
“Please, sit,” the doctor smoothly offered. Dominic’s name had granted him immediate access.
“Thank you.” Dominic chose the larger of two Sheraton armchairs placed before an impressive desk and sat.
Dr. Clifton took note of Dominic’s double-breasted, navy with white chalk stripes vicuna suit. “Anderson and Sheppard?”
Dominic flicked a quick glance downward. “The lapels always give it away, don’t they?” He’d worn the fifty-thousand-dollar suit for a reason. The world’s rarest and most expensive fabric was an indulgence for only the very wealthy. It was official notice of his status.
“Yes, indeed. A signature feature.” The doctor showed his perfect teeth in a polished smile; his hair implants were equally impeccable. “Now, how may I help you?”
Dominic returned the doctor’s smile. “You recently saw a Miss Katherine Hart. I’d like to know the particulars of her visit.”
“That’s impossible, of course. Patient confidentiality, you understand.” The doctor’s smile was still in place. He folded his hands on his immaculate desktop. “The law is quite clear, Mr. Knight.”
Dominic’s brows lowered marginally and his smile was only slightly less pleasant. “Spare me the lecture, Doctor. I know all that. But the matter is of some importance to me,” he noted gently, rather than hit the smug bastard.
“Then you should take it up with Miss Hart,” the doctor said irritably, unfamiliar with being countermanded.
“I intend to. But she’s back at work and she doesn’t like to be disturbed.” Dominic’s voice was exquisitely restrained. “I couldn’t help but notice your Canaletto,” he added, glancing at the beautifully framed and lighted painting. “The Horse Guards—isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The doctor immediately preened. “It was done when Canaletto was in England.”
“He has a way with light, doesn’t he? Atmospheric. You can almost feel the sun. I’ve seen another rendition, but not so fine a one as yours. Have you had it long?”
Then she saw a young mother pushing a pram and she was instantly transfixed. She watched until they moved out of sight and then began to notice other prams and strollers with babies in the passing pedestrian tide—and toddlers, and girls and boys on their way home from school. She’d catch her breath from time to time, as though suddenly the sight of babies and young children left her breathless and spellbound. As if she were aware for the first time of the miracle of birth.
But a small panic also underlay her astonished wonder.
And a faint unsettling doubt washed over her in irresolute waves.
Jesus, what was she going to do with a baby?
That same afternoon, Dominic was surprised to get a call from Max well before their regularly scheduled time.
“I just wanted to let you know, Katherine went to Harley Street,” Max said.
“Yes, I already know.” GPS in action: map, street, address, name.
“She went to see a doctor.”
“Yes, I know. To get her contraception shot. It’s been three months.”
“She didn’t get her shot.”
Dominic shifted slightly in his desk chair and glanced at the clock in his Paris office as if on some subconscious level the time was significant. “You know that?”
“You wanted me to be thorough.”
“And? Cut the drama. If you have something to say, say it.”
“She’s pregnant.”
Dominic sat up like a shot. “Impossible.”
“Apparently, that’s what Katherine told the doctor.”
Dominic swore softly. “A fucking three percent chance? And the casino still wins? Jesus.”
“I didn’t know the odds, but the nurse mentioned it. I chatted her up. Nice older woman, two children, a new grandchild—”
“Christ,” Dominic muttered. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Fuck.” He slumped in his chair, shut his eyes.
“Katherine might decide she doesn’t want it.”
Dominic’s eyes snapped open and a collection of raw memory raced through his brain, images of Katherine fifty different ways. “I’m not sure that’s a solution,” he said, a brooding note in his voice.
“It might be for her.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dominic curtly replied. “Have a car waiting at Heathrow. I should be there in an hour, twenty.” Dominic was already punching numbers on his desk phone.
“Katherine’s still at work. You probably shouldn’t embarrass her there.”
“I’ll see the doctor first. George, file a flight plan for London. I’ll be at the plane in fifteen minutes.” Dominic slammed down the desk phone, came to his feet, and spoke into his cell. “Thanks, Max. Gotta go.”
TWENTY-NINE
The traffic from Heathrow had been an utter nightmare, so three hours later, Dominic was in Dr. Bryce Clifton’s personal office, his shoes leaving prints in the plush carpet as he crossed the large room. The paneled office was elegantly appointed, the eighteenth-century fireplace still in working order, a real Canaletto on the wall, antique furniture artfully placed to best show its lines. The doctor clearly made a very good living. Dominic almost asked, Is Amanda Parducci your patient? but he didn’t want to involve her. Katherine wouldn’t have found this man otherwise though. Clifton wasn’t the kind of doctor who advertised.
“Please, sit,” the doctor smoothly offered. Dominic’s name had granted him immediate access.
“Thank you.” Dominic chose the larger of two Sheraton armchairs placed before an impressive desk and sat.
Dr. Clifton took note of Dominic’s double-breasted, navy with white chalk stripes vicuna suit. “Anderson and Sheppard?”
Dominic flicked a quick glance downward. “The lapels always give it away, don’t they?” He’d worn the fifty-thousand-dollar suit for a reason. The world’s rarest and most expensive fabric was an indulgence for only the very wealthy. It was official notice of his status.
“Yes, indeed. A signature feature.” The doctor showed his perfect teeth in a polished smile; his hair implants were equally impeccable. “Now, how may I help you?”
Dominic returned the doctor’s smile. “You recently saw a Miss Katherine Hart. I’d like to know the particulars of her visit.”
“That’s impossible, of course. Patient confidentiality, you understand.” The doctor’s smile was still in place. He folded his hands on his immaculate desktop. “The law is quite clear, Mr. Knight.”
Dominic’s brows lowered marginally and his smile was only slightly less pleasant. “Spare me the lecture, Doctor. I know all that. But the matter is of some importance to me,” he noted gently, rather than hit the smug bastard.
“Then you should take it up with Miss Hart,” the doctor said irritably, unfamiliar with being countermanded.
“I intend to. But she’s back at work and she doesn’t like to be disturbed.” Dominic’s voice was exquisitely restrained. “I couldn’t help but notice your Canaletto,” he added, glancing at the beautifully framed and lighted painting. “The Horse Guards—isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The doctor immediately preened. “It was done when Canaletto was in England.”
“He has a way with light, doesn’t he? Atmospheric. You can almost feel the sun. I’ve seen another rendition, but not so fine a one as yours. Have you had it long?”
