Being Elizabeth (37 page)

‘All right, and I'll come with you. I have to phone Gary, the car's parked somewhere near here.' He stood up, helped Anka out from the banquette, and stared at Elizabeth. ‘I won't be a moment, darling.'

‘I'm fine, I'm not going to die on you, Robin.'

Dr Andrew Smolenski, having been told by Anka Palitz on the phone that Elizabeth Turner was obviously very ill, understood that this was an emergency. The moment they arrived at his office he saw them at once. Even as Anka was making the introductions Elizabeth started to cough, and Dr Smolenski was instantly alarmed.

Once she had calmed herself, he said, ‘How long have you had this cough, Miss Turner?'

‘Since last week …' She stopped, shaking her head, passed a hand over her face. ‘Sorry, I feel a bit lethargic.'

Robin cut in, swiftly explained, ‘We arrived in New York last Friday, the twentieth, Dr Smolenski. Elizabeth had a really bad cold when we left London. But the cough only developed once we were here, over the weekend actually.'

‘I understand.' The doctor made a few notations on a pad, and then addressed Elizabeth again. ‘When you take a deep breath do you have a pain in your chest?'

Elizabeth nodded.

‘Do you have sputum?' Are you spitting anything up?'

‘This morning, rather early, but not much.'

Rising, he walked around his desk. ‘I must examine you, Miss Turner. Please come in here.' As he spoke he opened the door
to an examination room, adding, ‘Please take off your coat and dress. My nurse will come in to help you.'

Elizabeth got up, walked across the floor, and Dr Smolenski ushered her inside, leaving her alone. Then the nurse entered from another door, smiled and said, ‘It's just a routine examination, Miss Turner, don't worry. Put on this robe when you've undressed.'

A moment or two later the doctor came in and began his examination. He took her temperature, felt her pulse, listening to her chest through his stethoscope, and checked her blood oxygen level. When he had finished, he nodded and said, ‘Please get dressed, Miss Turner, and come back to my office.' Once he had left, the nurse returned to help her put on her clothes.

When she went into his private office, the doctor was talking to Anka and Robin, his face serious. ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Turner,' he said. ‘You have a temperature of 101.2 and a thready, rather rapid pulse. You also have an elevated respiratory rate, and a blood oxygen level of eighty-four per cent. I believe your lungs are not taking in enough oxygen. Mr Dunley just asked me if you had bronchitis, and I told him you don't. However, I believe you
do
have pneumonia, and I want you to go to the emergency room at the hospital immediately. For more tests.'

‘Oh,' she said, staring at him, looking startled.

‘I'll make all the arrangements,' the doctor announced in a firm voice, one which forbade argument.

Elizabeth underwent a number of tests in the emergency room of New York Cornell Hospital. A diagnosis was arrived at fairly quickly after a chest x-ray and routine blood work had been done. She had pneumonia and the symptoms were severe.

Dr Melanie Roland, the doctor who had been assigned to do the tests, came into the small examination room where Elizabeth
sat with Robert and Anka to explain the situation. ‘We want to admit you to the hospital at once, for twenty-four hours,' the doctor explained. ‘You'll be in a non-ICU bed, and we'll start you on some antibiotics while we await the results of the cultures we've taken.'

‘I don't want to stay in the hospital, not even overnight,' Elizabeth protested, glancing at Robert.

‘It would be the wisest thing for you to do, Miss Turner,' Dr Roland told her. ‘Your symptoms are quite severe. You
do
have pneumonia, you know.'

Robert went to Elizabeth, put his arm around her. ‘It's just for one night,' he murmured soothingly. ‘I'll go to the hotel and get a few things you'll need, and come back to be with you.' He glanced at Dr Roland. ‘I can stay with her for a few hours or so, can't I?'

Dr Roland had been about to refuse this request, but instead she nodded, gave him a warm smile. ‘Of course, Mr Dunley.'

‘And you
can
arrange for a private room for Miss Turner, can't you, Doctor?' he asked.

‘I'll attend to it immediately.'

Anka said, ‘I'll stay with you until Robert returns, Elizabeth.'

‘Thank you, Anka, I'd be grateful for that.'

The following morning Robert went back to the hospital to discover that Elizabeth had been moved from the private room. She was now in the ICU, with tubes in her and was on mechanical ventilation. ‘What on earth has happened?' he asked Dr Roland, who had taken him into the ICU to see Elizabeth, but only for a moment.

The doctor led him back into the corridor. Once they were outside, she said, ‘She's sedated and it's best she is.' Then she sat down with him on a nearby bench, and explained, ‘During
the night she became very feverish, her oxygen requirements went up, and so far she's shown no response at all to the antibiotics.'

Robert, gripped by anxiety, nevertheless managed to stay calm. He asked, ‘What about the cultures you took? What have they told you?'

‘I'm still awaiting those results, Mr Dunley. In the meantime, I've put Miss Turner on different antibiotics, hoping we'll get some better results. But I have to inform you that this
is
a most critical stage.'

‘But why? What's happened?'

‘I think the pneumonia has really grabbed her, and the medicine hasn't worked. So far. We're hoping the new antibiotics will do the trick. I'm sure they will,' she reassured him, aware of his enormous concern.

Robert rubbed a hand over his face, and took a deep breath. ‘People can die from pneumonia … Elizabeth's not going to die, is she?'

‘As I just told you, Mr Dunley, this
is
a critical stage, but we're going to do our best to pull Miss Turner through. And once we have the results of the cultures, we will certainly know more.'

‘Shall I stay here, wait until she wakes up?' he asked, sounding desperate.

‘I honestly don't think you should. She may be out of it for hours. In fact, I'm hoping she will be.'

‘I understand,' he said. ‘And thank you, Dr Roland.'

O
ver the next several days Elizabeth's situation remained critical and tenuous, and Robert was frantic with worry and totally at a loss. He longed to do something to help her but there was nothing he
could
do. He was not a doctor, and he was smart enough to understand she was in the best of hands. Dr Smolenski was on the case, and kept him informed of her progress, and he had great trust in Melanie Roland. He had known from the moment he met her in the ER that she was a dedicated doctor.

He went to the hospital twice every day and looked in on Elizabeth, then crept away. He knew that all he could do was wait. And pray. He prayed a lot. And he spoke a lot to London. Cecil was as devastated and anxiety-ridden as he was, and was on the verge of getting on the next plane to New York. ‘Wait another day, until the cultures come back,' Robert had insisted. But when they finally did come back and he heard the results he was filled with dismay. Dr Roland told him that Elizabeth was positive for one of the rarest forms of pneumonia, and one which had a high death rate.

‘Oh, my God, no! Can't you save her?'

‘Yes, we can,' Melanie Roland reassured him. But she wasn't sure that they could.

Elizabeth lay in the ICU, her eyes closed, face impassive.

Robert stared down at her, loving her so much, unable to do one single thing for her. He turned away from the bed and left, a prayer on his lips. She had to live. She must. What would he do without her?

I am dying. I feel sure of that. I don't want to die. I'm only
twenty-nine years old. I would like to live a little longer. For
Robin's sake. Oh, my God! ROBIN. What will happen to him
if I die? He needs me. So I must live. But what if I don't? I
must fight this deadly disease. But if I should die he will be
vulnerable. I can't leave him like that, so terribly exposed. I
must protect him. How can I do that? I must ensure that he has
a solid place at Deravenels. The best position. Yes, position and
wealth. That's what I have to ensure he has. I need Cecil Williams
here. He has to come. I need Cecil, and witnesses, and lawyers.
I need to add a codicil to my will
.

A day later Cecil Williams arrived in New York. ‘I do wish you had let me come before this,' Cecil said, staring hard at Robert across the breakfast table in the restaurant of the Carlyle. ‘I've been worried to death about Elizabeth, and I still am.'

‘I know you were.
And are
. But there's nothing either of us can do. It's up to the doctors, not us.'

‘How is she
really
, Robert?' Cecil's light grey eyes were troubled.

‘A little better. She's finally been transferred to another unit, she's no longer in the ICU, and she's being weaned off the mechanical ventilator, but she's not out of the woods yet.'

‘Why not?' Cecil asked, his voice turning more sombre than ever.

‘There's always the possibility of a relapse at this stage. But let's not dwell on that. Let's hope she gets better, not worse.'

Cecil placed his napkin on the table, and pushed back his chair. ‘I'm ready to go to the hospital, if you are.'

‘Then let's go. She'll be thrilled to see you, Cecil,' Robert said, leaving the restaurant with his friend and colleague.

It was pleasant weather, even though it was November; they walked to the end of the street and managed to hail a cab on Madison Avenue. Robert gave the driver the address of New York Cornell Hospital, sat back on the seat, and said, ‘She's lost weight, and she's paler than ever, so don't be shocked when you see her.'

‘I won't, I promise,' Cecil said, but he was when he finally saw her. Elizabeth was gaunt, for one thing, and her face was the whitest he had ever seen it.

He hurried over to the bed, bent down and kissed her cheek, and she took his hand and squeezed it, and the smile reflected in her dark eyes instantly cheered him up. ‘I came as soon as Robert would let me. He's been very difficult.'

Moving the oxygen mask she was wearing, Elizabeth said, ‘I know. And he was right. I was out of it for a bit. You would have been bored silly, waiting around.'

Robert joined them, gave Elizabeth a kiss, and pulled over a chair for Cecil, went to fetch another one for himself.

Cecil talked to her for a while, mostly about Deravenels, filling her in about a variety of things, and she listened attentively, nodding from time to time.

Watching her keenly, attuned as usual to her every mood, Robert soon noticed that she was beginning to tire. Touching
her arm he said, ‘I think we'd better go, let you rest now. We'll come back and see you again later today.'

Elizabeth nodded, then pulled the mask away. ‘I have to speak to Cecil, Robin. Could you give us a moment?'

‘No problem,' he answered, and kissed her again. If he was surprised he did not show it. He simply strode out of the room, giving her the privacy she obviously needed.

‘What is it, Elizabeth?' Cecil asked, leaning closer. ‘Is there something important you need to say?'

She nodded, and took off the mask. ‘If anything happens to me, if I don't recover, I want Robert Dunley to be made managing director of Deravenels in my place. Promise me you'll see to it.'

‘But I can't, Elizabeth! As much as I want to please you. Don't forget, you would have to have the rules of the company changed in order for that to happen. You see, he's not a Deravenel, and only a Deravenel can be managing director.'

‘Then let's change the rules.' She quickly put the mask back on her face, suddenly needing the oxygen.

‘There would have to be a board meeting for that.'

‘Then let's think of another title. Administrator maybe, like Edward Selmere was for young Edward.' She slipped the mask in place again, and leaned forward, grasping Cecil's arm. After a moment, she moved the mask and said, ‘I want him to head the company if I die. We must do it now, Cecil. Please. Because I might die, you know.'

‘I'll do what I can,' he promised, and then gently made her lean back against the pillows, adjusted the oxygen mask for her, and went to fetch Robert so they could say goodbye, let her rest.

Much to everyone's relief and delight, Elizabeth Turner came out of the hospital exactly three weeks after being placed in the ICU. She looked thinner than ever, frail, even debilitated, but
she had recovered from the rare type of pneumonia which had been a brutal assault on her system and had almost killed her.

‘But here I am, alive and well,' she exclaimed, settling on the sofa in the sitting room of their suite at the Carlyle. ‘And thank you for being there for me.' She smiled up at Robert, and at Anka Palitz, then patted the seat next to her. ‘Come and sit here, Cecil,' she said, her affection for him echoing in her voice. ‘I'm so happy you're here. Now, shall we order afternoon tea? That's what
I
feel like anyway.'

The others agreed, and Robert went to order afternoon tea for four; Anka excused herself, going in search of her handbag, wanting to retrieve the documents she had brought back for Elizabeth. Cecil drew closer to her, and said, ‘I didn't want to go to the lawyers Deravenels use, Elizabeth. So I've arranged for a separate law firm to represent you, regarding Robert being named Administrator, if that becomes necessary.' He spoke in a confident tone, using this moment they were alone to fill her in. ‘You must give me a date for a meeting with them.'

Elizabeth looked suddenly thoughtful, stared off into the distance, and then she answered softly, ‘I think I prefer to change the rules of the company, Cecil, so that Robin could become managing director if I die. When I get my strength back, and we return to London, I'll call a special board meeting. I'm sure there won't be a problem, the board will do what I want.'

Cecil was not so sure she was right about this, but nodded his acquiescence.

Although Robert Dunley had finally relaxed, filled with relief that Elizabeth had made such a good recovery, he was, nevertheless, vigilant about her health and well-being. He had been so frightened, terrified really, by her brush with death he insisted that she slow down.

Once Dr Smolenski said she could travel, they had flown to California to spend Thanksgiving with friends. He had wanted her to recuperate in the warm weather and in a relaxed environment. And even when they returned to London in time for Christmas, he was a hard taskmaster. He created a schedule and she had had no alternative but to stick to it … After all, they did live together and he monitored her all the time. He insisted she keep more normal hours at Deravenels, made sure she ate properly, and forced her to take weekends off.

The regime worked eventually, and as 2001 drew to a close she was finally coming into her own again. It had taken her a whole year, but she was suddenly full of her old vitality and energy.

‘I'm back to being Elizabeth,' she said to Robert one morning in December of 2001, going into his office adjoining hers. ‘The old Elizabeth, I mean.' She hovered in the doorway, smiling at him, her expression flirtatious.