Italian Doctor, Full-Time Father

by Dianne Drake

  No Catherine, either. And that was the biggest change of all in his life. He understood why she was having such a tough time with what he was doing. His sister jumped the gun on the announcement that he was returning to racing, giving it to the press before he’d made up his mind. Probably a little bit of Papa Marco’s persuasion, he suspected. But what that did was, essentially, to slap Catherine in the face with plans she knew nothing about. So he truly did understand her feelings over that.

  He apologized for that gaffe over and over, and believed she’d get over the hurt, and be agreeable. He never, ever considered that she would end the relationship all because he was thinking about racing again.

  But she hated racing, and she made that perfectly clear.

  Well, she’d made her choice, and after she’d ended their relationship, he’d made his, which was to stay in Italy to keep Gianni closer to the whole family. The boy needed all that support after what he’d been through and, to be honest, so did he. Especially with practically everything in his life going crazy.

  Dante did love racing, and he’d been good at it earlier in his life, which was why he ultimately made the decision to return to the sport. Years earlier there’d been reports of a bright future for him in it, yet he loved medicine, and leaving it behind, like he was doing with his plans and dreams for a life with Catherine, wasn’t easy. It was a sound choice based on his situation, though. Gianni needed the whole family structure around him, and the Baldassare team needed a Baldassare on the track to maintain its prestige in the racing world. The enterprise supported a lot of people, and at present he was the only Baldassare qualified to race. So the responsibility fell to him to be both father and race-car driver, and he took both of them seriously.

  It had been five years since all that emotional strife, and life was turning out to be pretty good. He had his racing, he had Gianni. And the Baldassare racing team was on top, right where they belonged.

  Except now he also had this wretched broken ankle being treated by Catherine, of all people, which was a bit of a hitch. He’d get over that, though. In a week or two he’d be back to normal. But in the meantime he could deal with Catherine. In fact, he looked forward to dealing with her. Maybe taunting her a little. Showing her what she’d given up. What she had tossed out of her life.

  Catherine…She did look well, didn’t she? Better than well, actually. He liked her hair longer, hanging to her shoulders the way it was now. It made her look…soft. Her curves were as good as ever, although he doubted she ever took off her white lab coat to show them off, which was a pity because she’d always been a feast for a man’s eyes.

  Her husband’s eyes now. Sobering thought. And from the look of the sobering little frown lines setting in around her eyes, he wondered if all that conjugal bliss wasn’t agreeing with her as well as it should.

  Dante glanced down, discovered he was still hanging onto the phone, and finally hung up. Then he gave the blankets a toss and scooted himself to the edge of the bed, fully intent on maneuvering himself into the wheelchair sitting right there waiting for him. It was time to get out of this suite and have a look around. Maybe find Catherine. And do what? He didn’t know. They’d had their final arguments years ago, and there was nothing more to say. Or was there? Maybe he just needed to prove a point, to let her know that he’d had a great life without her. A little get-even attitude popping up? He didn’t really think of himself as the vindictive sort, but maybe he was, at least where Catherine was concerned, as she’d had the very last word on the death of their relationship, leaving him with nothing to say.

  He chuckled. Maybe forcing her to be his doctor was the last word he’d been denied all those years ago.

  Only thing was, in his intention to go and see Catherine, the transfer from his bed to the wheel-chair turned into something a little more daunting than he’d thought, and once he’d managed to pull the chair up next to the bed, he really wasn’t sure he wanted to risk the move into it. Not without some stout help who would make sure he didn’t transfer himself straight to the floor and another ankle injury.

  Irritated with his incapacity, Dante dropped back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to get out of there. Wanted to get the hell out of there. Wanted to get away from Catherine, forget about her again, go back to his real life. Him and Gianni. And his family. No one else!

  “Going somewhere?” Catherine asked, stepping between the wheelchair and the bed.

  Dante opened his eyes slowly. “Is that meant to be funny?” he snapped. “You know damned well I can’t go anywhere.”

  “Another good mood, I see. Is that the way you’re going to act the whole time you’re here?”

  “Aren’t doctors supposed to be compassionate?” he cracked back. “Have a pleasant bedside manner?”

  “Ask yourself that question, Dante. You used to be one, didn’t you?” She dropped the clipboard holding Dante’s medical notes onto the table by the bed then moved the wheelchair closer.

  “Now what?” he grumbled.

  “X-ray. I want to see what I’ll be working with. Other than a grumpy patient.”

  He heaved an impatient sigh, one clearly meant to be heard. “Maybe I should have let that other doctor work on me. You know, the one who wanted an autograph for every member of his family—all seventy-seven of them.”

  Catherine laughed. That did sound like Friedrich. “He’s a fan,” she said, her voice finally softening. “Probably knows more about you than you do.”

  “Fans to do that.”

  “And you like having fans?” she asked. “I always thought you were a private person.”

  “Fans are a necessary part of the job.” He sat back up. “You can’t get away from it. You take a job where the public gets involved in some manner, and that’s what happens.” Then he looked at the wheelchair again. “Do you expect me to get into that all by myself?”

  She shook her head. “As much as it might do my heart good to see you fall flat on your face, I do have one of the physical therapists on his way to teach you how to do it on your own. You should have it down by this afternoon, then I’ll give you your daily schedule.”

  “My daily schedule?”

  “Therapy, regular exercise, meals. Times available to you for things like the hair salon, the spa…”

  “Excuse me, but I came here to recover from an accident, and to have therapy.”

  “Which is what will happen in due course.”

  “But all the other things…that’s wasting my time.”

  “Didn’t you read the brochures, Dante? We have a fully integrated treatment plan here. You know—mind, body, spirit.” Her mouth twisted into a devilish grin. “We’ll even do skin exfoliation if you need it.”

  “Except I don’t need my skin exfoliated,” he snapped. “Don’t need spiritual enlightening or anything else that’s not about my ankle. What I want, all I want, is to get myself over this, and get to the place where I can take care of myself at home. I’m not here on a holiday and, quite frankly, Catherine, I’m surprised you’d even subscribe to this kind of frou-frou medicine. Back in Boston—”

  “Back in Boston was another lifetime, Dante. Things change. People change. Relationships change.”

  “I thought you were a better doctor than that,” he retorted.

  “Once upon a time I thought you were better, too. But we all make mistakes.” She stepped aside as the therapist, Hans Bertschinger, came into the room, and she stayed there while Hans started the first instruction on how to get from the bed to the wheelchair. Watching Dante swing his good leg over the edge of the bed, Catherine noticed his hideous hospital gown creep up, and didn’t avert her eyes quickly enough to keep from seeing a generous portion of his leg and thigh. Nice, muscular. She did remember how he’d always been in good shape. Sexy, provocative body. She’d memorized every inch of it and never forgotten.

  Before the blush set in, she turned away. “Order him pajamas with pants from the gift boutique!” she instruct
ed Hans, then left the room. Once she was in the hall, she drew in a stiff, deep breath, hoping it would combat her wobbly legs, then she teetered her way back to her office.

  This wouldn’t do. These feelings, these memories…wouldn’t do at all. “Get Dr Aeberhard on the phone for me, will you?” she asked Marianne.

  Time for a holiday. She’d been here well over a year now, without a single day off. Surely Max would grant her a few days away. While he didn’t oversee the medical end of the clinic, he did still run the business aspects, and her taking a holiday was definitely a business aspect. But she needed a few days to go and hide somewhere, and figure out what to do. Figure out how to avoid Dante. How to avoid even thinking about him.

  “I know you haven’t had a day off, and it’s a very reasonable request. Just not right now, Catherine. I’m sorry. If you’d asked a month ago, or a week ago…” He shrugged. “You deserve the time off, and I don’t begrudge you a nice holiday, but Aeberhard Clinic needs you here at the moment.”

  Dr Max Aeberhard—jolly, plump, lots of white hair, white beard down his chest, walked with a slight limp, always a smile on his face. She adored the man, both as a friend and mentor. She’d called him, and he’d come running. He always did. In semi-retirement now, Max still took a few patients for consultation, as well as overseeing the business side. Of course, his version of semi-retired ran circles around most people’s version of full-time employed. The man loved his clinic, loved his patients, and he would never completely retire from any of it. It was as much a part of him as was that twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “Just a couple of days, Max. That’s all I need.” It was pointless arguing with him. Max was a kindly man, but once he set his mind to something, it couldn’t be budged. She wasn’t going to get her holiday. No time away from Dante, not even a few days to collect her wits. In fact, it was because of Dante that she had to stay.

  “Do you know how many enquiries I’ve had already regarding having Dante Baldassare as a patient here?”

  Not as many as she’d had. Worldwide sports journalists had been calling almost from the moment Dante had arrived. They wanted interviews, pictures. They wanted to know more about the clinic. At the very least, all the publicity was going to throw the clinic into the center of attention for a little while. She realized that. And didn’t want to be a part of it—not on Dante’s account, anyway. “We can ignore them. I’ve already instructed the staff not to mingle with anyone from the media, not to grant interviews, pose for pictures, get caught where any patient or clinic information might be revealed. And I’ve doubled security on the grounds. As far as I’m concerned, we’re braced for just about anything, and if there is a need to give an official statement to anyone, in all reality you should be the one. So everything’s taken care of and I truly don’t need to be here.” Good argument, but she wasn’t going to win it.

  Max chuckled, his beard bobbing up and down. “Maybe it’s taken care of, from your perspective anyway, but they won’t ignore us, Catherine. Mr Baldassare has a following all over the world, and all that’s come knocking on our door for the duration of his stay. The people outside aren’t going to be content to walk away without something. We’re small, and we need you here to make sure we keep our medical focus.”

  “Then maybe we should find him another clinic, one that’s better prepared to cope with his celebrity. The one in Toronto deals a lot with celebrities, doesn’t it? And they have a good reputation. I might even know the medical director…”

  “This isn’t like you, Catherine, backing down from a challenge. Even running away from it. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “I’d like to tell you that I’m tired, and I need a short holiday. But I suppose I needn’t bother.”

  “When he’s gone and things are back to normal, you can have all the time you need. Even enough for a trip back to the States to visit your family and friends, if that’s what you’d like to do. But right now I need you to deal with what’s happening here.”

  So she would stay. But when Dante was gone, would things really go back to normal, as Max thought they would? Or would their new-found celebrity status change matters? New recognition, more demand, maybe even the opportunity to expand as they’d talked about. Catherine wondered about all that for a moment, not unhappy about the prospects that Dante’s fame might bring. Perhaps him coming here might count for something after all. At least, that’s what she wanted to tell herself. “Fine, when he’s gone I’ll take my holiday. But I think that since he’s so famous, you should be the one assigned to his care. It’s your clinic, your reputation, your good name…”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to avoid the man.” He arched his bushy white eyebrows. “Eh?”

  “OK, so I used to know him. A long time ago. And I don’t think it’s good form to treat an old…acquaintance.”

  “Except your old acquaintance requested you specifically, so I’ve been told. I think we should honor his request, don’t you? After all, the goal of Aeberhard Clinic is to accommodate its guests.”

  “And I think we should maintain a professional appearance here and take me off his case. I’m not comfortable…”

  “Not comfortable giving the patient what he wants? Or needs?” Max shook his head and clucked his tongue. “This isn’t sounding at all like you, Catherine. Not at all. And don’t give me the excuse that you’re tired, because that’s not what this is about.”

  She liked Max. Actually, in the short time she’d known him, she’d come to love the man like a father. In fact, years ago, when she had still been a medical intern, she’d moved heaven and earth to get to one of his symposiums. Dr Maximilian Aeberhard had been the best rehabilitation specialist in the world, and the instant she’d learned he was coming to Boston she’d finagled a spot in to hear him lecture. doctors from all over North America had been there, and she, a lowly intern, hadn’t been granted admittance. So she’d volunteered to be an usher that day, to escort other doctors to their seats. In exchange, she’d tucked herself into a nook at the back of the lecture hall and listened to the most brilliant doctor she’d ever heard.

  Amazingly, she’d bumped into him in the elevator later on that day and, for whatever reason the gods had ordained, had been fortunate enough to take tea with him. Then they’d shared an evening meal at his invitation. The gods smiling on her again. After that she’d read everything he’d ever published, practically memorized every text he’d written, and eventually settled into a medical practice chocked full of Max Aeberhard teachings. Life had been good, she’d been advancing. All of a sudden, out of the blue, she’d received an invitation to come to Bern to be interviewed for a post at the Aeberhard Clinic.

  Naturally, chances like that didn’t come up every day. Didn’t happen in most lifetimes. In fact, she’d firmly convinced herself it was some kind of a mistake until the day Max’s secretary had called to confirm her appointment. Then she’d had to pinch herself over and over to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

  She’d come for that interview, of course, not even knowing or caring what kind of post it was. To be honest, she’d have been happy ironing his surgical scrubs, if that had been the position being offered, because it would have put her closer to the man she idolized. But as it had turned out, the post had been Max replacing himself as medical director in order to cut back on a few of his duties—a position for which she’d had absolutely no qualifications whatsoever. She’d walked away dejected and somewhat mystified that she’d received the invitation. By the time she’d returned to her room at the hotel, she’d convinced herself the invitation had been a mistake and Max’s interview merely a polite formality on the way to rejecting her. But then the phone call had come. He’d invited her to supper, and that’s when he’d made the offer.

  Since then she’d asked him at least a dozen times, why her? Why not someone with more experience, more administrative qualifications, someone already working at the clinic who was familiar with it
s procedures? Dr Rilke would have been brilliant! All she’d ever got out of him, though, had been that he preferred to keep his reasons to himself. So she’d never pursued it any further.

  Yet here she was. Medical Director of the Aeberhard Clinic. Living a dream. And the best part was that while Max had turned into a good-hearted mentor, he really did let her supervise the medical practice with almost no interference. It was still his clinic, though. No mistaking that. Otherwise she’d have written herself off the roster for a few days, made arrangements to be replaced, and gone away. Or, more like, run away.

  “Did you know that Dante is a surgeon?” Five years out of practice maybe, but that didn’t take away his license. He still had claim to the title and, somehow, she still had a hard time seeing Dante as anything but a surgeon. And a very good one at that.

  Max shook his head.

  “We were medical colleagues. Had some…differences. I’m not sure I can be objective in his care.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me about these differences?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing important.” To Dante, anyway.

  “Well, something suggests they weren’t professional. But I’m not going to pry into your affairs, Catherine.”

  She shot him a caustic glance, but didn’t reply. Didn’t have to. The grin concealed under that beard told the story. Wily old Max Aeberhard knew everything. Or had a keen suspicion. Damn it! She hated being so transparent. “So no holiday? And I don’t get to get off his case?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  Catherine thought about it for a moment, then frowned. “I’ll accept that. But if I come to you, Max, and tell you that for the good of my patient, or the clinic, or my own personal sanity, you absolutely need to pull me off Dante’s case and let someone else take over, I expect you to do that.”