Brogan shook his head and let out a short, joyless laugh. Lung cancer. Fucking lung cancer, of all the shitty illnesses in the world. The irony wasn’t lost on him—nor, he knew, would it be lost on his enemies—that the great Brogan O’Donnell should be struck down with the very same disease that had crippled his Siberian workforce, and for which he had steadfastly refused to pay the treatment costs.
“I never smoked, you know,” he said, finally composing himself enough to resume his seat opposite the doctor’s desk. “Not even as a kid.”
The doctor shrugged. “Sometimes it happens that way. It doesn’t have to be something you did. Could be genetic. Could be just…random. I know that’s not very comforting.”
“So you’re certain they should operate?” said Brogan, cutting to the chase. “What about chemo?”
“You’ll have that too, afterwards. Look, Lennox’ll make the final assessment, not me. But if your primary tumor’s operable, and I’m ninety percent sure it is from the CAT scan, I know he’ll want to take it out as soon as possible.”
“Which is?”
“Wednesday,” said the doctor. “Theater’s already booked for nine a.m., pending Dubray’s findings this afternoon. They’ll need you in pre-op the night before.”
“Fine,” said Brogan brusquely, rising to go. “I’ll clear my schedule for the week.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to clear it for a lot longer than that, I’m afraid. Even if everything goes well, you’re going to be weak for some considerable time. Work is out of the question.”
Crunching his way along the icy sidewalks twenty minutes later, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his Burberry Prorsum overcoat, Brogan turned the words over in his mind: “You’re going to be weak.” He’d spent a lifetime fighting to be strong, to be the fittest, fastest, and best, in business and in every aspect of his life. He hated weak. He didn’t accept weak.
When Diana left him, this time last year, he’d felt weak. Like a shorn Samson railing at the heavens, the strength had poured out of him. He knew it wasn’t rational, but it was hard not to link this latest weakness, this cancer, to that earlier blow. As if, if he only had her with him, had her back, he could turn back the clock, drive this shitty tumor out of his body through sheer force of will. Or something.
Thank God Natalia wasn’t with him, he thought, turning the corner onto Lexington and walking aimlessly north. She’d offered to come with him to his appointment today—evidently her disaster radar was more accurate than his—but he’d brushed her off and was glad he had. Having to talk through his feelings with her, or anyone, was the last thing he wanted. In fact, he’d already begun to feel that the relationship had run its course. She was a stunning girl, smart, funny, not in the least bit clingy. Everything he professed to want, in fact. But he’d found the holidays depressing, cooped up in the apartment with her twenty-four/seven. They’d decided to stay in New York because Telluride brought back too many unhappy memories of Diana and last Christmas, but with hindsight that had been a mistake. At least in Colorado he could ski and get away on his own. Here he had no excuse not to “relax” at home, while she pranced around in her new red silk La Perla panties, miming to “Santa Baby” and getting happy on Cristal.
It should have been sexy, but it wasn’t; it was sad. Loneliness, and longing for his wife, sank over him like a cloud. And now this. Cancer. He could no more talk to Natalia about it than to a stranger on the subway. The one person he could talk to about it was gone.
Diana sat on a damp bench in Regent’s Park staring at a Mallard duck and his mate as they preened one another lovingly, huddling together against the cold.
I wish Danny would huddle together with me, she thought sadly, thinking of the arctic atmosphere back at the house in St. John’s Wood and looking at her watch. It was after eleven—he’d promised to meet her at ten this morning for a walk, as soon as he’d dropped Minty at his Auntie Bella’s place—but something must have happened. Obviously he wasn’t coming, not now.
The London Christmas she’d so looked forward to had turned out to be a crushing disappointment. Danny had warned her that his parents had reservations about him marrying outside his religion, but he hadn’t prepared her for the caustic levels of rejection doled out by Minty on a daily basis. Nothing Diana did or said was right. It was as if she were being held personally responsible for every wrong ever perpetrated by America, Christianity, and wealthy women generally, not to mention blamed for all of Danny’s present business troubles.
“He was doing so well last year, before he met you,” Minty sighed pointedly over Christmas lunch. “Now he can barely afford the plane fare home.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Ma,” said Danny, not looking up from his mountain of roast potatoes. “We’re fine.”
“You are not fine, Daniel. Tell him, Rudy,” she turned to her husband. “Jake told me you said your new apartment is an S-H-I-T hole. Said it wasn’t fit for rats and you were the most miserable you’ve ever been since you moved to New York.”
“Mum!” said Jake and Danny in unison.
“I never said that.” Danny turned placatingly to Diana. “I never said I was miserable.” But of course she knew he had.
“We’re going to move to something a lot better, Mrs. Meyer,” she offered meekly. “As soon as my divorce comes through.”
Minty gave a derisory snort. “Oh, of course you are. With your husband’s money, I suppose. The same husband who’s made it his business to try and ruin my boys this past year.”
“Ma, that’s enough,” said Jake. That was another thing that upset Diana—it always seemed to be Jake leaping to her defense, not Danny. Not that she wasn’t grateful for his support. But it was Danny she’d given everything up for, Danny whose child she was now carrying. He might have stuck his neck out on her behalf just once with his awful, poisonous mother.
Then, last night, they’d had a titanic fight because Diana, backed into another corner by Minty, had blurted out the news about her pregnancy, something she’d promised Danny she wouldn’t do on this trip. In the back of her mind, she’d hoped that perhaps a first grandchild might soften the old witch up, but no such luck. Minty was furious.
“A child? Unmarried? And with her still married to what’s-his-face? Are you out of your mind?” she screeched at Danny.
“I do have a name, you know,” said Diana quietly from her seat in the corner of the living room. But mother and son were too busy shouting at each other to notice.
“Lay off, Ma, for God’s sake. We will be married,” said Danny. “Soon.”
“Why? Because she’s pregnant?” sobbed Minty.
“No.” Danny clapped a hand to his throbbing head. “Not because she’s pregnant. Because we love each other. The baby was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” That was the last straw for Diana. “A mistake? How dare you!”
“Oh, look, you know what I mean. Not a mistake, an accident. It was an accident, all right?”
But Diana was far from all right.
“No child on this earth has ever been more wanted. By me, anyway. But it’s great to know how you feel so early in the pregnancy. A mistake. That’s just terrific, Danny.”
By the time he’d calmed her down, it was past eleven and they retired wearily to bed. Diana longed to make love, but Danny had been drinking all day—no one could accuse the Meyers of stinting on the wine at Christmas—and was far too mentally and physically exhausted to get it up. After a quick peck on the cheek he’d fallen immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep, snoring like a happy pig beside her as she tossed and turned with frustration. Then this morning he’d disappeared with his wretched mother at the crack of dawn—Diana had point-blank refused to join Minty’s sister for her annual post-holiday brunch—promising to meet her in the park by ten.
Standing up slowly, rubbing the minuscule bulge in her belly as she pulled her cardigan more tightly around her, she set off toward the zoo. She might as well walk by herself as sit he
re dying of hypothermia. Dr. Brennan, her gynecologist back in New York, was big on the importance of gentle exercise during pregnancy—that and lowering one’s stress levels. If only!
Just as she began crunching her way along the gravel path, she felt her phone buzzing to life in her jeans pocket.
“About time,” she muttered crossly, assuming it was Danny calling to apologize for standing her up. How she hated the way he jumped every time Minty said jump. Stabbing the answer button with a gloved finger, she did her best to sound nonchalant.
“What happened?” she said. “Where have you been?”
“Diana?”
She stopped walking, clutching the new life inside her even more tightly.
“Brogan? Is that you?” To her surprise she found her knees were shaking. Without thinking, she reached out a hand and leaned against an ancient oak tree for support.
“Yeah.” He sounded hesitant, as if he were on the point of hanging up. “How…er…how are you?”
“Fine,” Diana lied. She’d received a total of three calls from Brogan since she left, all of them rage-filled and threatening. At the time his anger had greatly upset her. But now she thought she preferred it to this strained civility. Her heart was pounding like a woodpecker on speed, whether from fear or guilt or surprise, she didn’t know. And yet was there a tiny, hidden part of her that was happy to hear his voice? “You?”
“Er, well…” Brogan laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle she hadn’t heard in a long time. “I’ve been better, I gotta tell you. They just told me I have cancer.”
Diana’s whole body weight sank into the tree.
“Oh my God, honey,” she whispered. After fifteen years, the endearments were a hard habit to break. “I’m so sorry. What—”
“What species?” Brogan interrupted. “Lung. So there’s karma for you.”
Diana was silent for a moment, unsure what to say.
“Have they talked to you about treatment options?” she stammered eventually.
“I literally just saw Doc Franks,” said Brogan. “Ten minutes ago. I’m still trying to take it in myself. He was talking about an operation to remove the tumor, then maybe chemo. I don’t know. I see the specialist tomorrow morning.”
Diana closed her eyes. She could hear the honking of New York traffic in the background, a sound that transported her instantly back home. So he’d only known for a matter of minutes? She must have been his first call.
“Have you talked to Natalia about this?” she heard herself asking. Not that she cared, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say. After all, they had been a couple for nearly a year now.
“No,” said Brogan gruffly. “It’s over with me and Natalia.”
“Oh,” said Diana, uselessly. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
Another long, painful silence fell. This time it was Brogan who broke it.
“I miss you.”
Diana’s head was spinning. She’d heard nothing but hate from Brogan for so long she’d forgotten he was ever capable of tenderness.
“Come home, Diana. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
“Please, Brogan, don’t. I can’t…” she began, her voice breaking.
“You can. Of course you can,” he pushed her. “Just get on a plane. I need you now, baby, more than ever. Whatever’s happened this past year, we can work it out. That son of a bitch can’t possibly love you as much as I do. He can’t; it’s not possible.”
“I’m pregnant.” The words were out of her mouth before she even knew she’d thought them. She could hear Brogan’s intake of breath on the other end of the line. Shit, how could she have told him now, like this? After he’d just phoned to tell her he had cancer, for God’s sake. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down.
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you,” she babbled. “It’s not important. I want to hear more about what Doctor Franks said.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” said Brogan gently. “I’m happy for you. How could I not be, after all we went through together? You’re going to make a fantastic, fantastic mother.”
She was so taken aback by this unexpected kindness, she burst into tears.
“What?” said Brogan. “What’s the matter? If one of us should be crying right now, I’m pretty sure it ain’t you.”
“I know,” Diana sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you being so sweet about it. I don’t know, maybe it’s my hormones. And London. Turns out I hate London. Who knew?”
Brogan laughed. “Me too! Most overrated fucking city in the world. Listen, honey.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. Suddenly he felt so close he could almost touch her. “I meant what I said about coming home, pregnant or not. Please. Just think about it.”
“Brogan,” she began. But the line had already gone dead.
Ten seconds later, the phone rang again. She picked it up instantly, but it was only Danny, sounding typically harassed.
“Please don’t have a go at me,” he began, inauspiciously. “I’ve had it up to here today already. The whole family’s been giving me grief about leaving Auntie Bella’s early, even bloody Jake. I couldn’t get away any sooner.”
“Brogan’s got lung cancer,” said Diana, breaking his flow.
“Has he? Well, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,” said Danny. After spending twenty of the last twenty-four hours being harangued by various of his loved ones, he wasn’t in the most compassionate of moods, especially toward the man who’d cut his business off at the knees and who was dragging his heels on the world’s most expensive divorce.
“Danny!” Diana sounded shocked. “That’s a terrible thing to say. He sounded so different on the phone. Really vulnerable and—”
“He called you?” The earlier irritation in his voice had been replaced by suspicion.
“Yes. Just now,” said Diana. “He was on his way home from the doctor’s office.”
“Look, I’m not being funny,” said Danny, “but I really don’t give a fuck where he was, or what he’s got. He shouldn’t be calling you. This is the man who rearranged your face last Christmas, remember? The man who’s done everything in his power to make our lives a misery. He didn’t care when those poor sods who work for him in Yakutia started dying like a warren full of myxie rabbits. But now he wants us to feel sorry for him?”
“I’m just telling you he called,” said Diana coolly. Of course she couldn’t expect Danny to be thrilled about it. But a little human sympathy didn’t seem that much to ask, under the circumstances. They had each other, and the baby. Brogan had nothing but a pile of money and his own loneliness and fear to go home to.
“Did you tell him about the baby?” asked Danny, still wary.
“I did, actually, yes,” said Diana.
“And?”
“And he was sweet about it. He said he thought I’d make a wonderful mother, which was big of him.”
“Oh yeah, huge,” said Danny snidely. “What is this, the Brogan O’Donnell fucking fan club?”
Diana bit back her irritation. All this fighting was bad for the baby. But surely Danny should be the one apologizing to her for his no-show, instead of trying to make her feel bad for taking a call from a man she’d been married to for half her life, and who might very well be about to die?
“Where are you now?” he asked, softening slightly. He hated fighting with her as much as she did. They seemed to have gotten into a horrible rut on this vacation.
“Still in the park,” she sighed. “It’s getting kinda cold, though.”
“Go to the nearest gate and I’ll pick you up in the car,” he said. “I’ll be there in five minutes, all right?”
“All right,” she nodded. “Danny?”
“What?”
“You do love me, don’t you? I mean, despite your mother and everything. You do still want me and the baby?”
“Of course I do,” he answered briskly. “What sort of a silly question is that?”
B
ut somehow, as she made her slow, pensive way toward the park gates, Diana wasn’t certain she believed him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WITH THE OSCARS just around the corner, January was the busiest month of the year for jewelers in Los Angeles, and from the moment she arrived back at Flawless, Scarlett’s feet barely touched the ground. All her grand plans for reviving Trade Fair were put on hold as she joined the last-minute scramble for celebrity endorsements, churning out exotic necklaces, bracelets, and earrings like a one-woman sweatshop.
“I’m not sure what part of this you aren’t getting,” Rachel Bilson’s agent, a toad of a man with a voice like Jack from Will & Grace, only minus all the charm, sneered at her down the phone. “Rachel’s dress was gonna be red. But now it’s gonna be green. So we need to see the exact same pendant with emeralds instead of the rubies. It’s not rocket science, sweetie.”
Scarlett tried to explain that, while not rocket science, it would necessitate crafting a second pendant entirely from scratch, a process that with the best will in the world could not be completed before the end of the week, never mind by the end of the afternoon, as the agent was demanding.
“It’s not like clicking a different color on Microsoft Paint,” she said patiently. “I don’t even have that many cut emeralds in stock. I’m afraid she’ll have to wait, at least for a few days.”
“No, honey,” snapped the toad. “She won’t have to do anything. Forget about it. We’ll try Neil Lane.”
In the end, thankfully, Rachel had called personally to tell Scarlett she’d be happy to wait and that she was still interested in buying the original ruby piece too. Like many young actresses, she was actually very sweet once you managed to pry her out of the grasping talons of her management. But close calls like these were enough to keep Scarlett in a permanent state of nervous tension.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Nancy, dressed for dancing in her new pair of red seventies flares and a silver top that tied above her midriff, poked her head around the corner of Scarlett’s room as she slaved over the finishing touches on a charm bracelet, dangling with scores of miniature Oscar statuettes. “At least have a bagel. You shouldn’t work so late on an empty stomach.”
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