“Swallow your pills,” she said.
“Sorry, no can do,” I replied, looking at her sternly. “I want to see my father and I want to see him now.”
Surprised, she took a step back as if I might leap from the bed and pummel her.
Instead, I sat up straighter, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Listen. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I just want to be re-evaluated … by someone other than Dr. Conway. Is that too much to ask?”
The nurse eyed me critically. “All right,” she finally said. “Will one of the residents do?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s got to be someone neutral. How about Dr. Williams?”
The nurse was about to respond when the door burst open and my father entered the room.
“I’m taking Katherine out of here right now!” he yelled. “Kate, you’re going down to the Medical Unit. You can stay there tonight. Tomorrow, I’m sending you to New York.”
I looked at him, aghast. “New York?”
“Yes, to your aunt’s. She’ll be taking over your care.”
I started to protest but he raised his hand to stop me. “Those pills you gave Dr. Rampling may have contributed to your instability here on the ward, but we still don’t know what happened to you in the operating room. You may be suffering from some psychiatric issues that will have to be evaluated before you can come back to work. Hephzibah will be able to get to the bottom of this.”
I could tell by the expression on my father’s face that he would brook no dissent so I nodded glumly and allowed myself to be helped to the waiting wheelchair. Therapy with Hephzibah, better known as Aunt Hettie, would be infinitely better than incarceration at Riverside.
As they wheeled me out of the room, a very distressed Dr. Conway came striding down the hall.
“Hamilton,” he stuttered. “What are you doing with my patient?”
My father stepped directly into Conway’s path.
“She’s no longer your patient. I want you in my office at four o’clock. And, be prepared to explain why you were dosing her with experimental drugs. Good day, Dr. Conway.”
Once I was safely admitted to a bed on the medical ward, I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief, thanking God I was out of that creep, Conway’s, clutches. Now, all I had to worry about was this new idea of my dad’s – shipping me off to New York in the care of my aunt.
Hephzibah Pomeroy was my father’s sister. My grandmother, a biblical scholar, had named my dad, her firstborn, “Ham,” meaning “Son of Noah.” My aunt, who came along five years later, was named “Hephzibah” or “my delight is in her.” Tired of being called “green eggs and Ham,” and other such nicknames, my dad changed his name to “Hamilton” as soon as he was old enough. But my aunt clung to her name, which was something I always admired.
The Pomeroys are, to say the least, a medical family. My grandfather was a general practitioner and my father followed in his footsteps. My aunt studied psychiatry and moved to New York as soon as she became board-certified. She set up practice in Manhattan where she probed the neuroses of the rich and famous. Rumor had it that even Donald Trump went to see her back in the days before he became President. Of course, when anyone asked about this, Hettie would just laugh and tell them it was only idle gossip. But I always wondered if it were true.
Hettie remained single until she was on the cusp of turning thirty, when she was introduced at a party to Raoul Kassis, an Egyptian dealer in antiquities. He swept her off her feet and they were married in a civil ceremony not long after. Filthy rich and childless, they moved to a posh penthouse apartment in SoHo. Raoul traveled extensively, most often to the Continent and Middle East. And, while he claimed to be of Egyptian heritage, there were rumors that he was actually a Russian émigré and, possibly, a former KGB agent.
Hephzibah and Raoul also owned a portion of a private island off the coast of Maine, where they frequently spent the summer months. The island, while privately owned by four east coast families, was also home to approximately two hundred locals … mostly fishermen and their kin. The place had a distinct medieval quality to it with its four large manor houses, each strategically located on one of the primary compass points. Hettie and Raoul’s place was perched on the southern end of the island, a massive, old stone mansion built in the 1920s. The manse had two main floors and a third-floor tower room surrounded by a widow’s walk from which you could gaze out to sea.
Storm Island, a place from my youth, held troubling memories for me. I had not visited there since I was ten years old – the year my world came crumbling apart.
My musings were interrupted when the door to my room opened.
“Sweetheart! How are you feeling?”
Alistair strode inside, grabbed a chair, and pulled it over to my bedside.
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Oh, don’t look at me that way,” he chided. “I would have come see you before, but the service has been mobbed. I’ve been operating nonstop.”
I took a deep breath, but still held my council.
He reached over and took my hand. “Okay, you’re mad. I get it. But you went bonkers in my O.R. How am I supposed to react to that? Conway said you were hallucinating a blue streak. I figured my coming to see you wouldn’t help. Was I wrong?”
I pursed my lips, thinking. It was time to make him suffer a little.
Finally, I spoke.
“Yes, you were wrong. They were over-medicating me and using experimental drugs to boot. Perhaps if you’d shown some compassion, this would have all been sorted out sooner. As it is, now I’m being shipped off to New York, under the care of my aunt.”
Alistair laughed. “Hephzibah! That should be fun. Watch out for Raoul. Rumor has it he’s a sly one. Got his fingers in a lot of pies.”
I couldn’t help but smile. There was just something about Alistair that was so disarming.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “You go on to New York, get well, then come back here. We’ll hold your place for you. We’ll get one of those foreign doctors who need credits to sit for the EFMCG to cover. You’ll be back in the O.R. in no time.”
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, then stood, shoving the chair back away from the bed.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. “I have something for you.”
Surprised, I stared at him as he reached into his lab coat pocket, pulled out a small box of Godiva chocolates, and placed them on the bed beside me.
“Sweets for the sweet,” he said.
I glanced down at the box. “Thanks.”
He frowned. “I know it’s not much, but it was short notice. Keep in touch and don’t get into any trouble in the Big Apple. I’ll miss you.”
He waited a moment for me to reply, but when I didn’t, just shrugged and walked out of the room.
I watched him go, then glanced at the box of candy sitting on my bed. Laughing, I ripped the cellophane wrapper off. I deserved a treat.
The Big Apple
THE NEXT MORNING, I was discharged into my father’s custody. As he helped me into the car, I could see there was a bag already packed in the back. He took the few items I had with me from my hospital stay, including Alistair’s chocolates, and stuffed them into the outside pocket.
As he sat down in the driver’s seat, he turned to look at me.
“I packed what I think you’ll need for New York. If I made any mistakes, I’m sorry. Buy whatever you need.”
I nodded. “Sure, and thanks, Dad. I know this has been a big mess for you.”
He reached over and patted my hand. “Not as big of a mess as it has been for you. Stress can do all kinds of weird things and I’m hoping that once you’re away from the hospital and, I hope you don’t mind my saying, away from Dr. Redbone, you’ll straighten out. And Hettie’s good at what she does. Do what she says. Okay?”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll be a good girl.”
He nodded and checked his watch. “We better get
going. Your flight leaves in two hours.”
Later, I gazed out the cabin window, brushing tears from my eyes. The fasten seat belt sign went on and the flight attendant began reciting the usual safety spiel. I half-listened as the events of the past couple of weeks wafted across my mind.
Ten days ago, I was riding high. What happened to bring me so low? I replayed every move I’d made the day I broke down in the O.R. Everything was ordinary … nothing out of place, nothing to cause undue stress. I’d been prepared for the surgery and prepared to take a tongue-lashing from Alistair. It was all just part of the game we played. Nothing out of the ordinary … except for that conversation I’d overheard in the laundry room. Conway and that man … something about drugs and money.
Had I overheard Conway buying, or obtaining in some fashion, the experimental drug he used on me? But, even if that were true, what could it have had to do with my breakdown?
I thought about this, but couldn’t come to any conclusions. Maybe it was just a coincidence. In any case, Conway would get his. He would probably have his medical license yanked and, maybe, do some jail time. The thought of that creep behind bars brought a smile to my face.
The flight attendant came by with the beverage cart, but I declined. I was feeling sleepy. I leaned back and tried to make myself comfortable as I closed my eyes to let the sandman come and take me far away….
I was running down a long, dark hallway, lined with doors on either side. Something was behind me, chasing me, and I knew I had to get away. Frantically, I tried the doorknobs, one after another, but they were all locked. Consumed by panic, I continued to run down a corridor that seemed to go on forever. Hot breath stained the back of my neck and I knew I had only seconds before the monster behind me would enfold me in its foul embrace.
Suddenly, the hallway came to an abrupt end. However, the door standing in front of me offered no reprieve. No, this was a door I knew all too well and I feared what was on the other side as much as I feared the phantom menace coming from behind.
Terrified, and with no other option available, I reached for the doorknob…
I was startled into wakefulness by the sound of the flight attendant instructing us to return our seats to an upright position and prepare for landing. Drenched in sweat from the nightmare, I took several deep breaths, trying to quell the rapid beating of my heart.
We landed on time at Kennedy.
Making my way out of the restricted area, I glanced around, looking for Aunt Hettie or Raoul, but they were nowhere in sight. Perplexed and starting to get a tad irritated, I finally caught sight of a man in a chauffeur’s uniform holding a sign with my name on it.
“Hi,” I said, approaching him. “I’m Dr. Pomeroy.”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m David. I’ll be driving you to the Kassis’ residence. Do you have baggage?”
“Yes, just one.”
He took my carry-all from my shoulder and led me down to baggage claim. After the prerequisite half-hour wait, David retrieved my bag and we walked out to the waiting limousine.
An hour later, he was escorting me into the elevator at Aunt Hettie’s building. At the door to the apartment, I offered him a tip, but he declined, saying it had already been taken care of.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I’ll wait till you’re inside,” he replied.
At that moment, the door opened.
“Katherine!” exclaimed Raoul, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a hug. “Come inside.”
He stepped aside to let me enter, spoke briefly with David, then grabbed my bags and shut the door.
“Sit,” he said. “How was your flight?”
“It was fine, Uncle Raoul, but long.”
“Can I get you something to drink? A martini? Wine?”
I laughed. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be drinking. I’ve still got meds in my system. But a cup of coffee would be nice, if you have it.”
“Espresso? Latté?”
“A latté sounds nice.”
He grinned and walked to the kitchen where the espresso machine was located. As he made the drink, I studied him.
He was in his mid-sixties, a tall man with broad shoulders and chest that tapered down to a narrow waist. His hair, which had been jet black when he married Hettie, was now silver and very carefully coifed. Staring at it, I guessed it was dyed … it was just too perfect.
He was wearing a business suit that, I could tell, had been personally tailored for him. And he was fit … that you could see from the way his clothes hugged his body. I assumed that when he was here in the States, he worked out at least three to four times a week, probably with a personal trainer.
Given his age, his face was fairly unlined, most likely the result of peels, fillers, or maybe even a lift. His eyes were piercing - a deep, dark brown - set close together over chiseled cheekbones and a Roman nose. His lips were fleshy, sensuous and soft. Altogether, he presented a very attractive package - handsome with a hint of danger. Just like Alistair.
“Here you go, Katherine,” he said, handing me my drink. “I think I’ll make myself a martini.”
He walked to the bar, and continued talking as he mixed his drink. “You aunt should be home soon. She had a late patient. We’ll have dinner in tonight. Perhaps from Chin-Chin’s. You like Cantonese?”
I started to answer, but he ignored me and kept on talking.
“I wish you could stay longer, but we’ll see you again when the season starts. I’ll be going to the Continent on Saturday for two weeks, but I’ll be back in time to play the host on July first at the house on Storm.”
I looked at him, puzzled. What was he talking about?
“Raoul,” I interrupted. “What do you mean? My father said I was staying here in Manhattan for a while. Aren’t I?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “You didn’t know? Shame on me. It seems I’ve let the cat out of the bag. You won’t be staying here after tonight. You’re going to Storm tomorrow. Hettie arranged it.”
“Storm? Storm Island?” I asked as a shiver ran down my spine. “Why?”
Raoul laughed. “Why to get the house ready, of course. You’ll oversee all the preparations … make sure everything is shipshape for the season and our guests.”
I was about to protest when the front door swung open and my aunt walked in.
Hephzibah Pomeroy Kassis was a stunning woman. At least five foot eight, when she walked into a room, heads invariably turned. She was slender and elegantly dressed in a tailored dark, brown suit. Underneath the jacket, she wore a golden, silk blouse, which shimmered as she walked. Her hair was jet black and peppered artfully with streaks of silver. It was long and, when down, probably reached her waist, but during the day she always wore it tucked up tightly in a bun on top of her head. I always envied her hair. Mine was chestnut colored, like my father’s. Dad and I took after my grandfather’s side of the family. Hettie, however, was the spitting image of my grandmother.
Hettie’s face was thin and sculpted and people often likened her to Audrey Hepburn and she did, indeed, radiate that persona.
“Kate!” she exclaimed as she walked briskly into the room, tossing her purse on the coffee table and kicking off her stiletto heels. “You look wonderful. Not at all the disaster old Ham made you out to be. Come here and give your Aunt Hettie a hug.”
I did as she asked, and when she wrapped her arms around me, I inhaled the sweet scent of Therry Mugler’s Angel, the perfume she always wore.
She gave me air kisses on my cheeks, then let me go.
“Mix me a drink, darling,” she said to Raoul as she slipped out of her suit jacket, draping it carelessly on the arm of the couch. “Now, Kate, tell me how you’re feeling.”
I took a deep breath. “I feel fine. A little confused, but fine.”
“Confused? Explain.”
“Well, Raoul says I’m going to Storm tomorrow. Is that correct?”
Hettie turned, giving her husband a sharp look. “Raoul?”
“I’m sorry, darling,” he said as he handed her a martini glass. “I let it slip. Forgive me?”
“You’re forgiven,” she said flatly, then turned again toward me. “Yes, you’re going to Storm. I’m surprised Ham didn’t tell you. Storm is the perfect place for you to unwind. It’s peaceful, serene … and you’ll be kept busy. There’s lots to do to get the manse ready for the season. We’re all counting on you, you know.”
“But, Auntie,” I whined. “You know how I feel about Storm and the house. I … I can’t stay there.”
Hettie leaned forward and patted my hands. “I know. I know. And you’ll not have to stay at the manse. You’ll stay in the carriage house. You always loved it there. And, I’ve prescribed some medications that will help should you feel stressed or anxious. I’ll only be a phone call away should you need me.”
“I guess I could do it. I do like the carriage house. But what about my clothes? Dad said he packed for New York, not Maine.”
“Oh, dear. Well, we’ll have to take care of that, won’t we. Raoul, call the charter company and tell them to change the departure time until three o’clock. That will give Kate time to do some shopping before she leaves. And, call David and tell him he’ll be taking her to REI here in SoHo and Paragon Sports before she goes to the airfield. Also, have him give Annette at REI a ring before they leave to let her know Kate’s sizes and tastes.”
Hephzibah nodded at me as if to say “see how easy that was?” Then she turned back to Raoul. “What are we doing for dinner?”
He smiled. “I thought Chin-Chin’s, if that’s all right with you?”
“Sounds wonderful. You order.”
“Your wish is my command, my dear,” he laughed, pulling his cell from his jacket pocket.
I sipped my latté, taking this all in. Raoul punched in a number, waited for a minute, then began chattering away in Chinese … Mandarin, most likely. As I watched him, I remembered how my cousins on my mother’s side used to speculate about him at family gatherings. Cousin Anne thought he was a jewel thief like the Pink Panther, while Cousin Tommy swore that he was a member of a Russian drug cartel. For my part, I wondered if he were a special agent with the CIA or some other undercover organization. “Dealer in antiquities” left all kinds of doors open and Raoul, a chameleon, could fit through any of them.
Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 1) Page 3
