At last, Dr. Radison strode over, wearing his surgical scrubs. "Ms. Radcliffe?" He looked baffled by her presence. She'd expected that.
Determined to get what she came here for, she extended her hand. "Thank you so much for seeing me, doctor. I know you're on your way into surgery. I'll take exactly one minute of your time."
They stepped into a private area, and Gloria didn't waste an instant. "I'm sure I'm the last person you expected to see."
"That's true," he acknowledged. "And, frankly, I'm not clear about why you're asking to speak with..."
"I flew to New York to give my daughter the emotional support she needs," Gloria interrupted, giving him the pertinent information as expediently as she could. "I don't need to elaborate on why she needs that emotional support—not to you. As I understand it, you're one of the few people who knows all the facts. It's because of those facts that I'd like to meet Carson Brooks. Given the circumstances, I think he'll feel the same. Do you have any objections?"
"Objections?" Radison studied her carefully. "That depends on whether or not your visit will upset him."
"Quite the opposite. I'm hoping it will give him peace of mind. You're aware of the very real personal connection he and I have. You're also aware of the health crisis he's facing. If you consider all that, together with his definitive nature, I think you'll agree with me."
"I see your point." The doctor still sounded hesitant. Clearly, he was on the fence about this.
She had to convince him.
"I'm assuming he's up for company now, or you would have said otherwise." Gloria didn't have to feign how important to her this was. "Please, doctor, just tell him I'm here. Let him make the call."
Radison mulled it over for a minute, then nodded. "All right." He didn't ask any more questions. He just went down the hall, passed a uniformed police officer, and disappeared into a room.
It didn't take a minute for him to reemerge.
"He'll see you now," he told Gloria, beckoning her down.
Another wave of relief.
"Ten minutes max," the doctor instructed. "And if he tires sooner, the nurse will ask you to leave. He's had a rough morning."
Gloria wanted to ask why, but she refrained. She'd already gotten the permission she wanted. No sense pushing her luck. "I understand. Thank you very much, doctor."
Inhaling sharply, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Even hooked up to the various tubes and machines, Carson Brooks was easy to recognize. He was a striking man, though he did look pale and weak. But his keen blue eyes, even dulled by pain and medication, were focused and curious.
"Well, well." He gave a weak grin. "This is one visit I didn't expect. Maybe I should have."
She smiled. "I'm glad you agreed to see me."
"Are you kidding? Finally, after all these years we're on an even keel..." His grin strengthened a bit. "I know as much about you as you do about me.... Well, almost. I'm minus the interview transcript... and a paragraph on your aspirations.... Then again, I already know what you want to be when you grow up." With a concerted effort, he raised his arm, and stuck out his hand. "Hey, Gloria. Nice to meet you."
She met his handshake, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Likewise." Her amusement faded as she surveyed the cardiac monitor, dripping IVs, and other medical apparatus that were helping him fight to survive. "How are you?"
"Better than I was... Not as good as I will be." He shifted a bit, wincing at the discomfort. "I'll make it. I've got lots of incentive… More than I did before, thanks to you..." He pointed to a chair. "Have a seat." He rested while she complied.
"The doctor said you had a rough morning," Gloria continued, settling herself in the chair. "Are you up for a talk?"
"I could use one... to divert me." His features hardened. "The rough morning wasn't about me.... One of my interns at Ruisseau was killed last night.... Stabbed to death right outside his own front door... He was just a kid—a great kid. Twenty-one. He never had time to live."
"How horrifying." Gloria's insides clenched. A boy that age, dead. It was every mother's nightmare. "That poor child. And his parents—dear God, what they must be going through. Who did it, and why?"
"Don't know who... As for why, I'd be willing to bet it ties in to me... and why I was shot.... He was so damned loyal...." Carson swallowed hard. "He had no parents.... Grew up like me... Was finally on track... The whole thing sucks."
Sick at heart, Gloria nodded. "Life often does. Too often." She sought the right words to console him. "All I can say is that I'm sure Detective Whitman and Detective Barton will solve both crimes. They're about as dedicated and thorough as they come."
"Oh..." A knowing glance. "They got you, too, huh?"
"They talked to me, yes. Then again, they had every reason to. I was in New York at the time of the shooting. And, to their way of thinking, I had a plausible motive for wanting to stop you from contacting Sabrina. The only sticking point in their logic was that I had no idea you were initiating a search for her. As it turns out, I also have an alibi, which made their job easier. I spent that entire evening at a dinner party. So I got crossed off their suspect list."
Carson scowled. "Sorry you had to go through that..."
"Don't be. That's their job. It's also why I know they'll find your assailant and whoever murdered that poor young man."
"Yeah," Carson replied tersely. "Anyway, that's why the morning was rough...." He drew a sharp breath, and Gloria could see that he wanted to change the subject.
"So," she said in a light, airy tone. "I think this meeting of ours is long overdue, don't you?"
That weak grin returned. "Oh, yeah, I'd say so." He eyed her intently. "Sabrina has no idea you're here."
He sounded so certain that Gloria started. "You're right. She doesn't. How did you know?"
"The medical technician was just in here to take blood. That means it's after nine... and that means Sabrina's in a meeting... which I'm sure you already knew."
Gloria reminded herself again of what a good choice she'd made. Even fighting for his life, this man was as sharp as a tack. "Right again. I didn't want Sabrina here for this talk. I wanted to speak with you alone. I'll tell her about it later—or you can. It just wasn't necessary for her to know beforehand. She has enough on her mind. As for the meeting she's in, yes, I know about it. I also know what it represents—really represents. Sabrina filled me in last night."
Carson absorbed that piece of information without batting a lash. "And your reaction was...?"
"I surprised myself. I was delighted for her. And not only about taking on the presidency of Ruisseau. About forming a relationship with you." Gloria found herself being honest with him. It was odd, really, but they did share the unique bond of a child, however unconventionally she was conceived.
"Since Dylan Newport first dropped the bomb on Sabrina, I've had several days to reflect, to consider circumstances through the eyes of a more seasoned woman than the one who conceived twenty-eight years ago." Gloria propped her chin on her hand, a faraway look in her eyes. "I never thought I'd question my decision to raise Sabrina alone. I had more than enough love to give her, and more than enough resources to provide her with every advantage. Funny, how time and age change your perspective."
A short, humorless laugh escaped Carson's lips. "Truer words were never spoken.... Hey, you're talking to the man who was happy to hand over a vial and never know if he made a kid.... Then I turned fifty... and suddenly I started wondering... wishing it could be different.... Hard to believe, isn't it? An ambitious punk like me... wanting a kid?" Carson paused, regained some strength. "You did an amazing job, you know.... She's incredible.... Brains, beauty, and balls—figuratively speaking on that last item, of course..."
Gloria chuckled. "I can only take credit for the environmental factors and half the biological ones. Some of her brains and beauty were your genetic contribution. As for the balls, those she has you to thank for."
He wiggled h
is hand back and forth in an iffy gesture. "Balls aren't always an asset. Sometimes subtlety does the job better.... But, hey, it doesn't matter. Judging from her track record... with some of those pain-in-the-ass Fortune 500 companies... my guess is she inherited a chunk of your diplomacy, too. If I'd been consulting for them... I'd be kicked out by the end of the first brown-nosing session."
"You're right. The combination works well. Which is exactly what I had in mind when I chose you from your profile." Gloria leaned forward, determined to let Carson know exactly where she stood regarding him, Sabrina, and the future. "I am usually subtle. But not now. Since I'm short on time and long on words, now I'm going to be direct."
"Go for it."
"My reasons for being here today—they run the gamut. I wanted to meet you, to close the circle so the reality that you're Sabrina's father could truly sink in—for you and for me. I wanted to order you to get well, for our daughter's sake, and to give you further incentive to do so by telling you that I support your building a relationship with Sabrina, and that I support your plans for her professional future. That having been said, there's one other reason I'm here. I wanted to give you an idea of what Sabrina's going through. I think it will help you both."
Respect and gratitude flashed in Carson's eyes. "I'd appreciate that...."
"We'll start with my parents." Despite her terse delivery, Gloria spoke straight from the heart. "You'd never understand them. I doubt you'd like them. Sometimes I don't like them. But I do love them. What's more, Sabrina loves them. And they adore her. She's their only grandchild. The sun rises and sets on her. They may be elitist and set in their ways, but they're not unkind or un- feeling. They're frightened. Frightened of disrupting a lifestyle that's been their foundation for years. Frightened of being the center of a media circus. But most of all, frightened of losing Sabrina. The thought of her undergoing surgery, giving up an organ—it terrifies them. Sabrina knows all this. Which means she's feeling a great deal of guilt right now—guilt that conflicts with the unexpected emotions she's feeling for the father who's just come into her life. I'm asking that you please bear that in mind. It's a heavy responsibility for her to carry on her shoulders at a time like this."
Carson frowned. "I won't put her through the transplant.... I told her no.... My kidneys will start working again.... But if they don't, I won't let her be the donor..."
"You don't have a choice." Gloria stopped him gently, waving away his protest. "What I said wasn't meant to make you feel guilty; it was said to make you aware. Sabrina's a very strong-willed young woman. That shouldn't surprise you. I'm stubborn. You're stubborn. She didn't stand a chance of turning out malleable. She's made up her mind. No one's going to change that. Nor should we try. For the record, I admire her decision. I'm in New York to support it, not to try to undo it. And if it comes down to the wire, my parents will do the same."
Pausing, Gloria gave a wistful sigh. "I guess what I'm trying to explain to you is that having a family is a double-edged sword. Not having one means being independent, answering to no one, and satisfying your own needs first and foremost. It also means being very, very lonely. You know all about the list I just ticked off; it's been your life up until now. Well, welcome to the flip side—having a family. You're getting your first taste of that. It's why you're trying to protect Sabrina's health, even at the expense of your own. Having a family means accepting emotional responsibility, showing compassion even when your reserves are dry, and thinking of others before yourself. It's hard work. It's also the most rewarding gift life has to offer. You'll see that more and more as you and Sabrina grow closer. In the meantime, just remember she's torn. Caring is sometimes a hard place to be."
Throughout Gloria's speech, Carson had watched her, listened intently. Now, he nodded, wetting his lips to reply. "I'll do that.... You know, I always thought of myself as pretty damned smart... but you're smarter. Thanks for the perspective.... Sabrina's lucky to have you for a mother...." He inclined his head, his expression pensive. "You're right about my knowing a lot about the not-having...."
A quizzical, shoot-from-the-hip look intensified his gaze, and Gloria sensed that something personal was coming. She just wasn't quite sure what.
She found out.
"While we're on this subject... let me ask you something," Carson stated bluntly. "I know how you felt at the time you were looking for a sperm donor.... You wanted to live life on your own terms... unattached and independent.... Do you feel the same way now?... When all is said and done, was the single life all it was cracked up to be?"
An ironic question, one that had been the cause of much introspection for Gloria these past few days. Still, it never occurred to her that Carson Brooks had gone down this mental path. About the idea of having a son or daughter, yes, but not about having a life-partner.
"Are you going to answer?" he pressed. "Or are you trying to find a tactful way to say it's none of my damned business?"
"Actually, I was thinking it's an odd question coming from you."
"Why? Because I went the unmarried and successful route, too?"
"No, because that route seems to suit you now as well as it did then. It never occurred to me that you contemplated the idea that any other choice existed."
"You're right. I didn't. Not until fifty crept up on me.... With it came thoughts that I might have a kid... and the rest just followed suit." He paused to catch his breath. "Talk about alone... You, at least, had Sabrina.... I had my work, my company, women when I had the time or inclination... and Dylan, who's like a son to me. But I got him in his teens. I didn't raise him.... So, I got to thinking..." Another pause, as he regathered his strength. "You know what? I'll answer my own question first. No, the single life's not all it's cracked up to be.... You grow older, smarter, and more alone.... At least I did. I have someone in my life now. Susan Lane. You'll like her. She's great.... But it's not the same as building something from the ground up.... We've got no history, no memories to pass on to children... grandchildren. If you ask me, I was a stupid fool.... What about you?"
Gloria sighed, thinking how funny life was. What a shame that you couldn't be born old and grow young.
"Even twenty-eight years ago, my situation was a little different from yours," she responded frankly. "And not only because I had Sabrina soon after, although I thank God that I did. I also had my parents, my roots, and, as a result, some understanding of what it meant to be tied to others. Remember, too, Carson, that going into the donor insemination, I was thirty-three to your twenty-two. I'd been an adult a whole lot longer than you. I knew that being single was a second-rate formula for happiness. I'd tried to find my soul mate—repeatedly. It just didn't happen. Sure, that would have been the better way to go. Unfortunately, it never turned out to be my way. So, no, I don't think living life alone is something to aspire to. But it's something I'd made peace with by the time I sought a sperm donor. If the opportunity had presented itself, I would much preferred to have found my other half, made a life with him, and had children together."
"Does that mean you'd want that for Sabrina?"
Why did Gloria have the distinct feeling she was being led somewhere in particular?
"Are you asking me if I want Sabrina to stop being such a damned workaholic and open up that wonderful heart of hers? If so, the answer's yes. Nothing would make me happier than if the perfect man for Sabrina existed out there somewhere, and that she'd find him—that they'd find each other. I may be a realist, but I'm not without dreams."
"Good." Carson settled back on the bed, linking his fingers on his chest and, despite his pain and exhaustion, looking like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary. "Because I feel... the same way."
Gloria eyed him for a minute. "And?"
"And what?"
"And why did you bring this up?"
A shrug. "Just curious." He tilted his head slightly in her direction. "By the way, when Dylan flew to Manchester... and dropped that bomb you were referring to, did you
get to meet him?"
"No. I didn't."
"Too bad... But you will... And when you do, keep a close watch... He's going to factor into your life in a big way.... He already does in mine.... But it's going to get bigger.... Ironic..." Carson's eyelids drooped as if he were fighting sleep.
Swiftly, Gloria glanced at her watch. The nurse would be tossing her out any minute. But she wasn't leaving... not yet. Not until they stopped dancing around the obvious.
"Carson, are you playing matchmaker?" she demanded.
One eyelid cracked open. "Nope... Just being observant... No matchmaker necessary... check out the sparks and see for yourself." A smug grin tugged at his lips. "Grandchildren might be in the cards, after all."
9:35 A.M.
Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation
The ten department heads sat rigidly around the conference room table—and around Sabrina.
As she settled herself in her chair, Sabrina assessed the group, looking around the table, one-by-one, and putting names to the faces.
Obviously, she knew Stan and Dylan, who flanked her on either side.
To Stan's left was Nelson Harte, III, chief financial officer—a go-getter, third generation Harvard Business School grad, financial genius. After that came Alfred Rowe, VP of manufacturing—the former president of Distillation Technologies Inc., a company acquired by Carson twelve years ago. Next there was Sandra Cooper, VP of sales—forty years old, the youngest company VP with the exception of Dylan, polished and savvy as they come, which was a sure-fire reason for her meteoric rise.
Directly to Sandra's left was John Baker, VP of information technology—a rare combination of technogenius, creative dynamo, and attention-to-detail fanatic. Next came Steve Hollings, VP of strategic planning—innovative, enterprising, a real roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-it-done kind of guy. Beside him was Rita Whiting, VP of marketing—the brains behind the C'est Moi marketing campaign, sharp as a tack and exuding the energy of a thirty-year-old, despite being well into her fifties. After Rita, came Claude Phelps, the VP of research & development—hyper and eccentric, the mad scientist type, one of Carson's original staff members. Then, Roland Ferguson, the VP of human resources—who'd left the successful recruiting firm he'd started up to come work for Carson.