the time.
‘I still don’t agree with you, Don. You can’t just diagnose yourself with something like pancreatic cancer and then give up. Have you even thought about a differential diagnosis? You wouldn’t treat your patients like this so why do it to yourself?’
‘Because I watched my own father do exactly what you think I should do. He went and got a formal diagnosis. He got persuaded to get the surgery, and chemo and radiation and, okay, maybe he got a few extra months from that but what good were they to anyone, especially him? He was mostly bedridden and suffering, dying by inches…’ Don cleared his throat again but his voice still sounded raw, even after all these years. ‘I’m not going like that, thanks very much. I’ve got unfinished business here and I intend to do whatever I can for as long as I can.’
‘But you don’t even know that you’re right. Let me have a look at you and run a few tests. At the very least, let me do an ultrasound.’
‘I’ve got exactly the same symptoms my dad had. You know as well as I do that inherited gene mutations can get passed from parent to child. That as many as ten percent of pancreatic cancers are genetic. Look… I just know, okay? I’ve known for quite a while now. I’ve been diagnosing illnesses for the best part of half a century. Are you trying to tell me I’m no good at my job?’
‘Of course not.’ Zac suppressed a sigh. ‘And I’ll support you in whatever way I can, you know that.’
He wasn’t about to give up on this but he knew that continuing to push right now would only lead to Don shutting himself off completely. He was a private man and Zac could respect that better than most people, given that he was one himself.
‘I just need to know that you’ll keep this to yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything. I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t come barging into my office like that. Without the courtesy of even knocking…’
‘Hmm…’ A sideways glance showed him that Don was now the one avoiding eye contact and he understood why. He still felt uncomfortable that he’d seen too much. He’d be just as embarrassed as his boss if the tables had been turned.
‘You caught me in a low moment, that’s all it was. It won’t happen again.’
A low moment? The man had been in tears. Trying to cover that up in the face of Zac’s unexpected appearance, he had dropped the archive filing box that he had been stretching to replace on a high shelf. Despite being told to get out, Zac had automatically stooped to help pick up the contents of the box, which appeared to be a collection of unopened letters and parcels. Not Known at This Address and Return to Sender had been stamped all over them in red ink.
‘Who’s Olivia Donaldson?’
‘Nobody. Just get out, Zac.’
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on. She’s your daughter, isn’t she?’
‘Was…’
‘She’s dead?’
‘As good as… We haven’t had contact in more than twenty years. It doesn’t matter now, anyway… Or it won’t soon enough…’
The power of the internet meant that it had taken very little time to track down the woman who’d never opened those parcels or letters. A call to someone he knew in Auckland had given him access to a personal phone number. And, okay, he shouldn’t have made that last call but what was done was done and it was highly unlikely that this Olivia Donaldson would take the slightest notice of what he’d said.
‘Let’s get back inside, Don. This wind feels like it’s coming straight off the top of one of those mountains.’
‘Yep…there’s a storm brewing, all right.’
Isaac shook off the double meaning in those words that only he was aware of. It was a waste of energy to try crossing bridges before they were even visible. He had learned long ago to live in the present and deal with whatever came at you from left field. And he might be more than a bit of a lone wolf, but he was also definitely a survivor. He wasn’t worried…
Stiletto heels made a very satisfying clicking sound on the gleaming floors of one of Auckland’s most prestigious private hospitals. Along with the sleek, fitted skirt and matching jacket and the equally sleek hairstyle Olivia Donaldson had perfected long ago, she knew she looked the part of an up-and-coming plastic surgeon who was well on the way to being exactly where she wanted to be—at the top of the field in reconstructive microsurgery.
She’d had doubts about the value of providing cosmetic surgery to people who were wealthy enough to chase the illusion of perfection but she’d decided to view purely aesthetic surgery a stepping stone when she’d decided to apply for this job. Elective procedures like a facelift needed the same skills as reconstructive microsurgery and the hours and pay of this new job gave Olivia the freedom to do any further postgraduate study she would need.
Auckland’s Plastic Surgery Institute had its own ward in this private hospital and Olivia’s patients had had their surgery this morning. She had been pushed to get through all her cases today and they had all been breasts. A breast lift and augmentation for a mother of three in her forties, a breast lift and reduction for a woman in her fifties, and an implant removal for someone the same age as Olivia, who’d experienced hardened scar tissue from silicone material leaking from her implants. The lift and augmentation had been her first case this morning and Olivia could see no reason for her not to go home now.
‘Sleep as upright as possible for the next forty-eight hours,’ she advised. ‘Prop yourself up on lots of pillows, or use a recliner chair if you’ve got one.’
‘It hurts more than I expected.’
‘We’ll give you something for that but you can expect your breasts to be swollen and sore for the next few days, I’m afraid.’
‘This instruction sheet says I have to avoid any strenuous activity for two to three weeks. That’s not going to be easy when I’ve got three small children, is it?’
Olivia made an effort to keep her smile sympathetic. ‘I’m sure it won’t be, but it is very important. Especially not to lift them. You’ll risk tearing stitches and other problems if you do.’
At least her breast reduction patient was more thrilled with the new shape of her body beneath the support bandaging and surgical bra.
‘I can’t think why I didn’t do this years ago. I just wish I’d got you to do a tummy tuck at the same time, Dr Donaldson.’
‘We can talk about that another time. It wasn’t a minor procedure that you had today, you know. How’s the pain level now?’
‘I’ve been too excited to notice it much. How soon can I go back to work and show it all off?’
‘Once you no longer need your prescription pain medication. In a week or so, I expect, but we can let you know when you come for your first outpatient appointment at the Institute in a few days.’
‘Will I be seeing you then?’
‘Of
