at the unconscious dignity in her stance, but he ignored the guilt nudging his conscience and refused to even acknowledge the odd wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked down into the reproachful blue eyes that shimmered up at him, bright as jewels.
He gave a negligent shrug. ‘What can I say? They tell me it’s one of my talents.’
‘Odd. I get the impression you’re working hard at it.’ The bewilderment in her face was genuine. ‘Why are you pushing me away?’
Wishing the words unsaid, not even knowing where they had come from, Flora veiled her eyes as she pushed her way through a wave of cringing embarrassment by sheer force of will.
Pushing you away...! It was the sort of thing that people in a relationship said. She twisted the ring on her finger and reminded herself it was very much for show.
He flinched inwardly, then dealt with the direct hit the only way he could—he ignored it. ‘Ramon.’
The other man hurried over.
Flora was aware of Ivo saying something to him but it wasn’t until the dapper bearded figure reached for the baby carrier that Flora reacted. Possibly he was slow because he thought the request was beneath his pay grade, but Flora got there before him, tugging up the carrier in two hands and holding it against her front.
‘I can manage.’ Anger shimmered through her as she walked, stiff-backed, towards the staircase. A lot of things were uncertain but one thing she knew for sure: she was not going to waste her sympathy on Ivo Greco again, or imagine he was something he was not.
* * *
The doctor, actually two of them, stood outside his grandfather’s bedroom. One he recognised as Salvatore’s personal physician, the other was a stranger. If he’d had any doubts remaining, their professional expression, that blending of gravity and sympathy that all medics perfected, said it all.
Ivo took a deep breath and dragged a hand through his hair, banishing the lingering memory of the hurt in Flora’s eyes that had plagued him as he’d walked down the corridors feeling like a total heel.
What was the British saying? If the hat fits...
Well, it did, he decided, removing his hand from his hair, not bothering to smooth down the spikes. Flora’s only sin in this instance was being in the firing line when he had realised this wasn’t one of the old man’s games, he really was dying, and rather than admit even to himself that he cared, his reflex had been to hit out.
Obviously at one level he had known that it was a possibility that for once in his life his grandfather was being forthright, and he should have been prepared, but deep down he had never actually believed that Salvatore, who had always seemed so indestructible to him, was dying.
The irony was he hadn’t even known he was in denial until the moment he had heard the truth in Ramon’s voice.
This wasn’t just another of the old fox’s schemes. It was for real.
Not quite the classic case of the boy crying wolf but a toxic, twisted version of it.
‘He is waiting for you.’
Ivo never had responded well to authority, and this went double for the white-coated variety. He was not impressed by medical degrees. Men with more degrees than wall space had not stopped his damaged father killing himself or his mother dying. ‘And yet you are out here.’
‘We wanted to speak to you before you go inside. Actually, we wanted to speak to you much earlier, but we were constrained by your grandfather’s wishes.’
That would be right, Salvatore would always have the last word, even if that word was a dying word...‘Is it cancer?’
The men glanced at each other, then the one he didn’t recognise cleared his throat.
‘I’m afraid not.’
Afraid? What the hell could be worse than cancer? Ivo wondered.
‘Your grandfather has dementia.’
Ivo looked at him and laughed, not an amused sound. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. My grandfather is as sharp as a tack. He can run rings around someone half his age, physically and mentally.’
‘Your grandfather can have long periods of lucidity.’
Meaning he doesn’t know where he is the rest of the time. The grinding pain pressing into his temples was no longer the beginning of a tension headache, it was full blown. Ivo looked coldly at the man who spoke before transferring his attention to the familiar face of the family doctor, who up to this point had seemed reasonably reliable.
‘I don’t know where you dug this joker up from, but I want a second opinion.’
The older man flushed and looked embarrassed as he sent an apologetic grimace to his colleague. ‘This is Professor Ranieri—’
Ivo arched a brow; the degree of reverence had only increased his antagonism. ‘Is that meant to mean something to me?’
The younger man stepped forward. ‘I’m a professor in neurodegenerative conditions and dementia, Mr Greco, and I am the second opinion.’ He flashed his colleague a look. ‘Or would I be correct in saying third is more accurate?’ The older man nodded unhappily. ‘I diagnosed your grandfather three months ago,’ he finished quietly.
‘He’s suspected it for some time,’ the older man added to back up his colleague. ‘When he finally consulted me, well, the tests were all conclusive.’
Ivo’s chest lifted, and he swallowed; his brain still refused to accept what he was being told. First Bruno and now Salvatore, a double whammy.
His family was vanishing.
He had not seen his brother for years, and he saw his grandfather as little as he could. Alone was the way he liked it, he reminded himself.
‘I would have known.’ He clung stubbornly to the belief because the option was believing what these men were saying.
‘Not necessarily, Mr Greco. People with dementia will hide their symptoms—even those closest to them don’t always notice. Some changes can be subtle.’
‘No.’ Ivo remained firm. ‘We spoke last week, he was... He called me Bruno...’ The recovered memory took on a new significance as he replayed highlights of the conversation in his head. Suddenly the clues were there, the minor errors evidence of his memory loss.
Ivo stood there breathing hard as his defences against the ugly truth disintegrated. He could no longer stop himself thinking of the tough old man with a razor-sharp brain losing part of himself and knowing it. It was the ultimate horror; fear clawed at his own belly just thinking about it.
Dio, Salvatore must have been desperate!
‘Look, we appreciate this is a lot to take in.’ The older man stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on Ivo’s arm but was stopped by a look from those dark, hooded eyes. ‘You’ll need time to digest and there will be questions. We are accepting your hospitality for the night, so whenever you’re ready?’
