The Last Surgeon

marble foyer.

Daintry, austere behind her marble desk, rose to greet them. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” she said, taking first Jillian’s hand, then Nick’s.

Her grip, like everything else about her, seemed rehearsed and controlled.

“Thank you for fitting us in the way you have,” Nick replied, reminding himself not to lose sight for a moment of the fact that the woman had things to hide.

As was the case with their previous visit to the spa, it surprised and slightly embarrassed him that acting rich and arrogant wasn’t totally unpleasant.

“Dr. Singh is upstairs in his office. He shouldn’t be long.”

“No security man today?”

“Garth? No, he’s here, but at the moment he’s off making rounds.”

“I’m impressed that you take security so seriously.”

Careful, Nick warned himself. You may look the part and even act the part for short spurts, but this woman is used to the real deal. Mess with her and she’ll sniff you out as a fraud in a heartbeat.

Nick took Jillian by the waist and guided her over to a towering work of art that filled half of the rear wall.

“Ready to roll?” he whispered.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I confess I’m glad I won’t be here to watch.”

“You’ve still got the tough job. But there is one encouraging sign.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“My knee is actually starting to ache.”

CHAPTER 29

Nick and Jillian spent the first ten minutes of their second visit to the medi-spa fidgeting in the sitting area to the right of the receptionist’s desk.

“I do apologize for the delay,” Daintry said, seeming genuinely concerned. “I’ll ring the doctor and see if he’ll be much longer. I know that he is very eager to meet you both. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, Nick heard the chime of one of the elevators as it arrived at the lobby level. The polished brass doors glided open and out stepped Paresh Singh. The surgeon, slightly built with a thin mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles, was singularly unimposing, except for his eyes, which were piercing and dark, and his smallish hands, expertly manicured and featuring a number of rings that were probably worth more than Nick claimed on last year’s tax return. He was no more than five-foot-seven, and although his jet-black hair was razor cut, and his suit finely tailored, Nick found it a stretch to believe that the man was world renowned and the master of this glass- and-steel palace.

“So,” Singh said, after the formalities of introduction, his accent clipped British with a modest amount of Indian. “I apologize for the delay and hope that Daintry has taken good care of you. She has been with me since the beginning, and I would be absolutely lost without her.”

“She’s been wonderful,” Nick said. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“Dr. Singh,” Daintry said, “as you requested, I’ve had the solarium prepared for Mrs. Collins’s private meeting.”

Nick and Jillian immediately exchanged sideways glances. They had seen the solarium on their tour-plants, sculptures, and waterfalls, but no computer. All Nick could do was shrug. The plus of having the security guard off on rounds had just been trumped by this latest turn. Why had he thought for even a moment that their plan would come off without a hitch? But this hitch was potentially fatal.

Jillian meeting with Singh in some Luddite heaven, devoid of the one thing they needed, was certainly not part of their strategy. If Nick’s SUD score had been hovering around a six, it just shot up close to an eight: Freaking out. The beginning of alienation.

He calmed himself with thoughts of a Buddhist quote from a college philosophy course that had stuck with him throughout the years: There are two mistakes one can make on the road to truth-not going all the way, and not starting. Now, he decided a third mistake needed to be added: Not possessing a backup plan.

Jillian, perhaps sensing his panic, stepped in for the save.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I hope the solarium is equipped with a computer. I wanted to show you pictures of movie stars and models with the sort of features we would like me to have, and I’ll need Internet access for that.”

“Most understandable,” Paresh Singh answered. “We can just convene in my office.”

Bless you, Mrs. Collins.

“That would be perfect,” Nick said. “I’ll be waiting here with Daintry. Take as long as you need.”

He glanced down at his watch, and, unseen by the others, Jillian checked hers. Precisely ten minutes until showtime.

Jillian air kissed Nick near the cheek and then, spinning around, accompanied Singh toward the elevator.

“I’m so looking forward to getting to know you,” Jillian said as they walked away.

Nick mentally ticked off one minute for Singh and Jillian to settle into his office. He had no doubt she would come up with the names for the surgeon to check out online. He knew she was nervous-probably as nervous as he was-but she was handling matters with incredible cool.

Praying that the security guard stayed away just a little longer, he made several laps around the massive center fountain, on occasion making eye contact with Daintry, smiling warmly whenever he did. Anxious husband. Nick checked his watch again. Five minutes down. He vowed to keep from looking too many times.

The succeeding minutes were an eternity. Finally, it was time. Nick made one last stroll around the fountain, until it was directly between him and Daintry. Then he shouted out and dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

“Are you all right?” Singh’s receptionist called out, rushing around to him. “What happened?”

“Oh, dammit. It’s my knee. It’s locked. It’s happened before, but not for a while.”

Do it, but don’t overdo it, he was thinking as she knelt beside him.

He kept his left leg bent at a forty-five degree angle and rolled from side to side.

“What can I do?” Daintry asked, genuinely upset.

“There’s loose cartilage floating in my knee,” he said, groaning every few words. “A piece has gotten caught.”

“You didn’t slip or anything?”

Nick nearly smiled, imagining her wondering when she’d have to call their lawyer.

“No, no. I didn’t slip. Dammit, but this hurts.”

“I’ll call nine-one-one.”

“No!” Nick responded. “Like I said, this happens every few months. You can do what needs to be done, Daintry. Believe me, you can. Just take my foot and point the toes upward while you gradually turn the whole leg to the right, pulling it toward you as you keep pressure toward the floor.”

Daintry paled at the notion, and clearly could not visualize the instructions, which Nick was making as complicated as he dared.

“I… don’t feel comfortable with things like this,” she said.

Okay, he decided, it’s time.

“Dr. Singh can do this. It will only take him a minute.” Nick moaned and writhed from side to side for emphasis. “Please hurry and call him. This is killing me… Oh, shit!… I’m sorry I cursed, but this really hurts. Man, I should have had it fixed.”

“I’ll call Dr. Singh.”

Atta girl.

Nick remained moaning on the floor behind the fountain as she raced back to her desk. He managed a glance at his watch. Jillian had to be ready.

“He’ll be right down,” Daintry said before she had even returned to him.