To Be the Best (Emma Harte)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘I’ve heard of Alan Stimpson,’ Shane said. ‘He has an extraordinary record, has performed some miraculous brain operations. From what I’ve read about him, there’s nobody better.’

  ‘Yes, he is brilliant.’ Philip turned to Shane. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to Maddy,’ he blurted out shakily. ‘She’s the most important thing in my life…’ He bit off the end of the sentence, unable to continue, averted his head so that Shane would not see the sudden tears glittering in his eyes.

  ‘Maddy’s going to be all right,’ Shane asserted, his voice confident, strong. ‘Let’s not dwell on the worst, but think of the best instead. We’ve got to take a positive attitude, Philip. And you’re not going to lose her. We must hold that thought.’

  ‘Yes…I’m glad you’re here, Shane. It does help.’ Shane nodded.

  A silence developed between the two men.

  All of Philip’s thoughts and his mind and his heart were with his wife in Emergency. He kept seeing her face. It had been pale, still, devoid of expression when he had seen her a short while before. He could not forget the limpness of her hand when he had held it in his. There had been something so lifeless about Maddy. His mind balked at the idea that she might slip away from him. He refused to contemplate this.

  From time to time, Shane looked at Philip. His heart went out to his brother-in-law. But he did not say a word, not wishing to intrude on Philip’s privacy. It was obvious that he wanted to be quiet, to be left alone. He was faraway, his handsome face ringed with worry, and his bright blue eyes, so like Paula’s, were troubled, filled with growing anxiety.

  Shane sat back. Silently he offered up a prayer for Maddy.

  When Daisy came into the office a little later, Shane was on his feet and across the room to her immediately. She was white, and there was a stricken expression on her face. Shane put his arm around her protectively.

  She looked up at him questioningly. ‘What has happened to Maddy?’ she asked tremulously, clutching at him.

  Shane explained in a muted voice, ‘It looks as if she may have had a brain haemorrhage.’

  ‘Oh no! Not Maddy! Philip –’ She flew across the room to her son, sat down in the chair Shane had just vacated, reached out her hand to him, wanting to give him comfort.

  ‘I’m all right, Ma,’ Philip said, taking her hand in his, squeezing it. ‘The doctors are with Maddy now…Malcolm Hardcastle, two doctors from the hospital, and Alan Stimpson, the famous brain surgeon.’

  ‘He’s wonderful,’ Daisy said, relieved to hear that this man was in charge medically. Her hopes for Maddy soared. ‘I’ve met him several times through the Foundation…he’s the very best. You could not ask for a finer doctor to take care of Maddy.’

  ‘I know, Ma.’

  Daisy swung her eyes to Shane, hovering nearby. ‘Barry is very anxious…he hasn’t heard from either of you. You must call him, Shane, let him know what’s going on. He can then get in touch with Jason, who went to Perth last night.’

  ‘Oh God, yes, I did forget to phone him,’ Philip muttered. ‘I’ll do so now, and I’ll call Mrs Ordens at the house. She and the maids are as concerned as we are.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Amory, but there is little question that your wife has suffered a cerebral haemorrhage,’ Doctor Stimpson told Philip forty minutes later. ‘Her condition is very grave.’

  Philip, who was standing near the window, thought his legs were going to give way under him. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair. He was unable to speak.

  Shane had been introduced to the two doctors by Daisy a moment before, and he took charge, addressed the brain surgeon. ‘What’s your recommendation, Doctor Stimpson?’

  ‘I would like to do the brain scan as soon as possible, and then trepan her skull. That operation would at least relieve the pressure of the blood clot on her brain. Also, I should point out that without the trepanning of her skull she might never regain consciousness. She could be in a coma for the rest of her life.’

  Philip stifled an anguished cry. He clenched his hands, digging his nails into his palms. Maddy never to be conscious again. The thought of this was so appalling, so terrifying, he could not – would not – countenance it.

  Alan Stimpson, compassionate, caring, saw the agony on Philip’s face, the mixture of pain and apprehension now flickering in those blue eyes. He was silent, waiting for the other man to marshal his swimming senses.

  At last Philip whispered, ‘Please go on, Doctor Stimpson.’

  ‘There is the complication for the baby, Mr Amory. If your wife were only a few weeks or even a few months pregnant, I would recommend aborting the child. Obviously that is not possible at this late stage of the pregnancy. And…well, she could go into labour at any moment. Therefore, the child must be delivered by caesarian section. I recommend that this be done without further delay.’

  ‘I can perform the caesarian immediately,’ Malcolm said.

  ‘Will that endanger my wife’s life?’ Philip asked quickly.

  It was Alan Stimpson who answered him. ‘Quite the contrary…I’d say she could be in more danger if Malcolm doesn’t perform the caesarian. Also, in another sense it would be very helpful, in that I could perform the scan and the operation without fear of doing injury to the unborn baby.’

  ‘Then go ahead with the caesarian. Now,’ Philip answered rapidly, wanting no further procrastination. ‘But I would like Maddy sent to a private hospital…if she can be moved, of course.’

  ‘We can arrange to transfer Mrs Amory to St Vincent’s private wing next door,’ the surgeon said.

  ‘Then let’s do that.’ Philip rose to his feet. ‘I want to go to my wife now, to be with her. And I’ll accompany her next door.’

  Chapter 36

  At a few minutes past two o’clock that afternoon, Malcolm Hardcastle performed a caesarian section on Madelana Amory.

  The child he delivered was perfect. But the mother did not know this. She remained in a coma.

  Malcolm brought the news to Philip.

  He was waiting impatiently with Shane and Daisy in a private room adjacent to the one he had taken for Maddy.

  ‘You have a baby girl. A daughter, Philip,’ Malcolm announced.

  Philip was pacing the floor.

  He stopped, pivoted to face the gynaecologist. ‘Is Maddy all right? Did she come through it all right?’ he demanded, his wife his first priority.

  ‘Yes, she did. And her condition is the same as it was when she was brought to St Vincent’s this morning. I’m afraid she still hasn’t regained consciousness; on the other hand, she has not taken a turn for the worse.’

  ‘Is that a good sign? Hopeful?’ Shane probed.

  ‘Yes…she seems…quite stable.’

  ‘Can I see her?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Not just yet…she’s in Recovery.’

  ‘But when?’ he asked again in the same soft yet demanding tone.

  ‘In an hour. Now, about your daughter…she’s perfect, just beautiful, and she weighs seven pounds ten ounces.’

  Philip remembered his manners. He grasped Malcolm’s hand tightly. ‘Thanks for everything you’ve done, Malcolm. I’m grateful to you, relieved that the baby’s all right.’

  ‘Can we at least see the child?’ Daisy looked at Malcolm, then shifted her gaze to her son standing next to him. ‘I’d like to welcome my granddaughter into the world.’

  ‘Of course you can see her, Mrs Rickards.’

  The four of them left the room together, walked down the corridor to the glass-windowed hygienically-controlled nursery where new babies were taken immediately following their births.

  ‘There she is!’ Malcolm was exclaiming a few seconds later. A duty nurse, catching sight of the noted gynaecologist, had already lifted a baby from a crib and was bringing her over to the window for them to see her.

  ‘Oh Philip, she is beautiful,’ Daisy murmured, her eyes lighting up. ‘And look, she’s got a little tuft of reddish-blonde fluff on to
p of her head. I think we’re going to have another redhead in the family.’

  ‘Yes,’ her son responded laconically, staring at the baby through the glass. He wished he could be more enthusiastic about the child. But he was so sick at heart about his wife nothing else seemed to matter to him.

  Eventually, he brought his gaze away from the nursery window, drew Malcolm to one side. ‘What happens next? When is Stimpson going to do the brain scan?’

  ‘Shortly. Now, why don’t you go outside and get some air? Or take your mother and brother-in-law for a cup of tea or coffee.’

  ‘I won’t leave the hospital! I won’t leave Maddy!’ Philip exclaimed. ‘Perhaps I can persuade them to go. But not me, oh no. Again, thanks for everything you’ve done for my wife and my child, Malcolm,’ he said as he turned away.

  Later, when they had returned to the room in the private wing of the hospital, Philip suggested to Shane that he accompany Daisy to the Point Piper house, to relax and take some sort of refreshment. ‘You don’t have to keep vigil with me,’ he muttered, throwing himself into a chair.

  ‘We do,’ Shane shot back quickly. ‘We’re not going to let you go through this alone.’

  ‘We’re staying, Philip, and that’s flat!’ Daisy said in a voice that was as resolute as her mother’s had ever been. ‘My God, Shane and I couldn’t stand it, being away from you, and from Maddy. We’re worried enough as it is without being isolated at the Point Piper house, not knowing what’s going on.’

  Philip did not have the energy to respond, never mind argue with Daisy or Shane.

  For a time he nervously paced the floor, then the corridor outside, his agitation increasing. In an effort to stem his spiralling anxiety, he returned to the room, phoned his offices in the McGill Tower, spoke to his secretary, Maggie, and to Barry, his assistant. He made the occasional comment to his mother and Shane, but for the most part he was silent, stood staring morosely out of the window, burdened down.

  He was accustomed to being in control and master of his own fate. All his adult life he had been a man of action, a decision-maker, a mover, a doer. He was not used to standing idly by in an emergency, no matter what the emergency was. But at this moment, perhaps the most crucial in his life, he had no alternative. He was not a doctor, and therefore he could do nothing to help the woman he loved beyond all reason. His frustration mounted, drew level with his fear.

  Just before three o’clock he was permitted to see Maddy in Recovery. She was unresponsive, unaware of his presence, still in a coma. He returned to the private room filled with fresh anguish and distress and a burgeoning despair.

  Daisy and Shane tried to comfort him, to reassure him, but they were not very successful.

  ‘I know there is no wisdom at a time like this,’ Daisy said, going to Philip, taking hold of his arm, filled with compassion for her son, and concern for her daughter-in-law’s well being. ‘But we must try to be brave, and have hope, darling. Maddy is strong; if anyone can pull through this, she can.’

  He looked down at Daisy and nodded, then turned away from her so that she would not see the pain and heartache flooding his face.

  Alan Stimpson arrived at four and quietly told them he had performed the brain scan on Madelana.

  ‘Your wife did have a massive brain haemorrhage, as I originally thought when I first examined her, but I wanted to be absolutely positive,’ he reported.

  Philip swallowed. His worst fears had been confirmed. His voice shook slightly when he asked, ‘Have you any idea what might have caused the haemorrhage?’

  Alan Stimpson was silent for a split second. ‘It may very well have developed because of her pregnancy. There have been similar cases.’

  Appalled, Philip had no words.

  ‘I want to operate, to trepan her skull now, Mr Amory. I thought you would wish to see her before she is prepared for surgery.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Philip glanced at his mother. ‘We ought to have sent for Father Ryan. Maddy would have wanted her priest here, no matter what the outcome of the operation. Could you call him for me, Mother?’

  Unnerved though she was by this sudden request, which underscored her own considerable fears for Maddy, Daisy nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said as steadily as possible, ‘I’ll do it now, darling.’

  ‘There is every chance the operation will be successful,’ Alan Stimpson said confidently, looking with swiftness from Daisy to Philip. ‘And I will do everything in my power to save her life.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Philip said.

  The two men were silent as they walked down the corridor together. The brain surgeon showed Philip into the ante-room, which was a few steps away from the operating theatre, and closed the door softly behind him.

  Philip walked over to Maddy.

  He stood gazing down at her, loving her with all his heart. How small and defenceless she looked, lying there on the narrow hospital bed. Her face was chalk white, the colour of the sheets. Earlier, Alan Stimpson had told him they would have to shave off her hair. That beautiful chestnut hair. He did not care as long as they saved her life. It was fanned out on the pillow around her face. He touched it, feeling its silkiness, and then he bent, kissed a strand.

  Seating himself on the chair, he took her hand in his. It was listless. He brought his face close to hers, kissed her cheek. Against her hair, he whispered, ‘Don’t leave me, Maddy. Please don’t leave me. Fight. Fight for your life, my darling.’

  Lifting his head, he stared at her for the longest moment, hoping and praying for a flicker of understanding, a sign that she had heard him.

  He knew she had not. She was so very still.

  He kissed her again and left. He felt as if his heart was cracking in half.

  ‘My watch has stopped,’ Daisy said to Shane. ‘What time is it?’

  Shane glanced at his wrist. ‘Almost six. Shall I go and rustle up a pot of tea?’

  ‘Yes, I think I could use a cup. What about you, Father Ryan?’

  Maddy’s priest, who had arrived a little while ago, lifted his eyes from the prayer book in his hand. ‘Thank you Mrs Rickards, that’s very kind. I’ll join you.’

  ‘Philip?’

  ‘I’d prefer a cup of coffee, Ma, if –’ he began, and stopped short when Alan Stimpson entered the room.

  The surgeon closed the door behind him, leaned against it. He was dressed in his green cotton surgical gown and pants, had obviously come straight from the operating theatre. He remained standing by the door, not speaking, his eyes on Philip.

  Philip stared back at him. There was such an odd expression on the surgeon’s face, one he could not quite fathom…

  Alan Stimpson said, ‘I’m sorry, so very, very sorry, Mr Amory. I did everything within my skill to save your wife…but I’m afraid she just died on the operating table. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No,’ Philip said. ‘No.’

  He reached for the chair he was standing behind, gripped it to steady himself. The knuckles of his tanned hands turned white. He swayed slightly. He was devastated. ‘No,’ he repeated.

  Father Ryan rose, helped Daisy to her feet. Tears had sprung into her eyes and she clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob rising in her throat. She moved towards Philip, followed by Shane and Father Ryan.

  Daisy’s heart was breaking for her son. She dare not contemplate the effect Maddy’s death would have on him. He had worshipped his wife. Life is not fair, Daisy thought, her eyes brimming. Maddy was too young to leave us.

  Philip side-stepped his mother, Shane, and the concerned priest, shaking his head violently from side to side, as though denying the surgeon’s words. His blue eyes were stunned, uncomprehending. He got hold of Alan Stimpson’s arm. ‘Take me to my wife,’ he rasped.

  Stimpson led him back to the small ante-room near the operating theatre where he left him alone with Maddy.

  Once more Philip stood gazing down at her. How peaceful she looked in death. There was not a trace of pain or suffering on her face. He kne
lt beside the bed, took hold of her hand. It was icy. Irrationally, he tried to warm it.

  ‘Maddy! Maddy!’ he suddenly cried in a low voice raw with agony. ‘Why did you have to die? I have nothing without you. Nothing at all…Oh Maddy, Maddy…’

  He bent his head and his scalding tears fell on his fingers which were tightly holding hers. He stayed there with her for a long time until Shane came and led him away.

  Chapter 37

  He took her back to Dunoon.

  After a short private service at St Mary’s Roman Catholic Cathedral in Sydney he flew her body to the sheep station at Coonamble. He sat next to her coffin the entire way. Shane accompanied him.

  His mother and Jason followed in Jason’s corporate jet, bringing with them Father Ryan and Barry Graves.

  Once Philip’s plane had landed, he had her coffin driven up to the manor where it was placed in the long gallery amidst the portraits of his ancestors. It rested there overnight.

  The following morning dawned bright and clear with a sky vividly blue and spotless, and in the brilliant, shimmering sunlight the gardens and grounds of Dunoon looked magnificent. But Philip saw nothing. He was numb with shock, doing the things he had to do automatically, by rote, and, for the most part, he was oblivious to those around him.

  To carry her coffin on the last stage of its journey he chose as the pallbearers Shane, Jason, Barry, Tim, the station manager, and Matt and Joe, the grooms, who had become devoted to her in the brief time she had lived there.

  At exactly ten o’clock on Saturday morning, the six men shouldered her coffin and carried it out of the manor. They followed Father Ryan down the winding path that cut through the spacious lawns and flower gardens and led to the little private cemetery beyond. It was in a sheltered glade surrounded by trees and enclosed by an old stone wall. Here Andrew McGill, the founding father, was buried along with his wife, Tessa, and all of the other Australian McGills who were descended from them, their graves marked by simple marble headstones.