Christian had sat up, almost gasping for breath at the size of the sudden knot in his stomach. “Is she…” he stammered, his voice almost a whisper. “She’s okay, right?”
“Sir,” the woman said, her voice more businesslike now. “You need to come down. Your mother’s condition is precarious, and we need some information from you. Can you come?”
Christian was nodding, his mind racing. He realized then that the woman couldn’t see him nodding. “Yes, I’ll be there straight away,” he said, and hung up. He got up, suddenly feeling a monster headache overtake him. He sat back down for a moment, then got up more slowly. He took a quick shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a black shirt, sitting down on the bed to pull on his boots. With still-wet hair, he grabbed his keys and black leather jacket and left the house. It was a blustery November morning in London, but he didn’t even notice the chill as he walked to the Jaguar and got in.
He pulled up in front of the hospital a little while later. He walked inside and inquired where his mother would be. The nurse at the front desk checked her computer and told him she was three floors up. Many heads turned as he walked down the corridor toward the elevators. Christian paid them no mind; he was used to it.
Once at the floor his mother was on, he asked yet another nurse as to her whereabouts. The young woman was tongue-tied as she looked up into his handsome face. His eyes flashed impatiently at her as he was once again reminded that his looks could sometimes be a hindrance as well as an asset.
“Josephine Collins, could you look it up, for God’s sake!” he finally said when it was apparent the woman wasn’t going to get over herself.
“Oh!” she said, obviously regaining her senses. “Yes, sir, I’m so sorry. She’s in 3B—it’s just down the hall there. I’ll call the doctor to come speak with you.” Christian was nodding and already moving away.
Christian walked into the room and stopped, staring down at his mother. She looked very frail, lying in the hospital bed. She was pale, and her breathing looked labored as well. Christian walked over and sat down next to her, taking her hand in his. The look on his face could have melted even the hardiest of souls’ hearts, but it was a look reserved only for his mother. No other woman had ever seen his face light up the way it did when she opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Christian…” she said, smiling. Her voice was very weak.
“Mum… What happened?” he said softly as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“I started feeling poorly a few months ago…” She trailed off, as if she had to draw enough strength to continue. “They say it’s breast cancer, dear.”
For a moment, Christian felt like his heart had stopped, like time and everything around him had frozen. A long minute later, he shook himself out of the shock, and forced himself to speak with a normal, calm voice. “Everything’ll be fine, Mum. Don’t you worry about it.” Christian stood as he saw the doctor in the doorway. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
He got up and went out into the hallway with the doctor.
“Mr. Collins, I’m Dr. Green.” The man extended his hand to Christian. “Your mother is very ill. Her cancer is at a fairly advanced stage, and I’m afraid unless she has radical treatment soon, her chances aren’t very good.”
“Wait a minute,” Christian said, holding up his hand. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Why—How has this happened?”
The doctor looked taken aback, his eyes blinking behind his coke-bottle glasses. “Apparently, sir, she has been experiencing pain for quite some time, but she didn’t come to the hospital until it became overwhelming, and so the cancer wasn’t caught as quickly as it could have been. Sir!” the doctor exclaimed when he saw that Christian had gone pale.
“Okay, okay,” he said, nodding, staring unseeing as he went over what his mother and Dr. Green had said. “You talked about treatment—when can that be done?”
“Sir, it’s not that easy. It isn’t yet available for free in the UK, and having it done privately is very expensive…” The doctor trailed off as Christian’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You make the arrangements and I’ll get the money, you got it?” he said, his voice a low threat.
The doctor just stared back at him, clearly intimidated.
“How much does it cost?” Christian asked, growing impatient. “The treatment, man! How much does it cost?”
“It’s hard to say, sir. It could be a great deal—”
“Give me a figure.” Christian clenched his teeth as the urge to hit the man welled up in him.
“A hundred thousand,” the doctor said, naming the figure off the top of his head.
“Fine, I’ll get it.” Christian nodded, even as he his mind reeled. “How long will it take?” he said, his tone no-nonsense now, so much so that the doctor didn’t bother trying to dissuade the young man any further.
“Well, fortunately, if you have the money, it’s quite straightforward to source the treatment from America. It could be any time. The problem, sir, is that the ability to pay must be in place before it can be started—”
“How long do I have?”
“It could be as little as a matter of hours, sir,” the doctor said, immediately seeing a hopeless look in the young man’s eyes.
“I’ll get it, you get the ball rolling,” Christian said, turning to go back into the room to see his mother.
His mind was churning; he wasn’t sure what he could do. He had some ideas, and he would resort to them if he needed to. He went in and spoke to Josephine for a few more minutes, but the need to get the money was all important in his mind.
Chapter 4
Christian left the hospital and went back to his flat, and after a few quick drinks, he drew up the courage to call his father. When the call was answered, Christian asked for Lord Glenenshire. The line was silent for a moment, then his father came on.
“Lord Glenenshire,” Christian said, hesitant at first.
“Yes?” Jeremy said, unable to identify the voice on the end of the line.
“You and I met a week or so ago. I attended a dinner party your wife gave. I was with Geneva Glasstone…” He let his voice trail off, hoping his father would be remembering his encounter with Geneva.
“Yes, I believe I remember you.”
“Yes, well, do you remember a maid you had about twenty-five years ago?” Christian asked, his tone still conversational.
“I… a maid, you say?” Jeremy said, sounding a little flustered.
“Yes, she was a Spanish maid, very beautiful. You seduced her too, I believe.” Christian chose his words to show the lord he knew full well what had transpired between him and Geneva.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jeremy said, angry now, but Christian could hear the alarm there too.
“Oh, I think you do,” he said coolly. “You got her pregnant, didn’t you? And then fired her… didn’t you?”
“Who do you think you are, young man? To accuse me of such acts?” The lord’s voice was very aristocratic, as well as indignant.
“Who am I?” Christian said, moving in for the kill. “I’m your son.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Christian could almost see his father’s eyes narrow in thought. Indeed, Jeremy Sinclair’s light blue eyes were narrowed. He was remembering the young man who had been with Geneva. He was remembering that he was very handsome, and that all the women at the party couldn’t stop talking about him… Then he remembered the light blue eyes, so like his own family’s; at the time it hadn’t caught his attention, but now… Oh my God, was all Jeremy Sinclair could think.
“While I’m sure this comes as a surprise to you, Father,” Christian said, not allowing him too much time to think, “and I know you’ll be wanting that joyous happy reunion and all, I need your checkbook at the moment.”
“What are you saying?” Jeremy replied, aghast.
“I’m saying I need a hundred thousand pounds. Now,” Christian sa
id, matter-of-fact.
“And I suppose I’m just to give it to you without question?” Jeremy said, regaining his wits quicker than Christian had hoped he would.
“No, but I could come down there now and we could have that happy reunion… You know, me, you, your wife…”
“If you come here, you’ll be denied access to the house. I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” Jeremy’s voice was strong with the surety of a rich upbringing.
“I don’t need to come down there. I just need to call the press—they’d be interested in this type of story.”
“Try it, you little bastard, and I’ll make sure you end up in jail for blasphemy.”
“I don’t think they jail people for that anymore, Father.”
“Stop calling me that. You are no son of mine. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I will not have this conversation go any further,” Jeremy yelled, then slammed down the receiver.
Christian shook his head as the line disconnected. He had been pretty sure he wouldn’t get the money from that end, but he had tried it just in case. He knew of another option that also had to do with his family roots but was less inflammatory. Christian was the nephew of a very rich publishing magnate, and his uncle had been very kind to his mother before she left Lord Glenenshire’s home. He knew the story well; his mother had told it to him often enough.
Josephine had just come from telling Jeremy about the child she carried when, in her upset state, she’d run right into Joseph Matthew Sinclair.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Josephine said, inclining her head to the man and trying to appear less upset.
“Never you mind that, miss,” Joseph said, trying to catch the young woman’s eyes. “And what has happened to you?” he asked kindly. Josephine looked up at him, her wide brown eyes surprised that he seemed to care. Joseph nodded, taking her hand and saying, “Come with me, dear.”
He led her out into the garden, where he sat her down and talked with her. She finally admitted to him that she was pregnant with his brother’s child. Joseph didn’t seemed surprised in the least; nor did he accuse her of lying. She went on to tell him that Jeremy had fired her because, he said, she was lying. Joseph was very kind, asking what she would do. Josephine assured him that she could take care of herself, that she would return to the arms of her family in Spain.
“All the same,” Joseph said, pulling a card out of his vest and writing on the back of it. Then he handed her the card face up. “That,” he said, pointing to the name on the front, “is my barrister. And this”—he turned the card over—“is my number and address in London, if you need anything. I want you to keep this card,” he said, his hand warm on hers, his light blue eyes staring into hers kindly.
Josephine had kept the card. She had never used it, but had cherished the thought that at least one of the Sinclairs had been kind. She told Christian he was in reality part of a great family of people, that his uncle was the kindest of men. Josephine had been very sad when Christian was three years old and she heard Joseph Sinclair and his lovely wife, Cynthia, had been killed in an accident. She had been upset to learn that Scotland Yard had accused their only son of murdering them. Josephine had known it wasn’t true. She had seen then-seventeen-year-old Joseph Sinclair the Fourth with his parents, and had seen the obvious love and respect he held for them. She didn’t believe the accusations for a minute.
Growing up, Christian had heard about the Sinclairs incessantly. Never about his father, but about his father’s brother and nephew. When Christian was fifteen his mother had excitedly shown him the society pages that chronicled Joseph’s marriage to Randissi Curtis. Christian had looked at the pictures with indifference. But he had taken the paper to his room later and read every detail of the wedding, dreaming that someday he’d meet this rich cousin of his. He had long since given up on this dream.
Now, as he drove over to his mother’s home to look for the card Joseph Sinclair senior had given her, he thought about his cousin again. He wondered idly if he was still married, aware that these society marriages rarely lasted. He knew the odds were that the money wouldn’t come from this source either, and that he’d basically have to sell his soul to Geneva to get the cash, but he wanted that to be a last resort.
At his mother’s apartment he dialed the number on the front of the card, thankful that Joseph senior had given his mother his barrister’s card as well as his own.
A woman answered. “Hello?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Christian said politely. “I need to speak with Barrister Debenshire, please.”
“Hold on a moment,” the woman said, obviously not surprised to receive a phone call for the barrister at home. Christian hadn’t tried the office phone, figuring it may have changed after Joseph senior died. He waited, tapping his fingers on his mother’s nightstand, where he had finally located the card.
“Yes, this is Robert Debenshire. How can I help you?”
“Sir,” Christian said hesitantly, suddenly not sure what to say; begging wasn’t something he was used to doing. “My name is Christian Collins. You don’t know me, but my mother knew a previous employer of yours…”
“Yes…” Robert prompted, noting the young man’s hesitancy.
“The employer was Joseph Sinclair.”
“I think you might be confused, young man. I am still Joseph Sinclair’s barrister.”
“Oh,” Christian said, realizing he had saved himself a little more work. “I meant Joseph Sinclair senior, but you’re the son’s barrister as well?”
“Yes, I am,” Robert said, sounding surprised. “Joseph senior, you say?”
“Yes, my mother met him when she worked for his brother, Christian Jeremy Sinclair.”
“Ah, yes. And what is it I can do for you, young man?” Robert asked, always ready to get down to business.
“Well, you see, sir, your previous employer gave my mother your card and told her if she ever needed anything to contact him or you. I, uh… well…” Christian paused, suddenly realizing he may be way off in looking in this direction, taking for granted more than he should have.
“Go on, son,” Robert said gently, having detected the urgency in the young man’s voice.
“Well, sir, she’s in the hospital, and she needs urgent private treatment. We don’t have the money for it, and I guess I was hoping…”
“That I could get you the money?” Robert supplied; there was no accusation in his voice that Christian could detect.
“Frankly, yes,” Christian said matter-of-factly.
Robert was silent for a long moment. “How much do you need?”
“A hundred thousand,” Christian said, mouthing the figure and rolling his eyes as he waited to hear a resounding no on the other end of the line.
“I need to make a phone call,” Robert said, all business. “Where can I reach you?”
Christian was taken aback. He gave the barrister his mother’s number, and as he hung up started to think that this was how people with a little more class told you no. He didn’t figure he’d ever hear from Robert Debenshire again.
Robert dialed Joe’s number in California, still feeling a bit surprised by the revelations of minutes before. He realized with a grimace that it was late in America, even as Joe picked up the phone.
“’Lo?” Joe said, his voice gruff from sleep. He glanced at Randy as she looked up at him, concern in her eyes.
“Joseph, it’s Robert. I’m sorry to call so late…”
“No problem, Robert. What’s wrong?” Joe asked, tightening his hand on his wife’s waist.
“Well, I just got a phone call from a young man. He says that your father knew his mother. That his mother worked for your uncle.”
“Okay…” Joe said, surprise clear on his face that someone from his father’s past would be calling Robert. Randy sat up, looking down at him. Joe shook his head, indicating that everything was alright.
“Well, the young man says that your father told her to call if she needed a
nything. And it seems that she needs medical treatment and they don’t have the money to pay for it…” Robert trailed off, not sure what to make of the request himself.
“Give it to ’em,” Joe said simply, surprising Robert further.
“But Joseph, we don’t know who these people are,” Robert said, his tone cautionary now.
“Robert, they had your number, they knew who my father and uncle are. You think it’s some big scam? They’re not asking for a cut of my inheritance—they’re asking for money for treatment. Not the usual routine for a scam. Give ’em the money, Robert. We’ll worry about the details later.”
“Alright then,” Robert said, ever astounded by the Sinclair generosity. Joe’s father had been much the same. That was why he had believed the young man’s story in the first place. He had felt, however, that it was his responsibility to point out the possibility of deception to Joe.
Christian was just thinking about calling Geneva and what he would say when his mother’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Mr. Collins, it’s Robert Debenshire.”
“Yes, I know,” Christian said, trying to mask his surprise at hearing from the man again.
“I’ve been given approval by my employer to give you the money you need.”
“You have?” Christian said, unable to hide his shock this time.
“Yes. How shall I get the money to you?”
“My mother is at Prince William Hospital. I guess you could give it directly to them.”
“That would be fine, if that’s what you want,” Robert said, glad he was able to help now. It was obvious from the tone of the young man’s voice that he hadn’t really expected to get the money. The fact that he wanted it paid directly to the hospital served to further uphold his story that his mother needed treatment.
“Yes, sir,” Christian said, his voice holding as much respect as it possibly could. “Sir, thank you so much… You can’t imagine… Please tell your employer, tell Joseph, thank you.”
“I’ll do that.”
For all Intents and Purposes (MidKnight Blue Book 6) Page 11