by Jianne Carlo
“Everything’s all right, son. Come with me to the kitchen. I need help with the dishes.”
Tony wriggled around Geoff and jumped the last two steps past Rolan. As they wound their way down the corridor, he twined his fingers with hers and squeezed.
“It was just a misunderstanding, Tony. Your Dad and I will work it out.” But would they? Could they find a way to live together? Trust each other?
She studied hers son’s pinched features.
“You’ve been very quiet all day. Did Jimmy get you your afternoon snack?”
“Cut it, Mom, Stop fussing,” Tony snapped.
Sarita’s jaw dropped open…her son had actually snapped at her. She halted for brief moments and stared at Tony’s hunched shoulders. The tension between the adults must have affected her always-polite son.
They arrived at the galley to find Austen already there loading a covered white porcelain dish onto a wooden tray.
“Hey, lovey. There’s only that one to finish up.” He angled his chin to the opposite counter. “Tony, you come with me and open doors. Sarita, we’ll see you above deck?”
“Have everyone start eating, Austen. Don’t wait for me. Where’s Madame Yvonne? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, too?”
“Don’t go there,” Austen warned, his tone terse.
Her son trailed behind the Navy SEAL and flung over his shoulder in a loud whisper. “She threw a few dishes at him. Then she left. All of you grownups are in bad moods.”
Tempted to throw a few plates herself, Sarita concentrated on garnishing the last platter with tomato florets. She encountered Rolan in the hallway and he relieved her of the heavy round bowl.
“You had lunch with Rizzo?”
“He speaks French and he offered to translate for me at the market.” The lines on Rolan’s forehead deepened. “He’s actually very nice and kind of shy beneath that bristling persona.”
“That idiot is after my position, Mrs. Paxton. You’re supposed to be on my side. I don’t want you spending a minute in his company. Do you hear me? Not a minute.”
“I am really, really trying hard not to lose my temper. I find Cindy in your bedroom with your autographed copy of her centerfold. Shannon Cartwright knows how you like to drink champagne. And you’re mad at me?” Hands fisted on her waist, teeth clamping together, she took a deep breath and all her pent up emotions poured out, her voice rising.
The ship’s engines stopped and the sound of clanking metal sounded overloud in the momentary silence. Terry had given the signal to drop anchor.
“Did I shout at you after learning that little tidbit? No, I planned this celebratory meal. You punch one of our guests and yell at me in front of everyone like I’m some moronic adolescent. Forget it, Paxton ‑‑ you don’t get to treat me like that. Ten years ago you could intimidate me, but not today, not anymore.” She stamped one foot, spun around, and took the back way up to the roof deck.
Arriving before he did, Sarita sat cross-legged on the deck. The absolute silence made her take a swift survey of the assembled individuals. Everyone stared at her, but when Rolan appeared on the top step, all eyes cut to him instead.
Taken aback by his lack of expression, Sarita eyed him beneath hooded lids and waited.
“Where do you want this?” He hefted the dish in his hands.
“Middle of the table, right there.” She pointed a finger to a bare spot delineated by a ring of fuchsia Bougainvillea flowers.
“Sarita, why don’t you tell us about these exotic dishes?” Geoff shot her a wide smile and waved his hand at the table. Sarita noted an ashen tint to his complexion and his courtier’s smile seemed strained.
“There are three different kinds of Indian bread in that corner. The plate over there with what looks like tortillas is a type of bread called a roti, which we had earlier. It’s cooked on a cast iron griddle. Those rounds over there are papadums and they’re crisp. This is chapatti, very similar to a roti, but it’s held over an open flame at the end of cooking and it puffs up.”
Rolan sat beside her, long legs stretched under the table. Without saying a word, he plucked her hand and set it on his knee. She scrutinized him. His mouth curled at the corners and two fingers rubbed a slow circle above her wrist.
“This one’s curry, right?”
Distracted by both Rolan’s soft caress and Brianna’s pleasant tone, Sarita shot a glance in the direction of the woman’s finger.
“That’s shrimp vindaloo. Careful, it’s a very hot curry made with tomatoes and the usual curry spices, onions, garlic, cumin, and coriander. Next to it is roghan jost, a mild lamb curry made with yogurt. To the right is chicken tandoori. I didn’t make that dish as you need a special oven to bake it. Thank Jimmy for the tandoori. While we were at the market, he heard about a source in Monaco and travelled quite a distance to get it for tonight.”
“I went for it too, Mom.”
“Thank both Jimmy and Tony, then.”
“And that’s jasmine rice and that’s stewed chickpeas,” Tony piped up indicating two adjacent platters. “Aw, Mom, you made it with spinach. Did ya have to? I don’t want any.”
Alerted by his sullen plaintive tone, Sarita’s concern mushroomed.
“Think of Popeye, and grin and bear it, son.”
“Move a little, Dad,” Tony said and wedged into the space between Rolan and Rizzo.
“I’ve had that before, that’s raitia, isn’t it? One of the girls who rooms with me when we’re in Paris doing the runways loves that dish. It’s good, too. Somehow the combination of mint, cumin, onions, cucumber, and yogurt really is yummy.” Flashing Sarita a perfect set of snow-white teeth, Brianna rubbed both palms together and added, “This is a real treat. Geoff’s done nothing but rave about your food since we bumped into each other at Annabel’s in London.”
“I hope I live up to his billing. Please start while it’s hot.” Sarita urged.
Rolan cleared his throat, and when everyone’s attention turned to him, he raised his champagne flute. “Before we start the sumptuous feast my wife prepared, I’d like to propose a toast. To my very talented and wonderful wife, thank you for this amazing meal. To Sarita,” Rolan said. He clinked her glass.
“Here, here. And belated congratulations, Sarita, Rolan. Best wishes for a grand long life together.” Geoff tipped his sparkling flute in salute.
Serving the meal family style encouraged cooperation and conversation as each person passed a plate left or right. Sarita noticed Shannon ate little, but engaged Suresh in a low conversation. The woman brushed her thighs repeatedly against the Internet billionaire’s and trailed a finger down his nut brown muscled forearm.
A cool gust of wind sent a shiver down Sarita’s spine.
Tony, Rolan, and Geoff traded football trivia, each male trying to better the other’s obscure fact. Brianna and Cindy whispered behind cupped hands and each woman cast furtive looks at Geoff.
Austen said little, but drank champagne as if it were the water of life. He topped up everyone’s glass on a regular basis. Halfway through the meal, Sarita noted he had consumed twice as much of the sparkling beverage as anyone else. She knew the SEAL handled his liquor with ease, however his plate was virtually empty and he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites.
Each individual at the table had hidden agendas, save Tony. Sarita spent most of the dinner eavesdropping on other conversations and trying to pinpoint the source of Rolan’s obvious tension. Her husband kept a wary eye on both Shannon and Rizzo, and seemed distracted by Suresh’s response to the blonde.
Figuring she didn’t have to worry about Shannon making a move on her husband for tonight at least, Sarita ate with a mechanical precision, not tasting a morsel. Designed to assert the pride she had in her multicultural background, the celebration proved successful food wise. But the event had notched up suppressed animosities and jealousies, hers included.
“Is Tony okay?” Rolan nudged her with one knee. “He’s not eating and he’s really sweating.�
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Startled out of her brooding, Sarita checked her son’s face. A thick line of perspiration bordered Tony’s forehead and similar droplets bracketed his compressed lips.
“Anthony, come sit next to me,” she ordered and shifted her hips to make room for him.
Rolan edged backward and lifted Tony into the vacant spot. “He’s burning up, Sarita.”
She placed a hand on her son’s forehead. “He has a fever. Can you take him down to his cabin? I’ll get a fever band from the emergency kit. Tony, how are you feeling? Does your stomach hurt?”
“Yeah, stop fussing, Mom.” He dashed her hand away and added. “It’s so hot.”
“Sarita, look at this.” Rolan swept Tony’s hair off his neck exposing a patch of tiny red bumps. “There’s more on his ear and a few along his jawline.”
“He’s had all his shots. Maybe it’s some sort of allergic reaction,” Sarita said and chewed her lower lip. Tony’s uncharacteristic listless demeanor worried her as much as his high temperature. “He’s never been sick a day in his life.”
“Geoff, can you get Terry to head the Glory back to Monte Carlo? We can take him to the hospital there.” A brief pause and then Rolan muttered, “Whatever Tony has, I think either he got if from Geoff, or he’s given it to him.” He waved a hand at the English peer.
Glancing over to the man and in the act of helping Rolan get Tony to his feet, Sarita froze. Within the space of the last thirty minutes, red dots, reminiscent of ugly adolescent pimples, had broken out on Geoff’s face, and his navy eyes appeared glazed. Slumped against the white railing, his damp linen shirt stuck to his chest, Geoff seemed oblivious to his surroundings.
“The little pagan’s served us bad food,” Shannon barked. “You were always a vicious little slut.”
“Cut it, Shannon. This is not the time or the place. Austen, are you sober enough to get Geoff to his quarters? Where is Harry anyway?”
“At the Grill Room having dinner with his stepmother,” the SEAL replied, his words slurred. He levered to his feet, stumbled, and grabbed onto the rail for support.
“You’re in no shape to help out,” Rolan said, his tone clipped.” Suresh, can you get Geoff? Rizzo, tell Terry to head back to Monte Carlo quickly and put Austen to bed, will you? Give him a couple of aspirin. Let’s go, Sarita.”
He carried Tony down to his cabin, took a quick survey of the small room, and shook his head. “I’m going to put him in the stateroom next to mine. There’s a connecting door. We can leave it open so we can keep an eye on him during the night.”
A wash of panic hit Sarita and tears brimmed in her eyes. She blinked away the moisture. They settled Tony on the queen-size bed. Her heartbeat accelerated and the pulse at her throat drummed against trembling fingers.
“The rash is spreading. His neck’s covered in it and he keeps trying to scratch them. Rolan, can you bring me the emergency kit from the cabinet next to the fridge in the galley? I know we have calamine lotion and that’ll help with the itching. I don’t understand. This can’t be measles or chicken pox, he’s had those shots.” Her throat clogged and she couldn’t get another word out.
“What can we do to keep his temperature down?”
She swallowed a few times and managed to reply. “Bathe him with a cool washcloth. Dose him with ibuprofen. If his fever spikes, we have to get him in a cold bath.”
Doc had sent her to an emergency course a few months after Tony’s birth and the phrase was one she’d memorized for the test. Rolan disappeared while she undressed her son and dried off the perspiration coating every inch of his flesh. He never uttered one protest and his eyes remained closed when she slipped a fresh pair of pajama bottoms up his legs.
Rolan returned with the kit, calamine lotion, a basin with cold water, and a washcloth.
“I’m going to check on Geoff and find out what time we’ll arrive in Monte Carlo. I’ll have a car waiting to take us to the hospital.” He traced the soft curve of her jaw. “Sarita honey, it’ll be okay. Tony’s going to be fine. He’s a strong healthy kid.”
“He’s never sick,” she said and her voice broke. She swiped at the moisture creeping down her cheeks. “He’s my life, Rolan. I can’t lose him.”
Placing a palm across Tony’s brow, she shook her head. “I think he’s hotter.”
“Is there a thermometer in that kit?”
“There are fever bands,” she muttered. “I bought them myself.” Seizing the rectangular white box, she snapped open the lid and dug around in its contents. “Got it.”
Her hands shook so much that Rolan took over the task of tearing open the metallic band. He clamped it to his son’s forehead and held it in place at the edges.
“A hundred and three,” she croaked. “We need to get him into a cold tub.”
“Don’t panic, Sarita. Here let me get him undressed because you’re shaking too much.”
“Can I help?” Suresh appeared in the doorway. “Geoff’s out cold. Brianna’s watching over him. Terry said we’ll arrive in Monte Carlo within twenty minutes. The hotel’s doctor will meet us at the pier.”
“Good man, Suresh, I owe you one. Take Sarita and make her a cup of tea, will you? Honey, I’ll get Tony’s fever under control.”
“I’m not leaving this room,” she protested. “You can’t expect me to walk out of here.”
“I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”
Jimmy’s deep baritone made her jump and she knocked the kit to the floor. Sarita burst into tears when its contents scattered onto the carpet. Rolan paused on his way to the master’s head, gaze flicking from her to Tony.
“We’ll handle this, Paxton. You look after your son.”
“Her hands are icy, Suresh. She’s in shock.” Jimmy tucked a throw from the overstuffed chair around her shoulders. “I’ll get the tea.”
Events flew by in a blur. Someone gave her a steaming cup of peppermint tea.
Rolan brought a moaning Anthony back into the room, laid him on the bed, and tucked a cotton blanket around his naked body. “Nab me one of those fever bands, Rizzo.”
Her lungs burned and Sarita realized she’d stopped breathing while waiting for the band to register. “One oh one, thank God.”
Before they reached Monte Carlo, Tony’s fever soared again and they repeated the cold bath. This time, Sarita washed her son and Rolan dried him, careful to dab his skin so the reddening bumps wouldn’t become more irritated.
“The spots are all over now,” she muttered and moistened cotton batting with the pink calamine lotion. The Glory docked right after they finished coating Tony’s skin with a thin film of the soothing liquid. As the boat stopped rocking, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“Sarita, Rolan, this is the Hotel de Paris’s doctor.” Brianna flashed that famous cover girl smile. “I’ll leave you to look after your patient, doctor.”
Suresh and Rizzo remained in the room, and Sarita never noticed. Focused on the doctor’s expression and actions, she followed his movements. The muscles in her neck and shoulders knotted and burned with his every frown, every shake of the head.
Detaching his stethoscope from his ears, he turned to Rolan and said, his words spoken with a heavy French accent, “Chicken pox.”
“But…but he’s had his shots,” Sarita said, unconsciously wringing her hands. “It can’t be chicken pox.”
“That’s really contagious, isn’t it?” Suresh asked.
“Yes. The shot is successful most of the time, but it is not a guarantee of immunity.”
“Is my son infectious right now?”
“Oui Monsieur. For the last two days and until the blisters disappear. Have any of the other passengers been infected?”
“Yes, one other. Suresh, can you take him to Geoff?”
“Sure.”
“I had all of my shots, Doc. I should be okay, right?” Rolan asked
“As I said, there is no guarantee against infection. If you’ve had the shot and you contract chicken pox, the
infection is a milder one. I recommend quarantining the entire vessel for a minimum of ten days.”
“What’s the incubation period for the disease?” Tony muttered something and Rolan glanced at him, noting he had kicked the blankets off.
“Ten to twenty-one days,” the doctor replied.
“So what you’re saying is any one of us could develop chicken pox within the next three weeks even if we’ve had the shots?” Rizzo put forward the query.
“Oui. But anyone who’s already had the disease has immunity.”
“That lets me out,” Rizzo said and heaved an audible sigh. “Had it when I was two, measles right after. My mom said it was the worst three months of her life.”
“Bully for you,” Rolan muttered. “Great, I can’t start practice camp.”
“I’m in the clear, had it in India before we migrated,” Suresh said.
“Sarita?”
“I haven’t had it.” Her heart had returned to a normal beat. Chicken pox wasn’t fatal, so Tony would have a few uncomfortable days, but he’d be all right.
“Is there anything we should watch for?” Rolan asked.
“I will prescribe a lotion to prevent the blisters from becoming infected. If the scabs do become infected, call me right away. There is a slight risk of sterility with infected males, but this young man is barely prepubescent, so it shouldn’t affect his reproductive system.”
“What about adult men, Doctor ?”
“The risk increases and there are really no preventative measures.”
“Geoff is a first son, set to inherit the title from his father. Terry is the second son, the spare, but his father’s an Earl. Both of them should be informed of this when you see them.” Rolan ran both hands through his hair.
Blood drained form all of Sarita’s extremities and her fingertips grew icy. “I’m not on birth control, Doctor. “
“That is very unfortunate, Madame. There is a high risk of birth defects if you have already conceived.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rolan’s blood congealed. To hide his trembling fingers, he smoothed the blanket over Tony and listened as the doctor wrapped up his visit with another pearl of advice.