Breaking the Rules (Harte Family Saga Book 7)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “Yes. It says Vicodin on the label. I think he might have taken a lot of these painkillers without realizing how strong they are.”

  “And dangerous,” James pointed out, remembering his conversation about Larry’s history with Geo only a couple of weeks ago.

  “He’s out of it, James. I don’t know what to do. I can’t get him to a hospital because he’s too famous. It will be wrongly perceived, I’m certain. And it’ll make headlines. But I need a doctor at once.”

  “I agree. Tell me what exact condition he’s in right now.”

  “He’s woozy, but he did open his eyes, managed to indicate his mouth and mumbled “tooth.” I checked his pulse and heartbeat, and they both seem relatively steady, but I’m not experienced when it comes to such things. He’s very white. He needs help. Now.”

  “Keep him warm, and I’ll be there as fast as I can. But I can’t just disappear, not without explaining to Geo where I’m going. We’ve made plans to spend the weekend together.”

  “You can tell her. But just explain we’ve got to keep this a secret.”

  “You can trust her. I promise you. She cares about you.”

  “All right. Just come as quickly as you can. With a doctor. I’m a bit afraid.”

  “Don’t panic, stay cool.”

  “I’m your client, remember? Promise, James.”

  “You are my client,” James answered and hung up.

  Once she was off the telephone, M ran to Larry’s bedroom, took the pillows and duvet off the bed, and brought them back to the library. She placed the pillow under his head, propped it up, and wrapped the duvet around him. Then she ran and lit the fire, turned the heat up, and sat down in a chair next to the sofa to wait. Not once did her eyes leave Larry’s face.

  During the next half hour, M kept checking on Larry, feeling his pulse; she made a pot of tea but did not drink it, threw more logs onto the fire, and continued to wait. She was growing increasingly nervous, and her anxiety was high when the phone rang.

  “Miss Carlson is on her was up,” the concierge in the lobby told her.

  “How’s Larry?” Geo asked when M opened the door a moment later and drew her inside.

  “About the same. Where’s James?” M asked, frowning.

  “I dropped him off at Duane Reade on First Avenue. He needed to get something from the pharmacy. He’ll be here in a few seconds.” The phone began to ring as she spoke, and Geo glanced at M. “That’s probably him now,” she asserted.

  M hurried to answer it, returned at once, and said, “You’re right, it is James.” Crossing the entrance hall, she opened the front door just as James stepped out of the elevator accompanied by a tall, somewhat heavyset young man.

  James said, “Here we are, M. This is Dr. Matthew Branden, my own doctor and a good friend. Matt, I’d like you to meet my friend Marie Marsden. We call her M.”

  The doctor came forward, shook M’s hand, and said, “I must see the patient at once. Can you take me to him?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” M answered, relieved that James had brought his doctor. A professional was needed now, not amateurs playing guessing games. “I’ll take you to Larry,” M went on, leading the doctor, James, and Geo through the long living room and into the library.

  The doctor went to Larry immediately, took his stethoscope out of his briefcase, and listened to Larry’s heart, then took his pulse and looked into his eyes with a small light.

  Geo hung back in the doorway with M, whilst James went to the desk, put down the small plastic bag he was carrying, and asked the doctor, “Is he unconscious?”

  Straightening up, Matt Branden shook his head. “No, he’s not, thank God. But he is drugged.” Looking at M, he continued, “I understand that your friend took Vicodin. Can I see the bottle, please?”

  It was in M’s pocket, and she walked across the library, gave him the bottle, and explained, “It was in his hand, and the top was off.”

  The doctor nodded and quickly read the label. “James said you believed he’d had dental work, which is why these pills were prescribed. Why did you assume that?”

  “Because Larry brought his hand up to his mouth when I was questioning him about taking the pills, and he mumbled something which sounded like tooth.”

  “I see. It’s hard to know how many pills he’s taken in the last twenty-four hours, but it’s imperative that I induce vomiting. I must make him bring up what he has taken.”

  M bit her lip and nodded. “How can you do that?”

  “I filled a prescription at Duane Reade for Ipecac syrup. It’s an emetic that works by irritating the lining of the stomach and stimulating the vomiting center of the brain. Because he’s conscious, I’ll be able to get it into him, then his reflexes will kick in and he’ll automatically swallow the syrup. He needs only a tablespoonful. Plus one or two glasses of water afterward. How big is his bathroom?”

  “Not very big.”

  “I will need him to be sitting down, because I don’t think he’ll be able to stand. How about the kitchen? What size is that?”

  “Bigger than his bathroom, and there’s a table in there, along with a banquette at one side and a chair.”

  “Okay, that sounds good. Let’s do this. James, will you come here and help me with Larry? I’m sure he’s not very ambulatory. We’ll just have to maneuver him along as best we can.” Glancing at M, he added, “Would you go ahead and find a large bowl or bucket, and put it on the table. And Geo, please take the Ipecac syrup into the kitchen, it’s in that plastic bag on the desk.”

  Both women did as he asked, and James strode over to the sofa. Together he and the doctor managed to lift Larry to his feet. Putting their hands underneath his arms, they held him upright and virtually carried him out of the library.

  Twenty-three

  Although she had been extremely worried when she found Larry just over an hour ago, once James and Matt Branden had arrived, M instantly grew calmer. And now that she was actually doing something to help, she was totally in control of herself, as she usually was in emergencies.

  As she brought the straight-backed wooden chair over to the kitchen table, she said to Geo, “Could you put the Ipecac syrup down here, and then fill two separate glasses with water, please. You can use tap water, or there’s a bottle of Evian in the fridge. Thanks, Geo.”

  Geo did as she was asked, used the Evian, and then found a tablespoon in a cutlery drawer, saying, as she did, “Don’t you think I ought to get a big bath towel to wrap around Larry to protect his clothes?”

  “Good idea. The linen closet is in the corridor next to Larry’s bedroom,” M responded.

  Geo hurried out; seconds later James and the doctor came slowly into the kitchen, supporting Larry between them. “Let’s get him over to the table,” Dr. Branden instructed, and then his eyes swept around the room, noting everything. Once they had placed Larry on the chair and lifted it closer to the table, the doctor went to the sink and washed his hands.

  M brought a large square plastic bowl and put it down on the table in front of Larry, who was still woozy, his eyes closed, his chin resting on his chest. “Should I get a bucket as well?” M asked, looking across at the doctor.

  “I think it would be wise,” he answered as he dried his hands on a piece of paper towel. “And James, please get the syringe out of the plastic bag.”

  Geo returned with a large bath towel and handed it to James, who was standing next to Larry, his hand on his shoulder. “Wrap this around him to protect his clothing,” Geo said. James nodded and did so, making certain the silk dressing gown was covered.

  “I think we’re ready,” the doctor announced, walking over to his patient. After pouring the Ipecac syrup onto the spoon, he looked at James and instructed, “Please lift his head up off his chest.”

  James did this, and Dr. Branden opened Larry’s mouth, poured the syrup into it, clamped his mouth shut, and tilted his head back slightly. Just as he had predicted, Larry’s reflexes kicked in and he swal
lowed the syrup automatically.

  “Let’s give him a second or two, and then I must get a glass of water down him. That will be tougher, and I’ll start by using the syringe to squirt the water into his mouth,” the doctor explained. Once again, James helped his friend, who managed to get the first glass of water down Larry’s throat using the syringe; in less than a minute, Larry was vomiting into the bowl. When he finally stopped, the doctor gave him a few minutes to relax before getting the second glass of water down him. Almost immediately Larry vomited it back.

  Geo, who was somewhat squeamish, hurried out of the kitchen, but M was determined to stay, wanting to help Larry. She brought a bucket to the table, removed the bowl, and emptied it, while James and the doctor attended to Larry.

  At one moment, Dr. Branden gave James a knowing look. “The next stage is a bit difficult. We’ve got to keep him upright and moving once he’s stopped vomiting and his stomach is totally empty.”

  James nodded. “I understand. We can walk him up and down one of the corridors, or up and down the living room.”

  “Better make it a corridor,” Matt said. “Just in case he starts to vomit again.”

  By five o’clock that afternoon Larry’s eyes were open, the wooziness had dissipated, and he knew what was going on around him. He was as white as bleached linen, weak and debilitated, but all of the Vicodin was out of him, and Dr. Branden was satisfied he would be all right.

  “But call me if you need me,” the doctor told M. She promised she would.

  As she walked him to the front door, she asked, “What should I do about feeding him? He must be awfully hungry, there’s nothing left inside.”

  “Black tea, no milk, a slice or two of toast. Plain, dry, no butter or jelly. A little chicken broth later. Keep it light, no solid food until tomorrow. Okay?”

  “I’ll do exactly as you say. Dr. Branden. I’m so grateful you were able to come. James and I would have been lost. Thank you very much.”

  “Call me tomorrow to let me know how he is, and if you need me I’ll be right over. I only live a few blocks away.”

  “Thanks again,” M murmured, shut the door behind him, and hurried back to Larry’s bedroom. He was fast asleep, breathing evenly. She crept out of the room, not wanting to disturb him, and went to the kitchen, where she found Geo and James.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you both,” she said. “Thank you so much, James, Geo. I’m so sorry you had to go through this ordeal.”

  “I’m just glad I could do something,” Geo murmured and looked at the kettle as it began to whistle. “I don’t know about you, but I need a cup of tea.” She went to turn the kettle off.

  “I’d love a cup, please,” M said and stared at James, then reaching out, she took hold of his arm. “Thank you . . . thank you for getting here so quickly, and for bringing Matt Branden. It was the right thing to do, getting a doctor.”

  “After I’d hung up with you, all I could think of was that he might die of an overdose, and then where would we be?” James smiled faintly.

  “I understood how lucky it was you’d managed to get hold of your own doctor,” M answered and sat down.

  Geo brought the mugs of tea over to them, returned with milk and sweetener, and joined them at the table. “While you two were helping the doctor with Larry, I called the pharmacy in Toronto and established that the doctor named on the label is in fact a dentist.” She squeezed M’s hand. “So you were correct, Larry had said ‘tooth’ to you earlier.”

  “I wonder why he took so many pills?” M murmured, baffled. “Maybe there were other things at work.”

  “Perhaps so,” James agreed and hesitated a moment before continuing. “He’ll explain everything, I’m sure, as soon as he’s a bit better. He must be exhausted, poor sod, after all that vomiting. He’s fast asleep, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, and that’s the best thing for him right now. I’m not going to press him for an explanation until he’s more like himself,” M remarked and took a sip of tea.

  Geo said, “I’m sure he should sleep as much as he can. Did Dr. Branden say he could eat something? I bet it’s just toast and black tea.”

  “Nothing else, Geo, certainly no solid food today. Anyway, I doubt he’ll be able to keep much down.”

  “There’s nothing, no food in the refrigerator,” Geo suddenly pointed out. “Do you want me to do some marketing for you?”

  “That would be a great help.” M stood up, went to the library, and returned with her handbag. “I’ll make a list, and here’s a hundred-dollar bill,” she said, taking the money out of her wallet. “I think I’ll make chicken-in-the-pot. It’s soothing, healing. Perfect for tomorrow.” She went over to the counter, tore a page from the message pad, and began to make a shopping list.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” James asked, turning to Geo.

  “No, but thanks for offering. I’ll be quicker on my own,” she replied, taking the list from M.

  Once they were alone, M said, “Let me know how much I owe you, James, and I’ll bring you the money on Monday.”

  “Oh, look, let’s not go through that again! I promise you I won’t breathe a word to anyone about this . . . incident. Believe me, you don’t have to pay me, and I wish you wouldn’t even try.”

  “No, no. That was the deal we made, and a deal’s a deal as far as I’m concerned. I insist on paying you, and that’s that.”

  James sighed, shaking his head, and then he said quietly, his voice serious, “You must talk to Larry in a very straightforward way, M. Look, I’m sure you know that without me telling you, but he must explain what he was going through when he started taking quantities of the Vicodin.”

  “I plan to do that, I promise you,” she said in a low but firm voice. “Something like this can’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn right,” he replied, giving her a cautionary look. For a split second he thought of telling her about Larry’s drug history—so called—then changed his mind. He wanted to give Larry a chance to confide in M of his own volition, wanted to be fair to the man. He had never liked playing God, not even when he was with MI6.

  They met on Monday morning at his office on Park Avenue, at M’s request.

  “So he hasn’t really explained anything, has he?” James said, sitting back in his chair, regarding M intently.

  “Not really, no,” she answered swiftly. “But he will.”

  “I hope so.” James continued to stare at her, thinking that, despite her worries of the last couple of days, she looked bloody marvelous. She was wearing a white open-neck shirt with a black sweater and pants, appeared very schoolgirlish in the outfit, her hair in a ponytail, her makeup light and youthful.

  M was seated on the other side of his desk, and she had just handed him an envelope containing a thousand dollars in cash. He had protested that it was far too much, but she had adamantly refused to take any of it back. She insisted it was a fair fee for his help on Saturday, his continuing attentiveness on Sunday, and his evident concern for her and Larry.

  “You’re looking very thoughtful,” M said, cutting into his thoughts. Her dark brows drew together in a deep frown. “What is it?”

  “I was thinking about Larry and you, your relationship. Listen, are you sure he’ll come clean?” James still held her with his eyes.

  M was silent for a moment, and then she replied in an even, steady tone. “That’s a funny phrase to use, James . . . ‘come clean.’ He’s not trying to hide anything; he’ll tell me everything this afternoon, he promised he would. He was still terribly exhausted on Sunday, as you know. All that vomiting did him in. But he did say this morning that he’d had a raging toothache the weekend Edward arrived in Toronto, and that he’d had to deal with it immediately on that Monday morning, which is why we never connected. Then he apparently became embroiled with his father and Edward, over something. He didn’t say what, merely added he’d been wedged between the devil and the deep blue sea. He must’ve been refer
ring to his father and brother, don’t you think?”

  “You’re probably right. But he must tell you the truth, M.” James leaned over the desk, his expression somber. “Matt thinks Larry might well have an addictive personality, which means that if he takes certain pills, such as codeine, for pain, he will become addicted to them at once. Matt explained that Larry should check this out and seek treatment if necessary.”

  M was startled. “Does Dr. Branden think it’s that serious?”

  “He’s not positive, no, but he has thrown out a number of cautionary words to me, and I trust him. He’s a damn good doctor. I rely on him to give me the right advice, and I trust him implicitly.”

  “I understand.” M sighed, still taken aback, and after a moment’s reflection, she said, “Once I know everything, I will suggest he get help, if that’s actually necessary. And I’ll tell you what he tells me, so don’t worry, James.”

  “I think that would be wise. I’ll help in any way I can. Incidentally, is there someone with him right now?”

  “Oh, yes, Mary is there, the housekeeper. She comes in three times a week to look after the apartment, has done so for over twenty years apparently. She worked for his parents, a lovely Irish woman. I told her he’d had a bit of a relapse, another bout of the flu, and she’s staying with him until I get back this afternoon. She’s going to give him some of my soup and toast for lunch. I told her to keep it light, no solid food yet.”

  “I’m relieved someone’s there. He needs a bit of cosseting. Changing the subject for a moment . . . Geo told me you’ll be moving to Paris in December, giving up your room, M.”

  “Yes, Jean-Louis Tremont has hired me to model his clothes for the spring-summer collection, which he’ll be showing in January. It’s a wonderful break for me.”

  “It certainly is, and congratulations, but Geo will miss you, and so will I.”

  She smiled at him and asked in a slightly teasing tone, “Are you two serious about each other? I’d love to know.”