Double Jeopardy

by Bobby Hutchinson

  He moved to her other side, again tilting her chin with a finger and rapidly snapping one photo after the other.

  “They never even tested us for color blindness, can you believe that? What if a doctor ends up not recognizing blood because it looks gray to him? I’m not color blind, thank heavens, so I don’t mix up blood and drool, or I don’t wear purple shirts with yellow pants, but I don’t have much clothes sense. I’ve got to rely on an outspoken office nurse who’s quick to tell me which shirt doesn’t go with whatever pants.”

  Sera couldn’t help but giggle and he went right on snapping, coming in close, moving farther away. He was taking more photographs of her than she’d had taken in her life.

  “I’m pretty lucky,” he continued without a halt. “As I said, I’ve got Dana to clue me in if I go off track, but what about those poor devils just out of med school who don’t have an office nurse to guide them? I suppose that’s one of the reasons the majority of us marry in haste and repent at leisure.”

  Abruptly, the flow of words stopped. Sera had the definite feeling that he hadn’t planned to reveal himself quite that much. He was silent for several long moments.

  “Sorry,” he said in a subdued voice. “I didn’t mean to bore you with my personal history. My tongue works independently of my brain when I’m concentrating.”

  “Did you really marry just to get advice on your wardrobe?” Sera was teasing, but his answer was both shockingly straightforward and serious.

  “I married because of hormones.” His tone was rueful. “There was this incredible physical attraction.” He set the camera down. “The problem is, sex is not always the best basis for a lasting relationship.”

  It certainly was appealing for the short-term, Sera mused. Having him so close to her activated her hormones, that was for sure. He smelled good, a clean woodsy scent. His breath was pleasant, natural, not masked by mint. This close to him she could see that his beautiful eyes had tiny flecks of gold mixed in with the green. He was a find, in Maisie’s terminology.

  “That’s about what Gemma said after she divorced Raymond, that the big appeal was her ex’s body, not his brain.” Sera wondered if Halsey was a tiny bit chauvinistic in his attitudes. She challenged him on it.

  He laughed. “Works both ways, of course,” he conceded.

  “Why did you decide to become a plastic surgeon, Ben?” Using his first name felt strange, but he had suggested it.

  “Because of my great grandfather. My father’s family was from England. Great grandpa Edward was a soldier in the First World War. He was trapped inside a bombed building in France in 1918, just before the war ended.” He grabbed a straight-backed chair and sat down on it. “He got burned. Face mostly. Hands, too. Body not as bad. He was sent to Queens Hospital at Sidcup in Kent. The doctors there were experimenting with grafts and other early techniques for restoring facial features, and they did what they could for him.”

  “That’s awful. Was he married?” She considered what it would be like for a woman to marry a handsome young soldier and have him come back terribly disfigured. It would take an unusual person.

  “Nope. He married after the war. I never knew my great grandma; she was dead by the time I was born. But apparently she was a really special lady.”

  “Were you born in England?”

  He shook his head.

  “Edward and his new wife immigrated to Canada in 1923, to a farm in Saskatchewan. My grandfather was born there. He grew up and married the girl on the next farm. They had six kids. Dad was the youngest. Mom was a schoolteacher he met in Saskatoon. I never really thought anything about Great-grandpa’s face being different until we were visiting the farm one summer and a kid I was playing with said he looked like a monster. I beat the stuffing out of the guy.” His smile was satisfied.

  “And that’s when you decided to become a plastic surgeon?” It was such a romantic story. “Nope. I wanted to be a soldier, like Great- grandpa. I was fascinated by guns when I was little.”

  She had to laugh at the incongruity.

  “But before he died, Great-grandpa talked to me about the war, and the doctors he’d known in Sidcup, who’d devoted their lives to helping men with injuries to their faces and hands, doing their best to send them back into the world looking better.” This was clearly a subject dear to his heart.

  “You know, the unofficial father of plastic surgery was a guy named Kazanjian. He was really an American dentist. He went over to France with the Royal Army Medical Corps, and with raw skill and inventiveness earned himself a name as The Miracle Man of the Western Front. Grandpa told me stories about Kazanjian, he’d actually met the guy. During my teens, I didn’t even think of being a doctor, but when I got to university, I decided on medicine.”

  He stood abruptly, as if he’d finally remembered he had other patients to see. “We’re all done here. Now I’ll send you over to St. Joe’s for a CT scan. You’ve been really patient, thank you.”

  She arched her aching back. “You’re dead right about that stool. It’s pretty bad. Not quite the back breaker those chairs are, but close.”

  He laughed. “So, Ms. Set Designer, what would you suggest, instead?”

  “A bar stool in here, very padded, with a backrest that adjusts. And for out there, a couple of wonderful leather chairs that you sink into and don’t want to ever get out of.”

  “And where would I find those?” He seemed perplexed.

  She shot him a scandalized look. “You’re joking. The city’s full of furniture places.”

  He shook his head. “I’m totally serious. I’m absolutely at a loss when it comes to shopping for anything but groceries.”

  “You simply go to a furniture store. In fact, I’m sure I saw the perfect leather chairs last week when I was hunting down a sofa for the set.”

  “I wish I’d known. I would have had you buy them for me.”

  She still couldn’t believe he was serious. “I’m going back tomorrow for a footstool. Do you want me to watch for some chairs?”

  “Would you?” He looked as if she’d offered him her body. Or maybe he wouldn’t be quite this enthused over her body.

  “Sure.” Shopping was such an easy thing, one she enjoyed doing. “I’ll find you some, and a stool, as well. I’ll tell the salesperson you’ll be in to check them over.”

  He appeared alarmed and shook his head. “I’ll never do it. Just pick them out, call here for my credit-card number and have them delivered. I’ll tell Dana. She’ll handle any other details.”

  Sera was astounded. “Furniture’s expensive. You really oughta see it before you invest money.”

  “I trust your judgment. I never know what to get or where to find it.” His grin was rueful. “You know, I moved into a new place over a year ago and I still haven’t furnished it.”

  “Want some help with that, too?” The words were out before Sera could stop them, and she was immediately horrified at her audacity. But turning living spaces into reflections of the people who occupied them was irresistible to her. If she weren’t doing set design, she’d be an interior decorator. “Sorry, that was presumptuous of me,” she stammered. “I—”

  He interrupted. “You mean it? Because if you do, you bet I want help,” he said fervently. “How soon could you stop by? Could you come this evening and maybe have a look?”

  Sera began to wonder what she’d gotten herself into.

  “Yes, I guess I could,” she finally said. “Sure. After I visit Gemma.” What the heck was she doing?

  “Fantastic.” He sounded delighted. “About, what, eight thirty, nine? Here’s my address. It’s a loft in Gastown.” He scribbled on a pad, ripped the sheet off and gave it to her. “Any suggestions at all would be much appreciated.”

  After Sera left, Ben stood for several long moments, thinking about what had just occurred. Until today, he’d seen Sera only as Gemma’s attractive twin, a fortuitous aid to his patient’s favorable re- construction. But in the past half hour, she’
d become an individual to him, a singular woman with a fascinating job, self-confidence, a sense of humor; all the attributes he most admired. And that she was pleasing to look at didn’t hurt, either.

  He was drawn to her, no doubt about that, which was why he’d so readily accepted her offer of assistance with his office chairs and his loft. He didn’t really give a damn about the loft, but he did want to get to know Sera outside his work environment.

  She was unconventionally lovely. She had that mass of wild curly hair the color of polished oak. Her ears and mouth were a shade large, her nose a trifle too long to qualify for traditional beauty, but that was exactly what appealed to him so strongly. That and the fact that Sera Cardano had quite casually stated that she was comfortable with her looks, satisfied with them. To Ben that was both unique and astonishing.

  Certainly not all, but a high percentage of the women he dated sooner or later made it clear they wanted something changed—smaller noses, bigger breasts, higher cheekbones, thinner thighs. Not that he accommodated them; he usually referred them to a colleague if they were absolutely determined to have surgery. Reluctantly he’d come to accept that part of his appeal was the knowledge that he could, if he chose, play Svengali.

  Quite simply, his job intrigued women with the promise of physical beauty. And although he wasn’t proud of it, in his early years he’d sometimes taken advantage of that fascination with plastic surgery to promote a relationship.

  The fact was, he truly liked women; he had a brother but no sisters, and females had always been both mysterious and exciting to him.

  For several years, Ben and Greg Brulotte had nurtured a reputation as St. Joe’s most eligible bachelors, driving fast cars and dating wild women. Since Greg’s marriage four years ago, Ben had sorely missed having a buddy.

  He’d gradually changed, living a quieter life, devoting more time to his art, although he’d still managed to meet and date plenty of women. He’d thoroughly enjoyed several intimate relationships; indeed, the last one had ended just two months ago when Monica Halko had decided to move to Toronto.

  She was the editor of a small Vancouver magazine, and she’d been offered a job at a much larger publication in Toronto. She’d halfheartedly suggested Ben accompany her, but of course that wasn’t part of his career plan, and she understood that. They’d parted amiably enough; they’d talked on the phone, although not in the past several weeks.

  Ben suspected Monica had found another companion, which bothered him not at all. He’d probably meet the guy somewhere along the line; a lot of his romantic relationships eventually evolved into casual friendships.

  The single notable exception was Vera, the nurse he’d married at twenty-four and divorced a scant year later. He didn’t like to think about her. He’d hurt her deeply, and he felt profoundly guilty for what had happened between them. As he’d blurted out to Sera, their union had been based more on lust than on love, and he hadn’t realized until later that Vera was mentally unstable.

  He’d vowed after his divorce never to hurt a woman again, and to the best of his ability, he’d upheld that vow. He made absolutely certain the ladies he dated understood from the beginning that he wasn’t looking for any sort of long term commitment. He’d gone out of his way to tell them that he didn’t get involved in serious relationships. He was interested in a good time, and the women he dated understood that.

  “Dr. Halsey, are you all right? Mr. Tate’s been waiting for over twenty minutes.” Dana’s voice was reproachful.

  “At once, sir.” Ben snapped her a salute, and she laughed and shook her head at him.

  He was nearly always good-natured, but that afternoon he found more reasons than usual to smile and laugh and tease. He knew it was because he was very much looking forward to seeing Sera that evening.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sera walked past his building twice before she finally found the nerve to press the buzzer beside Ben Halsey’s name.

  He lived on the top floor. The elevator was slow, and all the way up she wondered what exactly she thought she was doing. It wasn’t characteristic of her to come on to guys. Did Ben feel that was what her impetuous suggestion had meant? She felt embarrassed now, wondering how to deal with the situation.

  He was waiting when she stepped out, and his wide smile welcomed her.

  “Sera, glad you found me okay.” He led her a short distance down the hall. He’d changed into worn jeans and a white T-shirt. His feet were bare, and that relaxed her somewhat; it made him seem vulnerable, not so much a doctor. He’d left his door open, and now he stood aside so she could go in ahead of him.

  A big brown dog came trotting over to her, wagging his tail and sniffing her pant leg.

  “This is Grendel. He’s friendly and harmless. Useless as a watchdog, but great as a companion.”

  Sera loved dogs. She hunched down and let the dog sniff her and lick her cheek. “Hiya, fellow.” Grendel woofed and offered a paw. Sera took it and the dog made happy whining noises.

  “That’s it. Now he’s in love. He’s a pushover for the ladies,” Ben pronounced. “He’s not gonna let you move anymore without him underfoot.”

  “We’ll manage, won’t we, boy?” Sera scratched behind Grendel’s ears and got to her feet, looking around. “Wow, is this ever big.” It was a penthouse loft, with huge skylights set in a cathedral ceiling. There was a compact, well-equipped kitchen to the left of the entrance. On the right was open storage area, with a racing bike hung on a hook and an enormous heap of sports paraphernalia on the floor.

  Intrigued, Sera walked farther, into a huge living room that ended in a dramatic wall of glass stretching from the bare plank flooring almost up to the ceiling two stories overhead. It gave a panoramic and breathtaking view of the harbor, the North Shore mountains and the busy streets of Gastown far below. The day had been hot and sunny, and even though it was late in the evening, light still streamed in through the window and trickled down from the skylights.

  “Oh, I love this. I envy you this space. What a fantastic place to live. I’m renting a furnished apartment with a view, but it’s nothing like this.”

  “Thanks. I really like it here.” It was obvious her sincere praise pleased him.

  At one end of the cavernous room, Ben had set up a table for sculpting and drawing. A long piece of plywood held clay and a canvas wrapped work- in-progress. An easel sat beside it, with oils and charcoals scattered on the floor and table.

  “This is spectacular, all this space,” she breathed, turning slowly in a circle, her eyes following the floating staircase up to the loft. Each time she moved, Grendel moved with her, gazing up at her with limpid brown eyes.

  “I’m really glad you approve,” Ben said. “I just don’t know how to furnish it.”

  “The possibilities are endless.”

  He laughed. “Not to me they’re not. Before you get into explaining, how about a drink? I have wine, soda, orange juice. Or I can make coffee or tea.”

  “I’d love a glass of wine.”

  “So would I.” He headed into the kitchen, and she patted the dog and watched as Ben opened a cupboard, found stemmed glasses, took a dark bottle from the fridge and poured chilled white wine.

  “Sit down.”

  Glancing around again, Sera realized her choices were limited: one of four bar stools fronting the half wall that opened to the kitchen, or either of two plastic lawn chairs set up before a large television.

  Sera chose a lawn chair, and Ben followed her lead, sinking into the other one. Grendel plopped down in the space between, his head on Sera’s feet, his tail thumping irregularly on Ben’s.

  “Cheers.” Ben lifted his glass to her. “How was Gemma this evening?"

  Like a crazy person, Sera wanted to say. Her sister had thrown things, cried, torn up notes before anyone could read them. “She’s pretty scared about the operation,” she finally said, realizing now that was the real reason for Gemma’s tantrums. “She’s afraid you won’t be able to
make her look the way she did. Afraid of being scarred and disfigured, of having people stare at her and feel sorry for her. She hates not being able to talk, having to write everything down.” Being able to verbalize the things she instinctively knew were bothering her sister helped. It dispelled some of the irritation and utter frustration that Gemma’s behavior caused. The wine helped, as well. It was cool and tart, smooth and refreshing.

  “Gemma always cared more than I did about how she looked,” Sera reflected. “She’s used to getting a lot of male attention.”

  Ben nodded. He listened well, and that was comforting. “As I told you, there aren’t any guarantees, but I think Gemma will be pleased when I’m done. In the meantime, of course, it’s really tough for her, and being in the hospital doesn’t make it any easier. She’ll feel better when she goes home.”

  “When will that be?” Gemma had an apartment of her own, but she’d agreed to stay with their parents until she’d fully recovered. Sera felt a stab of sympathy for her mom and dad; her sister wouldn’t be an easy patient.

  “Within a couple days of the operation, providing all goes as planned.” He smiled at her again, a relaxed, warm smile that put her at ease. “So what’s it like being an identical twin, Sera?”

  She took a few moments to reply; it was a question that had no easy answer. Usually, the person asking wasn’t interested in an in-depth response, but she sensed that Ben really wanted to know.

  “I guess it’s like everything else in life, part good and part not so good,” she finally said. “You’re never really alone, since even when you’re not physically together, there’s this deep sense of connection. But you miss being an individual, too. Not now so much, because I moved away, detached myself, but when we were kids everyone thought of us as one unit, sort of Gemma and Sera. And that was hard, because we are separate people, with a lot of differences.”