It was the way she said the words. Everyone who worked here would be passionate about what they did. But there seemed to be a real emphasis on her words. As if there was something that he was missing.
And he got it. He got it better than anyone. Because the work on cardiomyopathy could end up being a lifeline for his son.
He watched her carefully. He could almost see her shaking off the overspill of emotions, tidying them back up and putting them in a box. His stomach roiled a little. It was the weirdest thing, but it was almost the same expression she’d had on her face at one point last night. He just couldn’t understand why.
And he definitely couldn’t understand why he was so curious.
She licked her lips and looked at him again. ‘My turn to ask the questions. I’m sure that Franc knew all this back to front. But I don’t. What’s your background?’
For a second he felt himself move into self-protect mode. The bit where he only gave the edited version of his life.
But he turned around as she led him back from the research wing and he was faced with the picture-postcard landscape again. The world was so vast out there. He was only a tiny bit of it. Why on earth did he feel he had something to hide?
He stopped walking and his fingers brushed against her elbow. She turned to face him. He almost laughed.
Yip. He was currently in a movie of his life. Cordelia was the heroine in this movie and she was standing in front of a green screen. Because this background was just too perfect to be real.
And as he stood a little longer, she began to look too perfect too. She was sharply in focus. Now he could appreciate the long, dark lashes. Now he could appreciate the smudge of red lipstick still on her lips.
Now...he was definitely losing his mind.
It was almost like hovering above and watching, instead of really taking part.
He shook his head. ‘I trained as a physician in Texas but lived my life between France and Texas. My mom—ma mère—was a French scientist. Somehow she managed to meet my rancher father and I lived between two continents.’
She tilted her head to the side. ‘Wow. That’s some childhood.’
He nodded. ‘I was lucky. I had barrel loads of love on both sides of the Atlantic. I had friends in Houston and in Paris.’
‘So what made you become a doctor?’
They walked along the corridor towards the other wing. ‘Oh, I always wanted to be a doctor. Right from when I was a little kid. My dad wanted me to take over the ranch and while I love it, my heart was never in it. Thankfully I’ve got a stepbrother who has ranch blood running in his veins.’
‘Oh, okay.’ He could see the obvious question running around in her head. He could avoid it—or ignore it—like he had before. But he had a reason for being here. He was invested in this research. And there was almost an ethical responsibility to say why.
He stopped walking. ‘Rory’s mom was a fellow doctor I met at a conference. We had a few nights together and then didn’t keep in touch. I met Rory when he was nine months old. Mindy had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. She was already in a degree of heart failure when she became pregnant and was advised not to continue with the pregnancy. I had no idea she was unwell and she didn’t listen. And she only contacted me when she’d been on the heart transplant list for a few months.’
Cordelia’s eyes were wide. He just kept going. It was easier to have it out there. ‘Three weeks later Mindy died. And it’s been just me and Rory ever since.’ He slowed down as the edges of his lips turned upwards. ‘My world.’
She didn’t speak for a few seconds, just stared at him. ‘That’s how you came into research?’
He nodded. ‘I was already in cardiology. But, you’ll understand, the clinical side is tough.’ He hadn’t asked her for her reasons for leaving her clinical role, but he’d understood the implication. People who’d spent years training to be a doctor didn’t walk away unless they had no real choice.
‘It didn’t work for me with no real help at home, covering emergencies and on calls with a baby. Research was the natural place. Find out what I needed to know, while still keeping a clinical role—in more manageable hours.’
She nodded as he continued. ‘And with the potential for Rory...’ He let his voice tail off.
The realisation didn’t take long to hit her. She worked in research. She knew exactly what he was getting at. Cardiomyopathy was a hereditary condition.
‘Rory has the gene?’
‘Rory has the gene,’ he repeated.
She didn’t hesitate. She reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘Oh, Gene. I’m so sorry.’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘So am I. But that’s life. You’ll know the odds. He had a fifty per cent chance of inheriting the gene—and he has. But so far there are no symptoms. No indication that there’s anything to worry about. That’s what I need to keep inside my head. But it doesn’t stop me making this my life’s work.’
He didn’t need to say any more. She’d know the potential. She’d know that hypertrophic cardiomyopathy was the condition frequently undetected then associated with young sportsmen suddenly dying.
That was why the ‘no symptoms’ was so important to keep in his head. Because late at night, when he looked at that gorgeous little mop of blond hair, every worst-case scenario in the world wound its way through his head.
Her voice had a sympathetic tone and he could see the understanding her eyes as she looked at him. ‘So you’re committed. You want to be here. You want to do the work.’
He could tell she was almost relieved. If he’d turned and walked out today because Professor Helier wasn’t going to be around, it could have potentially brought the research to a halt. But he’d never do that. He repeated those words. ‘I want to do the work. It’s important to me. It’s important to Rory. And it’s important to a whole host of other people all around the world affected by this disease.’ He didn’t have a single doubt about what he was saying.
She gave a nod of approval and held her hand out towards the next wing. ‘Well, in that case, Dr Du Bois, come and meet your fabulous team. And your fabulous patients.’
* * *
Her head was swimming as she pasted a smile on her face. Her heart ached for him—literally.
Now she understood—probably a whole lot better than he expected her to.
The thought that his gorgeous little son could have a ticking time bomb in his chest—similar to her own—was heart-wrenching. How must it feel to look at that little guy every day and wonder if at some point he would develop symptoms or become unwell? As a medic, one thing was crystal clear in her head. Parents shouldn’t outlive their kids. They just shouldn’t. There was something so wrong about that. Unbearable. And she wasn’t even a mother.
She’d worked with families who’d lost kids due to cardiac defects and anomalies and there was something so wrong about it all.
They walked down to the east wing—where all the patients were seen and monitored. The Rueben Institute was like many other cardiac research centres. They monitored patients with certain conditions, seeing if small lifestyle changes could have impacts on their lives, along with dietary changes and alternative therapies. They also monitored certain new medicines, making sure that patients didn’t have any side effects and comparing the differences between them and the existing medicines. There was no point introducing a new medicine to the world