Brushing a speck of dirt from the sleeve of her jacket, she rose from the bench and walked purposefully through the park gates and across the road to the main entrance of the hospital.
At that hour of the morning, the main lobby was crowded with visitors, clerks, technicians and other medical personnel, all busily going about their business. Yet more than a few curious gazes followed her as she made her way to the bank of elevators, and Olivia knew that the gossip hadn’t stopped at Ingrid’s Deli. The hospital was buzzing, too, and if she’d had the slightest doubt of that, it was laid to rest the minute she stepped into the boardroom where her meeting was to take place.
“So you haven’t holed up in your little house for the duration,” Daphne Jerome, head of the social committee, greeted her. “My dear, how I do admire your fortitude!”
Since Daphne didn’t admire anyone but herself, her remark could be construed as nothing more than a blatant attempt to get an account, from the source, of what had actually happened on the Saturday. Feigning surprise, Olivia said blandly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daphne.”
“Why, the reappearance of your unlamented ex-husband, of course! From all accounts, he quite stole the limelight at Justin Greer’s wedding—and you didn’t do so badly, yourself. How did it feel to come face to face with him after all this time?”
“Not particularly exciting. We’ve been divorced for so long, it was almost like meeting a stranger.”
“Really? In that case, I shudder to think how you’d greet a friend.”
Realizing too late the mistake of trying to play Daphne at her own game, Olivia said shortly, “A woman your age ought to know better than to set much store by hearsay, and I frankly don’t have the time to waste setting you straight. Where’s Dr. Harte? I thought that, as head of Cardiology, he wanted to sit in on today’s meeting.”
“Haven’t you heard? He’s been called out of town. And since his next-in-command is Dr. Greer, who happens to be off on his honeymoon, that leaves only his stand-in, and…” Daphne smiled archly. “Well, dear, I see from the look on your face that you’re beginning to get the picture—and just in time, because here he is, in the flesh.”
The small silence which punctuated her announcement probably lasted no longer than a heartbeat, yet it seemed to Olivia that it stretched interminably, during which time everything happened in slow motion.
Grant closed the door and confronted the faces turned expectantly to his. Sparing the room at large a brief, professional smile, he nodded a reply to the murmured greetings and favored her with a pleasant, “Morning, Olivia,” as he took the chair Daphne indicated was his.
Olivia wasn’t quite sure how she found her place, but the relief at being able to sit down before her knees gave way was overwhelming. How had Saturday’s outrageous and irreverent dancing partner metamorphosed into this white-coated stranger with the cool blue eyes and air of distinguished respectability? What had happened to the rebel in blue jeans who’d once stalked the halls of Springdale General and thumbed his nose at those in authority whom he perceived to be fools—most notably her father?
Blindly, she reached into her briefcase for her folder of notes, and wondered what other surprises Grant had hidden up his immaculately starched sleeve. Under cover of uncapping her pen, she sneaked another look at him, half expecting to find him laughing at her for being taken in by so ludicrous a performance. Because surely that was all it was?
But, if so, he wasn’t ready to put an end to it. Instead, he sat listening attentively to the man on his right, nodding occasionally in a serious sort of way and absently polishing a pair of rimless glasses. Add a false beard, Olivia thought, more confounded by the minute, and he’d pass for a college professor!
Someone called the meeting to order and droned on about various administrative concerns. The minutes from the last meeting were read, during which Grant seemed to find staring out of the window vastly more interesting than paying attention to the proceedings.
The social committee’s fundraising efforts came fifth on the agenda, and when, finally, they were opened for discussion, Daphne took the floor. “I’d like to begin by introducing Dr. Grant Madison, who’s here specifically to enlist our support for the Cardiac Unit. Before we get down to specifics, I’ll ask those of you involved in this particular undertaking to identify yourselves, just so that he knows who you are. We’ll start with you, Ms. Whitfield.”
And say what? Hello, I’m your ex-wife, who hasn’t been able to get you off her mind since you marched back into her life three days ago and practically seduced her in front of half the town? Though truthful, such an admission was hardly appropriate.
Olivia’s dismay must have been painted on her face, because Grant cut in before she could open her mouth. “No introduction’s needed. Olivia and I are already well acquainted.”
A titter rippled around the table at that, but soon died when he continued sharply, “And, since I’m sure your time is as valuable as mine, I suggest we forego the social niceties and cut to the chase.”
He scanned the table at large, and although his gaze this time settled on her only briefly, Olivia thought she detected a sympathetic gleam in his eyes. “At your last meeting, Dr. Harte made clear the dire need for new equipment in CCU. You waived making a decision on whether or not to support his request for help in raising the funds required until you’d had time to study the feasibility of such an undertaking. I’m here now as his representative to find out your answer.”
Such a direct approach allowed for little equivocation on the part of the committee, particularly not with his unblinking stare dissecting every face as decisively as a laser beam. Even Daphne squirmed a little, and couldn’t wait to pass the buck elsewhere.
“You’re the one who’s done the research on this, Olivia,” she said. “Are we going to be able to assist, and if so, how?”
“We’ve already pledged support to other departments,” she began, wondering how she’d managed to make her voice sound so calmly confident when her insides were in a total uproar. “And I recommend that we honor those first, but—”
“Which departments, Olivia?” Grant inquired.
“Maternity and the Outpatient Clinic, for a start, but—”
“Their situations aren’t as critical.”
“No, they aren’t. But under the circumstances, I feel that—”
“How you feel isn’t the issue,” he said tersely. “We’re talking about saving lives here. With all due respect, childbirth is a normal function which the female body is superbly designed to deal with, and most deliveries are free of complications—”
“But not all of them, Dr. Madison,” she cut in, any inclination she might have harbored to view him in a more kindly light fast disappearing. “Although you can be forgiven for having forgotten that, since it’s never been an area of particular interest to you.”
For a second or two they locked gazes, and she knew from the faint flush that ran under his skin that he recognized the private condemnation behind her remark. But he recovered quickly and overrode it so thoroughly she might as well have saved herself the bother of airing it. “I don’t wish to be offensive, but you’re scarcely qualified to determine priorities here. The Outpatient Clinic, by definition, is not an acute care facility. Anyone requiring round-the-clock supervision would be admitted to one of the wards.”
She laid down her pen and said very distinctly, “I know.”
“I don’t think you do, since you’re clearly unable to view the matter with any kind of objectivity. You need to consult an expert before you—”
“Dr.