TWENTY-TWO

After she had showered, done her makeup and dressed, M made a sudden decision. She would endeavour to reach Larry one more time, hoping to ascertain when he would be arriving in New York. Waiting to hear from him was becoming rather trying, and she was well aware that doing something positive would help to soothe her increasing nervousness.

Sitting down in the armchair near her bed, she reached for the land line and dialled the Four Seasons Hotel in Toronto. When the hotel operator answered she asked for reception, and a moment later a friendly male voice was asking her how he could be of help.

‘This is Marie Marsden,’ she announced in her most businesslike tone. ‘I’m Mr Laurence Vaughan’s secretary and I’ve been trying to reach him, but there’s no answer from his room. He was due to check out today, and I wish to know if he’s already done so.’

‘I believe he has, Miss Marsden. Just give me a moment to confirm that, will you?’

‘Thank you,’ M replied, hoping that Larry had indeed left the hotel, and Canada, and was on a plane coming back to New York at this very moment, as he had planned.

‘Miss Marsden, he has checked out,’ the clerk at reception told her, coming back onto the line. ‘Do you wish to speak to Mr Edward Vaughan? Or Sir Nicholas, perhaps?’

‘No, no, but thank you. Would you have any idea what time Mr Vaughan checked out this morning?’

‘It was yesterday, actually, Miss Marsden. Mr Vaughan checked out yesterday afternoon, according to our register.’

‘Oh. Thanks. Thank you very much.’ She hung up without another word, and sat back in the chair with a jolt, a stunned expression settling on her face. He was already in New York, no doubt at his apartment, and he hadn’t called her. Why? What was wrong? Didn’t he want to see her? Was it over for him? Had the two weeks apart from her made him change his mind about her? Was he dumping her?

All kinds of similar disquieting questions ran through her mind as she sat in the chair, baffled, staring into space, feelings of astonishment, hurt and disappointment flooding through her. Surely he didn’t want to break it off? How could he, after all he’d said and done, the love he had shown her? And what about the sapphire ring from Harry Winston? A man didn’t give a woman an important ring like that and not mean what he said about loving her, wanting to marry her. At least a man like Larry didn’t; he was too serious-minded, and also he was somewhat like her brothers…true blue. Right from the beginning of their relationship she had felt he was the type of man whose word was his bond…of the same ilk as the men in her family. Dependable. Honourable. She sat pondering, wondering what to do, and quickly made up her mind. Going to her wardrobe, she grabbed her black trench coat, picked up her battered red Kelly and ran downstairs.

Before leaving the house she went to the kitchen, pushed open the door and looked in. ‘Geo, I’ve got to go out for a while,’ she said, striving to sound normal.

‘All right,’ Geo answered, smiling warmly. ‘I’m sure we’ll be here when you get back.’

James, who was sitting at the kitchen table with Geo, grinned and waved. ‘Good morning, M!’

She waved back and pushed a big smile onto her face, murmuring, ‘See you both later,’ and was gone in an instant, in too much of a hurry to linger.

Out on the street, she found a yellow cab and got in, was immediately on her way uptown to Larry’s Beekman Place apartment. Settling back against the seat, she tried to relax but discovered she couldn’t shake her worry. The nearer they got to his place, the worse it grew. She had a strange presentiment that there was something wrong, terribly wrong, and her chest was tight with anxiety.

Both the doorman and the concierge greeted her pleasantly as she flew into the lobby of the building and took the lift up to Larry’s apartment. He had given her a key some weeks ago and she used it to let herself in.

The first thing M noticed was the suitcase on the floor of the entrance hall, and his trench coat thrown over a chair. Taking off her own coat, laying it on top of his, she looked in the living room and glanced around, called his name. There was no answer. When she checked his bedroom and the kitchen and found no sign of him, she went back to the formal living room and walked through it, making for the library. Before she even reached the door she heard muffled coughing; she pushed it open a second later and found Larry stretched out on the sofa. She saw that he looked ghastly. He was unshaven and his face was ashen; he wore his pyjamas and a dressing gown, and was clutching something against his chest.

‘Larry! Larry! Whatever’s the matter? Oh, my God, you’re ill!’ she cried, her voice rising shrilly. ‘What’s wrong? What is it? Talk to me, Larry.’ She dropped her handbag on the coffee table and knelt down next to him, took hold of his hand, discovered it was icy cold. Prising open his fingers, she found an empty plastic pill bottle without its top. On the label was Larry’s name, as well as the name of a Toronto pharmacy and a doctor. At the bottom it said ‘Vicodin’, and there was a small red label on which was printed a warning that this was a controlled substance and should only be taken as directed. ‘Vicodin’, she read again, frowning. Wasn’t that a form of codeine? She was sure it was, and that was a powerful drug, and dangerous if misused, wasn’t it?

Putting the bottle in her pocket, she felt Larry’s pulse, and then pushed her hand inside his pyjama top, placed it on his heart. She thought both his pulse and his heartbeat seemed normal, relatively steady. But he was totally out of it, extremely woozy. He was drugged, she was certain of that.

Leaning over him, she said, ‘It’s me, Larry.’

He didn’t answer her, but after a moment his eyes half opened. Glazed, they weren’t focused on her, and in an instant the lids had drooped again.

‘Larry,’ she cried, ‘try to answer me. Why have you taken the pills?’

He didn’t open his eyes, but somehow he must have heard her, because eventually he mumbled something she couldn’t quite understand.

‘Why did you take the pills?’ she repeated. ‘Do you have pain?’

Slowly, limply, making an effort, he brought his hand up to his mouth and again mumbled; still she didn’t understand what he was saying, then it suddenly struck her that he might have said tooth. ‘Did you go to a dentist in Toronto? Did you have a painful tooth?’ she demanded. ‘Is it still painful?’

He was silent, but his hand remained against his mouth for a second or two before it fell weakly to his chest.

Rising, M ran across to the desk, filled with a sense of urgency, and sat down, her first intention being to call her eldest brother in London. She had frequently gone to him when she had problems to solve, and he had always helped her. She trusted him implicitly: he was smart and worldly wise, and he would tell her what to do. She began to dial his number, and then stopped abruptly, put the receiver back in the cradle.

She knew that when she explained the situation she was in, her predicament, he would tell her to disappear, to get out of the apartment at once. He would want her to protect herself at all costs.

But she loved Larry and obviously wanted to help him, so she couldn’t do that, couldn’t leave him alone. What if he died? He needed medical help. Now. At once. But who could she get to assist her? She didn’t have many friends in New York; only Geo really.

Then another name instantly leapt into her mind. James Cardigan. He was a mature man, a former secret agent, head of his own international business, certainly experienced, worldly and sophisticated. But if she asked him for help, would he keep her confidence?

He will if you’re a client of his, that you can be sure of, a voice in her head told her. Hire him, pay him, and he will be bound ethically, and therefore he will be obliged to keep your business absolutely confidential.

She hesitated, nonetheless, but when she glanced over at Larry and saw that he was now shivering excessively, as if chilled to the bone, she knew she must act with great swiftness.

Taking a deep breath, she called Geo. It was James who answered with a cheerful, ‘Hello?’

‘James, it’s me, M, and—’

‘Let me get Geo.’

‘No, no, I need to talk to you.’

‘You do?’ he answered, sounding surprised, and laughing he added, ‘I thought it was my lady you were looking for, when I heard your—’

‘No, definitely you,’ she cut in peremptorily, and went on immediately. ‘I want to hire you, James. I need you to help me with something important, but I must work with you as a client and not as a friend.’

‘But we are friends,’ he countered, sounding taken aback by her suggestion. ‘I can’t accept money from you for helping you out in some way, that’s silly.’

‘No, it isn’t, and yes, you can, and you will. Otherwise I’ll have to go somewhere else, to someone else. And I don’t want to do that. I want you. Please, James, agree to this. Now. At once! It’s really very pressing, an emergency.’ She spoke swiftly, urgently.

‘All right, whatever you say. You certainly sound agitated, upset. What’s this about? Talk to me, M, go on, tell me everything.’

‘It’s about Larry. I came up to the Beekman Place apartment when I left Geo’s this morning, and he seems ill. He just got back from Canada last night, and I found him in a bit of…a mess. I’m pretty certain he’s had dental work done there, and he was obviously prescribed strong pills—’

Cutting in, James asked in an urgent tone, ‘Do you know what they are?’

‘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, becoming extremely worried, remembering his conversation about Larry’s history with Geo only a few weeks ago.

‘He’s out of it, James. I’m disturbed, and 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 of that. 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, sleepy, 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.’

‘Cover him up, keep him warm, and I’ll be there as fast as I can. But I can’t just disappear, or walk out of the house, not without explaining to Geo where I’m going, what I’ve got to do. We’ve made plans to spend the weekend together.’

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

‘You can trust her. I promise you, and 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 heating system to medium, and sat down in a chair next to the sofa to wait. And not once did her eyes leave Larry’s face.

During the next half-hour M kept checking on Larry, feeling his pulse; she boiled water, 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 way up,’ the concierge in the lobby told her.

‘How’s Larry?’ Geo asked, when M opened the door of the apartment a moment later and drew her inside. She sounded concerned and her face was anxious.

‘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 in the background as she spoke, and Geo glanced at M. ‘That’s probably him now,’ she said.

M hurried to answer it, then returned at once, telling her, ‘You’re right, it is James.’ Crossing the entrance hall, she opened the front door just as James stepped out of the lift accompanied by a tall, somewhat heavy-set 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 straight away, took his stethoscope out of his briefcase, and listened to Larry’s heart, then took his pulse, 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, 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 that 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, nodded. ‘How can you do that?’

‘I filled a prescription at Duane Reade for Ipecac Syrup. It’s an emetic. It works by irritating the lining of the stomach and stimulating the vomiting centre 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 afterwards. 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 the following. James, will you come here and help me with Larry? We’ve got to get him into the kitchen, though obviously he can’t walk properly. We’ll just have to manoeuvre him along as best we can.’ Glancing at M, he added, ‘Would you please 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 Matt 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.