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‘Not meeting, just checking on.’
‘Doesn’t sound remotely stalkerish.’ She arched her eyebrows.
Although—even if she hadn’t heard the stories about the perennial bachelor Jake Cooper—she could never have imagined him chasing after any woman.
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ His tone was dry, but clearly he wasn’t about to elaborate.
She told herself there was no reason to feel disappointed. Yet still, she did.
Well, what did you expect? she berated herself silently. That wanting to talk shop with you over dinner meant you’re suddenly the man’s confidante?
And then he shocked her by continuing.
‘I went to check on Brady. My nephew. He’s seven and he’s being looked after by one of Paulista’s retired paediatric nurses. Still, he’s in a strange country and a strange room, and I didn’t want him to wake up and be disorientated.’
She wasn’t sure which part of the admission hit her hardest. There were plenty of stories about Jake Cooper the supersurgeon, and just as many about Jake Cooper the stag.
But there were absolutely none about Jake Cooper the doting uncle.
‘You have a...nephew?’ She blinked abruptly, and he paused, but then continued.
‘Yes. My late sister’s son.’
Flávia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She thought of her sister, and her brother-in-law. And then she thought of her young nieces. When she spoke again her tone wasn’t shocked, or gushing. It was just as honest and sincere as she felt.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Was it recent?’
It felt like a lifetime that she thought he wasn’t going to engage with her. And then...he did.
‘Ten months,’ he bit out.
‘Was it sudden?’ she pressed gently. ‘Or was there some warning? Not that it’s ever enough.’
Another long beat of silence swirled around them before he answered. Each admission drawn out from him as though he didn’t want to, but as though he couldn’t stop himself. Because Jake wanted to talk? Or because he wanted to talk to her?
Flávia wasn’t sure. She told herself it didn’t matter either way.
‘Oesophageal cancer,’ he growled. ‘Apparently, she went to her local hospital with stomach pains and they told her they suspected
gallstones and sent her home telling her they’d send a follow-up appointment within weeks.’
She could hear the gruffness to his voice and she knew he was trying to eradicate it. Didn’t it speak volumes about the man’s compassion that he couldn’t quite manage to do so?
‘She told me she took painkillers and missed the appointment because Brady had some recital she couldn’t miss. Something about being a single mum.’
‘I can understand that,’ Flávia murmured quietly.
‘By the time things got so bad that she had to call an ambulance, they diagnosed advanced oesophageal cancer and she finally called me to come up from London. We weren’t exactly close the last ten years, the odd phone call once or twice a year.’ She could hear the bitter notes he was trying too hard to conceal, and her heart ached for him. ‘But we led different lives. Anyway, by then there was nothing they could do but move her to a hospice. She died six days later. Ironic, wouldn’t you say?’
She cocked her head, studying him.
‘Why?’ she asked at last, the infinite sadness in his voice seeming to draw some invisible band tight—almost too tight—around her chest. ‘Because you think you should somehow have been able to save her?’
‘I’m an oncologist.’
‘Can you save everyone who walks through your door? Especially when they come to you so late?’
He didn’t like it—she could tell even as she ignored the part of her brain wondering how she could tell.
