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Emily stared at him as he wrenched impatiently at his black tie, stripping it off and shedding his close-fitting jacket onto a side chair as the doctor placed his blood-pressure monitor back into his large bag, and soothingly explained that there was no need for hospitalisation, that it had been a simple case of choking, and Mr Nash’s lungs were now perfectly clear.
‘If it was so simple, what are you doing here?’ Ethan demanded sharply. ‘And why am I missing the last Act?’
Emily whirled and looked accusingly at Dylan, who expressed helplessness with his hands. ‘You called the doctor,’ he murmured. ‘I had to do something, so I sent a text to Ethan. He would have eaten me alive if I hadn’t let him know something was up.’
Ethan’s head had swung round as he heard Dylan’s voice. ‘“Uncle had turn. Doctor on way,’’’ he quoted angrily. ‘Do you think I was going to sit there and enjoy the rest of the ballet after reading that?’
‘You left your phone switched on at the ballet?’ commented the doctor with the ease of familiarity. ‘You’re a brave man, that’s all I can say.’
Ethan speared him with a look. ‘I had it on vibrate. I tried to call, but I kept getting an engaged signal and you weren’t answering your cell,’ he accused Dylan.
‘I must have left it in the other room, and maybe the land-line receiver wasn’t put back properly after the phone call to Mike. There was a bit of a panic on,’ Dylan defended himself, and Emily too. ‘You know what Uncle Peter’s like, he was insisting he was OK, but Emily was concerned that there might be something else wrong—he did look rather grey and his chest was pretty wheezy. Emily had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre, she says, and she was worried she might have broken a rib…’
‘So you weren’t here when it happened?’ Ethan’s gaze switched to Emily, who was sure she looked a picture of guilt. Ethan had driven all the way back from town in his current state of anxiety? He could have had an accident, she thought wretchedly. Why had Dylan done it? He had been the one telling Emily she was overreacting!
‘I was in my room, making a few calls—’ Dylan said, as Peter interrupted croakily.
‘For goodness’ sake, Ethan, calm down and let poor Mike get back to his family.’
‘Yeah, thanks, Doc, don’t forget to send us the bill,’ grinned Dylan, and the doctor eased himself past Ethan, patting him on his stiff shoulder.
‘He’s perfectly fine for his age and condition, Ethan, but it was good for me to come and check him out, just to make sure. Honey and lemon will help his sore throat, and he should try not to talk too much for a day or two. He just gave himself a bit of a fright.’
‘He apparently gave us all one,’ said Ethan.
‘Yes, well…it’s you who’ll be in danger of a heart attack if you don’t learn to control that type-A personality of yours. Maybe you should take up yoga.’
‘Are you going to bill us for that little piece of medical insight, too?’ said Ethan, sending him sarcastically on his way before looking back down at his uncle.
‘Exactly what did he choke on?’ When Peter opened his mouth he held up a warning finger. ‘No, not you, you’re not supposed to talk. I was asking Emily.’
Peter subsided gratefully, and Emily moved over by the couch to admit: ‘It was a bit of chocolate slice.’
She was trying to act normal but she was acutely aware of the need to step around the invisible elephant in the room, the subject that she and Peter had barely begun discussing when he had suddenly started choking.
‘Chocolate?’ The word was redolent with criticism.
‘He’s allowed treats. It was low-fat and I used sugar substitute, and it had almonds for his heart,’ Emily said, pressing her lips together as she became conscious that she was gushing.
A flash of sequins caught her eye and she noticed for the first time the woman who had followed Ethan into the room. Or perhaps glided would be more apt because she seemed to float rather than walk. To Emily’s chagrin, she was even more beautiful than her advance publicity had implied. Tall and ultra-thin, her blonde hair caught up into a smooth chignon, she wore a full-length dress of dark green silk organza, with sweeping skirts, the see-through bodice strategically beaded and lace-embroidered because there was obviously no need for a supportive bra.
Emily immediately felt like beggar-maid in her print shirtdress and espadrilles. Her nose was probably shiny, too, and her hair still standing on end.
Ethan noticed that she was trying not to stare and made a barely civil introduction, obviously impatient to get back to the matter in hand.
‘Carly Foster, this is Emily Quest—you may remember I told you about her…’
Th
ey had talked about her? Emily’s skin crawled as she suffered the fleeting touch of an ethereal hand and managed a brief smile in answer to a polite greeting. In the interests of fairness, Carly should have had a voice like Donald Duck, but fate proved unkind and her tone was as flawlessly smooth as her beautifully tanned skin, her dark brown eyes disturbingly resentful.
‘And, of course, Dylan you know,’ Ethan added in a voice so dry it crackled, waving at his brother, lounging against one of the room’s decorative pillars.
‘All too well,’ murmured Carly sweetly, but Emily supposed it was a measure of Dylan’s dislike that for once he didn’t bother with a teasing comeback, merely shrugging in a silent ‘whatever’.
‘So you were just sitting here eating quietly and he suddenly choked.’ Ethan had returned like a dog to his meaty bone. ‘That doesn’t sound like Uncle Peter. He doesn’t bolt his food; he’s usually a very fastidious eater.’
‘Not here, we were at the table in the dining room, talking and looking at photos—’
