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‘Well, I do know that Wendell Billington is one of the most ruthless, powerful men in the city. He’s like Joe Kennedy but with more class and even more money and, to give them their due, I think the Billingtons are positioning David brilliantly. They’ve recognized the power of the media and he’s already a big star. People trust him. I’m not a Republican by a long shot, but even I might be tempted to vote for him. Even though I bet I’m not his favourite person at the minute.’
While he was talking, Brooke examined her old friend with detached curiosity. On the outside, Matthew looked virtually the same. A little rougher, a little older, but the same face, the same smile. It was funny how seven or eight years could change you inside. Now her rocking college boy was serious, grown up.
‘Since when have you been so interested in politics?’ she teased. ‘You would have struggled to tell me the name of the president in college.’
‘Politics is the new rock and roll, baby,’ he smiled, knocking back his beer and nodding to the waitress to bring him another.
‘So you know where life’s taken me. What about you? I take it you never made it as a rock star?’ She smiled in memory of his student band, Ded Squid.
He shrugged playfully. ‘Coffee shop boy, Med student … something had to give. I’m refusing to believe it was lack of talent.’
‘So where do you work? Columbia–Presbyterian, wasn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, in ER. I guess I should have gone into cosmetic surgery, then I’d have been mixing in your social circles uptown.’
‘I’ll tell you a secret. You really wouldn’t want to.’
She found herself glancing down to his left hand. His ring finger was bare.
‘What about any lovely ladies for you … ?’
‘I was married.’
‘Was?’ asked Brooke without thinking.
‘Elizabeth. A nutritionist.’
‘Are you divorced?’ she asked, surprised.
‘She died. It was a little over a year ago now.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Me and my big mouth. How?’ she asked quietly.
‘It’s called Sudden Adult Death Syndrome. A congenital heart defect. You don’t stand a chance.’
‘How awful.’
He nodded and stared down at his beer.
‘We were on holiday in France,’ he said finally. ‘We didn’t have a honeymoon, both too busy, so we were sort of taking it two years later. We went to bed one night in our hotel and when I woke up she was dead.’
He paused and took a deep breath.
‘You know what drew me to ER?’ he asked. ‘It just seemed like the most pure form of medicine. In minutes, seconds, you can save a life. Every day you can help dozens of people from something frightening or life–threatening: gunshot wounds, heart attacks, whatever it is. Every day I did it, saved hundreds of lives, but I couldn’t do a thing to save the woman I loved.’
He drained his glass and gave her a small smile. ‘We’d better go. Before someone sees you and the Billingtons make me disappear,’ he grinned.
‘They’re not that bad,’ smiled Brooke, getting out her purse and putting twenty dollars on the table.
He got up to follow her.
‘I’d better leave alone,’ she said quickly. ‘Crazy I know.’
Matthew reached into his pocket and gave her a card. It was small and grey with the words Matthew Palmer MD and a mobile number stamped in tiny black letters.
‘If you’re ever on the West Side…’
For a second she thought about giving him her card, but really what was the point? It had been a re
