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Philippe gave a shrug. He had years of experience at avoiding questions he really didn’t want to answer. ‘Thanks for the compliment but I’m not that young—thirty-one now. And I can guarantee if my friends were with me I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep and that’s what I need right now. Five years of fifty-hour weeks is enough for anyone. I’m starting another job in a few weeks and just wanted some downtime.’
Harry smiled again. ‘And you chose Temur Sapora? It’s a little off the beaten track.’
Philippe nodded. ‘Which means it’s perfect. Beautiful beaches, perfect ocean and an anonymous luxury resort.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I guess we all need some downtime.’
‘Except you. You’re here to work.’ He was still curious to hear about the advances in wound healing.
Harry smiled again. ‘But it’s for selfish reasons. I’m hoping to learn as much as I can and take it back with me. And for me, coming here, it’s the trip of a lifetime.’ His smile got wider. ‘I can’t wait.’
Philippe settled back in his seat a little as the ‘fasten seat belt’ signs lit up. Harry struggled to fit his around his wide girth, eventually closing it with a bit of a squirm. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Where were we? Ah, yes, let me tell you about the effects of the ointment they’ve developed on necrotising fasciitis.’
Philippe kept a smile on his face as the plane taxied down the runway and the possibility of sleep slipped further and further from his grasp.
* * *
‘Harry, are you okay?’
Three hours later Harry was rubbing at his chest again. He’d hardly touched the food when it had come and had been drinking only water. Sweat was pouring off him and his face was getting redder by the second.
‘It’ll pass. Just a bit of indigestion,’ he said.
Philippe shook his head. ‘Let me take a proper look at you.’ He grabbed his backpack from under the seat in front and pulled out a tiny monitor and a stethoscope. Every doctor’s first-aid kit. Before Harry could say any more, Philippe slipped the tiny probe onto his finger.
‘Do you have any health conditions I should know about?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Just a bit of high blood pressure but it’s been under control for the last few years.’
Philippe reached over to touch him. The skin on his chest was cold and clammy. He positioned the stethoscope, knowing it was unlikely to help. Harry’s lungs were functioning—it was his heart that was having problems.
‘I have to be okay,’ murmured Harry. ‘I’m meeting Arissa Cotter at the medical centre. She’s expecting me. They’re down a doctor right now so the timing has worked out perfectly.’ He gasped as his hand went to his chest. ‘She needs me.’
For the first time Philippe could see real fear in Harry’s eyes. He signalled to one of the air stewards. ‘How soon until we land?’
The steward shot an anxious glance at Harry. ‘Another hour.’
‘Anywhere closer we can land?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Not for a plane this size. There’s only the South China Sea. Temur Sapora is the nearest airport from here.’
Philippe grimaced. For the first time he wished he’d taken the royal private jet. It was smaller and could probably have landed on a much shorter airstrip. But he’d wanted to be incognito—he’d wanted to have the chance of having a true holiday before he had to head back home to Corinez to take up his role in spearheading some changes in the healthcare system. The King had trained his children well. One trained in the armed forces to be the next King, one trained as a doctor to help facilitate changes in healthcare, and one trained as an accountant to join the advisory committee on finance.
But bringing the royal jet to Temur Sapora would just have alerted most of the news agencies around the world. Not the kind of holiday he wanted.
‘Give me a number for your chest pain, Harry, between one and ten.’ He couldn’t help it. Moving into complete doctor mode was so natural to him.
The redness started to fade from Harry’s face, replaced by a horrible paleness. Harry didn’t answer.
