CHAPTER 16
“
I
t's a miracle he can walk,” the housekeeper said quietly. She and the butler were looking through a downstairs window that faced the circular drive as Montgomery was assisted out of the rear seat of his car by a strong-looking young woman wearing a scrub top over jeans. Her thick-soled white shoes were the other clue to her occupation: private-duty nurse.
“The doctors try to get patients up and about now. Not like the old days. He didn't spend more than a week in the hospital.”
“It's a good thing he can afford help,” she said. “If she broke a nail, then where would Mr. Montgomery be?”
The butler knew which woman the housekeeper referred to. “Miss Caroline arranged for twenty-four-hour nursing care in shifts. Someone will be here around the clock.”
They watched in silence as Montgomery stood on his own, flanked by Caroline, somewhat overdressed in designer tweeds, and the capable young nurse.
The driver got out on the other side of the car and so did another man, who immediately went over to Monty.
“Is that the doctor?” the housekeeper asked.
“I think so.”
“Why is he here?”
“You can thank Miss Caroline. She wants him to brief us on Montgomery's needs. A lot of things will have to change around here.”
The housekeeper's frown cut two deep lines on either side of her mouth. “And not for the better, I expect,” she muttered.
“We shall see,” was the man's curt reply. He went to the door to open it for his employer and the people with him.
It took a while for Montgomery to get up the stairs. He climbed them slowly, clutching the banister as if his life depended on it, holding the arm of the private-duty nurse. But he didn't falter. Caroline waited at the landing with the doctor, who observed the step-by-step progress of his patient with approval.
“Vernette is a gem. She came highly recommended. He's doing well, considering,” Dr. Xavier murmured.
Caroline smiled thinly. “I'm glad.”
“You might want to think about getting a stair elevator installed, though,” he added.
“I've called a few companies. Thank you for the reminder.”
She locked eyes with Montgomery when he paused to rest halfway up. His face expressed grim determinationâand unhappiness.
He took a deep breath and continued his arduous journey to where she stood.
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In another twenty minutes, Vernette had Montgomery comfortably settled on the couch in his study. Caroline perched on it also, but a few feet away. She pulled down her tweed skirt and crossed her slender ankles, putting on an expression of concern.
“Well, here we are,” Dr. Xavier said cheerfully, glancing around at the others. The housekeeper, the butler, the driver and some of the day servants, and the nurse looked back at him. “I'm going to call you guys Team Montgomery. He's making a remarkable recovery so far and there are just a few things that I want to discuss with you.” He caught Montgomery's glare. “Sir, I don't mean to talk about you as if you can't hear or speak. I'm just addressing everyone here in a general way.”
“Then get to the point.” Montgomery's growl was somewhat subdued but still very much his own.
“Will do. And I'll try not to be too technical.” He turned as if he were addressing a class. “Okay. As most of you know, Mr. Montgomery had a type of brain event called a hemorrhagic stroke. It can be devastating, but he was lucky. Very lucky. He was brought into the ICU not long after his wife found him unresponsiveâ”
“I'm not his wife,” Caroline interrupted him. “And Finch was the one who found him.”
The butler wished he could rub his stiff shoulder, which still hurt. He'd broken down the study door to get to Montgomery. The housekeeper had asked him to, worried when the old man hadn't come down to breakfast. Caroline had nothing to do with it. But at least she was being honest with the doctor. For what that was worth.
“Ahâsorry.” The doctor gave her an awkward nod. “Moving on, then. We opted for constant monitoring and conservative care, as the MRI revealed no significant bleeding into areas of the brain where you just don't want to have bleeding. Meaning no surgery and no stents. And we're going to continue that approach with the help of Vernette and the other private-duty nurses. And all of you.”
He continued to outline practical tips for post-stroke patient care. Caroline listened with half an ear. She was watching Monty, whose gaze was moving around the room, touching on every face but hers. He seemed to be taking in familiar details of the room where he'd spent so much time. Like that ridiculously large antique desk of his. And the computer beside it, which he'd used to bait her, she thought angrily.
Monty still seemed to have all his faculties, unfortunately. But she had an inkling he wasn't as focused. She shifted her ladylike position to avoid contact with him when he sat up a little straighter, suddenly looking intently at the door.
His fierce scowl made her smile with satisfaction. She'd had the new lock removed first thing. For his safety, of course. The drilled holes had been filled in and the marred wood repainted almost perfectly. She could come and go again, not that it mattered. The files on the computer were completely corrupted. She had no reason to sneak in and download things anymore. But she did want to keep an eye on him.
The doctor was discussing the importance of keeping clear pathways in every room to minimize accidents. No scatter rugs, no bric-a-brac, no excess furniture, and so on. Caroline looked again at the antique partner's desk. If she had her way, it would be the first thing to go.
Monty signaled the nurse with a wave of his hand, not caring that he was interrupting the doctor.
“Yes, Mr. Montgomery? Can I get you something?”
“Get me up,” he said, adding as an afterthought, “please.”
Caroline was surprised. That was a new word for Monty. She stretched out a hand to help as the nurse helped him rise, but he brushed her away.
Leaning on Vernette's arm, he nodded at the desk. “I'd rather sit there,” he said. “But I was listening. I'd like to take notes.”
The doctor nodded briskly. “That's great. If you can get back to your normal routine without stressing too much, that is definitely what you want to do.”
Monty seemed a little annoyed by the other man's relentless cheerfulness but he didn't sneer at it. He took his rightful place in his chair behind the desk.
Dr. Xavier chuckled. “There you go. Back on the throne. How does that feel?”
“Not bad.” Montgomery opened one of the side drawers and took out a pen and paper. “Go on, Doctor.”
Xavier began to advise the others what to watch for in terms of recurring symptoms. He glanced down once, unable to pass up the chance to assess his patient's handwriting, but that didn't stop Montgomery. He took notes now and then, writing slowly and keeping his hand steady by resting it on the smooth paper.
Montgomery didn't look up when Caroline came over and stood behind him. She put a hand on the back of his chair and leaned down to read his notes, which were close to perfect. Not as forceful as his handwriting generally was, but there was no trace of shakiness. “Look at that. You're doing great,” she said reassuringly.
She gave him a half hug, draping her arm over his shoulders as she tapped the paper with a manicured fingernail. “I'm so proud of you, Monty.” She pressed her cheek to his in a show of affection. Then he wrote a few more words for her eyes only.
Leave me alone.
Caroline straightened, fixing a smile on her face for the benefit of everyone else.
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She had to sleep sometime. He knew his homecoming must be a strain on her and once her audience had departed, Caro disappeared, going into her own room around nine o'clock without saying good night. Really no different from their previous routine. She hadn't shared his bed for months.
Montgomery settled into an armchair and stayed up with a book he wasn't reading, watched discreetly by the next nurse in the shift rotation from the screened area set aside for her in his room.
He dodged her attempts to chat and eventually the late hours and quietness got to her. In a little while she dozed off. The woman lacked Vernette's energy, but that was a good thing. The night nurse had sunk down into her armchair, sleeping heavily, her mouth open.
He was already feeling somewhat better. It might be worth his while to retain Vernette, just as a buffer between him and Caroline. When he was recovered, he would definitely fire the othersâand find out who'd hired them in the first place. No one had power of attorney over his medical care, not even Ollie Duncan, but Caroline was acting as if she did. She seemed so confident. Had she wangled money out of his lawyer somehow?
Keeping an eye on the sleeping nurse, he set aside the book and rose from his chair, making his way slowly but surely back to his study.
One hand touched the place where the lock had been removed from the door, before he lowered it to turn the doorknob. That morning he'd half expected to find that Caroline had made good on her threats to sell his favorite desk. Perhaps she'd been afraid of seeming overly bossy in front of Dr. Xavier or the servants.
He crossed the room and sat behind the desk once more, tired by his brief journey to it. Montgomery rubbed his eyes, feeling irritable and unfocused. He'd had a reason for coming in here, but it had floated out of his conscious mind.
Par for the course, he supposed. His legendary willpower was going to have to see him through this.
The renowned neurologist at the hospital who'd consulted on his case had taken the trouble to personally explain that he might have memory lapses at unexpected times, especially if he was under stress.
Besides the MRI and CAT scan, the bloodwork and drug regimen and constant observation, Montgomery had been subjected to some ridiculously simple tests over and over again. His team of doctors seemed pleased by his curt answers. Who is the president? Very good. How old are you? Right again. What day comes after Tuesday? That's correct.
Maybe at his age they didn't expect much. All Montgomery had wanted was to get out of there.
The neurologist had added that there would be good days and bad days, and topped off that trite comment with the inevitable advice to take them all one day at a time. Almost as an aside, the man warned him about mood swings and senior moments before scribbling a bunch of useless prescriptions that supposedly would cure them.
Caroline would have them filledâmore little bottles for her to obsess over. He wouldn't take them.
Montgomery lifted the lid of the desk and withdrew the laptop as he remembered why he was there. He always checked his accounts late at night. It had been too long. His sense of time seemed altered by his hospital stay, and looking at a calendar made him uneasy. Many days had gone by, shadowy and lost, because of the heavy medication he'd been given. He could still hear faint echoes of disturbing dreams.
Luanne had come to him. And so had his lost daughter. Both were gone from his life forever, but they had seemed so real in his drugged visions that their laughter lightened his burden.
Until he woke up to computerized machines and the peering eyes of strangers and loneliness that swallowed his soul.
He forced himself to pay attention as the screen came to life. He had to get back on track. Financial companies didn't run themselves into the ground on their own, he thought bitterly. The frantic effort to stave off the inevitable collapse and its consequences had probably been enough to burst a blood vessel in his brain. He was still a CEO of . . . whatever was left. The thought made his mouth twist sourly.
Montgomery looked at the system configuration, just to reassure himself that the extra memory he'd had installed was still there and still available. He'd come close to maxing out what a laptop could hold. But using that memory was the only way he'd be able to fill in the gaps in his own.
He was worried.
In another second, something shorted out in his mind, a black, spreading sensation that lasted several seconds. With a sudden feeling of doom, he remembered that something devastating had happened here in this chair while he was working on this laptop. What was it?
His brain would not cooperate. His memory strained for an answer. Something had happened before the stroke. It had to do with money. And betrayal.
He could just barely recall being overcome by vengeful rage. And then sorrow. The emotions had been connected somehow.
No names came to mind. Except the president's. The neurologist would have applauded. He was frantic.
He paused, fingers above the keyboard, trying to remember passwords he'd never written down and never saved in the computer.