SOMETIMES WHEN YOU’RE DOWN,

YOUR DECEASED GRANDFATHER

COMES TO THE RESCUE

Dr Davenport

Copyright © Peter Gray 2017

Peter Gray has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing, of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Published by Pink Diamond Publishing

Find out more about the author and his other books at:

www.peteragray.com.au

At 70 years old,

If I could give my younger self one piece of advice,

It would be to use the words “fuck off”

Much more frequently.

Helen Mirren

Doctor Davenport

Pharmaceutical Industry: —

The pharmaceutical industry contributed $46.9 billion (£32.4 billion) to the UK economy in 2014 with over $5.9 billion (£4.2 billion) being invested in Research & Development employing over 68,000 people including 23,000 scientists and doctors.

The high heels rhythmically broadcast Lucinda Evans’ arrival, as she marched into the doctor’s surgery. She approached the receptionist and fixed her with a gaze that demanded attention.

Rosemary looked Lucinda up and down, taking in the elegant clothes and expensive leather briefcase.

“I need to see Dr Davenport.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“I’m afraid Dr Davenport is all booked up today. Let me see if she can fit you in tomorrow.”

“I’ll see Dr Davenport as soon as she’s finished with her current patient. I have some important information for her, and it can’t wait.” It was a statement, not a request.

Rosemary was trying to make up her mind how to respond when the door to Dr Davenport’s surgery opened, and her patient left. Lucinda Evans walked in without preamble. As she entered, she extended her hand.

“Good morning Dr Davenport. Lucinda Evans. I represent the Grosvenor Pharmaceutical Corporation.”

Susan Davenport automatically shook the outstretched hand, although she was sure she hadn’t scheduled a meeting with any pharmaceutical reps. Susan was about to query her when Ms Evans continued, “I won’t waste your time. We would like you to run a general practice clinical trial of our new diabetes drug, Millimax. The drug has initial approval from the Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency here in the UK, but we need further trials to fully determine its efficacy before we seek approvals in Europe and the States. We will, of course, pay you and this practice for your work. We would like you to come to our head office next Friday to discuss this in more detail.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have time to do clinical trials.” Susan just wanted to get rid of this well-dressed intruder. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a long list of patients waiting for me.”

“We understand you are very busy. However, we are confident that when you see the nature of our work, you will want to be involved. We will, of course, provide a well-qualified locum for next Friday so you can come to our London office, and we will also provide transport. Naturally, we will pay you a consulting fee. We believe a fee of five thousand pounds should be acceptable?”

“How much?” Susan was desperately trying to absorb all this unexpected information, but the sum of five thousand pounds definitely registered. She was up to her eyeballs in bills and barely able to pay the mortgage after her ex-husband left her with huge debts.

“How do I know this is legal?” Nobody got paid five thousand pounds just for a meeting.

“The Grosvenor Corporation is 100% legitimate. You can look us up on Google. I should also mention that we undertook considerable research about you and your practice before we made this approach. I believe we have discovered some interesting personal information about your history, but I don’t know all the details.”

“What do you mean? How dare you intrude on my personal life.” Susan was irritated but also intrigued. What information had the Grosvenor Corporation discovered about her?

“I do apologise if our research appears to be intrusive, but we try to be thorough in everything we do. Here is my card. Please ring me if you can’t make next Friday. Otherwise, I will pick you up at ten. Thank you for your time.” With that, she turned and walked out of the surgery with the same rhythmic beat of her heels, leaving no time for Susan to respond.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ she thought and had a natural reaction to being anti any big pharmaceutical company, especially one now digging into her personal life, but the prospect of earning an extra five thousand pounds, and discovering some new personal information was a carrot too big to refuse. She knew she would keep the appointment, but at the same time, she knew she’d been played.

The following Friday, at 9.58 am precisely, Lucinda Evans walked into the surgery again and approached the same receptionist.

“Please inform Dr Davenport that her car has arrived.”

“Certainly madam.” Rosemary wasn’t going to risk getting into an argument with this woman.

At 10.06 am Susan Davenport came out of her room having thoroughly briefed the locum. She was relieved that the doctor they’d provided was a knowledgeable GP with over ten years’ experience.

“Ms Evans,” was all Susan could think to say as she approached Lucinda Evans.

“Call me Lucinda, please. Thank you for agreeing to come today Dr Davenport. I’m sure you’ll find it worthwhile. Shall we go?”

Over the past week, Susan had researched the Grosvenor Corporation. Although she’d known it sold several new drugs she was prescribing to her patients, she was astounded by the size and value of the company. As well as developing the drug Millimax, Google told her that the Grosvenor Corporation was developing drugs to treat obesity, influenza and cancer. The stock market, apparently, was well aware of these developments and had consequently valued the Grosvenor Corporation at over three billion pounds. According to the articles, the majority shareholder was a James Grosvenor. There were lots of photos from when he was a student at Cambridge, where, at the age of sixteen, he’d gained fame for being the youngest person ever to be awarded a PhD. For some reason, there were no recent photos of him. Susan wondered what he looked like now, twenty-five years later. She envisioned a balding, professor-type with a growing paunch, a bad suit, and bad breath to match. Susan followed Lucinda Evans out of the surgery expecting them to catch a taxi or get in Lucinda’s car for the short drive to the station. As they walked through the automatic glass doors, a Bentley Mulsanne pulled up in front of them. A chauffeur stepped out and opened the rear door with Lucinda indicating that Susan should climb in.

“Please, Dr Davenport.”

The softness of the sumptuous leather and that unmistakable new car smell were intoxicating, and it took a few minutes for Susan to gather her thoughts.

“Why, exactly, am I going to London? You haven’t really told me much.”

“As I mentioned before, we would like you to run a clinical trial of our new drug Millimax, which is designed not only to treat diabetes, but to cure it. Initial trials have been very promising. We want to discuss the details of how that trial would be run.”

“And the personal information?”

“Somebody will talk to you about that.”

Lucinda was clearly not going to expand any more on that subject.

Susan noticed that the Bentley didn’t seem to be heading towards the train station. In fact, they were going in the opposite direction. She was about to query where they were going, when they pulled up next to a grassy area by the river. A Bell 429 helicopter was sitting on the grass with a pilot waiting inside. The chauffeur opened her rear kerb side door.

“If you wouldn’t mind Dr Davenport,” Lucinda Evans asked, as if travelling in a helicopter was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Are we travelling in that?” Susan was starting to feel really uneasy about the whole affair. Too much money was being spent on her. She looked over to Lucinda.

“It’ll save an enormous amount of time.”

Susan made no comment. She left the car and walked across the grass. After they were belted up, the pilot started the rotor and lifted off, heading north towards central London forty miles away. She decided to sit back, she was actually excited at travelling in a helicopter for the first time in her life.

In less than twenty minutes they could see ‘The Shard’. Susan had never seen the city from this perspective. There seemed to be many more skyscrapers than the last time she was here, although in truth she didn’t get up to London that much anymore. The helicopter slowed as it approached the Thames, passing over the Globe. Susan tried to work out where they would land. There weren’t any open spaces that she could see. They seemed to be approaching a squat, modern-looking building, a little larger than those surrounding it. Susan could just make out the helipad on its roof. The pilot gently landed and shut down the engine. Lucinda stepped out.

“If you will please follow me.” It was a direction not a question.

Susan was starting to enjoy herself, partly from having her first helicopter ride, partly from the prospect of being involved in a trial of what appeared to be a revolutionary treatment for diabetes, and partly from getting paid five thousand pounds. She spent the rest of the morning having a Cook’s tour of the research labs, and talking to the enthusiastic staff, who were clearly at the top of their game. Before lunch, she had a meeting with the microbiologists and pharmacologists working on the Millimax drug and learnt about the trials they had completed and the spectacular results they had achieved. At ten to one, Lucinda Evans reappeared.

“Thank you, ladies, gentlemen. Dr Davenport has to go, but you can provide her with any additional details by phone or email. Dr Davenport, if you wouldn’t mind, it’s time for lunch.” She indicated that Susan should leave the meeting room.

“Where are we going?”

“Please come this way.” Lucinda marched off towards the lifts and Susan didn’t have much choice but to follow.

“The top floor,” Lucinda finally answered, as the lift doors opened. “You’re having lunch with Dr Grosvenor.”

She wasn’t forthcoming with any more information, so Susan let it lie. As they went up, she hoped that lunch with the elusive Dr Grosvenor would be as good as the rest of the morning even though the prospect of eating with a balding chemistry professor didn’t fill her with much excitement.

They exited the lift directly into a huge room with glass windows all along one wall looking out over the Thames. A man was standing with his back to them taking in the view but turned as soon as he heard their footsteps.

“Ah, Dr Davenport, thank you so much for coming. James Grosvenor.” He extended his hand for Susan to shake, which she did automatically. “I do apologise for the over-the-top and, frankly, gauche helicopter transport, but Lucinda insists that it’s the most effective way to avoid the traffic, and I must admit that the view over London on a sunny day like today is always stunning.”

Susan was barely listening. James Grosvenor was the complete antithesis of a balding professor. The man in front of her was wearing a bespoke, single-breasted, deep-blue suit which seemed to shimmer with his slightest movement. The suit had knife creases in the trousers and was complemented with highly-polished black Oxfords. His shirt was brilliant white with a ramrod straight, forward point collar, perfectly fitted to his muscular neck. A subtly patterned, purple Hermes silk tie looked like it had been factory fitted into his collar, and was further complemented by a glimpse of a matching handkerchief in his breast pocket. But Susan wasn’t focusing on his attire. She was looking at his face. Above average height with golden blond hair perfectly cut and groomed, his lightly tanned facial skin was flawless, radiating health. She noticed brilliant white teeth as he spoke, but was transfixed by his clear blue eyes that she thought could see into her innermost thoughts.

To say James Grosvenor was handsome was a ludicrous misnomer. It was like saying that Shakespeare wasn’t a bad playwright. James Grosvenor was simply the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His deep, mellifluous voice was saying something, but she was hardly taking it in.

“Are you alright Dr Davenport?”

“Er… maybe it’s just low blood sugar…” was the only feeble excuse she could improvise in response.

“Well let’s talk over lunch. It’s ready, as you can see.” He indicated the table, already laid with salads, cold meats, salmon, bread rolls and fruit. “But if you’d prefer something more substantial?”

“No, a light lunch is perfect. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Well, I’d like your practice to run a twelve-month clinical trial of Millimax. We’ll pay you of course.” James Grosvenor was clearly not into small talk.

“Ah… I’m afraid you have me here under false pretences, Dr Grosvenor.”

“Call me James, please.”

“The medical practice isn’t mine. I’m not even a partner anymore, so you’d better ask the practice partners not me… and, of course, I don’t expect to be paid for today.” Susan was embarrassed, being here when she shouldn’t be. It didn’t help that his clear blue eyes were focused on her and she hoped like hell they couldn’t read her thoughts.

“Let me first apologise to you, Dr Davenport. I need to tell you a story that I hope will explain the current situation.”

“Please do,” wondering where all this was heading.

“Firstly, I should say that I tend to be thorough and detailed in everything I do. The reason I’ve brought you here, apart from the Millimax trial, of course, is that I’ve been doing some research about my ancestors—my grandfather, in particular, George Grosvenor. I found an old letter of his in a tin box when I was going through some family papers. Apparently, during the war he was fighting a rear-guard action at Dunkirk, trying to delay the German advance until all the British soldiers could be evacuated, but was shot in the stomach. He couldn’t walk, and as the Germans got closer and closer, he thought he would be killed. A German soldier found him moaning in pain, and apparently laughed as he raised his rifle. My grandfather felt certain he would die and closed his eyes. He heard a shot, but when he opened his eyes, discovered it was the German soldier who’d been killed. A British soldier came running up from behind some trees and picked up my grandfather, throwing him over his shoulder. The soldier told him that nearly all the British troops had left, and they had to get to the beach as soon as possible. That man carried my grandfather for nearly a kilometre on his shoulder—under fire I might add—to reach the beach. They both managed to clamber onto one of the very last small boats to leave Dunkirk.” He paused briefly, looking over at Susan.

“I hope I’m not boring you, Dr Davenport?”

“No, not at all. I just closed my eyes because it helps me concentrate on your wonderful story. It’s amazing how much our ancestors struggled for what we now take for granted.”

“Precisely. Well, the boat was crowded with soldiers. My grandfather was given basic medical help to stop the bleeding, but he was separated from the soldier who saved his life and didn’t get his name. But he did see the soldier’s regimental lapel, the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Norfolk Regiment. And he saw two stripes, so he knew he was a corporal. After the war, my grandfather wrote a letter to British Army records trying to identify that corporal.”

“He wanted to thank him for saving his life?” Susan asked.

“Yes, and he should have got a VC for his heroic deed but there were no witnesses, so he didn’t get any recognition. Sadly, he was killed later in the war during Operation Overlord—the invasion of Normandy— leaving a wife and baby son behind.” He paused to let her take all that in.

“So, who was the corporal?”

“Well, I’m coming to that. It turns out that the corporal’s baby son grew up, married and had a daughter. But tragedy struck the family yet again, when the father and mother died in a car accident, leaving the now adolescent daughter all on her own.”

“That’s just like my parents. They were killed in a car crash as well, when I was eighteen and just about to go to University. I was devastated.” Susan was stunned by the coincidence.

“The corporal’s name was Corporal Geoffrey Davenport.”

“That’s my grandfather’s… You… mean… he was my grandfather?”

“Yes, he was. Corporal Geoffrey Davenport saved my grandfather’s life. And without that heroic action, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain. I’ve had people check all the records. The man who rescued my grandfather was Geoffrey Davenport, no question.”

“Well, thank you for telling me about my grandfather. I obviously, never met him, and it’s a story I can now tell my daughter. But what’s that got to do with running a clinical trial of Millimax?”

“If you will bear with me for a moment longer, it will become clear. My grandfather was destitute after the war, like so many returned soldiers, so he didn’t have the money to track down and thank the man who saved his life. My father was a complete scoundrel and left my mother as soon as she was pregnant, so I never knew met him, and he certainly wasn’t going to repay anyone. But I consider myself to be very fortunate. My mother was a Scandinavian beauty—her ancestors were Swedish. She brought me up on her own, and always taught me to try hard. I did, and I still do. Growing up, I always found school easy. They would put me into higher classes, and I enjoyed the complex maths problems. I think my grammar school sent me off early to Cambridge, just to get rid of me.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with the Millimax trial.”

“I apologise. I’m nearly there. I took out my first patents when I was still at Cambridge, and licenced them when I was sixteen, making my first million. By twenty-five, I made my first hundred million from a range of new drugs and chemicals. Now, as you know, I own the Grosvenor Pharmaceutical Corporation where we are developing new drugs to treat diabetes, obesity and cancer.”

“I know. I looked you up on Google. It said your company is worth about three billion pounds,” Susan said, wanting to show that she had at least done some homework for the meeting.

“I think that figure is out of date. It’s closer to four now, but that’s not important. The point is, the only living descendants of Geoffrey Davenport are you and your eight-year-old daughter. I am now in a position to repay the debt my family owes to your grandfather.”

“Dr Grosvenor, I’m glad my grandfather was such a heroic man. My daughter will be fascinated, but you don’t owe us anything.”

“I disagree, and I must apologise in advance because you might consider what I’m about to say to be too intrusive.”

“Really?” She was impatient to know what he was driving at.

“I not only researched your grandfather, but I also did a great deal of research about you.

“What for?”

“Firstly, to make sure I had the right descendant. Secondly, to work out the best way I could help you.”

“I’m not after your help Dr Grosvenor.”

“James, please. I found out that life has treated you pretty badly. It started when your parents were killed, and then your ex-husband ran off with a twenty-four-year-old leaving you with large debts after the divorce. Now you have a mortgage of £590,000, and you’ve had to sell your partnership in the medical practice to cover his debts. So you are just an employee who could be terminated on a whim, and you’re struggling to meet your mortgage payments.”

“That’s all none of your business!”

“I know. I sincerely apologise. But please, just hear me out. I have tried to repay some of the debt I owe to your grandfather, by making life a bit easier for you. I have paid off your mortgage with the bank. You don’t have to worry about that any more.”

“What?”

“Secondly, I have set up a trust fund for your daughter, which you have control over until she is twenty-five. It will give her a good start in life.”

“I don’t need charity from you or anyone else!”

“I know…I know…but please hear me out.”

“Thirdly, I’ve deposited £100,000 into your bank account for you to spend as you like. ”

“This has to be bullshit!”

“No, I’m deadly serious.”

Susan studied his face. Her ex-husband had been full of lies, but all she could see here was honesty.

“Finally, my finance team has bought out all the partners in the medical practice. We sold the idea on the basis that the Millimax clinical trial would be of great benefit to them, but would only go ahead if we owned the entire practice. They all received generous cash payments for their shares in the business. Now the whole medical practice belongs to you.”

“No way! Why are you doing this?”

“As I said, it’s the very least I can do to try and repay your grandfather, and since I can’t repay him, I can repay his descendants.”

“And what do you want in return? What’s the catch?”

“Absolutely no catch. I don’t want anything. You may choose to run the Millimax trial or not, it’s up to you.”

“It’s too much. I can’t accept it.”

“In fact, it’s probably nowhere near enough. Without your grandfather, I wouldn’t exist. How much should I value my life and my success? On that basis, it’s grossly inadequate.”

“I just can’t take all of this in. Just how much are you giving me?”

“Well, five hundred and ninety for the mortgage, one hundred in cash, three for the medical practice, and two for your daughter’s trust fund. So about five point seven all up.”

“Million?” Yesterday she was scratching around in her purse to find a few quid for petrol.

“Check with your accountant and your bank tomorrow. They will confirm everything I’ve said.”

“And you don’t want anything from me in return? Nothing?”

“Well a friendly phone call now and again, to let me know how you’re going. But that’s entirely up to you.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

She stared at his face searching for a sign. A twitch of an eyebrow, a blink of an eye, or a smirk of the mouth, that would hint at a lie, but she only found sincerity.

“I’ll accept if you’ll answer me some questions I have. You’ve looked at my personal life in great detail, so I want to know about yours.”

“Fair enough.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Why not? There must be women falling over themselves to go out with you. Are you gay?”

“No, I’m not gay and thank you for the compliment, but I’m rather obsessive, and that would make me a terrible husband. Besides, I’m too busy with my work for a relationship.”

“Okay. Do you have any other family? Any brothers or sisters?

“No, on both counts.”

“So, you lead a quite lonely existence?”

“I don’t consider it to be lonely. I consider it exciting. Can you imagine the benefits to the world if we can cure cancer? Or prevent obesity? And I’m certain I can do it. So no, I’m not lonely.”

Susan felt a rush of shame and guilt. When she first met James Grosvenor, she’d thought he’d be a playboy only interested in using his looks and money to bed every woman he met. But now she realised he was a sensitive man working for the greater good of people. She put her knife and fork together to signal she had finished both her meal and her interrogation of him.

“Well, all I can say is thank you, sincerely. It’s rare today to find someone who gives something for nothing, and I apologise if I sounded suspicious of you.” She stood up to leave, and he did the same.

“So, you’ll run the Millimax trial?”

“Yes, how could I refuse. But I suspect you knew that already.”

“I never take anything for granted as far as women are concerned, but thank you, Susan. I’ll get Lucinda to see you back home.”

“By helicopter?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you… James.”

Susan could feel herself grinning as she walked back to the helicopter. Lucinda climbed in beside her.

“I had exactly the same reaction when I first met him.”

“Pardon?”

“And to answer your obvious questions, no he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and no, I’m not sleeping with him despite my best efforts.”

“Are my thoughts that obvious?”

They both smiled, as the helicopter took off and headed south.

For the rest of the journey, Susan made small talk with Lucinda. But she was thinking about James Davenport and the medical practice that was now hers, lock, stock and barrel. That supercilious accountant would be the first to go, and she’d always lusted after a metallic silver Range Rover. But James Grosvenor had also awakened something inside her that had long been dormant since her marriage broke down. Now, with the trial going ahead, she would have a chance to see him again.

Over the next twelve months, the trial of Millimax produced spectacular results. All the patients that were given the drug showed no sign of diabetes by the end of it. Susan employed more staff to accurately record, monitor and document the results and purchased new medical equipment for the trial itself. She was in the process of editing the final draft of the report when the phone rang.

“Susan, it’s James. I hear the trial went very well.”

“Spying on me again?”

“No, I’m just looking at all the interim reports you sent through over the past year.”

“Well, yes, the results are fantastic, and, in the short term at least, we haven’t seen any adverse side effects. Longer term, we don’t know if there’ll be any, but I suspect not. Overall Millimax is a remarkable drug, and I’m sure it will gain full approval.”

“Well, thank you for running such a great trial.”

“You paid me very well to do it, remember?”

“Let me take you out to dinner to celebrate.”

“I thought you didn’t do dates, Dr Grosvenor.” She immediately regretted saying it.

“It’s not a date. It’s just two friends—I hope I can call you a friend—having dinner together to celebrate a very successful trial.”

Susan could have kicked herself. ‘What was I bloody well thinking?’ But she knew, deep down, that she would give her eye-teeth to go on a real date with James Grosvenor.

“Of course, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Great. How about tomorrow night then?”

“When and where?”

“Can I pick you up, say about seven? There’s a nice pub just outside Cambridge. I haven’t been to it in years. I’d love to show it to you.”

“Don’t tell me we’re going out to dinner by helicopter?”

“Well, it’s the most efficient way to get there.”

At 6.58 pm the next evening, Susan watched as the same Bentley pulled up outside her house. She turned back from her bedroom window and looked at herself again in the mirror. She felt good in a fashionable pale lilac cocktail dress with matching high heels and a plain silver necklace. She wore her hair down around her shoulders which she knew made her look more youthful, and she’d had it subtly coloured a darker shade of red to highlight her face. She’d also spent considerable time on her make-up. ‘You’re not the only one who can look good, James Grosvenor.’ As the doorbell rang, she grabbed her coat and handbag and went downstairs.

“Lucy, be good for Katie,” she called out to her daughter who was watching television.

“It’s okay Susan, go and have a good time.” the babysitter replied.

Susan took in a deep breath determined not to have the same reaction as the first time she’d met James Grosvenor. She’d seen him several times over the past twelve months, and had taken a deep breath before each encounter to maintain some sense of normality. She opened the front door.

James Grosvenor was standing there, this time dressed casually, but there was nothing casual about it. He was wearing a soft pink, button-down, open-necked shirt, a grey, soft Italian leather jacket, matching grey jeans that definitely weren’t Levi’s but were probably Armani’s, and a pair of light tan suede lace-ups. But his face looked strained, and there wasn’t the same sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Susan, you look lovely. Ready to go?” was all he said, but with a smile that appeared slightly artificial. Susan took in another deep breath, trying to think of a clever response, but then her daughter beat her to it by appearing behind her.

“Is this the man you told me about Mummy?”

“Yes Lucy, this is Dr Grosvenor.” She was about to say goodbye to Lucy with a reminder to be in bed by nine when her daughter piped up,

“Hello Dr Grosvenor. My mummy’s a doctor too. Are you my mummy’s new boyfriend?”

James Grosvenor smiled.

“Hello, Lucy. I’ve heard so much about you. No, I’m not your mother’s boyfriend, we’re just good friends, and we’re going out to celebrate the success of the work your mother’s been doing.”

Susan breathed a sigh of relief that he’d diffused her daughter’s probing personal question, but she was mistaken if she thought that was the end of her embarrassment as Lucy continued,

“Well, I would like you to be my mummy’s new boyfriend. You look nice, and you smell nice too.”

“That’s enough young lady, we have to go,” Susan replied as she proceeded to pull the front door closed behind her.

“You have a lovely daughter.”

“She’s only eight, but she acts like she’s twenty-five sometimes.”

“When she’s actually twenty-five, you should remind her.”

They both climbed into the rear of the Bentley and Susan sank down into the sumptuous leather.

“Where are we going?”

“As I said, there’s a pub just on the outskirts of Cambridge that has just been listed as one of the top ten pubs in Britain in the Good Pub Guide. It dates back to the 1500’s and has plenty of atmosphere and good food, but it’s casual if that’s alright?”

“Sounds great, but I don’t think they built helicopter landing pads in the 1500s.”

“No, they didn’t. Fortunately, the landlord also owns a field out the back he uses as an overflow car park, and I’ve arranged that we can land there.”

“I’m only teasing. The man who can invent the most amazing drugs on the planet can, I think, work out that it’s no good going somewhere in a helicopter if there’s nowhere to land when you get there.” She looked at him with a confident smile, but could sense something was wrong. “You okay by the way?”

“Fine. I’ve just been working a bit hard lately,” but he didn’t say it with much conviction.

“Well, forget about work tonight and try and relax.”

This time he looked at her with a genuine smile.

“You look very beautiful. Thank you for coming tonight.”

She was sure it was a sincere compliment, but she was equally sure something wasn’t quite right.

During the short trip in the Bentley, they started to talk about the Millimax trial. But in the helicopter it was too noisy for relaxed conversation, so they both looked out the windows at the lights of London below, and then the lights of the traffic on the M11. In just over thirty minutes the pilot began to circle above the landing site to check it was clear of power cables or other obstructions, before gently landing and shutting down the turboshaft engine. The landing site was covered in fine, well-compacted road base, so cars wouldn’t turn it into a muddy paddock in the rain and it was perfect to land a helicopter that weighed only slightly more than Susan’s Range Rover. It also prevented Susan’s heels from sinking into it for the short walk around to the pub entrance.

“This is it, The Cooper’s Rest. I assume barrels were made around here in the past. I hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” as she carefully picked her way along the dusty footpath. They entered the pub walking over irregular paving stones and under warped oak beams over five hundred years old. The ceilings were low, with the beams being even lower, causing most patrons to duck their heads as they moved around through the many small rooms and alcoves. Several open fires were alight in the larger alcoves, but they found a smaller one that was vacant and relatively quiet.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” and they both started to read the menu on a chalkboard hanging up at the bar.

“What would you like?” he asked.

“I think I’ll have the ribeye with the roast vegetables. I’m hungry and haven’t had a steak in ages.”

“Sounds good, I might have the same. Would you like champagne to celebrate? Or something else?”

“Champagne would be great.”

“I’ll just order. Won’t be long.” James stood up hesitantly, as if he had forgotten something, then walked to the bar. He came back a few moments later with an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Food will be about fifteen minutes,” he told her as he poured two glasses.

“Dom Perignon, you’re spoiling me.”

“It’s the least I could do. A toast to your great work, thank you.”

“Well, you did all the hard work developing Millimax. Do you realise what an impact this will have, to be able to cure diabetes?”

“My finance people advise me that it will double the value of the Grosvenor Corporation when it goes on sale in the UK. When it becomes available in Europe and the US, well, much more than that,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“No, I mean to actual people’s lives,” she countered.

“I’m sorry, of course, it will make a considerable improvement.”

“No, a huge improvement. You should be very proud of what you’ve done.” She looked at his face, but he didn’t seem elated, or happy. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Susan asked him for the second time.

“I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind at the moment. Yes, I’m fine. One of the reasons I wanted to talk you, apart from celebrating, of course, is to tell you that as a result of your successful trial of Millimax the Grosvenor Corporation will need to expand very quickly, both in Europe and in North America. That means larger drug production plants, more offices and administration, and more staff.” He let that comment hang, but she didn’t ask any follow-up questions, so he continued.

“To cut to the chase, I want to offer you a job as the Director of Medical Trials and Certification for my company.”

She looked at him to check if he was serious, then took a sip of champagne so she could consider how to respond.

“I’m very flattered, but I’m sure there are people better qualified than me. Besides, I love my medical practice. It brings me in a very comfortable income, thanks to you. And I’m not moving house. I love living where I am, and Lucy loves her school. So, thank you, but no.”

“Understandable. But how many people do you help in your medical practice, say every year? One thousand? Two thousand? Millimax can cure the estimated four million people living with diabetes in the UK alone. Worldwide it’s estimated that there are over four hundred million people with diabetes. Can you imagine how many people we can help if we can cure cancer as well? For the job I’m offering you, you don’t have to move house. You don’t have to give up owning your medical practice. Just employ another doctor to see your patients. Sure, you’re now financially secure, but as a doctor, wouldn’t you like to cure millions of people? I need to have someone I can trust and can depend on, and you’re that person.”

“Really James, it sounds like a great opportunity, but as I said, I’m sure you could find somebody better qualified,” she countered.

“No, I can’t. You’ve just proved how well you can operate running the Millimax trial over the past twelve months without any help from me whatsoever. The job I’m offering you is doing the same thing but on a much bigger scale, and helping millions of people worldwide. And the beauty is that if you don’t like it for whatever reason, you can go back to your profitable medical practice.”

“I… I’m earning good money now, for the first time in a long, long time. And I’m happy doing what I’m doing,” she protested. But, in her mind, she was starting to think of the possibilities of being part of the team that would be curing diabetes. They might even go on to cure cancer. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“I’m not offering you this job thinking you’ll accept it just for the money, but you need to know that this is a senior position in my company and commands a commensurate salary package.”

“I’ll probably make over one hundred thousand pounds this year from the practice, thanks to your generosity. That’s plenty enough for me, thank you.” She said the words, but she was also becoming increasingly curious as to what the salary package was. “So, what salary were you thinking of?”

“Well, firstly, we’d base your team close to your home. The real estate there would be much cheaper than central London anyway.”

“My team?”

“Yes, you’d have about a hundred and fifty people working in your team, probably increasing to about two-fifty in a few years’ time…” but he couldn’t carry on as she interrupted him.

“A hundred and fifty people? And you’d buy a building close to where I live?”

“Of course. I need to make a serious commitment because the growth potential for these drugs is huge. You’d have a team of managers reporting to you, each with their own departments, so it would all be properly structured.”

“And?”

“And you would report to me, but would also be on the board. You’d always have the full picture.”

“And?”

“First class travel and hotels wherever you need to go, plus an expense account and a superannuation package.”

“James, what’s the salary?”

“Oh, sorry. I think it’s one.”

“One what?”

“Million.”

“Pounds?”

“Of course, we’re in England where the currency is sterling.”

“That’s completely ridiculous!”

“No, it’s not. A movie star gets paid about twenty million dollars for one movie that might take nine months of his or her time, and then be a flop. A Premier League footballer gets paid more than that for just kicking a ball around. No, if anything it’s underpaid, but the remuneration committee sets the salary packages, and I don’t want to over-rule them unless I have to,” he answered.

“And I suppose you’ll expect me to work all hours God sends as well? I’m not doing that. I need time with Lucy. I’m not going to farm her out to babysitters all the time.”

“We’ll do everything we can to help. There’ll be a playroom at the new office, and you can also work from home as the need arises. And I don’t expect more than forty hours a week because I don’t want you burning out.”

“And how many hours do you work James? Be honest.”

“Well, good question, but for me, it’s not work, it’s a pleasure. I probably spend about sixty hours a week working on new drugs, and then another ten on necessary admin tasks. But I’m trying to off-load that to others as much as possible.”

“So, are you burning out James?” Susan thought she’d hit the nail on the head, but the waiter arrived with the steaks, interrupting the conversation.

Over the next two hours, James answered all of Susan’s detailed questions. The more they spoke, the more attractive the job sounded. In truth, she’d already decided before the steaks arrived, but she wanted to clarify all the details. James’s plans for future growth were simply amazing. Finally, she picked up her glass with the last of the champagne.

“I accept. Thank you, James. Here’s to Millimax, my new job, all the new drugs in the pipeline, and to you.”

He raised his glass as well, but the evening of interrogation appeared to have left him drained, and he could only manage a half-hearted smile as he replied,

“Thank you for accepting Susan. I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

“You planned this all along, didn’t you? You knew I’d accept the job.” She was smiling at him now.

“No, I hoped you would accept, but I didn’t know.”

“Well, thank you again, and I think we should call it a night because you look tired.” She thought that she had probably quizzed him too much.

“To be honest, I am a little tired.” But his face said that he was exhausted.

As they left The Cooper’s Rest, James was rubbing his left arm. Susan assumed he was feeling cold, so she put her arm through his, both to shield him from the chill October evening and to reflect what she felt was an increased intimacy between them. The sky was clear, and there was a dazzling display of stars. She thought it was an amazing night, and that things couldn’t get much better.

They buckled up in the helicopter, and the pilot started up the rotors, slowly lifting off in a spray of dust and grit and headed south. Even at this distance, she could see the glow of London on the southern horizon and thought it looked beautiful. She was excited and wasn’t paying any attention to James, who’d closed his eyes almost as soon as they lifted off, and she assumed he’d fallen asleep. He stirred a few times and rubbed his left arm and his chest, but she wasn’t looking at him and was lost in her own thoughts looking at the lights down below. Then it happened.

“Aaahhh! Aaahhh! Aaahhh!” James Grosvenor cried out in pain and grabbed his chest at the same time. Susan turned to see James struggling to breathe, and beads of sweat were breaking out on his face. He slumped forwards but was restrained by his seat belt.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Susan said to herself as her medical training finally kicked into gear and she realised what was happening. She ripped off her seat belt and rushed to try and release his, but his dead weight was pressing forwards against the buckle, and she couldn’t open it. She shoved him back with all her strength into an upright position and was finally able to free the buckle, but then he started to slump forwards again, and this time it was all she could do to slow his descent to the floor. The pilot heard the commotion and looked around shouting,

“What’s happening?”

“He’s having a heart attack! Get to a hospital. Now!” Susan screamed back.

“Shit! Ah… Addenbrooke Hospital in Cambridge is probably the closest. I’ll radio ahead see where we can land. Just don’t lose him.” As he turned back to the controls, she could hear the pitch of the engine rise as the pilot boosted it to full power, and the nose of the helicopter dipped forwards for maximum speed.

James’s eyes were closed as Susan struggled to turn him onto his back, but he was gasping for air like a wheezing asthmatic. He opened his eyes looking at her in desperation and he was trying to say something but the only words she could hear were a raspy whisper of indeterminate sounds. Then the sounds stopped, his eyes rolled up, and James Grosvenor’s heart stopped beating and he died.

“No… no, no, no, no…” she screamed, tore open his shirt and started to give him CPR. She quickly placed the heel of her right hand on his breastbone and covered it with her left, then started strong compressions using all of her upper body weight. She counted to thirty, then quickly moved her position so she could give him mouth to mouth.

“Com’on James, com’on!” she screamed.

She tilted his head back, pinched his nostrils closed, took in a deep breath, completely covered his mouth with hers and blew as hard as she could until she could see his chest inflate. She repeated this once more, before giving him another thirty violent chest compressions.

“Where’s the AED? Do you have an AED?” she yelled at the pilot.

“A what?’ he shouted back.

“An emergency defibrillator. I need one right now!” she shouted back even louder.

“Fuck! In that yellow compartment above your head,” he answered realising he should’ve thought of that straight away.

She stopped the compressions, quickly reached up to pull the AED out and opened it. She’d used one of these a hundred times before in her career so she knew exactly what to do, connecting the pads to his chest, then switched the machine on, hitting the ‘Shock’ button as soon as it fired up.

“Com’on! Com’on! Com’on! For Christ’s sake!” She urged the machine to fire, but it seemed to take forever. She looked at her watch,

“Two minutes gone already, fuck!” She knew James only had a maximum of four minutes before brain damage would start to occur from being starved of oxygen.

“Come the fuck on!” she yelled at the machine, before it finally fired, convulsing James’s chest upwards. She checked his neck for signs of a pulse but there was nothing, so she hit the ‘Shock’ button again. Another interminable delay before the machine fired again and the heaving of his chest caused an involuntarily rush of air into his lungs, and for a second, she thought he might be coming back, but when she checked his pulse, there was still nothing.

“You’re not bloody well dying on my watch James Grosvenor!” she shouted at the lifeless body in front of her, as she recommenced mouth to mouth. Still nothing. She glanced at her watch again which showed that three minutes had elapsed,

“No… no, no, no, no…” she said to herself. She was about to recommence chest compressions, but in frustration, instead of placing the heel of her hand on his chest again, she hit him with it as hard as she could, right on his breastbone. She heard the crack of something breaking in his chest, but she wasn’t worried about that. Nothing. She hit him again even harder screaming,

“Com’on!” and this time she was sure she had broken something. Finally, the blunt trauma forced his chest to convulse, and he coughed, then tried to suck in a lungful of air. She checked his pulse, it was weak, but it was a pulse. She switched the defibrillator to automatic mode and pressed the ‘On’ button shouting at the pilot,

“He’s back with us. How much longer for Christ’s sake?”

“Five minutes, they’re standing by,” he shouted back.

She moved his head slightly sideways, so his airway was clear, and lifted his eyelids to check his reaction to the light, then put her fingers on his neck to monitor his weak pulse. The helicopter started to slow down and circled above the carpark in front of the ER entrance. A large section of it had been cordoned off, and paramedics were standing by with a gurney. Susan glanced at James Grosvenor lying in front of her, and was relieved to see that some colour was finally returning to his cheeks.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she said but knew he couldn’t hear a word. She kissed him on the cheek, just before the door to the helicopter opened and the paramedics took over. The pilot came back next to her.

“You saved him, no question.”

“Yes, I suppose I did, but he was gone for over three minutes.” She thought about what she’d done, and if she could’ve done any better.

“Well, without you he’d be gone permanently,” the pilot countered. “Shall we follow him in?”

“Don’t suppose they have a dispensing machine in there for Johnny Walker?”

“’Fraid not, but he’ll probably buy you the factory when he wakes up if you want it.” That lightened her mood. She spontaneously leant over and kissed the pilot on the cheek.

“Thank you, we saved him together.”

Twelve months later Susan Davenport walked into James’s office with its spectacular views over the Thames.

“Susan, so glad you could come.” He immediately got up and walked over to give her a hug. “How’s the new job going?” he asked.

“Great, my team’s almost all in place, and a little bird tells me we’ll get the full approvals for Millimax in the UK next week. European approvals will just be a formality. And how are you? You look well.” She had to admit he was back to his stunningly good looking old self.

“I’m feeling great. The cardiac specialist tells me to work less, reduce stress, exercise more, and enjoy life. So, that’s what I’m doing,” he said with a smile.

“I could have told you that, but you wouldn’t have taken any notice.”

“Probably true, but not anymore. Your wish is now my command.”

“I’ve got all I want, but thank you.”

“No seriously. Your grandfather saved my grandfather, then you saved my life. It’s a debt I can’t repay with all the money in the world, but I can try. What do you want? The pilot told me you wanted the Johnny Walker factory, but I assume you were joking.”

“Yes, I was joking, and no I don’t need anything,” but her medical training was telling her that her body didn’t agree and it did want something. She was fighting to put the schoolgirl notion out of her mind, but the harder she tried not to think about it, the more it became centre stage.

“No seriously. I really need to try and do something, anything for you otherwise I’ll always feel indebted. So, if you don’t need anything, what do you want?”

“Seriously?” but the left side of her brain was saying, ‘Stop this right now!’

“Certainly, anything you want, well, that’s not illegal I suppose.”

“You sure?”

“Sure, definitely.”

“In that case, there are two things I want…” but now the left side of her brain was shouting at her, ‘Listen girl, don’t go there, this is a very bad idea!’

“Okay, what do you want?”

“Well, firstly I want you to have a stress test, to make sure your heart is really strong.”

“I’ve had one already as you know, but sure, I’ll have another detailed one if you want and thank you for your concern. But the specialist said that my heart problem was an extremely rare combination of circumstances, so I’m sure I’ll pass that. And the other thing?”

“Well if you pass the stress test with flying colours…”

‘Don’t say it! Don’t say it!’ her left brain was now screaming at her, but the right side of her brain just smiled at her, saying, ‘Yes, you go girl, say it!’

“Yes?” he asked, and although she didn’t say anything, her eyes broadcast the message loud and clear.

Afterwards, she couldn’t explain why they’d done it. It was spontaneous, crazy, mad, silly and undignified, but it was also fantastic and resulted in one of the most wonderful moments of her life nine months later when Jessica Davenport was born.

Dr Davenport decided to keep her surname. It would be too confusing to have two Dr Grosvenor’s in the family.

You can find out more details about Peter Gray and the Charlie Robertson Series of thrillers at:

www.peteragray.com.au

“What a fantastic story!... reminded me of the best of Dan Brown.”

“Absolutely brilliant!”

“The must-read sequel to Brilliant Cut! The Charlie Robertson saga takes a new and dangerous turn that you don’t want to miss.”

Rough Cut, Brilliant Cut and The President’s Cut are out now in both Paperback and ebook on Amazon and elsewhere. The Rarest Cut is the fourth book in the Charlie Robertson Series and is planned for release in 2021.

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Enjoy! PG