STEFAN BACHMANN MOVED quickly around the empty building, trying to hide his rage. The contractor could barely keep up with his long strides.
‘What about those other rooms—when are they due to be finished? And why is there still equipment missing?’
The private hospital was due to open in less than two weeks. There was no chance of that happening.
‘We’ve had some delays,’ murmured the contractor, uttering the same words he had for the last few weeks. ‘Seven of the suites are finished. Electricity and water are on in one half of the building. Tiling and bathroom fittings for those seven rooms and the staff area have been completed this week. The three operating rooms and recovery area is completed—but there are a few pieces of equipment still outstanding. Kitchen is almost complete.’
It sounded reasonable. But the luxury private hospital was way behind schedule. Only half of the actual works were complete.
He walked into a large room. It was an old ward—back from when this hospital had been used in the First World War as rehabilitation for prisoners of war who were sent to recover in the mountain air.
Something curled inside his stomach. His great-grandfather had been one of those young men. Originally from Belgium, he’d been wounded and had met Stefan’s great-grandmother here, one of the nurses in this hospital.
When he’d first walked through this place there had been definite echoes of the past. The hospital had been reused in what seemed like a hundred different ways since its original purpose. But this part, the place he stood in, for some reason had always remained untouched. Of course, it was in the plans to be refurbished. This was going to be the gym for the physios to use when required.
Stefan could almost laugh out loud. This whole place was going to be almost a replica of another luxury private surgery clinic he worked in just west of Hollywood. There, stars were photographed with hats on their heads and wearing sunglasses, ‘pretending’ to hide from the world as they attended, usually for some kind of cosmetic surgery.
This place was part of the same company. But the setting was all about privacy. The stars coming here for their surgery wouldn’t want it made public. Most of them would need prolonged stays, some to recover from botched surgeries in other parts of the world, some because they needed treatment alongside their surgery. Not every star wanted the world to know they had some kind of cancer. It could affect contracts and deals for them. Stefan had a leading oncologist working alongside him. All the latest treatments were available, along with a host of highly trained staff who could administer them and monitor any after-effects.
This prestigious alpine retreat could really do some good. Which was the only reason Stefan was here. He’d been reluctant initially when he was approached about acquiring a premises in his homeland. He’d known about this old hospital all his life, and knew the site would be just what they were looking for.
It was close to an exclusive ski resort and reached by a long, winding road which in some parts, and at some times of year, could be impassable, due to ice and snow. There were a number of private properties that lined this road, and part of the agreement for the refurbishment of the hospital was that they took on the ongoing maintenance for the road. It was obviously in the company’s best interests, but it made Stefan a little uncomfortable. This road had been laughingly called ‘Millionaires’ Row’ by the locals. The people who lived in those luxury houses were more than capable of keeping their own road in a reasonable state. But since the hospital was at the top of the track it seemed to have fallen to them.
There had already been a few issues with the building equipment—much of which was heavy. Some of the trucks had struggled in the bad weather to reach the resort, and a few had to turn back, all adding to the delays.
Stefan paused for a moment and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He wasn’t even supposed to be in charge of this part of the process. He was a surgeon, not a tradesman. But their business manager was back in Hollywood, where his wife was due to have twins. He’d had to fly back, and Stefan had been left to oversee what should have been the finishing touches for the resort.
Time was something that Stefan didn’t have. He’d spent his life going from one project to another, throwing himself wholeheartedly into every one of them. He’d never learned to slow down, always saying yes when asked to do extra work or take on extra responsibilities. So the fact that this project wasn’t complete—that he suspected the workmen might have been taking longer than they should, felt like a personal failure.
Coming close to home amplified those feelings. When he’d told his parents he wanted to go to medical school they’d both worked day and night to help their son fulfil his dreams. They’d always had a strong work ethic and had passed that on to him.
But when he’d got a phone call from his dad to let him know his mother was sick he’d felt hideously guilty. Even worse, he’d been only halfway home when she’d died from a massive myocardial infarction.
Apparently, she’d been having occasional bouts of chest pain, but hadn’t had time to see anyone. That made the guilt even worse. He had nearly completed his training at this point. He should have picked up on it. He should have intervened.
It didn’t matter how many people had patted his shoulder and told him how proud his mother would have been. The sadness in his father’s eyes still haunted him to this day. It made him want to work even harder, go even faster, to be worthy of the sacrifice his mother had made for him. It left him without a minute in the day, but that was the only way he could cope.
He pulled out his phone and started dictating notes. At his estimate, this place was at least six weeks behind schedule—and that was being optimistic. They couldn’t open with only half the place refurbished. The front part of the building looked pristine. The suites were finished to the high standard he’d expect, with ample room for guests to have relatives or staff stay with them. But the rest of the facility was nowhere near complete.
‘Do we have delivery dates for the rest of the materials?’
The contractor flicked through the paper attached to his clipboard. Stefan could tell he was stressing the man. But he knew exactly how much this had all cost. They should have been finished on time. He made a mental note to check if there were penalties included in the contract for late completion.
‘Some of the materials are arriving in the next few days. There’s a big delivery of minor equipment tomorrow. It should have been rescheduled until more of the works were completed but was missed.’
‘What about the internet provider? That was supposed to be installed two weeks ago.’
‘They had problems with the installation. They’re due back tomorrow. I’ll check the weather forecast, to make sure there are no problems for the rest of the deliveries.’
Stefan naturally glanced up at the sky. It was dark and gloomy. He knew that some of the tougher ski runs had been closed earlier, due to the high winds. He’d skied since he was a child and always welcomed the chance to return home and get back on the slopes. One look at the sky made him think it was highly unlikely that his favourite runs would open again later today.
He waved a hand at the contractor. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. I expect all the tradesmen onsite and ready to move this project along. Enough time has been lost.’
The contractor muttered something under his breath but gave Stefan a nod as he left.
Stefan moved over to the nearest set of doors. They opened out to a balcony that had a magnificent view of the surrounding mountainside. Once the transformation was complete, this hospital would be fantastic.
He could imagine how alien this setting might have seemed to men who had been prisoners of war. A little check through history had shown there had been multiple cases of tuberculosis, amputees and those who were termed as suffering ‘shellshock’. Many of the sickest had been sent here—those who were never expected to return to war. The job of the staff here had been to try to ensure the men would regain some kind of quality of life that would help them eventually return home at the end of the war. The alpine air and peaceful surroundings would have played a large part in that, just like he hoped it would assist in the recovery of the new kind of patients they would bring to this clinic.
As a plastic surgeon he could perform many of the popular procedures. He’d reshaped numerous noses, chins, abdomens, breasts and buttocks. But his passion was for the highly specialist skills required to repair babies’ cleft lips and palates. He frequently spent time working for Médecins Sans Frontières on a voluntary basis, carrying out these operations all over the world. Not all of these procedures were straightforward. Part of his agreement in his new role was to be able to bring children who required more detailed surgery to either the clinic in the US or to Switzerland for their procedure.
And even though the workload was extensive and exhausting he knew his father was proudest of the pictures he showed him of the children who could eat and speak properly because of his surgical skills. Working constantly didn’t give him time or space to think about the guilt he still felt. It meant that he always had something to talk to his father about, rather than acknowledge the huge hole left in both of their lives by the death of his mother.
He gazed out over the white-topped mountains again and leaned backwards, stretching out his tense muscles. He couldn’t wait to hit the slopes, but first he had to make sure everything was in order here. He had two online meetings to attend, but the internet had not yet been put into place in the hospital—another thing to add to the list. He’d have to go back down to a hotel at the base of the mountain. He’d come up here today in the hope that things might have moved on in the last two weeks. Stefan glanced at the light backpack he’d brought with him. Although the staff accommodation was ready, without internet, he couldn’t function properly. He had another case of belongings in his car. He’d leave the backpack here and hope that by the time he came back up an internet connection might have been installed.
He sighed as he made his way back to his car. It was starting to get dark, and the last thing he needed was to end up driving in difficult conditions. He knew exactly what this mountain road could be like. He made another mental note to check about the activity to maintain and upgrade the road before he climbed into the car, pressed the ignition and started down the darkening road.
‘Are you sure this is the way?’
Paige was trying not to appear panicked. The journey from the airport should have taken around an hour, but she’d been in this pre-booked private service car for longer than that. Whilst at first the sleek dark car had looked pristine, she’d heard the wheels spinning a few times on this road—the awfully dark road.
In her head, she’d gone from tired and weary doctor to imminent victim in some crime novel. The kind that as soon as the woman steps into a prearranged car in a foreign country, and heads down some dark country road, has the reader shaking their head in knowing anticipation of what comes next.
The driver mumbled something in reply and gave a wave of his hand. The back of the car was wide and spacious and there was a screen separating her and the driver, which made communication difficult. Her mind started to go into overdrive. She could be dumped somewhere on this mountain road. She could be left in a snowdrift. Or maybe the driver was some secret super-villain and would leave her locked in the back of the car and take off in his helicopter, leaving her to starve to death in the luxury vehicle.
She eyed the small cabinet with soda and nuts. How long would they last? She closed her eyes for a second, hearing Leo’s voice in her head, telling her to calm down and give her overtired brain a rest. She’d been up for over twenty-four hours now. For some reason she couldn’t sleep last night, wondering if she’d packed the right equipment, and changing her book selection several times, then making sure she had them all downloaded onto her tablet in case she lost her luggage.
Thankfully, her case and her ski equipment were in the boot of the car after being safely retrieved from the airport carousel.
There was a screech and she found herself flung to the left, cheek slamming into the side window. Her body jerked forward as the seatbelt automatically tightened and held her safely in place. The car seemed to move in slow motion, spinning sideways, then moving backwards. Lights streamed directly in front of her. But there was no sound of impact. No metal crunching.
No sensation of falling off a mountainside.
Paige took a few breaths, glad her seatbelt had limited any damage. Her shoulder might be a bit bruised, but that would be nothing new. She was about to ask the driver if he was okay when she heard a stream of angry words. The next second, the driver’s door opened and he was out onto the road.
The stream of words amplified. She strained for a few moments as she struggled with the seatbelt release, trying to identify the language. She knew that four languages were spoken in Switzerland—Swiss German, French, Italian and Rhaeto-Romanic. This sounded like her first introduction to Swiss German expletives.
She gave her body a shake and stepped outside the car into the dark winding road. There was another car’s headlights illuminating theirs. The brisk cold air stole her breath and she shivered.
Her driver, a short, grey-haired man, was gesturing and shouting wildly at the other guy. Whoever the other guy was, he was much taller and leaner. It was hard to see properly when the lights were directly towards her, but Paige was too tired to be polite.
She walked between the two men. ‘What happened?’
For a second there was silence, probably as they both adjusted to her strong Scottish accent. When she was tired, and annoyed, her voice did tend to come across as very fierce. She took a deep breath and waved towards the two vehicles, trying to speak clearly. ‘What happened? Is anyone hurt?’
The taller man turned towards her. ‘Your driver doesn’t seem to know how to navigate mountain roads late at night.’
He was giving her a strange look, his brow furrowed. If he wasn’t quite so angry, he might be quite handsome, but being handsome wouldn’t excuse his rudeness.
‘Are you injured?’ she asked again.
He jerked a little, as if he was just now considering other things, and replied in perfect English. ‘No. Are you?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing that won’t look after itself.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Is there a reason you’re causing such a scene on a dark road, in the middle of the night?’
‘Me?’ He looked incredulous. ‘Your driver clearly doesn’t know these roads. He came around that bend far too fast. He was halfway over my side of the road.’
She arched her eyebrows and glanced towards his car. It was a large four-by-four, with extremely large tyres with deep treads. It might not have snow chains, but she could bet Mr Arrogant would be able to put them on his car in an instant.
‘All the more reason that a local like yourself should drive with more due care and attention—presuming, of course, that you do know these roads. You should be used to tourists or strangers on these roads.’
She could see the fury build behind his eyes. She knew she was being cheeky, but she didn’t care. His first action hadn’t been to make sure everyone was okay. His first action had been to get out of his car and shout. She tried to forget that her driver had done exactly the same.
‘Idiots shouldn’t be on these roads. He—’ he gestured to her driver, who she was sure could follow some of the conversation, glaring at him ‘—shouldn’t be driving at night.’
‘He didn’t have much choice, since my flight was delayed by five hours,’ she countered quickly. ‘And—’ she looked him up and down, trying to ignore his broad shoulders, slim waist, and she definitely wasn’t looking at those blue eyes she’d glimpsed as he’d turned his head in the lights ‘—it appears there is more than one kind of idiot on the roads tonight.’
There was silence. He stared at her for a few moments, and she wondered if the edge of his lip turned up in faint amusement. Then he shook his head. ‘Are you always this friendly?’
‘I was just about to ask the same.’
Silence again. ‘Where are you headed—are you lost?’
Paige looked over at her driver, who had understood every word and gestured to further up the mountain road. ‘I’m staying in Chalet Versailles, up the road somewhere.’
The stranger put his hands on his hips and gave her a strange, calculating glance. Did he know who normally stayed at that lodge?
He gave a soft shake of his head again, then gestured behind him. ‘It’s only a few hundred metres further up on the right. The turning is clearly marked. Don’t go any further. The road comes to a dead end at the hospital at the top.’
Her eyes widened and her brain sparked. ‘There’s a hospital up here?’ She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
‘There used to be—in the First World War, and there will be again in the future. It’s not running yet.’ He frowned again. ‘Anyhow, if you reach that you’ve gone too far.’
Her stiff shoulders relaxed a little. ‘See, you can be nice when you want to be.’
It was his turn to arch his eyebrows. ‘Just make sure your driver takes it slowly. And warn him about driving back down the mountain. He really needs thicker tyres.’
Paige heard a distinct tut behind her, and knew instantly it was her driver. She turned back, but the stranger was already climbing back in his car. A few seconds later, he gunned the engine of his four-by-four and swept past them, leaving them in the inky-black road again.
Her driver muttered angrily and showed her back to the car, slamming the door behind her. Paige settled back into the comfortable seat. She should go back into panic mode, worrying about what might happen next. But her brain wasn’t ready.
Instead, it was fixated on the tall, dark, handsome stranger. She hadn’t even asked him his name. And, for some strange reason, she wished she had.