Sidney Sheldon - Nothing lasts forever

“Hum Hindustani bant bahut ocho bolta hi.” And from that moment, the restaurant was theirs.

“Where in the world did you learn to talk Indian?” Honey asked.

“Hindi,” Paige said. She hesitated. “We … I lived in India for a while.” It was still so vivid. She and Alfred were at Agra, staring at the Taj Mahal. Shah Jahan built that for his wife. It took twenty years, Alfred.

I'm going to build you a Taj Mahal. I don't care how long it takes!

This is Karen Turner. My wife.

She heard her name called, and turned.

“Paige …” There was a look of concern on Kat's face. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. I'm fine.”

The impossible hours continued. Another New Year's Eve came and went, and the second year slid into the third, and nothing had changed. The hospital was untouched by the outside world. The wars and famines and disasters of far-off countries paled by comparison with the life-and-death crises they coped with twenty-four hours a day.

Whenever Kat and Paige met in the hospital corridors, Kat would grin and say, “Having a good time?”

“When did you sleep last?” Paige asked.

Kat sighed. “Who can remember?”

They stumbled through the long days and nights, trying to keep up with the incessant, demanding pressure, grabbing sandwiches when they had time, and drinking cold coffee out of paper cups.

The sexual harassment seemed to have become a part of Kat's life. There were the constant innuendos not only from the doctors, but also from patients who tried to get her into bed. They got the same response as the doctors. There's not a man in the world I'll let touch me.

And she really believed it.

In the middle of a busy morning, there was another telephone call from Mike.

“Hi, sis.”

And Kat knew what was coming. She had sent him all the money she could spare, but deep down inside, she knew that whatever she sent would never be enough.

“I hate like hell to bother you, Kat. I really do. But I got into a small jam.” His voice sounded strained.

“Mike … are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah. It's nothing serious. It's just that I owe somebody who needs his money back right away, and I was wondering …”

“I'll see what I can do,” Kat said wearily.

“Thanks. I can always count on you, can't I, sis? I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mike.”

One day, Kat said to Paige and Honey, “Do you know what we all need?”

“A month's sleep?”

“A vacation. That's where we should be, strolling down the Champs Elysees, looking in all those expensive shop windows.”

“Right. First-class all the way!” Paige giggled. “We'll sleep all day and play all night.”

Honey laughed. “Sounds good.”

“We have some vacation time coming up in a few months,” Paige observed. “Why don't we make some plans for the three of us to go away somewhere?”

“That's a great idea,” Kat said enthusiastically. “Saturday, let's stop in at a travel agency.”

They „ spent the next three days excitedly making plans.

“I'm dying to see London. Maybe we'll run into the queen.”

“Paris is where I want to go. It's supposed to be the most romantic city in the world.”

“I want to ride a gondola in the moonlight in Venice.”

Maybe we'll go to Venice on our honeymoon, Paige, Alfred had said. Would you like that?

Oh, yes!

She wondered if Alfred had taken Karen to Venice on their honeymoon.

Saturday morning the three of them stopped in at the Corniche Travel Agency on Powell Street.

The woman behind the counter was polite. “What kind of trip are you interested in?”

“We'd like to go to Europe—London, Paris, Venice …”

“Lovely. We have some economical package tours that—”

“No, no, no.” Paige looked at Honey and grinned. “First-class.”

“Right. First-class air travel,” Kat chimed in.

“First-class hotels,” Honey added.

“Well, I can recommend the Ritz in London, the Crillon in Paris, the Cipriani in Venice, and—”

Paige said, “Why don't we just take some brochures with us? We can study them and make up our minds.”

“That will be fine,” the travel agent said.

Paige was looking at a brochure. “You arrange yacht charters, too?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We may be chartering one.”

“Excellent.” The travel agent collected a handful of brochures and handed them to Paige. “Whenever you're ready, just let me know and I'll be happy to make your reservations.”

“You'll hear from us,” Honey promised.

When they got outside, Kat laughed and said, “Nothing like dreaming big, is there?”

“Don't worry,” Paige assured her. “One day we'll be able to go to all those places.”

Seymour Wilson, the chief of medicine at Embarcadero County Hospital, was a frustrated man with an impossible job. There were too many patients, too few doctors and nurses, and too few hours in a day. He felt like the captain of a sinking ship, running around vainly trying to plug up the holes.

At the moment, Dr. Wilson's immediate concern was Honey Taft. While some doctors seemed to like her a great deal, reliable residents and nurses kept reporting that Dr. Taft was incapable of doing her job.

Wilson finally went to see Ben Wallace. “I want to get rid of one of our doctors,” he said. “The residents she makes rounds with tell me she's incompetent.”

Wallace remembered Honey. She was the one who had the extraordinarily high grades and glowing recommendation. “I don't understand it,” he said. “There must be some mistake.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “I'll tell you what we'll do, Seymour. Who's the meanest son of a bitch on your staff?”

“Ted Allison.”

“All right. Tomorrow morning, send Honey Taft out on rounds with Dr. Allison. Have him give you a report on her. If he says she's incompetent, I'll get rid of her.”

“Fair enough,” Dr. Wilson said. “Thanks, Ben.”

At lunch, Honey told Paige that she had been assigned to make the rounds with Dr. Allison the following morning.

“I know him,” Paige said. “He has a miserable reputation.”

“That's what I hear,” Honey said thoughtfully.

At that moment, in another part of the hospital, Seymour Wilson was talking to Ted Allison. Allison was a hard-bitten veteran of twenty-five years. He had served as a medical officer in the navy, and he still took pride in “kicking ass.”

Seymour Wilson was saying, “I want you to keep a close eye on Dr. Taft. If she can't cut it, she's out. Understood?”

“Understood.”

He was looking forward to this. Like Seymour Wilson, Ted Allison despised incompetent doctors. In addition, he had a strong conviction that if women wanted to be in the medical profession, they should be nurses. If it was good enough for Florence Nightingale, it was good enough for the rest of them.

At six o'clock the following morning, the residents gathered in the corridor to begin their rounds. The group consisted of Dr. Allison, Tom Benson, who was his chief assistant, and five residents, including Honey Taft.

Now, as Allison looked at Honey, he thought, Okay, sister, let's see what you've got. He turned to the group. “Let's go.”

The first patient in Ward One was a teenage girl lying in bed, covered with heavy blankets. She was asleep when the group approached her.

“All right,” Dr. Allison said. “I want you all to take a look at her chart.”

The residents began to study the patient's chart. Dr. Allison turned to Honey. “This patient has fever, chills, general malaise, and anorexia. She has a temperature, a cough, and pneumonia. What's your diagnosis, Dr. Taft?”