Alexander put his cutlery to one side. He was having trouble concentrating on lunch, even though he was the one who had suggested it. It was two days since he had last seen Isobel. Twenty-four hours since she had last replied to one of his messages.

What the fuck had happened?

He didn’t want to press too hard. But it wasn’t his imagination, was it? That she’d withdrawn from him? Did she need to think? Had something happened? What could it be?

“Are you planning to tell me why we’re here, or do you want me to keep guessing?” Leila Dibah asked as their coffee arrived. She studied him with her dark, all-seeing eyes, and he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she could actually look into him, read his thoughts, and was amusing herself by listing all of his many shortcomings.

“I want to talk finance,” he said as he wondered whether Leila knew anything about what was going on with Isobel.

“I’m listening.” Leila stirred her jet-black coffee.

“How much would you need to get Medpax back on its feet?”

Her face didn’t move; she didn’t even blink.

“A ballpark figure?”

“Yes.”

“A million. Maybe less. We just passed an audit, so there can’t be any ambiguity around any donations. There has to be complete transparency.”

“Of course. I’ll talk to the foundation.”

He had the money, after all. He wouldn’t worm his way in to Medpax, try to take control or anything like that, but he couldn’t let Isobel’s organization go under. The hospital needed more oxygen machines and staff, otherwise children would die. He might just as well give money for humanitarian aid as for anything else. Plus, he knew it would have a direct impact. Medpax didn’t pay high wages, had no inflated administration costs, and definitely didn’t have any field-workers sunning themselves poolside. And he wanted to support Isobel’s organization, do something.

“Can I ask, why is it you decided this?”

“I thought I should try to do something for the world for a change.” And I want to prove I’m worthy to a woman I care a lot about.

Leila looked skeptical.

“So this has nothing to do with Isobel?”

“Why? Has she said anything about me?”

Why didn’t she reply to his calls and texts anymore? What could have changed during the short time since they last saw each other? They had parted as though … well, as though they meant something to each other, but now: nothing. Had he misjudged her that badly?

Leila raised an eyebrow. “Said anything? Like you were in high school, you mean?”

“I just wondered.”

She stirred her coffee. “When you’re a psychologist, people always expect you to encourage them to talk about things.”

“I tried to talk. She’s avoiding me.”

Leila smiled. She definitely had a mean streak, he thought. But he was dying to talk about Isobel, so he could tolerate some nastiness in return.

“That’s not what I meant. You should know, it’s my professional opinion that people are useless at talking to one another. And whenever they do, it mostly ends in misunderstandings.”

“Mmm,” he agreed. He had always thought that talking too much and too deeply was a mistake. But that also meant he had no idea what he should do now. “What do you think I should do?”

Leila held out a hand and studied her shiny, black nails. “The thing is, Isobel is someone I care a lot about. She was in Liberia last fall, did you know that?”

“Yes. I care about her too. I hope you realize that.”

Leila made a deprecatory gesture.

“What she probably didn’t tell you is that when all the other field-workers stayed four weeks—because they can’t cope for any longer than that—Isobel stayed eight. You can’t even imagine what she went through. That woman is tougher than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I know that already,” he clipped, wondering what Leila was getting at.

“I don’t understand you. If there comes a point where I have to choose between Isobel’s well-being and your money, I’ll choose Isobel in a blink of a second. She’s never had anyone to fight in her corner. She’s a tough doctor but a complex person. The truth is that since you came on the scene, she’s changed.”

“Changed how?”

“She looks like a calf that’s been put out to pasture for the first time in its life, and doesn’t quite believe it’s real. And I feel slightly responsible for that, because I encouraged this, back in the beginning.”

Alexander didn’t know what to say to that.

Leila leaned forward over the table. Gave him a stern look. “If you’re just having a bit of fun with her, I suggest you think carefully about whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I can’t see that is any of your business.”

She smiled, that evil smile again. “Then we’re on the same page. So don’t ask me whether Isobel has said anything. Talk to her.”

Alexander nodded coolly. The check arrived, and he paid in silence. They got up, and he helped her with her jacket before they went out to the street. Leila took out her cigarillos, lit one, and breathed in the smoke.

“I’ll be in touch about the money,” he said.

She blew out the smoke. “Thanks for lunch.”

Idris looked so worn out, Isobel thought worriedly.

“How’s the cold?” she asked over Skype.

“It’s not bad,” he answered, as she’d known he would. There wasn’t a doctor on earth who would admit they were sick unless they were dying. But he looked really sick.

The Skype image flickered, and Isobel waited as weather, satellites, or maybe just Murphy’s Law did its thing.

“How are you?” he asked once the sound and picture were working again.

“Just a little jet-lagged,” she lied.

She knew she looked worn out, too. But she couldn’t sleep, and since she didn’t want to be one of those doctors who wrote out a prescription for sleeping tablets the minute things got a little tough, she lay awake instead. Brooded. Cried.

“How is Marius?” she asked.

Idris shook his head. “I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t know where he is. But you know how things are, he disappears sometimes.” She nodded, bleakly, knew how the boy tried to get along. Maybe he was in N’Djamena, the capital. Maybe he was dead. She felt a stab of almost unbearable pain.

“It’ll be better when the new doctor arrives. He is sharing some kind of visa trouble.”

“You’re probably right. Take care,” she said, hoping that at least Idris would get a good night’s sleep. And that Marius was safe somewhere.

They said good-bye, and the feeling of guilt threatened to overwhelm her.

What was she doing? How could she dream about a life with a playboy like Alexander when there was so much else that was more important than being someone’s exciting sexual conquest? She should be ashamed. And she was.

Her cell rang, and she picked it up.

“Hey, it’s Leila,” she heard in her ear.

Isobel frowned, tried to remember what day it was. Friday. “Did I miss a meeting?”

“No. I just wanted to check if you were okay.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“I saw Alexander De la Grip today. We had lunch.”

Shit, even hearing his name hurt.

“What did he want?” she asked, trying to find the exact right carefree tone, but she had a terrible feeling she failed miserably.

“He wants to give Medpax more money. I wanted to check you were okay with that.”

“I guess so. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because there’s something going on between you. And because it’s a lot of money.”

“How much?”

“A million.”

“I see.”

She heard Leila sigh deeply on the other end of the line. Yes, well, there was plenty to sigh about today.

“Isobel, I know I told you to have fun. I’m sorry if it was bad advice.”

She almost smiled. It couldn’t be easy for Leila to admit something like that. “Nothing happened. Or, it’s over now. He’s not the man for me. And I have no problem if he wants to give money to Medpax. Or does he expect something in return?”

“No.”

Isobel wanted to ask more. Whether they’d talked about her. How Alexander was doing. Whether he was as miserable as she was. But, of course, she said nothing. There were limits to how pathetic she wished to appear.

“Thanks for calling,” she said.

As soon as she hung up, the phone rang again.

Like some damn call center.

She looked down at the caller ID, didn’t want to admit even to herself that her heart beat that little bit harder at the thought that Alexander still hadn’t given up.

Mom.

Yippee.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, and stretched out on the couch. She looked at the vase of orchids he had given her, still fresh and vibrant.

“How are you?”

Blanche launched into a monologue about people who annoyed her, articles she would write, and things she needed help with as soon as possible. Isobel closed her eyes.

“Mom, I don’t think I’ll be able to come over this weekend.” She could barely get up off the couch.

“What kind of nonsense is this? Are you sick?”

“No, but …”

“Being idle does no one any good. Have you found a better job yet? You know I think you should continue your studies, pursue your doctorate. When I was your age …”

“Mom, please. I’m feeling a little down. I just …”

“Down? What do you have to be down about? You’re young and healthy. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. And you came home early from Chad. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed in you. If you’re going to keep sneaking off like this, you won’t amount to anything.”

Isobel put an arm over her eyes and stopped herself from groaning loudly. “I didn’t sneak off. I was almost caught in the middle of a clan war.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating.”

She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. “I’m your daughter. Why do you always have to be so horrible?”

Long, hurt silence.

“So I’m the villain now, as usual. Just for loving you. No one will love you like your mother. But I’ll just have to accept it, like everything else. Sorry for bothering you.”

“I just don’t understand why you have to criticize everything I do,” tried Isobel.

“There’s no talking to you when you’re in a mood like this.”

“So hang up then.” She didn’t even know where the rebellious words had come from.

“Isobel! What’s with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re the one who moans about me all the time. You don’t know what it was like in Chad. You just call to complain and talk about yourself.”

“Well, sorry for having an opinion, for breathing. I don’t know how you got so easily offended. Talking to you isn’t pleasant at all today.”

Silence. She was gathering herself for an attack, Isobel could hear it.

“It’s no wonder you don’t have a man in your life.”

Isobel blinked violently, stared at her toes, felt the familiar powerlessness inside. It made no difference what she said or did. She was never good enough. Her entire life, she had striven to keep her mother in a good mood, and normally, she would have apologized by now, steered the conversation to safer ground, repressed any urge to stand up for herself. But instead, something that had never happened before happened.

She snapped

It was enough.

“You know what, Mom, you can go to hell,” she said, and hung up.

Shame she couldn’t slam down the receiver. She put the phone down, took a pillow, pressed it to her face, and screamed herself hoarse, yelled straight into the fabric and stuffing. She shouted until it hurt, until she ran out of breath, took away the pillow, inhaled, and got ready to scream some more.

When she heard a knock at the door, she paused, the cushion in the air. Sat up.

No one ever knocked on her door.

No one even knew the door code.

No one but Alexander.

“Open the door, Isobel. I can hear you shouting in there.”

“Go away.”

“Open this door. I’m worried.”

She hesitated, then reluctantly got up from the couch as he continued to pound the door.

“Isobel!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” she muttered. She passed the mirror in the hallway, saw that she looked puffy, pale, and awful, but decided it made no difference. She unlocked the door, unhooked the chain, and pulled it open.

“Can I come in?”

Oh, mon dieu, he was so handsome it was blinding. She shook her head but moved to one side and let him in anyway.

“You didn’t reply to my messages,” he said once she closed the door. “Don’t I deserve an explanation? What happened?”

Alexander looked Isobel over. He was deeply relieved that she seemed okay. When he first knocked, he hadn’t heard anything, and thought maybe she wasn’t home. But then he heard a stifled scream, and when she didn’t open the door, he had seriously started to wonder whether he should kick it down. But she looked like usual. A little pale, her hair an untamed mass around her face and shoulders, but otherwise the same as ever. Her apartment was also as he remembered it. Neat and clean on the surface, just like its owner, but full of hidden secrets.

Isobel stood with her arms folded, radiating all kinds of distance. Her eyes were dark. Dark gray, like a gloomy November afternoon. He just wanted to pull her into his arms, take in the scent of her hair and neck, and tell her everything was okay, that he could fix whatever was wrong if she would just tell him what the hell it was.

“I don’t understand what happened,” he said, following her into the living room.

Everything had been good when he’d left her in Eugene’s apartment. Jesus, how could that already be two days ago?

“Nothing happened. But we can’t go on like this.” They were still on their feet in the middle of the room.

“But why? What did I do?” He searched her face for a clue, battling a mix of anger, worry, relief, and dread. He shouldn’t have left her. She was fine when he did. And now this. “I don’t understand,” he added, frustrated, not knowing if he ought to shake some sense into her or crush her to him and never let her go.

She shook her head, took a step away from him, was practically speaking to herself. “I saw a picture of you and two girls in a club in New York. The same day we Skyped.” She frowned.

Alexander breathed out. At least he knew what she was talking about now. He could fix this. He hadn’t done anything; surely she would understand.

“I was out and I was drunk, but I didn’t sleep with either of them. We didn’t do anything. I would never do that. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. Like I did with that other girl. But don’t you see, it makes no difference—there’ll always be some other woman with you. I don’t think I can cope with the uncertainty. Always worrying. Never knowing for sure.”

He couldn’t fight down the anger that rose within. She was being incredibly unfair. “So you believe me when I say I wasn’t unfaithful, that I would never be unfaithful, to anyone, but you still can’t trust me? Because I am who I am?”

“I’m sorry. I thought I could manage a relationship like this.…”

He felt the anger keep building inside him. So that was what this was about. He should have known. “Like this? Can’t you at least be honest?”

“I am honest.”

“No,” he insisted. “You’re not honest at all. Tell me, what do you think our relationship is about? How do you see us?”

Her breathing was heavy but she didn’t back down. “There is no us. What we have is just about sex. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I care about you, Isobel. A lot.”

The words stuck in his throat. This was excruciating.

“I care too. Far too much. Things shouldn’t have gotten so far.”

“But this is just a misunderstanding. We can straighten it out.”

“I heard you want to give more money to Medpax,” she said, moving away from him again.

“You surely can’t have any objections to that?”

“But I do. For you, this Medpax thing is just a bit of fun until it’s over, in what, two weeks? But for me, it’s never going to be over—it’s the most important thing in my life. We’re playing in totally different leagues.”

“I really don’t understand,” he said, and he had the terrible feeling that their conversation was about to slip out of his hands. Though wasn’t that how things always ended up? When it really mattered, he was replaceable, not someone whose feelings mattered.

“You have good sides, Alexander, I know that. But you think your money gives you the right to do whatever you want. This is real for me. I can’t just do a bit of work with people having a tough time, tell everyone how good I am, and then head off to some paradise island to unwind. This is about my values. And they’re completely different from yours. In every respect.”

“So this has nothing to do with you being worried about what people might think? That’s not what’s really going on here?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

Alexander took a step toward her.

“That you’re so afraid someone might see behind your perfect façade. Or find out that saintly Doctor Sørensen is actually a completely normal person. You’ve got faults and shortcomings just like everyone else. Don’t try to make this all about me. You’re worried what people will think if we’re really together. Afraid that your holier-than-thou doctor friends would judge you if they found out you actually like a playboy. Because in your world, it’s being perfect that counts—people can’t have bad sides. But you don’t have to be perfect.”

“That’d suit you, wouldn’t it?” she snapped.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“That it’s the excuse you give yourself to keep acting like a kid. Do you know how many times I’ve heard you say something is just for fun? I’ll be sick if I have to hear it one more time. Things are important to me. You don’t take anything seriously. I can’t have that in my life.”

“And you take everything too seriously,” he snarled. The conversation was filling him with a rage he hadn’t felt for years. By this point in his life, he should be used to disappointing people he cared about. But he hadn’t quite realized how important Isobel’s opinion was to him, hadn’t anticipated this attack. “Not least yourself, or am I wrong? And I think you use other people’s suffering as a means of making yourself feel good.” It was an awful thing to say, he knew that, but God, he was hurt.

“Well, we can’t all spend our lives navel-gazing in our luxury Manhattan apartments.”

They stared at one another. Maybe it was just as well things had ended up like this, he thought. It was clear he would never be able to live up to her idea of what a man should be. He cast a quick glance to the bedroom. The door was closed, and it felt like it was two different people who had made love in there.

“Well, good luck saving the world,” he said. “Since you’re clearly the only one who can do it. And good luck making your mother proud, by the way—that’s what you live for, isn’t it? It’s gone so well this far.”

Those last words had just come out. Isobel’s eyes shone, but her voice was steady when she replied: “It’s not that I’m not grateful. Your money will do a lot of good.”

“My money is fine, but not me, is that it?” He hadn’t realized she could hurt him so badly, thought he was immune. He had told himself that the only thing he wanted was an uncomplicated summer romance with Isobel. When had it turned into this? He had to fix this somehow. But how? Clearly nothing he did was good enough for Isobel. He bought oxygen machines, drank less, saved Medpax. And he was faithful—he had assumed that was understood—but apparently there were no limits to how low Isobel’s opinion of him could sink.

“I thought you got that I hate infidelity,” he continued.

“I don’t know what to think. Please. We’ll just say things we regret if we keep going.”

He was on the verge of losing it. Nothing helped. He almost started to laugh. He didn’t even eat meat anymore, for Christ’s sake. But it was impossible to measure up. It was like fucking déjà vu—the suspicion, the hopelessness of it all.

“Isobel, please,” he said, painfully aware that he was close to begging.

“It’s better if you go,” she said quietly.

He looked at her, taking in her slender shoulders, the smooth lines of her body, the eyes that met his, full of pain and resolution. Maybe she was right after all. She was a good person, someone who deserved more than he could give. And he’d had enough anyway, couldn’t stomach feeling this worthless any longer.

“Maybe you’re right. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

She nodded.

He stood there for a moment, looking at her. Waited for her to change her mind.

But she didn’t, and so eventually Alexander turned and left. Out into the hallway. Opened the door, went out, and closed it on her and the life he had always known he could never have.