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Left with nothing.

All her plans with Robert had gone out of the window. It was all  going to be so meticulously planned and carried out. God, they  had even opened new accounts for her in a false name. But  everything was still at the house. She hadn't even brought her handbag or a coat with her. She had just snatched the car keys  from the sideboard and left. All she was wearing was a tee-shirt  and jeans. She felt so stupid, and yet triumphant aswell.

It was finally over. She couldn't have stood it any longer. Her marriage with Alex was destroying her, he was destroying her.  Slowly, relentlessly, he was squeezing the vitality and spirit out of her. He was hardly ever there, and when he was, he  questioned everything she did. Who she saw, where she went, how she behaved. What had once been love had turned into infatuation and a possessiveness that was bordering on paranoia. He had become insanely jealous. But she had never dreamt that he was opening her mail, or that he would actually hire someone to follow her.

When he had accused her of having an affair with Robert, everything had just come out. It was such a relief to tell him, to get it all out into the open at last. When she had actually uttered the words, telling him, finally, that she was leaving him at last, it had been such a blessed relief. Alex just seemed to explode. How could he think that he could stop her? What could he possibly tell her to make her stay now? And what else could he do? Lock her in her own bedroom?

Sarah laughed. She was glad she had left him. And so what if she had brought nothing with her? She didn't care. She was just glad to be out of it. She didn't care about the money, the house, or any of it, anymore. She just wanted to be rid of it all. She wanted to be with Robert. She wanted people to see her with Robert. She was sick of hiding their affair, of always having to be secretive and furtive. Now that her marriage was over, she wanted everybody to know.

Soon she would be at Robert's apartment, crying in his arms, telling him everything. He would know what to do. She could be with him at last.

The car came out of nowhere. Sarah snatched at the steering wheel and stamped on the brake in panic. The tyres squealed in protest as her white convertible swerved and skidded onto the wrong side of the road. The driver of the other car also fought with the steering wheel, and Sarah had a fleeting image of his young face, teeth bared. He seemed very young, and there were other young faces in the car with him. Just boys and girls. Then the car flashed past, and Sarah saw the third car behind it. It was coming straight towards her, as her own car slid sideways right into its path. The driver of this car was also a woman, probably not much younger than herself, and Sarah could see her eyes grow round with terror as all four wheels of her car locked up, and it continued to skid relentlessly forward.

Sarah knew that the car was going to hit her broadside on, that there was nothing she could do to stop it, and that it was going to injure her very badly. But for some reason she was not scared. And in the last drawn out moments before the cars collided, she thought briefly about Robert, worried that he wouldn't know which hospital she had been taken to. But the authorities wouldn't tell him, would they? No, only Alex would be told. Sarah realised with mounting horror that she didn't want that to happen. She wanted Robert to be at the hospital, she wanted Robert by her bedside, not Alex. She wanted Robert. There was a very loud and sudden crunching, crumpling sound, and Sarah felt something hard hit her head. And then there was nothing....

"Why, hi Alex!" he said brightly. "What can I do for you?"

"You can get the hell back to America, you lying, cheating bastard! That's what you can do for me!"

Robert's smile grew wider. "Oh, I see," he replied, taking another sip from his drink. "Any particular reason for your sudden request?"

"You know damn well why!" Alex shouted down the telephone, his voice hoarse. "I know all about you and my wife! And you're not going to get away with this, do you hear me!"

"By the way you're shouting down the phone, I should think my partners in Chicago can hear you!"

"Don't try and be funny! I tell you I'm onto your little game, McCord, and it's not going to work! Sarah might have been taken in, but not me! I know about the money, McCord!I know everything I tell you! Everything! And you're not going to get away with it! Do you hear me! Because once Sarah hears the truth, you're finished!"

Robert felt a hint of panic. Could Alex really know what was going on? Everything had been planned so carefully, and Sarah had gone along with every step. It couldn't go wrong now. He had to do something. Best to admit the affair, it would give Alex something to chew on. But not the rest. No, not yet.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Alex," he bluffed. "Sure, your wife and I get along real fine, you might aswell know that now. But as for this other crap you're talking about, I'm sorry, you've lost me."

"You don't fool me!" Alex almost snarled down the telephone. "You've lost, McCord! Get out of the country while you still can!"

"How dramatic!" Robert laughed. "What happened to your stiff upper lip, Alex?" he added.

"I'm warning you, McCord!" Alex went on. "If you're still in the country tomorrow, I'm going to ruin you! Do you understand me? I'll destroy you completely!"

"Okay, Alex! The jokes over!" Robert's voice grew stern. "I don't like threats, and to be honest, I don't like you either. Now, my law firm is doing real fine here in Manchester, and my partners are real pleased with the way I've been handling things here in England, so I have no intention of leaving. And remember, I've been your lawyer -sorry, solicitor- for over six months now. That means I know everything there is to know about you, and your business. So if you even try and give me a hard time, you're the one who's going to be sorry!"

"You just don't know what your dealing with, do you? You've got no chance of winning, McCord! And do you know why? Because I don't give a toss about anything except Sarah. I don't care if it costs me absolutely everything so long as I get her back and smash you!"

Robert took his cue to put the knife in. "Sarah's already left you, hasn't she?" he said coldly. "That's what all this is really about, isn't it? She's already on her way. Good! I'll be thinking about you when she gets here, Alex, and I know you'll be thinking about us, too. Thinking about me holding her in my arms, touching her, kissing her, and making love to her...."

The telephone went dead. Robert put the receiver down carefully and took a deep breath. He stared out of the window of his top floor apartment at the view of Castlefield below. He could see the canal basin with the pubs lining the waters edge, and the many people milling about, drinking, talking and smiling. Robert suddenly flung the drink he still held across the room. It smashed against the wall, it's contents staining the wallpaper. "Shit....," he muttered.

"I know," PC Roberts replied. "But they were only kids. And I don't think they realise how dangerous it is. I mean, they don't want to die, do they?"

"It serves them right, I say!"

"But they were only kids, Jill."

"So what? Those two women they killed were the only innocent parties. And now we've got to tell some poor sod that his wife's dead. And for what? Nothing! It wasn't even her fault! I just think it's a shame that the fourth little git didn't die aswell."

"Don't let the sarge hear you talk like that!"

"He probably thinks the same as me."

"Thinking and saying are not the same thing," PC Roberts pointed out.

Jill Foster became silent. She had been a police constable for two years. And this was the third time she had been involved in a road traffic accident and had to pass the news of the death of a loved one on to a relative. She hated it. It always made her feel so stupid and inadequate. And it was always for no good reason. Fog. Drunken driving. Joy riders. She sighed. What sick person had thought up that name?

It had taken two hours of manic pursuit by six police cars around the city centre before the chase had finally come to an abrupt end. Faced with a road block, the driver of the stolen car had attempted a 180 degree hand brake turn and had got it wrong. The car had overturned, rolled five times, and then demolished a lamp post. Three of the four occupants had died almost instantly, the fourth, a young girl, was now in intensive care in Manchester Royal Infirmary.

The police car turned into the drive of a large house. All the lights were on.

PC Roberts looked up at the impressive house. "Gosh," he said. "I bet they've got a penny or two."

WPC Foster switched off the engine and looked across at her partner. "Sarge told me that he'd heard of the husband," she said, undoing her seat-belt. "Said he made his money on the stockmarket in the eighties. Something to do with commodities, I think. Said he still dabbles a bit now, even though he's got money coming out of his ears." She paused to retrieve her hat from the back seat, and then added, "Didn't do her any good though, did it?"

Dr Philip Jones raised his eyebrows as he stood at the nurses station in the Cardio-Thoracic Unit at Wythenshawe Hospital.

"What about the waiting list?" he said. "I know there are other people ahead of us on the list in this zone."

"Not that this heart will match. Check it for yourself. It should be coming up on your computer right about now."

Dr Jones wedged the telephone receiver under his chin and turned to the nearest computer monitor. He began calling up the information. "Other people on the lists in other zones might have a greater need," he said slowly as he typed away.

"Don't you want this heart, or something?" Dr Askwith asked with a slight hint of humour in his voice. "I thought it was the best going away present I could give you."

"I'm supposed to give you the present, David," Dr Jones replied, and scratched his beard as he read the details on the screen.

Dr David Askwith was both a friend aswell as a colleague. Dr Jones had known him since he had been qualified, and first came to Wythenshawe Hospital. In fact he had been responsible for much of Dr Askwith's training. But now that he was a resident at Manchester Royal Infirmary, they no longer got to see as much of each other as they had done in the past.

"You're the one going traipsing around Eastern Europe with nothing but a back pack for a friend," Dr Jones added, silently envying the prospect of his younger friend's long awaited holiday.

"And glad I'll be for the peace and quiet at last," was the quick reply. "My last day! I'm all packed and ready, and I leave straight from work. I can't wait! Well, what do you think? Is it registered yet?"

"It is. And it does look good."

"Good? It's bloody perfect! You couldn't have got better if you'd ordered it with a Madeira sauce and wild mushrooms!"

Dr Jones laughed. "Alright, alright! I give in! How soon can you get it here?"

"The donor is already in surgery, so it's you, my friend, who is going to have to move fast."

It was her mothers fault of course, but Rachel didn't mind. Gina Carter was always very possessive and protective where her daughter was concerned. She hadn't hesitated in seeing off any boy that she thought didn't come up to scratch. Unfortunately, that had been most of them. Rachel had come to realise that no boy was ever going to be good enough to be accepted by her mother. But it was not just that.

Ever since Rachel had been diagnosed as suffering from congenital heart disease as a child, Gina had made it her life's work to cater to her daughter's every need. She did everything and anything. Nothing was ever too much to ask. Rachel knew why, of course. Gina still thought that it was her fault. She had been a heavy smoker, and only after Rachel's condition had been diagnosed had she finally given up. She had just put her last cigarette out and never picked up another. Rachel always insisted that it wasn't her mother's fault, and that she shouldn't think like that. But Gina would always carry the guilt with her.

Gina Carter had been nineteen when Rachel was born. She had never married and never wanted to. She was fiercely independent aswell as being extremely stubborn and tenacious. She was scared of nothing and no one, because she had believed that nothing could hurt her. She had been young and foolish, and now her daughter was suffering the consequences.

If she had wanted to, Rachel could have lived her entire life without lifting a finger. She could have taken full advantage of her mother's guilt, and her love and attention, and exploited it. But she never did, because her own love for her mother was just as strong. It had to be. So far, Rachel had gone through three operations on her heart, and each one had been painful and traumatic. Especially the first, when she had been only ten. Her mother had been there for her each time. Helping her to prepare for the ordeal, waiting for her when she woke up, and helping her recover afterwards.

Her mother's love was the most constant and dependable thing in Rachel's life. She knew that and treasured it dearly. Never more so than when things were not going so well.

So far, each operation had been followed by a time of renewed vigour and a rise in optimism. But gradually would come the shortness of breath and then the slow decline. Rachel would see the pain in her mother's eyes, even though Gina would do her best to hide it, and at those times the love between them became so strong, that Rachel could almost feel it pulling her along like a physical presence. It made them very close. Neither one of them could ever imagine living without the other.

Now they waited for a fourth operation, one that would finally put right what was wrong once and for all.

Rachel took a long breath and called down to her mother. "Hey, fat arse! How about a cup of tea up here?"

"Who are you calling 'fat arse'? You skinny runt!" Came the quick retort. "I've seen more meat on a spare-rib at the Summer Palace!"

Rachel chuckled. She put the book down on the dressing table next to her bed and took off her glasses. She looked towards the door and waited. She could hear her mother coming up the stairs already. Jibes about her size were guaranteed to get her mother's attention. She would reply in kind, exaggerating Rachel's slimmer look by comparing her to anything from a string bean to a brain on a stick. It wasn't that her mother was very big, really, just pleasantly plump, as Gina would say.

"You're only jealous," Rachel said when she heard her mother reach the top of the stairs.

Gina came through the door and looked at her daughter stretched out on the bed. Rachel was wearing her favourite tatty old pair of jeans and a blue jumper. Her feet were bare.

"Revenge!" Gina announced and pounced on Rachel's bare feet, tickling them madly.

Rachel kicked her feet and began laughing. "No, mum! Not my feet!" she cried out. "You know I'm dead ticklish there!"

"Not until you give in!" her mother insisted.

"I give in! I give in!"

Gina relented and sat on the side of the bed next to her daughter. "You're right," she said. "I am jealous. I only have to look at a plate of chips and I put on two stone! And me running up and down the stairs every five minutes! You, you eat like a pig, laze about all day, and you can still hide in the shadow of a stick insect!"

Rachel laughed. "The trouble with you, mum," she said. "Is that you never stop at just looking at that plate of chips."

"A woman's got to eat you know."

"And drink," Rachel added.

Gina held up her finger. "Tea!" she said. "I'll go and put the kettle on." She started to get up.

"I'll come down, mum."

"No, you stay here and read your book. I'll bring it up to you."

"No, I want to come down and sit in the kitchen with you."

"You'll get tired and out of breath."

"Shut up and help me up!" Rachel insisted and swung her legs off the bed.

Gina relented. "Oh, alright," she said, and she put her arm around her daughter's waist and began to help Rachel to her feet. "But if you begin to feel too tired, I'm going to carry you right back up here and put you straight to bed."

"I think I was a lot smaller the last time you gave me a piggy- back, mum." Rachel put her arm around her mother's shoulder and stood up. She was taller than her mother, and definitely thinner, but the similarity between them was obvious in their faces. Rachel's hair, eyes and nose were definitely inherited from her mother. Pictures of Gina when she was younger and thinner could easily be confused for Rachel. But now Gina's hair was much shorter, and her face rounder. They had taken two steps towards the door together when the telephone rang.

They both froze and stared towards the door, listening to the ringing sound. For the past few months they had both dreaded and hoped that the telephone would ring. Whenever it did, and it wasn't Rachel's doctor, they would feel down-hearted, but also a little bit relieved.

Gina spoke first. "Why didn't you wait until I was naked with one foot in the bath, like last time?" she said to the telephone. She sighed. "Wait here, Rachel, and I'll go and see who it is." She helped Rachel sit down on the bed before hurrying down- stairs.

Rachel swung her legs back onto the bed and drew them up to her chest. She hugged them with both hands and rested the side of her head on her knees. She sat there on the bed, all alone, waiting, listening.

Gina stood in front of the hall mirror and stared at her reflection. She didn't feel any different, and if she sucked her cheeks in, she didn't look much different either. Maybe this year she would lose some weight. If everything went okay. She took a deep breath and picked up the telephone. "Hello?" she said.

"Hello? Gina?" said a familiar voice. "It's Dr Jones. We've got one."

WPC Foster glared at her colleague. Now was not the time, she thought. But he did have a point. The drawing room was littered with broken china, and two of the chairs had been over-turned. Mr Williams himself also looked a little dishevelled. He had quite a bad cut on his forehead, which he dabbed constantly with a blood-stained handkerchief. And he was obviously angry and upset about something. And the room didn't get into this state on it's own, either. If it wasn't a break-in, then it had to be an argument, a bad one, and probably with his wife. This was going to be even harder than she had first thought.

"Did I call you about any damn break-in?" Alex snapped back at them both.

"No sir," Jill Foster replied quickly. She wanted to get their visit back onto the right path, but her eyes were caught by the picture hanging on the wall above the fireplace behind Alex. It was a large portrait of a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and she was immediately struckby the age difference. Alex Williams was still a strikingly attractive man, but he was in his middle to late forties, whereas his wife had been only twenty-eight. Then she remembered from the information that she had been given that Williams had been married before. Why was it that the more successful men became, the younger their wives got?

"As I said at the door, sir," she continued, tearing her eyes away from the painting. "It's to do with your wife-"

"I know, I know!" Alex interrupted, his voice still angry. "Speeding again! As usual! How fast was she going this time?"

"It's much more serious than that, sir. I think it would be better if you sat down."

"She hasn't gone and ran someone over has she?" For the first time since they ad arrived, Alex's voice sounded less angry and more concerned.

"There has been an accident, sir."

Alex slowly lowered is hand from the cut on his head and looked more closely at the sad expression on the young policewoman's face.

"Oh, God," he whispered, as the purpose of their visit finally dawned on him. And then he did sit down. "Oh God....."

Dr Jones greeted them both. "Hello, Gina, Rachel." He squatted down next to the wheelchair and held Rachel's hand. "How are you feeling?" he asked her.

Rachel took off her glasses. "Scared," she replied. "Like usual."

"She's fine, Dr Jones," Gina said quickly. "A little tired, maybe. But apart from that, she's fine."

Dr Jones grinned at Rachel and squeezed her hand. "It's going to be alright, Rachel. Just you wait and see. By this time tomorrow, you're going to feel like a new woman!"

"I hope so, Dr Jones," Rachel replied. "I can't help it, you know? I think if my heart was okay, I'd probably run away."

"Don't be silly!" Gina scolded her daughter. "This is going to make you well, and it's not like you haven't been through this before. You're just being a big baby!"

"I am not!" Rachel protested. "The other operations weren't the same. This time they're going to replace the whole damn thing. Of course I'm scared. You'd be, too, if you were in my place."

Dr Jones saw the hurt look on Gina's face. He quickly squeezed Rachel's hand again. "It's going to be alright," he repeated. "Everything's going to be just fine. You trust me don't you?" Rachel nodded. "Well then. Don't you worry about anything, okay? Now let's get you to your room." Dr Jones stood up and led them both to a single room further down the corridor.

Even though there were two nurses ready to help, Gina insisted on getting her daughter undressed and into bed herself. One of the nurses tried to help, but spent most of her time keeping out of Gina's way. The other nurse just smiled and stood by, holding on to the clothes Gina had thrust into her hands after she had first snatched the gown she was carrying. Dr Jones and the nurse smiled at one another as Gina fussed over her daughter.

Nurse Julia Kaye had seen all this before, of course. She had been here on the numerous occasions that Rachel had been in for tests and examinations. It was always the same. If you protested or got in the way, Gina would mow you down like a bulldozer.

Rachel was soon in bed, and everything was tidied away.

"Everybody out," Dr Jones announced. "I'd like to examine my patient without an audience if you please."

"I suppose you mean me?" Gina said, hands on hips.

Nurse Kaye put her arm around Gina, and said, "Why don't we go and get a drink for you and Rachel while Dr Jones is examining your daughter?"

Gina gave her that 'don't mess with me' look, and said, "I can manage on my own, if you don't mind." She brushed aside Nurse Kaye's arm and turned back to Rachel. "Will you be alright, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Yes, mum. I'll be fine."

Gina kissed Rachel on the forehead before heading for the door. There she paused and glanced at Dr Jones, saying, "I know when I'm not wanted." Then she went out.

Nurse Kaye smiled at Rachel as she followed Gina out the door. Now Dr Jones and Rachel were left alone together, and he began to examine her, placing his stethoscope against her chest, listening to her heart.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" he asked her.

Rachel looked down at the large scars on her chest from previous operations. They started just below her neck, went down between her breasts, and all the way to her midriff.

"I'm not a big baby, am I, Doctor?" she asked him. "I mean, still living at home with my mum, and everything?"

"Of course you're not a baby."

"But I'm twenty-four! I should be working and living on my own, not still at home with my mum. It's not right." Rachel clutched her glasses in both hands, her head down.

Dr Jones could see that Rachel was worried about the operation, but there was more to it than that. He took the stethoscope from his ears and sat down on the bed beside her. "Rachel," he said. "This operation is going to give you the chance to live your life just like everybody else. You'll be able to do what you want. Travel to other places, see some of the world. You could get married and have children. And yes, you can work for a living and get your own place. It's just what you've been waiting for. But remember, nothing's compulsory. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. And whatever you do decide to do, your mother is still going to love you."

"But we've been so close!" Rachel exclaimed. "If this operation finally works, what's that going to do to us both? What am I supposed to do? Say 'thank you very much' and walk out?"

"You love your mother, don't you?"

"Yes of course I do. She's done everything for me over the years. I couldn't ask for a better mother. We share everything. We even cry watching the same weepy movies."

"Then you've nothing to worry about, have you? Because we both know that Gina loves you like mad. And there's no way that your relationship is going to end with this operation, Rachel. It might change a little in time, but that's only natural. And remember, you're not going to wake up as superwoman, ready to fly off into the sunset. It is going to take time for you to recover, and to work out what you want to do. And if there's one thing that's certain, your mother will be there to help you through it."

Rachel put her glasses back on and gave Dr Jones a wry smile. "I am a big baby," she said. "Scared of being healthy, and what it will mean." She sighed. "I shouldn't have snapped at mum like that in the corridor. I didn't really mean it, but this operation isn't like the other ones, is it? I'm going to have someone else's......you know.....inside me. It is sort of scary."

Dr Jones became a little more concerned. He had explained all the ramifications of having a heart transplant to Rachel many times before. She knew everything she needed to know, and more. She knew what they were going to do, how long it would take, and what could possibly go wrong, both during, and after, the surgery. But knowing about it all, understanding it all, that was one thing. Actually going through with it was another.

"I asked you before if you had changed your mind. You haven't have you?"

She shook her head. "No, it's just last minute jitters, that's all. I suppose I sort of feel sorry for my old heart, too. It's done it's best for twenty-four years, and now I'm going to evict it and put another one in it's place. And I just can't quite get used to the idea that by tomorrow, someone else's.....," she paused and looked down at her scarred chest, and then continued, sheepishly, "I just don't know how it's going to feel."

"It's going to feel fine!" Dr Jones replied. He stroked her hair and smiled at her. "By tomorrow it's going to be all over and done with. And you can start planning what you're going to do with your life at last. It's what you've been waiting for."

"But I don't even know what I want to do. It's always been so pie in the sky. And as for getting married and having children, who's going to look at me?"

"Lots of people. You're far too beautiful for your own good!"

"Yeah, until I take my blouse off! Then it's like a blue movie version of 'Phantom of the Opera!'"

Dr Jones laughed. Just then, Nurse Kaye returned pushing a trolley with equipment and monitors on it. "Your mother's on her way back with two cups of tea," she announced. Other nurses followed her in with more equipment, and the room started to get busy again.

Dr Jones waved his finger at Rachel as he got up from the bed. "Only a couple of sips for you," he said.

"I know," was the reluctant reply.

"And as for boyfriends," Dr Jones added. "If they can't love your scars along with the rest of you, then kick 'em out, I say!"

Now it was Rachel's turn to laugh. Gina came through the door, another man was with her. Rachel recognised him immediately. She knew him quite well. Mr Ronald Bloomfield was his name. He was a nice man, really. But the sight of him frightened her, and the laughter and the smile faded from her face. She could feel her heart trying to climb into her stomach, as if it were trying to hide, to get away. Mr Ronald Bloomfield was the surgeon who was going to perform the transplant.

He had collapsed when they had told him. He just slumped to the floor and cried. The two police officers had to pick him up. They had been worried about him, and had wanted to call a doctor. The woman police officer had then suggested that it would be better if they put off the ordeal of identifying the body until he was feeling more capable. But when he heard that, Alex had revived almost instantly. He didn't want to wait for any doctor. He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to be close to his wife again, the need to see her driving him on. He had to see her again, to touch her, just one more time.

Now he just sat in the back seat of the police car, head down, his hands over his eyes.

WPC Foster looked over her shoulder at Alex. "We're nearly there, sir," she said softly.

Alex said nothing.

WPC Foster glanced at her partner. PC Roberts just shrugged his shoulders and kept driving. She looked back at Alex. At least he had stopped crying, she thought.

They drove on in silence, and soon they were at the hospital.

"We're there now, sir," WPC Foster said. She opened the door and got out, and then reached in to take Alex's hands from over his face. He looked surprised, stunned. Gently, she helped him out of the car.

It was all a blur to Alex. The journey to Manchester, arriving at the hospital, getting out of the car, and walking along the corridors, everything. He was aware of people, and of the bright lights and the noise. But he couldn't quite focus on them. The sounds of voices were distant and echoy, and the faces of people seemed distorted. He was in a dream, a nightmare.

He was standing in a room with WPC Foster and another man in a white coat. He felt sort of cold. In front of him was a long table with a white sheet over it. There was someone lying on the table underneath the sheet. His heart began beating like mad, and he swallowed loudly.

"Take your time, sir," WPC Foster said.

The man in the white coat drew back the sheet to reveal the head and shoulders of a young woman underneath. She had blonde hair, and there were bruises and contusions on her face and forehead. Both her lips were split, and her nose looked like it was broken. She looked very sad, and white, and still.

Alex took a deep breath and sighed. "That's not Sarah," he said. "That's not my wife."

"I didn't!" Dr Anders replied. "They were identified incorrectly before I came on duty."

"Who was the attending?"

"It was Dr Askwith. He dealt with Mrs Williams and Miss Sorenson when they came in."

"Get him back here!"

"I've tried. But he's gone off duty and he's not answering his phone or his pager."

"This is ridiculous! Of all the incompetent, idiotic....."

Dr Anders listened as Dr Clarkson ranted on. He was the senior consultant in charge of the Accident and Emergency department at Manchester Royal Infirmary, and he was obviously very angry. Dr Anders felt that he was being unfair to her, placing her under severe pressure when she had only just come on duty herself, and had hardly had a chance to get familiar with the case. And what made it worse was that they were standing together with WPC Foster in the Accident and Emergency department, with other doctors and nurses nearby who couldn't fail to hear his raised voice.

Just then, Eric Barrett, the hospital General Manager, came rushing down the corridor towards them with another man.

"I came as soon as I could," Eric Barrett said hurriedly. He was a short man, slightly overweight, and he was losing his hair. He had been at home when the call had came, settled and relaxed after another hard day. Now he looked dishevelled and panic stricken. "This is John Stanley," he said, introducing the second, younger man. "He's our Legal Advisor. Now, quickly, tell us the whole story."

Dr Clarkson turned to Dr Anders and said, with a sarcastic flourish, "Go ahead! I think this honour belongs to you!"

Everyone stared at her. Dr Anders cleared her throat. "Two victims of a road traffic accident were brought in just after seven o'clock this evening. Both had severe head injuries. One of them was dead on arrival, the other was pronounced dead shortly after. Dr Askwith was the doctor on duty. He handled both patients. They had been identified by the police as a Mrs Sarah Williams and a Miss Katja Sorenson."

"So it's the police's fault," Barrett interrupted quickly, looking accusingly at WPC Foster.

"Let her finish," Dr Clarkson said sternly. "Go on."

Dr Anders continued. "Miss Sorenson was identified by the contents of her handbag aswell as the registration of her car. The identification of Mrs Williams, on the other hand, was only based on the car registration, as she was carrying no other form of identification with her. The car was traced to her husband, who the police have now brought in to formally identify her body. He says it's not her."

"So, someone else was driving her car," John Stanley said. "So what's the problem?"

WPC Foster cleared her throat. "Miss Sorenson has also not been formally identified," she said as everyone stared at her. "She has no living relatives in this country, and her flatmate wasn't in when officers called at her address."

Dr Anders quickly added, "We suspect that it was Miss Sorenson's body that Mr Williams saw when he was brought in to identify his wife."

There was a brief silence while Barrett and Stanley absorbed this information, both of them looking at WPC Foster with some concern. It was obvious from their expressions that they wished that they could have the rest of this conversation without her presence. Tough! Jill Foster thought to herself. She had no intention of leaving.

"I think we should get out of this corridor," Stanley said.

"Good idea," Barrett replied. "Let's find a less public place for this discussion."

Dr Clarkson led the way down the corridor to a side room. It was an unoccupied single bed room. WPC Foster squeezed in last of all as Dr Clarkson tried to close the door behind them. They all stared at her. She decided to stake her claim before the protests began.

"I think it would be beneficial for all concerned that I continue to be present," she said. "Particularly if this should come to court later."

Barrett looked at Stanley. He nodded. "It would help in verifying that nothing underhand was done, or intended," he said.

"Alright then," Barrett said with a sigh as he turned to Dr Anders again. "You said that they were identified at the scene of the accident. How could they get mixed up by the time they got here?"

"They both looked very similar," Dr Anders replied. "The mistake could have occurred after they were freed from their cars. Or Miss Sorenson's handbag could have been dropped and put back next to the wrong body. It could have happened here, or at the scene of the accident."

"And there were no photos in the handbag?" Stanley asked.

"Not as far as I know," Dr Anders replied. "But it wouldn't have mattered. They both had severe head injuries. There was a lot of blood, contusions and lacerations. Trying to determine who was who from just a photograph wouldn't have been that easy in the circumstances."

Stanley sighed. "Okay," he said. "It's a big embarrassment, but I don't think it warrants mine or Eric's presence here tonight. As far as I see it, you just take Mr Williams to look at the body of Miss Sorenson. If that is his wife as you suspect, then it's just a simple mistake that, in the circumstances, Mr Williams is not likely to pursue. He would be more likely to sue if he had faced the trauma of his wife's death only to find her alive and well. He'd have been outraged. But for that to happen, someone else would have had to have been driving his wife's car. So if that was the case, it would have been an acceptable mistake to have made. That's why the police brought him in here in the first place, isn't it? Either way, the panics over."

It was then that Dr Clarkson dropped the bombshell. "Yes, that's all perfectly reasonable, Mr Stanley," he said, glancing briefly at WPC Foster. "Until you find out that Miss Sorenson was carrying an organ donor card."

There was a long pause which was only broken when Stanley said, "Oh, shit."

"What was removed and where did it go?" Barrett quickly demanded.

"Just her heart, one eye, and both kidneys," Dr Clarkson replied. "The heart's already gone to Wythenshawe, but we put a hold on any further transfers as soon as we learned of the mix up. Everything we took out except the heart is still here in cold storage, but they won't last much longer. We've also subsequently received calls for the other remaining organs aswell."

Eric Barrett went over to the nearest telephone. "Nothing else is to be removed from that body," he said over his shoulder. "In fact, I think we should put everything back. Even if we do lose the organs. We have to be sure." He picked up the phone and rang the Cardio-Thoracic Unit at Wythenshawe.

WPC Foster didn't listen to his conversation. She was far more concerned with something else. "Did you say her eyes?" she asked Dr Clarkson, with a certain amount of unease in her voice.

"Yes, one eye and both kidneys," he replied. "The other eye was too badly damaged in the accident. But, as I said, they're all still here, so it is possible to put them back in before Mr Williams gets to see her."

WPC Foster was horrified by the casual tone in his voice. He didn't seem to care about the effect all this was likely to have on Alex Williams. She had seen the way he had reacted and how he had looked when he had learned of his wife's death. He had been absolutely devastated. And now all she could think of were those dazzling blue eyes in the painting she had seen at the house earlier that evening. How would Alex Williams react when he found out what they had done to his wife? What would he do?

Barrett came off the phone. "The recipient's heart is already out," he said. "It's too late to stop the transplant from going ahead now, not without putting the recipient at too much risk. Especially as we aren't yet sure that a mistake has been made in the first place."

"I think we're pretty sure," Dr Clarkson said.

"We need to have the other body identified as soon as possible," Barrett said to Dr Clarkson. "Get those organs replaced and have the husband in there as soon as you can." Dr Clarkson nodded and walked quickly away. Barrett now turned to Stanley.

"John, how badly exposed do you think we are?" he asked the legal advisor.

John Stanley took a deep breath. He looked far more worried than he had done before. "If it is his wife," he said carefully. "And we've removed organs without his permission, and she didn't leave any written authorisation either, then we really are going to be in deep trouble."

"Do you think he will sue?" Barrett asked.

WPC Foster answered his question before Stanley could reply.

"He'll sue."

Dr Jones knew that this was always the worst time for Gina. It was the one time when she couldn't do anything to help her daughter. All she could do was sit and wait. And pray.

"It's going to be alright, Gina," Dr Jones said. "You know that Bloomfield is a damn good surgeon. And he's done this operation many times before."

"But not on my Rachel, he hasn't," Gina replied quickly. She stood up and paced around the room, moving between the other easy chairs and low tables. She stopped briefly to pick up and leaf through one of the dog eared magazines that were scattered about. Then she discarded it, and slowly worked her way back around the room, until she came back to Dr Jones and sat down again.

Dr Jones sighed. It was not the first time she had been on a tour of the waiting room. So far, she must have picked up and discarded every magazine in the room. He wished that there was something that he could do to stop Gina's torment. Anyone would worry at a time like this, it was quite understandable and expected. But for Gina it was different. She always wanted to do everything for Rachel, to always be there for her. Now she was locked out, at the very time when Rachel might need her the most.

"Rachel's in good hands," he told her. "You know Bloomfield, you know what he's like. In fact you two get along so well, anyone would think that you were an old married couple."

"I know," Gina replied in a quiet voice. "But this isn't like the other operations Rachel has had. I worried just as much then, so I'm bound to worry all the more now. And I won't stop worrying until I can see her, and hold her in my arms again."

Dr Jones was right, of course. She did know Ronald Bloomfield very well. He was one of the few people who was not phased by Gina's forceful personality. And just like her, he was not shy when it came to voicing his own opinions, either.

Gina Carter and Ronald Bloomfield very often had what they themselves called spirited discussions. To anyone else, they were knock down, drag out fights. They would scream and shout at one another until they were both red in the face. And the next moment they would seem like the best of pals. They both had their own points of view, and neither of them liked to back down. At the moment, honours were about even. But the day was not quite over yet.

Gina liked Bloomfield. He was straight up, honest. If he thought that you were going to die, he would tell you straight out. Gina liked that. When Dr Jones had introduced them for the first time, Gina had thought that he would be pompous and arrogant. She was wrong, and it was less than five minutes before they had their first argument. She had felt a lot happier after that. And they had quickly got to know one another, and what was most important to each of them. Now there was no one else in the world who she would trust to do the transplant operation on her daughter other than Bloomfield.

"I hate waiting," Gina said with sudden emotion. "I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!" She sat with her head down, ringing her hands.

"Do you remember what Rachel said to Ronald when they first met?" Dr Jones asked her.

"Yes," Gina replied. "She asked him to put in a zip. Just in case anything went wrong."

"That's right. It made Ronald smile."

Gina looked up, staring Dr Jones in the eye. "Nothing is going to go wrong, is it?" she asked him. "I don't just mean now, but afterwards, aswell?"

"No! Of course not!" Dr Jones insisted. "It was a good, healthy heart we got from the donor. And she was a perfect match for your Rachel. Believe me, once this transplant's completed, all your problems will be over."

Bloomfield's smile broadened. "It went like a dream!" he told Dr Jones. "Everything went like clockwork. It was as if that heart couldn't wait to get in there and start working again."

Dr Jones took a deep breath. "I'm glad," he said, and he smiled too. "How is Rachel?"

"She's fine! They've taken her into the ICU. She'll probably stay in there for the next day or two. But I'd bet that she'll be back in her own room, sitting up and talking, by Friday! Now we'd better get to the ICU before Gina causes complete havoc!" He slapped Dr Jones on the back and went out the door, not waiting to see if the doctor was following him.

Dr Jones was left on his own in the waiting room. He was so relieved. He hadn't expected everything to go so well. There was always some kind of complication, no matter how tiny, that caused concern. But if Ronald Bloomfield said that everything went like clockwork, then everything had gone like clockwork.

"Come on, Jones!" he heard Bloomfield calling from halfway down the corridor. "Stop dawdling!"

Dr Jones smiled as he went out of the waiting room, closing the door carefully behind him. Rachel was going to be fine.

"What's this? A lynching party?" he said with mock humour as he closed the door behind him.

"Not quite, Philip," Andrea Walker said. She gave him a weak smile that worried Dr Jones far more than the thought of any lynching party. "You had better sit down," she went on.

Dr Jones did as she asked, sitting down in the one remaining empty chair in the room.

"You obviously know Ronald Bloomfield and Gordon Murray," Walker said to him, indicating the surgeon and the hospital Medical Director. Dr Jones nodded and greeted his two colleagues. Andrea Walker then indicated the two people he didn't know. "This is the General Manager of Manchester Royal Infirmary, Mr Eric Barrett, and his Legal Advisor, Mr John Stanley."

Dr Jones stood up and shook hands with the two men, one short and slightly fat, the other tall and lean. He was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Something was going on, and whatever it was, it had to be unpleasant for somebody judging by the people who were gathered in this room.

"Gentlemen, this is Dr Philip Jones," Walker continued with her introductions as the two men shook hands with the worried doctor. "It's his patient that concerns us."

"My patient?" Dr Jones repeated in a questioning manner.

"It's Rachel Carter's heart transplant," Bloomfield replied. "It seems that someone has made a cock-up of the authorisation from the donor."

"Now, see here!"

"That's not exactly true!"

Bloomfield's reply seemed to spark sudden life into the two men from Manchester Royal Infirmary, who quickly protested at his choice of words. Andrea Walker had to calm them down.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen! Please let's not argue about that now!" she said. "Remember that this has serious implications for the patient, not just for us, or our staff."

"What implications?" Dr Jones demanded.

"I'll explain," Gordon Murray said, his slight Scottish accent still noticeable even after fifteen years in Manchester. "And donae worry, I'll do it in a way that doesnae offend anybody."

Andrea Walker sighed and nodded her agreement. "That would be a good idea, Gordon," she said.

"The heart transplant that Mr Bloomfield carried out on Rachel Carter three days ago involved a heart taken from a donor at Manchester Royal Infirmary," Murray began. "It appears that, through some strange accident, the donor's identification got mixed up with that of another deceased patient. Suffice it to say that authorisation to proceed with the removal of the heart wasnae obtained from the correct relative. Nor was there any written authorisation from the deceased herself. Regardless of the fact that the transplant operation was carried out very successfully, this now leaves us with a somewhat tricky problem. We've now been notified by the solicitors acting on behalf of the donor's husband, a Mr Alex Williams, that he intends to sue both hospitals and Miss Carter."

Dr Jones was speechless. He just sat there in silence, staring at Gordon Murray as if he had been speaking a different language.

"Can't we put him off?" Andrea Walker asked. "There must be dozens of other negligence cases ahead of this one."

"Normally, yes," John Stanley said. "There are probably hundreds of cases ahead of ours. But Williams has got a lot of money, and he's not going to be shy about spending it. That solicitor of his is already pulling strings to get the case heard early."

"That's right," Barrett said. "And it's already got to the attention of the national newspapers. One of the tabloids carried a story only this morning, saying how Williams intends to keep his wife's body in storage until this is all over."

"Aye, and there's Dr Jones's patient to think about too," Murray added. "It's all going to add pressure to their case for an early court date. I think you'll find that this case is going to get into court a lot sooner than you might think."

Dr Jones was completely baffled by their conversation. "But I don't understand any of this," He finally managed to say. "Why is Williams keeping his wife's body in storage? And why would he want to sue us, anyway? We had no involvement in the process of obtaining the heart for the transplant, that was the MRI's responsibility. And what has any of this got to do with Rachel? She was just the patient. She didn't choose the heart, she just received it."

"Exactly," Murray replied, raising his finger. "Mr Williams is suing Manchester Royal Infirmary for compensation for making the mistake in the first place, but he's keeping his wife's body in storage because he's suing us, and Miss Carter, for the return of his dead wife's heart."

She didn't feel like resting anymore. Now she just felt bored sitting here in bed. Instead, she wanted to get up, walk around, do something. She placed her hand on her chest and felt for the heart beats. It felt different, there was no doubt about it. Dr Jones had said that she would feel fitter and healthier. That was to be expected. But not that the heart itself would feel any different in her chest. They all told her that was silly. They were wrong. It did feel different. It felt stronger, eager. It was as if it expected her to be doing something, or going somewhere. She just didn't know what or where.

Rachel wondered about the woman whose heart this was. What kind of woman was she? Was she a good person, or bad? And what was she doing when she died? Was she going somewhere? Was there something she wanted to do? It was all so strange, but somehow, exciting.

Rachel felt talkative, but for some reason that morning, her mother had gone out to find Dr Jones almost as soon as she had arrived. Typical. Just when she was in the mood for a good yap.

At that moment, Gina was standing with Dr Jones just down the corridor from Rachel's room. She had pushed the doctor back against the wall and pinned him there.

"I don't believe this," Gina was saying in a shaky voice. Her face was white. "It can't be true.....Tell me it isn't true!" She suddenly shook Dr Jones by the collar of his white coat. "You knew about this, didn't you? And you didn't tell me!" she said, raising her voice and shaking him again, only more violently this time. "How could you let this happen!"

"Calm down, Gina!" Dr Jones protested. He tried to stop her from shaking him, but she was stronger than he was. "Stop this! Stop it, Gina!" he demanded. "Do you want Rachel to hear us arguing?"

Gina stopped shaking him, and Dr Jones quickly put his arm around her and moved away from the wall. "Of course we're not going to let this happen! And I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you unduly, that's all! I knew that a summons had been served on the hospital, but I never thought that he would actually have the nerve to do the same to you!"

"He did! He had the nerve!" Gina waved the letter about as she spoke. "We've been summoned to court, Dr Jones! It says he want's it back! How can he want it back? Who does he think he is? And what about my Rachel? Doesn't he know about her? Doesn't he care?"

"Don't worry, Gina. It's going to be alright! It's just the ranting of an angry and bitter man, that's all! No court would ever allow this to happen! They wouldn't dare!"

"But we can't afford to go to court! I only have a part time job, and I get the rest on benefit! I spend most of my time looking after Rachel! How can I afford solicitors and barristers? What am I going to do, Dr Jones? What am I going to do?"

"You won't have to pay for any of that! Don't worry! The hospital will fight this! What kind of people do you think we are? Do you really think we would just stand back and let this happen? You don't have to do anything, Gina! Just let our legal people deal with this, okay?"

There was silence while they stared at each other. Gina was breathing hard, the fear showing plainly in her expression. She glanced quickly down the corridor towards Rachel's room before turning back to Dr Jones, grabbing him by the collar again.

"Rachel mustn't know about this!" she said urgently. "I don't want anything to upset her! Do you hear me? She mustn't know anything about it until it's all over!"

Dr Jones paused before answering. "Alright," he said. "We'll do our best."

"Are you sure you still want to go ahead with this?" Helen asked him in a soft, elegant voice. She was sat behind her desk in a big leather chair. She looked very relaxed as sat back with her legs crossed, one heeled shoe hanging precariously from the end of her toes. She tilted the chair back further, and swung it slowly from side to side, tapping her nails on the inlaid wood in each of its arms.

Helen Worthington was a striking woman. She had worked her way up from legal secretary, to associate, then partner. And now at forty-four she had become the senior partner of the firm. Those who knew her said that her success was due to cunning and a sharp legal mind, others who liked her less called her conniving. All accepted that she was extremely clever.

To compliment the sharpness of her mind, Helen kept herself fit to the point of obsession. She made weekly visits to a health club, and worked out in her own gym at home each morning. She also dressed well, putting most of her clients and all of her colleagues in the shade. She was undoubtedly beautiful, with green eyes and shoulder length red hair, and a lean, firm body. But above all, she was rock hard and colder than liquid nitrogen.

"Yes," Alex said. "I'm sure." He stopped pacing and turned to face Helen. He was now level with the side of her desk, and could see her clearly behind it, lounging in that big leather chair. His eyes drifted to her legs. She was wearing a black business suit, and the skirt was short. Her legs looked most attractive, clad no doubt in black stockings, he thought, not tights. His eyes moved slowly up to her face, and he stared into her eyes. She stared coldly back.

"Had a good look?" she asked him, her eyes unwavering.

Alex turned his back on her. "I had a good look before I met you, Miss Worthington, when I chose you and this firm," he said, his voice as cold as hers. "I didn't choose you then because you were the best. I chose you because you were the best for this job. You see, I needed someone who was totally without conscience, someone who didn't care one tiny little bit about the consequences of what we're doing. I needed someone who would only care about winning this case."

Alex turned around to face her once more. He stepped forward and leaned on her desk, staring back into her eyes again. "You fit the part perfectly, Miss Worthington," he continued in the same cold tones. "Because you're like me. Totally heartless. But together we're going to put that right, aren't we?"

Helen Worthington smiled. It was a beautiful vision. "When you brought your account to me last week, I wondered why you had chosen us," she said in that silky voice. "I knew that your wife had recently been killed, but I had no idea that you were contemplating such a remarkable case. You're right, of course. If we win, that Carter girl could die. But if I win.....Well, with the publicity this case is going to attract, my reputation would be enhanced on an international scale. In my mind there's no contest. If I had to, I'd shoot her with a gun."

Alex grunted. He went back to sit in one of the easy chairs positioned opposite her large desk for visiting clients. "So what does this mean?" he asked her, holding up the letter that she had handed him earlier.

"Now that I'm sure of your intent, it means nothing."

"They're fighting a joint case and you tell me that it means nothing?"

"Then I'll just have to separate them, won't I? The hospital will soon see the benefit of dropping the Carter woman and her daughter. They know it's the heart we want, so I'll just give them an easy way out, and they'll take it. The Carter's survive on social security, so without the hospital to back them up anymore, they'll soon end up with some overworked, underpowered legal aid solicitor. They'll be easy meat, and I'll smash them."

"And the other hospital? The MRI?"

"They'll settle. It's only money you want out of them. They know they're at fault, so for them, it's just about containing the damage."

Helen paused, looking closely at Alex Williams. He looked rather thin and gaunt. Haggard, even. He obviously wasn't eating or sleeping too well. In fact he looked like he had slept in his suit. "Actually, I think you might be the weak point in our case, Mr Williams," she said to him.

"You think so?" he replied, eyebrows raised. "And why is that?"

"Because you're going to be the ogre in this story. The newspapers and the media are going to camp outside your house. They're going to paint you as an evil, uncaring and bitter man." Her voice took on a more mocking tone. "You're the man trying to tear the heart out of some poor, innocent, young girl. People are going to boo and hiss at you in the street. They'll throw things at you. By the way you look, I don't think you can take the pressure."

Alex paused for a moment before replying. "They mutilated my dead wife," he said in a low voice. "My Sarah. They took out parts of her, and then hastily put them back in when they learned of their mistake. And they gave her heart to someone else. How dared they? How did they dare do all that without even asking me?" His voice grew more stern. "I want my wife's heart back! I've arranged for Sarah's body to be kept in storage. When I bury Sarah, it'll be when her body is whole again, and not before. Only then will I be able to mourn over her. I don't care what people might think of me, or you for that matter! I just want my wife's heart back! So get it for me!"

Dr Jones had promised her that the hospital would stand by her, that she wouldn't have to worry about anything. But even he was wrong. The letter had arrived that morning.

'After careful consideration,' it said, 'and in the light of further developments in the case,' it continued, 'the Directors of the Trust have decided that it would be more beneficial to the hospital if a separate case was now fought.'

Further developments, more beneficial. Gina knew what all that really meant.

Why did that small narrow slot in the door deliver such pain?

"Cowards! Turncoats! You're going to let my Rachel die!"

She had ranted and raved. She had torn the letter, and quickly phoned them all up and ranted at them for real. They hung up on her. She ranted some more. Finally, she had cried.

Soon she was stood at the door. They couldn't put the phone down on her when she was standing face to face with them, she thought, putting on her coat. She was visiting her daughter at the hospital like usual anyway, so she would see Rachel first, and then she would seek out the cowards who thought it was more beneficial to throw her and Rachel to the wolves.

She had opened the front door, and there he was, hand raised, ready to knock.

He was a handsome looking man in his late thirties. He had dark hair and eyes and a sort of boyish grin.

"Miss Gina Carter?" he asked, questioningly. He had an American accent. "I'm a lawyer, sorry, I mean a solicitor. I believe I can help you."

Gina was caught off balance. She hesitated before replying. "We haven't got any money," she said, simply. "I can't pay you."

He smiled at her again. "That's alright," he said. "I don't want any fancy fees. I'm offering my services for free. No strings."

Gina's expression grew harder. "Why?"

He glanced up an down the road as he replied. "Call me a humanitarian, call me a white knight."

"I'm going to call the police if you don't answer me straight!"

His grin returned briefly. "Okay," he said. The smile quickly fading. "My name is Robert McCord. I worked for Alex Williams for a while and we had a disagreement. Now I hate him, and I want to get even. You need help, and I need a weapon to hurt him with. Are you going to invite me in?"

"But it was a mistake," Gina said, irritably. "Everybody knows that."

"Do they? Fine. Give the heart back to Williams."

"What?" Gina was surprised. "I thought you said that you were going to help me?"

Robert shrugged his shoulders as he answered. "I can't help you if you just give in. That's the point, you see. It's a simple case of proving ownership. So if it was a mistake, and the heart was wrongfully removed from Sarah Williams, you lose. But if it wasn't a mistake, if authorisation was given, then it's yours, and Williams can go whistle."

"So what do I do?"

"First you have to recognise who your enemies are and where the real fight is going to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Williams is suing the MRI for damages to the amount of a million pounds. You might think that the MRI is in the same boat as you, and that they're on your side, but they're not. I'm certain that the MRI will settle near to the date of the court case. They'll offer less money, but Williams will take it, no matter how small the offer. That hurts you."

"Because they'll be admitting their mistake?"

"That's right. That's what Williams really wants from them. He's not interested in the money. That's just persuasion. With the error proven, you'll be next."

"But what about Wythenshawe hospital? He's suing them, too."

"Yes, that's right. Williams was originally suing both you and the hospital for the return of the heart. That kept you on the same side. But not anymore. Now that he's dropped the return of the heart from his suit against the hospital, and just made it for punitive damages, that divides you. Because now that it's only money, and not even that much, about a quarter of a million, it invites the hospital to distance themselves from you, and the much stickier dispute over the ownership of the heart. That's why you got that letter this morning. The hospital can now fight it's own case on it's own grounds. They weren't involved with the selection of the heart, and they transplanted it in good faith. So they've got a good case, and they'll fight, and this time Williams will back down."

"It sounds so complicated."

"Not really, not if you realise what's going on. Williams has got himself a solicitor called Helen Worthington. I've never met her, but I've heard of her. She's a smart bitch, and mean with it. She's doing all the preparation work, carefully manipulating everyone to suit her purposes, as she gets ready for the main event. You see, Williams is only interested in getting his wife's heart back. He doesn't care about anything else. Not the money, not what people might think of him, nothing. So there's really only one court case that's going to count, and that's the one between you and him. All the rest is just clearing the way. And if we don't stop him, and soon, he'll have won the case before you even get to court."

"But why is he doing all this in the first place? Why does he want the heart back?"

"Because he believes he owns it, like he believed that he owned Sarah, his wife. He was wrong then, and it's up to us to prove him wrong now."

"So what do we do?" Gina asked him again. "How do I fight back?"

"Williams is suing the MRI for a million, so we sue them for ten million, or even more. We make it high enough to force the MRI to fight. And we don't settle, not for anything. You've got a lot more to lose than Williams. Sarah's already dead, and this case is not going to bring her back. But your Rachel is alive and well. In fact she's doing real fine on this heart. Taking it out will put her life at risk, even if you could find another heart that was just as good. That's all worth a whole lot more."

Gina eyed him carefully. "You were having an affair with this Sarah, weren't you?" she suddenly accused him.

The boyish grin briefly returned. "I wondered how long I could keep that from you. Is it so obvious?"

"Does he know?"

Robert nodded. "Of course. Sarah was leaving him to come to me when she was killed."

Gina became quiet for a moment, thinking. They had arrived at Wythenshawe hospital. Robert drove into the car park, found a space, and parked. With the engine off there was silence in the car.

Robert undid his seat belt and turned towards her. "Do you still want my help?" he asked her.

"You're both mad, you know," she said to him, staring straight ahead through the windscreen. "Both of you fighting for her heart even after the poor woman is dead. If I had the choice, I wouldn't trust you for a second. But I don't have the choice. All I want to do is help my Rachel. I don't want anything to hurt her. If I had to, I'd sell my soul to the devil to protect her." She turned to face him again. "And by having you on my side, I think maybe I have."

Robert glanced around the car park. "Do you want me to proceed against the MRI, or not?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Yes," Gina replied. "Do what you have to do. Fight him, and that bitch he's hired. Make him suffer like he's making me suffer. We'll soon see if he doesn't care what people think. Drag everything out into the open. I want everybody to know what kind of a spiteful bastard he really is."

Robert looked at her again. "Okay," he said. "I'll get things moving today."

Gina stared him right in the eye. "But remember this, Robert McCord," she said, sternly. "I might be a single mother, living in a council house in Northenden, with no money, and not much of a future, but I'm deadly earnest. I might have sold my soul to the devil, but if you cross me, and if Rachel gets hurt because of something you do, then I'll make sure you go straight to hell with me. Do you understand? I'll stick a carving knife in my handbag, and I'll seek you out, and I'll kill you. And don't even think that I wouldn't do it."

Gina got out of the car and slammed the door shut. It shook the car. Robert sat back in the driving seat and watched her walk across the car park towards the hospital. The outcome to this battle was going to be far more interesting than he thought.

When he had first heard that Sarah was dead, Robert had been too shocked to take it all in. At first he had thought that Alex had murdered her. But he quickly realised that Alex was far more likely to have murdered him rather than his wife. He found out about the accident, and learned all he could. And after that, her death had slowly sank in. He would never see her again, or hear her voice, or hold her in his arms. All the best laid plans.....

And then he had heard of the law-suit. Sarah's heart was still beating in the chest of another young woman. And now Alex wanted it back. It was like Alex had said on the phone, that day when Sarah had died. How he said that he didn't care about anything except getting Sarah back. But now it was just her heart that Alex wanted back. But Sarah's heart didn't belong to Alex, it belonged to him. And Robert McCord was going to do his very best to make sure that Alex, and the whole world, knew just that.

"Hiya, Rachel! Still beating, is it?" he said with a smile.

"You've got a nerve," Rachel replied. Gavin asked the same cheeky question each morning. She could report him, of course, but she knew that he was only trying to cheer her up. She often wondered what bad taste remarks he made to other patients. "What have you brought me this morning?" she asked him. "And it better be good, or I'll tell my mother you tried to take advantage of me while I was sleeping."

"Oh, God! She'll flatten me!" Gavin replied, and quickly began to root through the books and magazines on his trolley. "How about this weeks Hello magazine?"

"Nah! I just get jealous of all the posh houses and pretty women."

Gavin put the magazine down and held up a book instead. "How about a thriller by Tom Clancy?"

"What? With my poor, weak heart?" she said, putting a hand to her chest and pretending to be shocked.

"Oh yeah, I forgot! We wouldn't want our star celebrity keeling over." He tossed the book back on the pile and rooted around for another.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked with sudden interest. "Why am I a star celebrity?"

"Because of the court case," Gavin replied, holding up another book for her to see. "Danielle Steele?"

Rachel waved it aside. "Never mind that," she said. "What court case? What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know?" Gavin asked. He seemed surprised and began to look slightly worried. "Oh, maybe I shouldn't have said anything, then."

"Well, you have! So now you had better tell me everything, or you'll be wearing that trolley, not pushing it!"

Gavin thought for a moment before quickly going to the door and glancing about. Coming back to Rachel, he reached under his coat for the rolled up newspaper he always kept jammed into his back pocket. He quickly hid it under the bed clothes and then grabbed his trolley and began to pull it back out the door. "I'll pick it up at lunch time. But if anybody finds it, you didn't get it from me, okay?" were his parting words.

Rachel waited until the door was closed before fishing out the newspaper. She unrolled it, and the headline caused her heart to miss a beat.

'MAN SEEKS RETURN OF DEAD WIFE'S HEART,' it said. There were two pictures underneath. Just faces. One was of a beautiful woman with a radiant smile. 'Sarah Williams,' it said underneath. It looked like a portrait photo. The other picture was of a thin faced, unshaven, dark haired man. His hand was outstretched towards the camera, causing the photo to be a bit lopsided, and not very clear. What was clear in the photograph were the man's eyes. They looked very sad. 'Alex Williams,' it said underneath the picture. Further down was another, smaller, headline. 'Woman Facing Second Op.' She saw her name, and that of Dr Jones. Her heart began to beat faster as she read the whole of the front page. She had just turned to page three where the story continued, when the door began to open, and she quickly stuffed the newspaper under the sheets.

Nurse Kaye came into the room. She smiled at Rachel and went to check the monitor at the side of her bed. "Your heart's beating rather fast," she said. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," Rachel replied in a shaky voice. She could feel her heart beating like mad, and knew that Nurse Kaye could see how fast it was beating on the monitor. She wanted desperately to calm it down. She forced herself to relax, to not give herself away.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Nurse Kaye asked her again. She looked concerned. "It's just that your heart rate went up such a lot so quickly, I wondered if something had upset you."

Rachel swallowed. "No, I'm fine," she said more firmly. "I hadn't noticed the time, that's all, and I wondered where my mother had got to."

Nurse Kaye looked at her watch. "Yes, she is a bit late. But don't worry. I'm sure she'll be along in a minute."

"Anyway, what else could upset me, sitting here all on my own?" Rachel dared to ask.

Nurse Kaye paused. "Nothing, as far as I know," she replied, slowly.

Rachel was growing more calm. Her heart beat was almost back to normal again. She felt back in control. "Well then," she said. "I'll just have to wait here worrying about my mother until she finally decides to turn up."

Nurse Kaye plumped up Rachel's pillow, and tidied her bed. For a moment, Rachel thought the nurse would find the newspaper and her heart beat began to increase again. But this time Nurse Kaye didn't notice as she quickly finished fussing with the bed, and headed towards the door.

"I'll see where your mother's got to," she said, with a smile as she left.

Rachel took a deep breath. She made sure that she was completely calm before retrieving the crumpled newspaper. Slowly, carefully, keeping herself calm all the time, she read the whole story. Then she read it again.

Finally, Rachel turned back to the front page and stared intently at the picture of Sarah Williams. There she was at last. The woman whose heart she now had. Instinctively, her hand went to her chest, and she felt the heart beating so strongly inside her. Where were you going, she thought to herself. What were you thinking? She sighed. 'Killed in a car accident,' the paper had said. 'Died instantly.' It was all so sad.

She turned to the picture of the husband. He looked so sad, he must have loved her such a lot. Why else would he want the heart back? Maybe she was being silly, but somehow she thought that she would feel something when she looked at his picture, that her heart would beat faster. But there was no response from her heart at all. It was as if it felt nothing.

When Gina finally arrived, Rachel had already hidden the paper back under the sheets again. She said nothing to her mother about what she had learned, even though she dearly wanted to. She said nothing because Rachel knew that her mother simply did not want her to worry about what was going on. She wanted to protect her and shield her from it all. And Rachel knew that all this would be a great strain on her mother too, and the last thing she needed right now was the extra worry that Rachel might know what was going on, and that it might effect, or hinder, her recovery. So instead they talked and chatted about all the usual things. How she was feeling, and how they were treating her. Did she need anything, or was there anything she wanted from home? And so on, and so on.

Through out her visit, Gina never gave any hint about what was going on, or how it was affecting her. Rachel was terribly proud of her. She wanted to hug her and kiss her. Instead she could only smile, and like her mother, keep her feelings hidden inside.

"They were going to," Helen replied. "I had a meeting scheduled with them tomorrow afternoon. They've cancelled it."

"So what went wrong?"

"It seems that our victim has managed to hire a solicitor who thinks he can win. He's some American. I think you know him, Alex."

"McCord!" Alex ground out the name, cursing under his breath. Helen could almost imagine Alex kicking the furniture at the other end of the phone.

"His first move was to sue the MRI for ten million pounds," Helen went on. "He's scared them to death. There's no way that they'll settle out of court now."

"How could they afford to pay him?" Alex demanded. "You said they had no money!"

"The rumour is that he's doing it for free. A regular knight in shining armour. The media will just love him."

Helen heard Alex cursing on the other end of the phone again. She smiled. "You forgot to tell me about him, didn't you Alex?" she said, softly. "You forgot to mention that he worked for you, and that you parted company on the same day that your wife died. That was very naughty of you, Alex. But never mind. You have my full attention now. I'm listening."

There was a pause, and then Alex told her about the affair. "He was also using my wife to embezzle money from my company," he went on. "Sarah was a director. It was her signatures on the cheques, and the transfer documents. About two million pounds has gone missing. I traced it to an account in the name of Mrs Sarah McCord, but it had already been transferred. It was done by computer from a bank in Chicago. They said they gave a cashier's cheque to the woman who called herself Mrs McCord. I've no idea who she was, and the money has disappeared. I've got people trying to trace it, but they've come up with nothing so far."

"I take it that you've got no evidence against McCord apart from the use of his name?"

"No, only Sarah is implicated. I found cheque books and credit cards in her room with the same ridiculous name. But I know he must have put her up to it."

"Thank you, Alex. That's most interesting. Late, but interesting none the less."

"Can you get rid of him?" Alex asked her.

"Yes, very easily. It's a conflict of interest. All I have to do is report his affair with your wife©"

"No!" Alex's denial was firm. "I don't want my wife's affair with this man to become known! Have you got that? Find another way!"

"I don't like having my hands tied, Alex."

"I said find another way!"

Helen sighed. "I'll see what I can come up with. But on the other hand," she added, thoughtfully. "It might make the case more interesting. A walk over would have been too easy. At least now the media will have something to report on."

"The media! Animals!" Alex snarled. "I've got them camped outside my house already!"

"I told you that you'd be the villain. The pressure isn't getting to you already, is it, Alex?"

"Don't play games! Just do what I'm paying you for! And as for McCord, maybe you're right. If he wants to get involved, then let him! It'll keep him occupied while my people look for more evidence against him. In the meantime, press for an early trial. Who have you got in mind for QC?"

"Sir Richard Hargreaves," Helen replied. "He's got a good reputation and he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty."

"Good! Keep me up to date." The phone went dead.

Helen put down her phone and sat back in her large leather chair. So, she thought to herself, Alex's perfect little wife was having an affair. Maybe not so perfect after all. And there was a large amount of money missing, too. This might all be very useful later. Especially now that her lover and husband were about to play tug of war with her heart. How sweet. How so very, very sweet. She smiled. This was getting better by the hour.

"Come in and sit down!" Brian said brightly, clearing the pile of case briefs from the other chair and dumping them on his desk.

"You have some work, then?" Robert said, indicating the pile of briefs, each neatly tied with a black cord. He stood in front of the chair, his hands in his pockets, as if deciding whether to sit down or not. He also carried a brief. It was tucked under his left arm.

"Yes, I'm fairly busy," Brian replied, glancing at the brief under his visitors arm. He sat down and waited for Robert to say something else. Instead, he remained silent, standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking around the office.

Brian couldn't stand the uneasy silence for long. "Is there something you wanted, Mr McCord?" he asked, rather hopefully.

Robert looked at him. "Are these what you call your 'chambers?'" he asked with a smile.

Brian relaxed a little. "Yes, I'm afraid so," he said. "It's all I can afford at the moment. But with luck, and a few more cases, I hope to move into a better building a little nearer to the courts."

Robert seemed to make up his mind. He took his hands out of his pockets and sat down, placing the brief carefully on the desk between him and Brian Morgan, and dragging the chair closer to the desk so that he could lean on it. Staring intently at the surprised QC, he began talking quickly.

"I have a proposition for you," he began. "You're a recently qualified QC. You've had a few cases, and a few successes. You're reasonably smart, but more to the point, you're poor, and you're cheap. I have a job that's just right for you. But the catch is, you'll be doing it for free."

"Hang on a minute!" Brian interrupted. "Slow down, now!"

Robert became silent. He leaned his chin on his hands, staring at Brian across the desk, eyebrows raised.

Brian cleared his throat. "First off," he said. "I have a number of clients-"

"Yes," Robert interrupted. "Who haven't paid you."

Brian paused. "I charge the going rate," he said.

"The client can't pay you," Robert countered. "And you know that, because it's virtually impossible for you not to know who I am, and who I represent."

"I can't possibly work for no money."

"If you win this case, you'll never have to worry about money again."

Brian thought about it. He shook his head. "Look at this place!" he said. "It's costing me a fortune! And you're absolutely right! Over half of my clients haven't paid me yet. I'd love to take this case, I really would! I sleep at night dreaming of such cases. But I'm in debt up to my ears! I need money, Mr McCord." He rubbed his fingers and thumb together as if to emphasise the need. "Money, money, money!"

Robert sat back in his chair. "Okay," he said. "I tell you what I'll do. I'll pay you up to the end of this week. By then, I promise you that all your forgetful clients will have paid up."

"And how will you do that?"

"Never mind that, that's my business," Robert waved the problem aside. "But once all your debts are paid, you work for free. Okay?"

Brian folded his arms. "Alright, then," he said, sitting back. "If you can get them to pay up when I've had no luck trying all this time, then you've got a deal!"

Robert grinned as he reached out and slid the brief across the desk towards Brian. "Welcome aboard, Brian!" he said. "I promise you this is going to be a highly educational time in your career, not necessarily all perfectly legal mind you, but educational none the less!"

"Where've you been?" she almost snapped.

"Hold your horses! What do you think I am, a bloody spy, or something!" Gavin replied. He winked at her as he closed the door quickly behind him. "You're going to get me in trouble, you are!" he added.

"I just wondered where you were, that's all."

"Did you think they'd caught me and had me shot?"

"Don't joke!"

"I'm not joking! That Nurse Kaye has already given me a couple of queer looks. Here, take these." He grabbed two magazines and a romantic novel from the pile on his trolley and handed them to her.

"But I don't want them," Rachel began, but Gavin interrupted her.

"I know that!" he said. "Just pretend you're reading them. Just to keep Nurse Kaye's beady eyes off me. Here!" He reached into his back pocket for the newspaper, and gave it to Rachel. She had just stuffed it under the sheets when the door opened and Nurse Kaye came in.

"I thought I saw you pushing your trolley down the corridor," she said to Gavin. "Aren't you a bit early today?"

"Yep! I've put go faster stripes on my trolley!"

Nurse Kaye ignored Gavin's remark and went over to the bed. She picked up the book he had given to Rachel. "I thought you'd read this," she said to Rachel.

"That's what I told Gavin," Rachel quickly replied.

"Fussy beggars these heart patients!" Gavin said, taking the book back from Nurse Kaye. "First they change their hearts, then they want to change everything! How about this?" He held up another book.

"Okay, I'll give it a try," Rachel replied, taking the book from him.

"Right! I'm off!" Gavin began to pull his trolley back out the door. "I'll see you this afternoon."

Rachel quickly called after him. "I'll have finished your magazines by then," she said. "You can pick them up like you did yesterday."

Gavin and his trolley disappeared. Rachel looked up at Nurse Kaye. "Is my mum here yet?" she asked her.

"No, not yet," the nurse replied. "Like I said, it's a bit early. But I'm sure she'll be here soon." She paused for a moment, looking closely at Rachel, and then added, "You seem to be improving really well, Rachel. Maybe its time Dr Jones started you on some physiotherapy."

"Why not!" Rachel said brightly. "I think the sooner I'm up and about, the better!"

"Alright, then. I'll talk to him and see what he thinks." Nurse Kaye plumped up Rachel's pillow and quickly checked the monitors before leaving.

Rachel waited a little while longer before retrieving the newspaper from under the sheets. She took one of the magazines that Gavin had brought her and put the newspaper inside it. It didn't conceal it very well, but it might give her a few more seconds if someone should suddenly come in the door.

She looked at the headlines. It was about some politician caught with his mistress. She glanced quickly down the front page, her eyes passing over a large picture of a scantily clad young woman in an inviting pose. Ah! There it was!

'New Twist in Heart Op Case,' it read. 'Developments in the case against the Manchester Royal Infirmary took a new twist today as Mr McCord, the solicitor acting for the woman who received the heart, took out a counter suit against Mr Williams, the man suing the MRI for allegedly removing his wife's heart without his permission. Mr McCord said to reporters that his client had been put under extreme stress by Mr Williams's case, and that he was seeking damages to the amount of two million pounds. Asked if he thought the amount was unreasonable, Mr McCord replied that the amount reflected the pain and stress that his client was being put through. He also asked reporters to remember that his client was short of funds, and that the case was a heavy burden. At one point he also threatened to expose former clients of Mr Brian Morgan QC, who had failed to pay their bills, stating that because of them, Mr Morgan was unable to forgo his usual fee for presenting their case at court.'

'It was also revealed today that Diana Williams (above), the 22 year old supermodel daughter of Alex Williams from his first marriage, is returning tomorrow to console her grieving father.'

Rachel's eyebrows raised as she looked again at the picture of the scantily dressed young woman. They could have found a more suitable picture, she thought. The story finished with a note to see page two, so Rachel quickly turned to the second page. There was another headline, but no pictures this time.

'Who Goes First Argument In Heart Op Case,' it read. 'Both Sir Richard Hargreaves QC and Mr Brian Morgan QC were at an astonishing hearing in court today. At stake was who goes first in their separate cases against the Manchester Royal Infirmary. Sir Richard pointed out that his client should be first, as it was from his wife that the heart was alleged to have been wrongfully removed. Mr Morgan countered that by pointing out that the outcome of the case had much more far reaching effects for his client, who may have to face a further transplant operation. Further arguments were presented on both sides, but the judge finally decided in favour of Mr Morgan, agreeing that his client was at greater risk, and so should take precedence, adding that Sir Richard would have his day later, when his client's second case, the one against Miss Rachel Carter, the recipient of the heart, also came to court.'

A note at the bottom of the story this time said to see the centre pages, so Rachel quickly flicked through the paper to them. The first thing she saw was a picture of herself. It was an old one, taken when she was at Manchester University. She couldn't remember who took it or when. "I look awful!" she said to herself. There was a little biography underneath. What little it said about her wasn't very far out from the truth. There was also a picture of her mother taken outside the hospital. She didn't look happy. There were other pictures too. It was like a portrait gallery of all the people involved in the case. Each one with a short biography underneath. There was Alex Williams again, and that same picture of his wife. Dr Jones was there too, and Sir Richard Hargreaves and Brian Morgan. There was also a picture of a striking looking red haired woman. 'Helen Worthington,' it said underneath.

She looked at each picture and read each little biography underneath, taking each of them in turn until she reached.....

Her heart jumped. Rachel definitely felt it jump in her chest, and suddenly it was beating faster than before. She looked at the picture of the man with the boyish grin that had caused the reaction. He had dark hair and eyes. He was quite handsome.

'Robert McCord,' it said underneath. 'Born in Chicago, USA in 1960. Grew up in the gang land areas of the city. Qualified as a lawyer in 1989, and became well known for his defence of Greg Conners in the 1992 Chicago banking fraud. Came to the UK in 1995. Worked briefly for Alex Williams in 1996 when it is rumoured that they became bitter enemies, which maybe one of the reasons why he is accepting no fee from his clients, Gina and Rachel Carter. Currently has offices in Manchester overlooking the statue of President Lincoln. "To stop me getting homesick," he says.'

Rachel read the little biography a second time before looking at his picture again. She put her hand on her chest, feeling the heart beating just that little bit faster. Then she looked at the picture of Sarah Williams. 'Worked briefly for Alex Williams,' the biography had said. 'When they became bitter enemies......'

Suddenly she knew. She couldn't explain why, or how. She just knew.
 
 

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