The Right Time (40 page)

‘You must be so happy with it,' said Liz, nodding politely at the seamstress.

‘Oh, this is Sylvie,' said Emma. ‘Sylvie – my sister, Liz, the maid of honour. Sylvie is my designer's right hand. We're almost done here. It just needed a few tucks.'

‘She's lost weight,' Sylvie explained, ‘but we always allow for that, brides always lose weight.'

‘All the stress, I suppose,' said Liz, dropping her handbag on a chair. She walked around the dais, looking at the dress from every angle, while the assistant finished up.

‘That's it,' said Sylvie. ‘Now we just have seventy-six buttons to undo to get her out of it.'

‘I can do that,' Liz volunteered.

They both helped Emma off the dais, the assistant holding the train of the dress aloft. Liz followed her into the change room and began to undo the tiny pearl buttons, while Emma and Sylvie discussed the latest alterations. Liz was moving slowly and painstakingly down the row of buttons when her eyes were drawn to a mole on Emma's back. She bent closer to examine it, and her heart missed a beat. It fitted all the criteria – asymmetrical, ragged edge, variegated brown and inky black, and it was certainly greater than six millimetres in diameter. There was just one more thing.

‘How long have you had this mole?' Liz asked Emma.

‘What mole?'

‘The one here on your back, just under your left shoulder blade.'

‘I didn't know I had a mole there,' she said. ‘Though I have had an itchy spot around there.'

Another bad sign. ‘Emma, you should be aware of things like this,' Liz chided.

‘But if I can't see it, how can I be aware of it?'

‘Excuse me, Sylvie?' Liz said. ‘Would you take a look at this?'

‘Honestly Liz, don't make such a big deal.'

Sylvie came around behind Emma.

‘Have you noticed this before?' Liz asked her, indicating the mole.

‘Hm,' Sylvie looked closely. ‘No, I don't think I have.'

‘See, Liz, no one else would even notice it,' Emma insisted. ‘You're just being paranoid because you're a dermatologist.'

‘You're a dermatologist?' Sylvie remarked.

Liz nodded. ‘How often has she had these dress fittings?'

‘The schedule is roughly one a month, after the design is finalised.'

‘And you're sure you haven't noticed this before now?'

‘She didn't notice it now either,' Emma reminded her in a bored tone.

Sylvie was frowning as she stared at the mole. ‘You know, it must have been smaller before. The early fittings are much more involved. When we were adjusting the curve of the bodice across the back here, for example, I'm sure we would have noticed it then.'

Liz's heart dropped. ‘It needs looking at, Em.'

‘Oh, you're overreacting,' she dismissed. ‘Do you know how many years it is since I even exposed myself to the sun, let alone sunbaked? I'm super-careful. I only ever go to a solarium.'

Liz sighed loudly. ‘Emma, solariums are worse! Didn't you believe me when I told you the dangers? I am a doctor, you know. I wasn't saying it for the sake of it.'

‘Of course I believed you,' she returned. ‘But then they brought in all these regulations, and my solarium was one of the first to put them into practice, before they were even mandatory. They had posters up everywhere with warnings; they upgraded their eye protection, and they did a complete skin assessment of all their clients, even if you'd been going for years. Then they designed an individual schedule so you could tan safely.'

Liz shook her head. ‘I don't know when people are ever going to understand there's no such thing. Anyway, what's done is done. The important thing is to get this checked out as soon as possible.'

Emma gave a dismissive laugh. ‘Not going to happen, Liz. I haven't got time to scratch myself at the moment. I swear every waking hour of every day from now until the wedding is already double-booked.'

‘Emma, you cannot leave this,' Liz said firmly.

‘I won't. I promise I'll have it checked out as soon as I'm back from the honeymoon. You can book me an appointment now, if you like.'

Liz knew it couldn't wait that long. But she also knew that scaring or bullying Emma into action wasn't going to work either. There was only one approach that would work with her sister.

‘You know, Em, it's pretty ugly,' she said.

‘What?'

‘And it's sitting right above the edge of your dress, isn't it?' She looked at Sylvie for confirmation. ‘It's quite prominent.'

‘That's true,' Sylvie agreed.

‘Worse, if it gets knocked it'll bleed all over the dress,' Liz went on. ‘You don't want to risk that.'

Emma was craning around trying to get a good look at it. ‘Isn't there some way of covering it up?'

‘What, with a big piece of sticking plaster?' Liz pulled a face. ‘It'll take me ten minutes in my rooms to whip it off and stitch it up.'

‘But won't that leave a mark?'

‘There might be a faint mark, but it'll be a lot less noticeable than this,' Liz assured her. ‘Besides, it'll be all healed before the wedding, and there won't be a scar, I promise.'

Emma seemed to be contemplating her options. She turned around to face Liz, folding her arms.

‘Okay,' she said finally. ‘You can do it on one condition – that I don't hear another word about it before the wedding. Are we understood? I assume you're going to send it off for testing, so you can let me know the results when I get back from my honeymoon. I'll deal with it then. I mean it, I don't need anything else on my plate right now.'

‘Sure,' Liz agreed. She should have crossed her fingers behind her back, but she was just going to take it one step at a time. ‘So, I'll call Michelle to expect us soon, get things set up.'

Emma frowned. ‘You want to do it right now? It's Friday afternoon.'

‘Exactly,' Liz said, keeping her tone upbeat. ‘My schedule was cleared this afternoon so that I could come here. So it's perfect, no waiting, you'll be in and out in no time. You don't want to put
it off till next week, Em, you don't have the time. Let's get it out of the way now. Do you have to be somewhere?'

She looked at her watch. ‘Not until later.' She still seemed unconvinced.

‘The sooner you do it, the sooner it starts to heal,' Liz added as the final clincher.

Emma relented, and Liz called ahead to Michelle. As she promised, the procedure was quick and simple, and Liz saw her out of the office again not half an hour after they'd arrived.

‘So that's the end of that,' said Emma as she got into the lift. ‘Right?'

Liz just smiled as the lift doors closed. She was even more concerned once she'd examined the mole under the dermatoscope, not that she'd let on to Emma. She walked back into her office and through to the small examination-room-cum-surgery, where Michelle was placing the sample into the fridge for storage for pick-up after the weekend.

‘No, I'm going to take that with me now,' said Liz, stopping her.

Michelle turned. ‘What are you going to do with it?'

‘I'll take it to the pathologists myself.'

‘But they won't be open.'

‘No, not for usual business, but they have staff there around the clock.'

Michelle looked at her. ‘You're that worried?'

‘Well, you saw it,' she said.

‘Mm, it was nasty-looking, all right.'

‘What bothers me is that Emma has no idea how long it's been there, or when it started to change or grow, but it has felt itchy. The woman fitting her dress couldn't remember it being that big a couple of months ago. I'm hoping we've caught it early, but we're guessing until we get these results.'

As Liz started up her car, she heard the beep of a text message. She picked up her phone to check it. It was Andrew.
How's it going there?

She quickly keyed in her reply.
Something came up. Won't be able to meet.

Exiting the carpark, her phone started to ring. Damn, she knew it would be Andrew. She picked it up.

‘What's going on?' he asked.

‘I'm driving, Andrew, I can't talk now.'

‘Well, pull over.'

‘I don't have time. I'll talk to you later,' she said. She turned the phone off and tossed it into her bag.

Ten minutes later, Liz pulled up in the near-empty carpark of the building that housed the pathology labs. She picked up the small cooler box from the passenger seat and carried it over to the front entrance where, as she expected, there was an after-hours buzzer. She pressed it and waited. Presently she could make out a figure approaching through the opaque glass, and a voice came over the intercom.

‘Can I help you?'

‘Yes, hi, I want to drop off a skin sample for urgent analysis.'

‘I'm sorry, it's after hours.'

‘I realise that,' said Liz. ‘But like I said, this is urgent.'

‘Who is this, please?'

‘My name is Dr Beckett,' she said. ‘I'm a local dermatologist, this is my regular pathology service. I have ID.'

There was a buzz and a click, and a woman opened the door, peering out at Liz who was already holding up her hospital ID.

‘Good evening, Dr Beckett. I'm sorry about this, it's just not standard practice to receive random samples at the door.'

‘Of course, but like I said,' for the third time, ‘this is urgent.'

The woman looked pensive. ‘I can't do this without authorisation. I'm going to have to check with someone.'

‘Call Dr Tao.'

She blinked. ‘Oh I can't possibly phone Dr Tao, he's the head of the whole practice! I can't just call him up on a Friday night.'

‘He's an old friend of mine,' said Liz. ‘Please, call him.'

She shrugged. ‘I don't even have his number, outside of work.'

Liz took out her mobile phone. ‘I do.'

The woman brought her inside to the reception desk, where Liz insisted she phone the number so she could be assured everything was above board.

‘Hello, Dr Tao? This is Jan Wilkie from the Spencer Street labs.
I'm sorry to bother you at home . . . No sir, everything's fine. But there's a woman here who says she knows you, she gave me your number. A Dr Beckett? . . . Yes sir.' She held out the phone to Liz. ‘He wants to talk to you.'

‘Hi Richard, sorry about this.'

‘Liz, long time no hear.'

‘Hm, sorry about that as well. What can I say? Life's hectic.'

‘Ah, it's the same for all of us. It's a mad world. What can I do for you?'

‘I'm sorry to spring this on you. I have suspected melanoma tissue that needs analysis as soon as humanly possible. It's my sister's, and she's supposed to be getting married within the month.'

‘Of course, Liz, whatever you need. But you do realise even on high priority you won't get the results until the middle of next week at least?'

‘I know, that's why I have to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.'

‘No problem. Put me back onto the receptionist, will you? Damn, what was her name?'

‘I'll pass you back to
Jan
,' said Liz.

‘Ah, thanks, Liz.'

‘Thank you, Richard. I owe you.'

‘Are you okay now?' Liz asked Evie as she emerged from the bathroom.

She nodded. They had sent her off to the bathroom to wash her face and fix her makeup; they didn't think it was a good idea for Emma to walk in and see her tear-streaked face first off.

‘So what now?' asked Ellen.

‘Now we wait . . .'

The call had come through on Wednesday afternoon, from Richard Tao himself. Liz had picked up the phone with some
trepidation when Michelle had announced him over the intercom. ‘Hi Richard?'

‘Hello Liz,' he said. ‘I told them at the clinic to let me know as soon as the results were in. I thought I should call you myself.'

She was not surprised by then to hear that it was bad news. It was at least a T3 malignant melanoma, making further tests and surgery imperative, not optional. No one knew exactly how long it took for a melanoma of that depth to penetrate below the dermis and become life-threatening – it could be weeks, it could be days. But one thing was for sure, it could not wait until after the wedding. Liz knew how stubborn Emma would be, she'd insist that they had made a deal and simply refuse to listen to her. So she was going to need reinforcements. She had to get all her sisters in a room together, and very soon. Emma was going to be the most difficult to pin down, so Liz had started with her.

‘Now I know the high tea is only next week, but the girls and I want to have a drink with you before then.'

‘What girls?'

‘Your sisters, of course,' said Liz. ‘Me, Ellen, Evie.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Yes.'

‘When were you talking to them?' she asked, her tone highly suspicious.

‘When I called about the high tea. We realised that we're not going to get a look-in at that, with so many people there, so we should find another time to have a drink together.'

‘Oh,' said Emma, her voice softening. ‘When were you thinking?'

‘Tomorrow night.'

‘Tomorrow? You're not giving me much of a heads-up. When did you all talk?'

‘Oh, you know what it's like trying to find a night that suits everyone,' she said, evading the actual question. ‘I just thought there was more chance you might be free on a weeknight.'

‘Hmm, I have a late meeting . . .' Emma mused, checking her diary, Liz imagined. ‘Actually Friday's just opened up. We had a cancellation, we were supposed to catch up with Damien and Cressida but he was called overseas unexpectedly, so we're going
to have to reschedule. Heaven only knows when, I don't have another opening before the wedding.'