Free The Hogarth Conspiracy by Alex Connor Page A

“But I haven’t been having as much pain lately.”
    His doctor nodded as though that was almost expected. “That can happen.”
    â€œThat has happened,” Oliver insisted, his features slackening with shock, his good manners faltering. “You’re wrong, Doctor Chadwick; you’ve buggered it up. You’ve got it wrong!” He banged his fists on the side of his chair. “YOU ARE WRONG!” Recovering his composure, he sobbed once, the sound catching in his throat. “I … I’m not getting as much pain.”
    Without looking at his patient, the doctor wrote something in his notes.
    â€œThat’s good.”
    â€œYes, that’s good,” Oliver echoed, but without conviction. A wife, an apartment in Hampstead and a house in Surrey, three children at private school, and a disease that was killing him. “What about chemotherapy?”
    â€œThe cancer is too advanced, Sir Oliver. It wouldn’t help you, and it’s a punishing treatment.”
    â€œIt’s a punishing disease,” Oliver replied drily, trying to sound in control but panicking inside. His profits had been falling; he had struggled to cover the school fees for the last term. What now? Sell the business? Who would buy a gallery in a market grown nervous and wary?
    â€œAlternative medicine … D’you think that might help? I mean, it might—er—might it?” He stopped, forced composure, and got to his feet. “How long have I got left?”
    â€œAbout three months.”
    â€œBut you do hear about remissions….”
    â€œYes, they happen sometimes.”
    â€œSo I could go into remission?” Oliver said desperately.
    â€œNo; I’m afraid your disease is too far advanced,” Chadwick replied, his tone gentle. “You have to tell your wife. She really should know.”
    â€œKnow that I’m dying? Perhaps I should also tell her that when I’m gone, she might have to take the children out of school. Perhaps I should share my last few months unloading every burden onto her shoulders. Sonia can watch me die, but in case that isn’t difficult enough, why don’t I let her know that after I’ve gone she might have to sell the country house? Even the gallery—if she can find a buyer.” He was overflowing with bitterness and despair. “How exactly is that supposed to help my wife?”
    Embarrassed, the doctor was hesitant.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t know you had financial worries.”
    Oliver buttoned his jacket, smoothing down his hair as though to smooth down his emotions at the same time.
    â€œNo, I’m not going to tell Sonia anything, Doctor. Not until I’ve made her and the children secure,” he said, and turned toward the door.
    â€œCan you manage that? You don’t have very much time, and the pain will get worse. You won’t be able to work or function as well as you could before.”
    Pausing at the doorway, Oliver looked at the oncologist.
    â€œI have your word that you will say nothing to my wife, Chadwick? Even if she asks you?”
    Reluctantly, the doctor nodded. “I have to respect my patients’ wishes, but if you won’t confide in her, you should try to get some other form of support. Some help.”
    â€œI don’t need help,” Oliver replied, his tone ironic. “I need a miracle.”
    It was raining when Oliver Peters walked out onto Harley Street. Pausing a moment, he straightened his tie again and began walking toward Marylebone High Street. His mind went back to the flight in Bernie Freeland’s jet. Not for the first time, he wished he hadn’t gotten on the bloody plane in the first place. He had hated lying to Sonia, her dark eyes curious as she asked about his journey. He could have told her the truth, but he knew it would mean an argument. What was he doing accepting a lift with three call girls? Was he insane? What if