Heart Surgeon in Portugal (13 page)

Ellie thought to herself that no one here seemed terrified of the formidable Mr Rafe Harland. No one seemed in awe of him. Respect and liking for the surgeon seemed the order of the day whatever the hospital grapevine might gossip about back home. She followed Dr Flora into her office and almost immediately Rafe joined them, helping himself from the Gaggia machine and sitting down to face Ellie with his long legs in their light chinos stretched out in front of him. Ellie wondered what was going through his mind for he was staring at her so intensely it was as if he were trying to X-ray her with his eyes. He knew she’d seen him with Lilian. Was he saying to her, yes, that’s right, me and Lilian – we’ve got a thing going on.

Ellie stared intently into her coffee mug.
Hadn’t Jon warned her this man was a heartbreaker. He was certainly playing havoc with hers.

Rafe was more than ready for the strong black coffee. He got up and refilled the large mug that Flora kept for him, enjoying the way it surged through like a dose of pure adrenalin. Ellie was coming to St Botolph’s in September. Interesting. He was trying to picture her in uniform, her hair upswept, staff nurse’s white dress with dark blue edging on the collar, the open neckline showing her delicate throat … of course, she might go for the trouser and tunic option, but he hoped she wouldn’t. Black tights … no, stockings preferably. Mmm. As a mental image, it was quite a turn-on.

‘So the boss has given you a guided tour. Formidable lady, our Flora. She who must be obeyed.’

Self-conscious as never before, Ellie tucked her legs under her chair. Why was he staring at her so, here, right in front of Reverend Mother's shrewd gaze?

‘Oh, go on with you!’ chided the nun in wonderfully familiar and unabashed tones. She winked at Ellie, who relaxed a trifle and concentrated on holding her coffee with a steady hand.

A young girl knocked and peeped round the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Dr Flora, but Sister Cecilia wonders if you could come and take a look at this patient’s heart monitor.’

‘Coming,’

That girl’s just a teenager, mused Ellie. She looks as if she should still be at school. What can she be doing working in a centre of excellence such as this?

Rafe was sorting through some paperwork Dr Flora had thrust at him. ‘Two years ago,’ he said conversationally, ‘I operated out here on a young Saudi prince. Now we’re getting all his cousins and uncles and aunts – plus bodyguards who expect to be housed at the Centre.’

Ellie looked shocked. ‘Oh surely not!’

‘That's where Flora reveals her iron fist. She sorts them out, tells them what's what—and then charges them some horrendous fee which she insists is a private matter between her and her Maker. But most of the cardiac patients sent to us can’t afford to pay – and they aren’t expected to. We will give them the best treatment on offer. And speaking of patients, Ellie, it’s high time we got on with your tests.’ He finished his coffee and Ellie followed him to one of the treatment rooms where he closed the door behind them and beckoned to a chair.

‘Fancy Dr Flora being a trained surgeon,’ she mused aloud. ‘It seems so strange, her being a nun too.’

‘I don't see why.’ Rafe was opening cupboards and assembling all the equipment he was going to use. Ellie wondered why he didn’t ask one of the nursing staff to do it for him. Were they going to be quite alone?

‘Mission hospitals abroad are frequently staffed with medically trained nuns. Some religious orders specialise in midwifery, or in training their own nurses. Their doctors go the usual university medical school route. Flora's first-rate, you know, highly experienced. I've a great admiration for the dear old thing.’

‘Old? How old is she?’

‘Nearly seventy. And her mother’s in her late nineties - lives all alone in a flat in Silves. Delightful old lady, as indomitable as her daughter. Right now, Ellie, let’s take a look at your tonsils. Open wide … say ah.’ Rafe was shining his pencil torch into her mouth.
Why’s he doing all this?
wondered Ellie, obediently opening her mouth to reveal two perfect crescents of white teeth and a healthy pink tongue,
surely this is nurse’s work.

With a throat swab he touched the sides of her mouth then put the swab into a container. ‘Looks okay to me,’ he murmured, depressing her tongue again with the spatula, while his left hand, resting on her hair, tilted her head back so he could get a closer look into her straining throat.

He scribbled ‘Eleanor Robey’ on the sample’s label. ‘We don't do bacteriology tests here. This will go off to Faro. Take about three days to get the results back. The blood test will be quicker.’

He drew up the blood sample with a casual competence and Ellie’s lips curved in a secret smile as she recalled how he'd read her thoughts. Like everything this man did, his technique was perfect, she'd scarcely felt a thing. ‘It's very kind of you to go to so much trouble,' she murmured, 'I do hope I’m not wasting your time.’

Two vertical lines appeared between his dark eyebrows as he frowned down at her. Ellie was beginning to recognise those two little lines as the signs that she had said or done something Mr Big didn’t like.

‘I suppose if the tests come back negative—as I damn well hope they will—you'll be wringing your hands and apologising about
that
too! Now get your skirt off and hop up on to the couch.’

Ellie cheeks went from pale to pink. Couldn’t Rafe Harland respond nicely to good manners? And why did she have to undress?
It’s a bit of a sore throat, for goodness’ sake!

‘What's the problem? Forgotten your knickers?’

Rafe was watching her, a quizzical eyebrow raised at this obvious reluctance. What was so dreadful about taking your skirt off when you habitually spent most of each day wearing little more than two scraps of handkerchief?

‘Of course I haven’t!’ Crossly, Ellie unzipped her skirt and let it drop, stepping out of it, her face sullen. Thank god she wasn’t wearing a thong. RH wasn’t even pretending to look the other way. She'd gladly have stuck him with a blunt syringe if it would wipe that impatient expression off his face.

‘Up on the couch,’ he commanded. Unused to being the patient, Ellie complied with a bad grace, flopping back and sighing audibly, willing herself to relax. ‘I’m going to check the liver and spleen,’ he warned.

Why?
Ellie glared up at the ceiling.
I’ve had glandular fever, for pete’s sake, not hepatitis.
Seeing how tense she was, Rafe suggested bringing in one of the sisters as chaperone to make her feel more comfortable.
Thanks a bunch! Make me look a fool!
‘I’m fine,’ she said sharply.

‘OK - try to relax,’ he murmured, ‘just relax.’ His cool hands were touching her now, palpating her liver and her spleen, investigating the secret organs of her body which were no secret to him. ‘Pull this up for me,’ he instructed, indicating her top. ‘No need to take it off. Up a bit – that’s fine.’

Ellie held her breath and submitted to those experienced, examining hands. 'That hurt at all?' he murmured at one point, keeping a careful eye on her set face for signs of pain.

‘No!’

‘Or that?’

‘No.’

‘I'm looking for a sub-clinical hepatitis … But I’m not finding anything so that’s good news, isn’t it.’ His eyes were very dark beneath a mobile brow scarred with concentration, his lips compressed and firm.

‘All the same,’ he was saying slowly, half to himself, half aloud, ‘to be on the safe side, we'll run liver function tests. I think we owe it to your brother to be especially thorough, since it’s thanks to him I have such a delightful and conscientious
chef de cuisine
. Good. OK. All done.’

Ellie leapt off the black padded treatment couch and tidied her clothing. ‘Thank
you
,’ she managed through clenched teeth.

‘And now,’ said her very well-meaning tormentor, ‘We’ll get some lunch before I take you back to the house for an afternoon siesta.’

‘Oh but –’

Rafe held up his hand, palm outward. ‘No buts. You are prescribed an afternoon’s rest and that, Nurse Robey, is that.’

‘S
uper lunch,’ enthused Ellie, ‘so healthy and nutritious. Just the sort of food I like. We shan’t need much supper tonight!’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Rafe Harland, ‘I am a man of hearty appetites.’

The Renault raced on, clinging to the sharp bends, the driver’s eyes inscrutable behind black Raybans.

Ellie peeked to see if he was teasing her but his face was imperturbable as he negotiated the twists and turns of the road that was taking them out of the hills and back to the Casa de la Paz. Her sunglasses were on her head, holding back the mass of hair which she had unleashed from its ponytail the moment they left the Cardiac centre. Now she pulled them down on to her nose, something to hide behind as she mulled over this provocative statement.

A man of hearty appetites …
Rafe clearly wasn’t thinking just about his stomach! The long separation from that woman of his – the one he talked to on his Blackberry, Charlie – Charlotte – Babe; that one, the woman he skyped in the privacy of his study. They never spoke about medical things, she seemed to be out in the Middle East filming some kind of documentary. Or was he missing his senior registrar back in London? Rafe often took calls from her when working by the pool, his voice bouncing across the water to where Ellie sat pretending to be oblivious. That was always about surgical matters, but he sounded on warm and very good terms with her.

Don’t you feel guilty, listening to Rafe’s conversations?
nagged a voice inside her head.

Look,
she argued back.
He makes no effort to keep them private. How can I help but overhear when there’s just the two of us, out there by the swimming pool. He clearly doesn’t care.

Ask yourself why not,
finished the voice, switching off and leaving Ellie brooding as the Renault hit the home straight and increased its speed.

She shivered, dragging reluctant eyes from those clever hands on the leather-clad steering wheel.

‘Not cold, are you, Ellie? You OK?’ he questioned, concerned by her sudden trembling. The kindness in his voice touched something in her and she turned to him ready to say something, anything that would let him know she worshipped the ground he walked on.

‘I’m fine now,’ she began eagerly, on the verge of saying something totally indiscreet about how with him beside her she was in heaven, but he interrupted her with, ‘By the way, I shall have a visitor tonight,’ words so crushing that Ellie’s gulp of dismay was audible.

‘Don’t panic,’ said Rafe, getting quite the wrong end of the stick. ‘It won’t mean another mouth to feed – she won’t be arriving till after supper. No need for you to stay up - another early night won’t do you any harm.’

Packing me off and out of the way, she thought gloomily, aching to ask who the ‘she’ was going to be, and whether the ‘she’ was going to stay the night.

‘Lilian’s coming over to help me with my research. We’ll be working in the study till late. There’s a lot to get through.’

Ellie sat as if turned to stone. So close she had come to making a fool of herself over this unattainable man. It was Lilian, the dark-eyed anaesthetist, who would be with Rafe tonight. Well, hadn’t Ellie been forewarned of the RH preference for very brainy women? Ellie had visions of Rafe unpinning Lilian’s heavy coil of black hair and spreading it over the pillows. And she, Ellie, would be right there next door, head buried under the pillows, squirming with misery and embarrassment. Well it was her own fault. She was the employee. She should have known her place. RH had never wanted to have her sleeping upstairs, cramping his style.

Back at the Casa the surgeon went for a swim and then closeted himself in the study. Ellie went up to her room and closed the door. She opened the wardrobe and looked at all the lovely new things hanging there, regretful fingers reaching out to stroke the pale gold silk she had pictured herself wearing on that blissful day when RH took her to the Belmira Hotel – where they would have danced so closely you couldn’t get a sheet of paper between them.

All that money selfishly spent on herself in the hope that Mr Big would look twice at dumpy Ellie Robey and fall truly madly deeply in love with her. How self-indulgent, how vain, how foolish … Hmm, well, possibly!

There was a stubborn glint in Ellie’s eye as she assessed a little red number which had looked to her less than nothing on the rails till Vivienne spotted its potential as a show-stopper. This should take Mr Harland’s eye off the competition - for all its brainpower.

When Rafe came into the kitchen, Ellie was there with her back to him, whipping up eggs and chopping parsley. ‘Will a herb omelette sate your hearty appetite tonight?’ she asked brightly. ‘With a tomato salad and the warm loaf Giovana’s just brought across?’

‘Fine,’ said Rafe without much show of enthusiasm. He walked over to the fridge and from behind its open door sneaked a closer look at his personal private chef. The back view of that red dress was startling, the ladder cut-outs showing no signs of underwear; from the front it was quite demure, high-necked and cut-away, revealing the delicate bones of her shoulders. Plenty of toned golden thigh was on view. And the rich deep red made her sun-streaked hair look fairer than ever. Rafe was quiet.

Good choice!
Ellie congratulated herself with wicked satisfaction.

‘Like an aperitif?’

‘If you think I may.’

‘Doctor says yes.’

‘Then thank you, doctor.’

‘Are you going out?’ he asked in a rather belligerent tone.

‘Yes. Yes I am.’

‘With whom, may I ask?’

Ellie shrugged. ‘Just someone,’ she said unhelpfully. ‘But don’t worry - I’ll get your supper first.’

‘Thought we’d agreed an early night would do you good.’

‘I know,’ said Ellie happily, loving the way things were going. ‘But I got this text … and well.’ She gave another of those helpless little shrugs and smiled up at him.

Rafe’s tone was as chilly as the white port he was pouring. ‘Then you’d better not have this.’