Heart Surgeon in Portugal (17 page)

Rafe pushed the glistening salad away and went for a second helping of chips: tonight was a night for indulgence. Yesterday he'd been feeling like death – and looking like it too, judging by the way everyone handled him with kid gloves. Ellie had seemed genuinely upset; no doubt about it, she was an exceptional girl, very caring. Why had he met her so late in life? She in her early twenties, he well on the wrong side of thirty. People would accuse him of cradle-snatching …

Without consulting her, Rafe ordered two brandies and they discussed his day at the Centre. Ellie wanted to know how things were going with that reluctant patient Kev, the Australian backpacker

Until Rafe’s return from London, Kevin's case had had them all perplexed. Frequent fits of fainting and palpitations in a perfectly healthy young man with no history of symptoms? Then came Mr Harland’s diagnosis and - of course! - they saw it now - the rare Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome. There it was in the ECG print-out. The significant WPW pattern. The medical staff, surgeons and physicians alike, could have kicked themselves at missing this one. But as Rafe pointed out with no false modesty, he had vast experience in cardiac problems and one in fifty doctors might be expected to pick this up. ‘I'm not a cardiac consultant for nothing,’ he had chided in a good-humoured attempt to rescue his mortified colleagues.

‘And he won't require immediate surgery?’ questioned Ellie.

‘No. Though the day may come when they’ll want to fit a pace-maker. When he’s older.’

‘Strange it should only affect young people,’ Ellie said meditatively, taking a tiny sip of brandy.

‘It's caused by an abnormality of the heart's electrical pathway, often only discovered when we're doing a routine ECG.’

‘How long must Kevin stay at the Centre? Poor chap, he’s chafing at the bit to be on his way.’

‘He must
not
leave till we've got the heartbeat regulated.’

‘Short of strapping Kev to his bed, that’s not going to be easy.’

‘Are you going to drink that?’ he asked, indicating Ellie’s brandy. She shook her head and pushed her glass across the table expecting him to tip the contents into his own. He did nothing of the sort but drank straight from hers, saying ‘I’ll talk to him, make sure he understands why he’s got to stay put for as long as it takes.’

‘So it's these very fast beats causing the sudden faints. He told me he feels such a wuss when it happens.’

‘Yes. But the good news is that Kevin isn’t high risk and we can treat him pharmacologically. You and I know that a patient's response to medication can be unpredictable so it's a case of trial and error till we get the most effective drug treatment. Don't look so worried, Ellie, the prognosis is usually benign.’

‘He's quite a dear, really … I’ve a soft spot for our Kev.’

‘You've got a soft spot for everyone, if you ask me,’

Her fingers pleating the edge of the paper tablecloth, Ellie fell silent. Was this really the impression Rafe had formed of her? A gullible girl from an over-sheltered background? Anyone familiar with the arduous training of nurses should know better! ‘That's not true,’ she argued, meeting his scrutiny with hurt-filled hazel eyes.

The surgeon was in too mellow a mood to give two hoots if sweet Ellie was cross with him. He raised his glass to her in a silent toast, bestowing on her one of those quirky half-smiles she found so unsettling. It was the old Rafe back again – no longer that weary stranger from the airport. It gladdened her heart, it truly did; but all the same it was uncomfortable to be the focus of mocking surmise.

And tomorrow … Oh but she must warn Rico, make sure he’d be there with Viv. The son’s presence would make it easier for the consultant to deal with a patient so much more nervous than most.

It was after midnight when they got back to the Casa. Ellie was running a bath, planning to wallow in bath oil and enjoy a dreamy re-run of the evening, when she heard a knock at her bedroom door and the sound of Rafe’s footsteps – for who else could it be? – on the chestnut floorboards. Her heartbeat raced. She tucked a towel round the parts that mattered and emerged from the bathroom, looking like a ruffled angel with her hair tumbling out of its roughly tied topknot. There stood Rafe, a dark silhouette against the light from her bedside lamp, still wearing his white linen shirt and navy chinos, his right hand massaging the back of his neck as he stared at her.

‘I saw your light was still on and I – er…’
He should never have come in here –
big mistake!
‘I forgot to thank you.’

‘Th-thank me?’ Ellie hitched at her towel, realising too late that it wasn’t her bath-size she’d grabbed hold of but a meagre hand-towel.

‘Yes,’ said Rafe shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them out of mischief.
That skimpy towel was just about falling off - one quick tug and there’d be
no going back.
‘Just realised …haven’t thanked you for holding the fort while I was in London. Can’t have been much fun for you, stuck here on your own.’

‘No problem,’ shivered Ellie.

‘And as for your helping out at the Centre – better not let your mother know or I shall be in trouble.’
As if I’m not already!

‘Trouble? Oh no, I’m sure she -’

‘And then Dr Flora was singing your praises with such fervour I got quite alarmed.’

‘Al-alarmed?’

‘Alarmed you might have been overdoing things. Well, anyway - got you this in Selfridges,’ he muttered, the magnificent Mr Harland sounding more awkward than Ellie could have believed possible. ‘I was on my way to the Tube.’ From his pocket he pulled a yellow plastic bag containing something small and square and hard. ‘That awful stuff you’ve been wearing - too heavy … too seductive, not you at all.’

Exasperation overtook Ellie's bewilderment. A present - how thoughtful, even though she'd done nothing to deserve it. Followed by that sting in the tail, implying
she’d set out to seduce him
but wasn’t sophisticated enough to succeed!

It was taking both hands to keep her unsophisticated self under wraps. ‘I can’t -’ she pointed out, shrugging her narrow shoulders. ‘Would you mind -’

‘Of course,’ muttered Rafe, dropping the package onto her bed as if it burnt his fingers.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, inwardly screaming,
Go away go away
I'm a mess. My mascara's running in the steam and my hair looks like a bird's nest. I don't want you to see me like this.

God, you are beautiful!
Rafe stepped towards her and Ellie shrank away from him, shoulders hunched. Whatever was he going to do?

She gasped as his hands gripped hold of her upper arms. She felt herself propelled towards the bed, the mattress pressing against the back of her knees and her body sinking helplessly on to the knobbly cotton coverlet - ouch! – and something digging so sharply into her spine she couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.

Having moved her from his path Rafe strode on and into the bathroom where he turned off the bath tap.

‘Thanks for taking all the hot water,’ he frowned, looking down at Ellie, sprawling there on the bed, mouth agape with disbelief and chagrin.

‘A cold shower will do you the world of good!’ she yelled, but this got lost in the crash of his bedroom door. She rolled off the bed and picked up the crushed box in its yellow bag, threw it into the back of a drawer and locked herself into the bathroom where she examined her sore back in the mirror and scrubbed at her face with a coarse soapy flannel till it shone pink and clean and glowing.

She didn’t need presents for doing her job. What did Rafe Harland think she was there for …!

At nine in the morning Ellie rang the Belmira Hotel and asked for Ricardo.

‘The manager is in Paris for a few days, at a conference. Philippe is in charge today. Would madame like to speak with Philippe?’

‘I won’t trouble him,’ said Ellie hastily. ‘Perhaps you can help me though. Ricardo – did he arrange for someone to look after his mother?’

‘I believe there is a house guest. An old friend. She too is an actress. We have a direct line to the bungalow and I can put you straight through.’

This was the last thing she wanted. It was vital to catch Viv unawares. Ellie thanked the man on the reception desk for his help, and went to find Rafe who, wearing nothing but tight damp swim shorts, was working on his laptop in the shade of a eucalyptus tree. He eyed her bare brown legs as she sank gracefully down beside him, plucking at her lower lip, a crease of anxiety furrowing her smooth brow.

‘
Now
what’s the matter! You look as if you’ve lost a pound and found a penny.’ She might be brooding about being accused of taking all the hot water, but Rafe doubted it because Ellie’s sunny nature didn’t go in for grudge-bearing and she’d been fine at breakfast.

‘I’ve just found out Rico’s at a conference in Paris.’

‘Oh dear, gone to Paris and not invited you along.’ His tone was mocking and Ellie bridled.

‘That’s hardly the point!’ she retorted sharply, mindful of the fact that she had set herself up for this by pretending to be involved with the glamorous Rico.

Rafe’s left eyebrow hit the ceiling but he could see Ellie was more upset than she was pretending. ‘So what is the problem?’ he asked calmly.

‘You’ll be examining Vivienne without her son being there.’

‘Are you saying she’s been left entirely alone?’

‘Apparently there’s an old friend staying with her – another actress, so they said.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to say “actor” nowadays?’

‘Oh. Yes, Probably.’

Ellie sounded distracted. Rafe closed the laptop and stood up, towering over her. But Ellie didn’t move, sitting with her head bowed, her loose hair tumbling over her face. Rafe could see he’d hit the nail on the head. Lover boy really hadn’t told her about Paris; not a word about going away.

‘Look here.’ His voice was kind but decisive. ‘Did he or did he not,’ – he didn’t want to say the wretched guy’s name out loud – ‘express to you his concern about his mother’s state of health. Did he or did he not ask if you could help?’

Ellie’s face turned up to look at him, her eyes full of trust and hope, there in the shade of the eucalyptus. ‘Yes, he did. Of course he did.’ Rafe held out a hand to pull her upright. He loved the way she often sat like that, so easily and elegantly with her legs crossed, then springing lightly and supply to her feet. ‘Well then - I’d better go and turn myself into Prince Charming …’

‘Still a most attractive woman... most attractive. Hard to believe she’s over seventy. I suspect she was stretching it a bit when I asked for the d.o.b,’ said Rafe with a grin. ‘Neither of those two are spring chickens but I’ll bet they’ve turned some heads in their day.’ Ellie recalled the friend’s giggle when Vivienne offered what she claimed was her birth date.

‘Come on, Ellie. We’ll find a spot further up the beach where we can’t be seen from their terrace. I’ll talk you through what to tell the son when he calls you.’ That commanding air of Rafe's, that assumption that he'd be instantly obeyed. Once upon a time it had made her hackles rise. But that was history. Ellie would follow Rafe anywhere. She simply wanted to be where Rafe was, to go where he was going. If he strode out to sea fully clothed, she'd be right behind him.

He tramped ahead across the sand making for the sea’s rippling edge, stethoscope dangling from his pocket. He wasn't dressed for the beach - but it was typical of him not to care. He shrugged off the jacket and slung it over one shoulder, his finger hooked in the label. Ellie, following two paces behind, watched the stethoscope bobbing ahead, waiting to grab hold if it should fall into the sand. Their two shadows almost merged, hers bobbing along in the wake of his long muscular strides.

The sea was a calm molten silver merging into cloudless blue skies. Perfect for a swim …

‘Your case history was a big help to me this morning. Most thorough. In fact, I’ve been thinking.’ He paused. ‘I could use you in my clinic this Thursday afternoon. If you've no other plans, of course,’ he added pointedly, slowing his steps to match hers, from behind dark glasses giving her another of those searching looks.

Ellie's beam of pleasure was answer enough. It was typically generous of Rafe to include her, but the credit was all his for he couldn't have been more skilful in his handling of such a phobic patient. Ellie had the definite feeling the surgeon hadn’t minded a bit that Vivienne’s son couldn’t be with her. It was very odd. And she could still picture that black scowl when she first mentioned that Vivienne had a son living locally. Ricardo Schiapa. Manager of the Hotel Belmira.

The good thing was – it had worked out just as Rafe predicted. There he was at her bedside before Vivienne could work herself into a state of anxiety. She was totally beguiled by finding such reassurance and quiet consideration displayed by a doctor she'd once heard described as a man of storms. In fact Vivienne responded with meek and trustful acquiescence to every requirement Rafe stipulated. There was no time-wasting argument. Yes, she was already resigned to the prospect of surgery . And if Rafe could indeed operate at the Centre, that would avoid a return to London and the barrage of publicity that could damage her standing with producers and directors unwilling to risk working with a lame duck.

Ellie slipped off her espadrilles, enjoying the sensation of silken sand slithering between her toes. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the salty sea air. And when she broke into a high-spirited joyous gambol, racing in and out of the shallows and splashing her boss, getting the legs of her gingham capris soaking wet, he responded good-humouredly, outpacing her to the farthest rocks and turning to grab hold of her when she careered into him, tripping over her own feet and almost sending him headlong into the sea.

They shared a seat on the flattest rock. It was a bit of a squeeze and they had to sit very close together. Ellie scrabbled her bare toes in the sand, liking the effect of the fuschia-pink nail polish, hoping Rafe would stop staring out to sea and admire her dainty brown feet. He seemed momentarily lost in thought and she, who was so aware of his physical closeness, felt small and insignificant beside this brilliant and talented man.