Heart Surgeon in Portugal (2 page)

‘Is this woman registrar of his a
very close
friend?’ teased Ellie.

Jon hesitated. It was only right to put his pretty sister on her guard – even though she had her head screwed on and would never do anything so silly: ‘Don’t go falling for Harland,’ he warned, ‘they say he’s a heartbreaker.’

‘His job is to mend hearts, not break them!’ said Ellie loftily, assuming this was one of Jon’s weedy jokes. The very idea was ridiculous … a newly-qualified RGN falling for a cardiac surgeon with an international reputation? Why, that was simply ridiculous. She burst into a gale of laughter.

‘You do realise,’ said Jon seriously, ‘it’s quite an honour to get the chance to go to Portugal with a man like Rafe Harland.’

Ellie grabbed a cushion and buried her face in it.

She really shouldn’t take this on. Proper cooking wasn’t her thing at all - after being on her feet all day, back in the nurses’ home it was the quick and easy option of salads, nuts and fruit …

And Jon wasn’t helping matters either …

‘Cardiac surgeons like Rafe Harland,’ he was declaiming, ‘are little short of heroes. Every day they’re making life and death decisions and believe me that takes a hell of a lot of courage. They’ve got skill, determination and stamina.’

He sounded as if he was addressing a lecture theatre full of first-year medical students.

‘Yes Jon, I do get the picture. If I poison the man I shall hold you responsible. And if he breaks my heart, I’ll sue you both for damages.’

‘Now Ellie! The guy doesn’t
ask
women to fall in love with him. He would never hurt anyone deliberately – no doctor would, you know that perfectly well. All I’m saying is, be careful.’

‘Yeah yeah yeah, I hear you, brother dear. I’m hungry. I’m going to make some toast. Want some?’

‘Yes, please. Try not to burn it this time. And I want a yes to Portugal and it’s got to be today … Come on, El, it’s the perfect opportunity for you to convalesce. Go for it, girl – it’s your sunshine medicine. You’ll have a wicked time!’

Over the next fortnight as her health and energy improved, Ellie found herself growing more enthusiastic. The only fly in the ointment was turning out to be Harland himself. She had found out more via the hospital gossip-vine:
Lucky you – check with his theatre team, RH is well buff! .. Doesn’t suffer fools gladly… mustn’t get under his feet … never dates hospital staff … women always giving him the green light. A real heartbreaker!
That word again! Well - here’s one heart that won’t be his for the taking, vowed Ellie confidently.

Mrs Robey suggested some useful recipes which Ellie filed in a yellow folder and packed into her hand luggage for safe-keeping. She had practised one or two and they seemed easy enough so she was confident now that she would cope – even though cooking was never going to be big in her life.

Well, not till she was married with children of her own, and that wasn’t going to be for a good ten years or more. Sister in Charge of a Critical Care Unit was Ellie’s goal …

Margot Robey had made one proviso about which both her children felt uncomfortable. RH must be told Miss Robey had some free time because she was recuperating from glandular fever. He was not to be told Jon’s sister was a qualified nurse. ‘I don’t want Eleanor getting roped in to work at this clinic place. She’s still convalescent and if her own hospital says my daughter is not yet fit to be back on the wards then so be it. No need for any fibs.’

Well, RH hadn’t asked. And an interview was out of the question since Mr Harland was in the States at a conference. ‘So long as someone turns up to keep him fed and watered,’ said Ellie with a wry smile. ‘I could look like the back of a bus for all he cares.’

On a rainy June day Ellie left England. Checking out the cosmetics area of the duty-free she stared doubtfully at her reflection in the wall of mirrored glass. A couple of months of Mum’s home cooking and TLC and her size eight was now a generous ten. Her jeans looked as if they’d been sprayed on and her cherry-red tee-shirt clung to every contour. And as for that neglected hair tumbling down her narrow back - frankly it was a mess. Ellie bundled it all up into a twist which she anchored with a big tortoiseshell clip, moving away to the perfume section where she wouldn’t have to look at herself any longer in that harsh artificial light.

‘Can I help you, dear?’ said a voice at her side. ‘Looking for anything special?’

‘Magic In A Bottle if you’ve got it,’ said Ellie wryly.

‘Haven’t come across that one, dear, do you know who makes it?’

‘Harry Potter?’ suggested Ellie
sotto voce
.

The woman sprayed a card, ‘Try this, dear, it’s French - very new and on special offer. Half-price, today only. Go on, have a good sniff.’

‘Well … yes, it is – er - rather nice. But maybe …’

‘Warm and very sophisticated – an amber base with top-notes of powdery jasmine and a very graceful die-down. Here, let me spray your wrist. There’s a tester over there if you want to try the eau-de-parfum.’

Ellie wandered around for a few more minutes wondering what the hell a graceful die-down was supposed to be. Drifts of scent came from her wrist and the more she sniffed her skin the more she thought she liked it. Specially as the saleswoman had described it as ‘sophisticated.’ She sprayed herself lavishly with the tester, selected the smallest size of the ‘eau de parfum,’ and debit card at the ready, hurried to the duty-free tills.

‘Boarding pass please,’ intoned a bored cashier, an unexpected demand which had Ellie scrabbling in her shoulder-bag while a queue built up behind her. Why hadn’t Jon warned her flying was so complicated?

On board the flight she was a little disconcerted to see hers was an aisle seat next to an extremely amorous couple who were almost lying sideways, their entwined legs intruding into her own miniscule leg space. The man had greying hair and his companion, as much as could be seen of her, was also past the first flush of youth. They couldn’t be much younger than her parents!
So embarrassing
.

A young American in khaki shorts gallantly heaved Ellie’s red trolley case up onto the rack. And though she wasn’t aware of it, was so charmed by her smile and her cute English accent, he quite forgave the blast of perfume which gave him a fit of the sneezes - and had every passenger within ten feet cringing for fear he’d got summer flu and was spreading his germs round the aircraft.

The plastic carrier with the vital yellow folder and a few other bits and pieces (which Mrs Robey had insisted were essentials) got wedged safe and secure behind the red case. Ellie lowered herself gingerly into her seat, trying to keep her legs out of harm’s way.

A flight attendant leaned over to ask the dishevelled couple to please sit up and fasten their seatbelts - which they did without a shred of embarrassment.

‘Bag under your seat, dear,’ the steward said to Ellie, then drew back swiftly, nose wrinkling in an odd sort of way. ‘Oh,’ said Ellie, and ‘sorry.’

A glance at her watch showed take-off should have been five minutes ago. There’d been no announcement about any delay. She did hope they’d soon be airborne; the aircraft appeared to be full. Her companions, now upright, continued to kiss and caress each other so blatantly that Ellie turned her head away and prayed for take-off and a tail wind to speed the Faro flight.

Across the aisle sat a handsome older woman in a cream linen trouser suit, white hair in a sleek chic bob, complexion expertly made up, apparently disinterested in the people pushing past to find their seats. Tortoiseshell half-glasses perched on her aquiline nose, she was poring over a typescript, diamonds glinting on thin manicured fingers, a bottle of mineral water tucked into the pocket in front of her and a cream Mulberry tote beneath her seat. Sensing Ellie’s scrutiny, the woman looked up, taking in Ellie and the canoodling lovebirds at a glance. She raised her perfect eyebrows, they exchanged rueful smiles, and the woman went back to her reading.

Ellie was beginning to feel really fed up. Take-off was now ten minutes behind schedule. She glanced again at the woman across the aisle, wondering what was taking such close concentration. This passenger looked more used to flying business class than budget airline. Perhaps she owned a house out in Portugal and was a frequent flyer …

A sudden flurry of activity at the front of the plane caught everyone’s attention. At the same moment the plane’s engines thrust into a drum-roll of thunder, a paean of welcome for the last – and late! – passenger. Three flight attendants, including one of the male stewards, were welcoming aboard a tall man, crowding around him.
For all the world
, thought Ellie,
as if they’d got Prince Harry and Brad Pitt rolled-into-one
coming on board.

She dipped her head into the aisle, craning to get a better look. When nursing on Critical Care, she had taught herself to lip-read the mouth movements of patients hooked up to complex machines, and indignation rose as even from a distance she could tell this new passenger was thanking them for holding up the plane. What a nerve, making them late for take-off! Who did Mr Big Guy think he was – chairman of the airline?

He certainly looked the part in his dark navy suit (Armani? speculated Ellie who really didn’t have a clue about that sort of thing) and striped silk tie. Silver-monogrammed briefcase tucked under his arm and laptop case in hand, he was moving down the aisle toward her and she found herself wishing the spare seat – for evidently there must be one – was next to her.

She tried to peer at the monogram stamped on to the black leather but it was upside down and half hidden by his jacket sleeve.
Okay, he’s attractive: broad shouldered, really tall, looks fit
. Thick dark wavy hair, lips a bit thin, labial lines quite pronounced … not a softie.

Ellie was trying not to stare too obviously - not that it mattered since just about everyone was looking. Mr Big’s progress down the aircraft was being monitored all the way, the women’s gaze avid, the men’s speculative.

Mr Big stopped by the one free aisle seat she hadn’t spotted, two rows forward on the right. He ought to have smiled apologetically at the passengers he had kept waiting. But the cabin might as well have been empty; mystery man was focused elsewhere, intent on his own thoughts and oblivious to the scrutiny he was arousing. Only one woman didn’t look up, engrossed in her own affairs.

Then he was bending over his seat and Ellie couldn’t quite see … now he was taking off his jacket revealing a perfectly-pressed A and K striped shirt.

Mrs Big back home probably spent
hours
ironing his gear to perfection!

Now he’s opening the locker over his seat. But it’s absolutely crammed full of stuff so he’s trying another … and he’s trying another …
The plane’s engines were revving to full throttle and she could see the man frowning in irritation. A steward had spotted his predicament and was hurrying down the long gangway to help him so he could get seated and let the plane soar into the skies. Ellie smirked naughtily then her hand flew to cover her mouth because he was looking right at her! Two paces and he was by her side.

‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, and the deepness of his voice reverberated in her head, triggering some faint memory which filled her eyes with sudden homesick tears. As the stranger leaned over her, stowing away his black leather case, the cabin lights were blotted out and on a reflex she looked up at him with eyes welling with those unshed tears. For the briefest moment he paused, frowning perplexedly down at her…

Then, ‘Everything all right, sir?’ she heard the steward’s voice asking. And he was gone, leaving Ellie wishing she’d done the safe thing and stayed home in Richmond.

‘Cabin crew prepare for take-off,’ came the Captain’s voice over the inter-com. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we now have our slot.’

Minutes later the aircraft began trundling out of its bay and then - gathering speed - it was moving down the runway.

Her palms damp with a ridiculous fear, Ellie forgot everything until they were safely sky-high with the seatbelt signs switched off. Her throat felt like sandpaper and she badly needed a drink but there was no sign yet of a stewardess with the trolley. She did hope it was just the rather squashed position she was in and not that wretched glandular fever making her pulses throb and her palms turn slippery with perspiration. There was a bottle of still water in her plastic carrier overhead…

She slithered out of her seat and into the aisle, standing on tiptoe to make up for her lack of inches and aware that her tee shirt was exposing a wealth of bare winter-white midriff as she delved deep in the locker interior, trying to feel along the edge of what felt like her red case. Her right hand was now grasping thin plastic so Ellie tugged and pulled – and a black monogrammed briefcase slid right over the edge and plummeted downward on top of the unsuspecting people in front.

Ellie had excellent reactions – the driving examiner had commented on this when she almost put him through the windscreen during her driving test. Weeks after her eighteenth birthday she had passed first time: Jon had to have two goes and for once in her life Ellie could crow over her very clever brother.

It was just unfortunate that her little finger caught in the briefcase zip-tag and slid the zip open - but she did manage to catch the wretched thing before it brained the sleeping woman in the seat in front. ‘Ouch!’ yelped Ellie as pain seared through her hand.

Everyone in the vicinity looked up in surprise - including Mr Big.

Nothing could prevent the sea of papers which were cascading everywhere.

Watching the infuriated Mr Big spring from his seat and come striding towards her through the confetti she had made of his precious documents, Ellie had immediate and heart-sinking recall of an inoffensive little bottle of mineral water being confiscated when she passed through Airport Security …

And Mr Big was absolutely seething. ‘What the devil d’you think you’re up to you - you …’ Words seemed to fail him but he looked nasty enough to throttle her and instinctively Ellie flinched away from him.