Heart Surgeon in Portugal (19 page)

Two could play at that game. Ellie reclaimed her nerve and wriggled and twisted in an attempt to outwit his effortless strength. She made herself slippery as an eel ... went limp as a frond of becalmed seaweed ... pulled him with her to the bottom in a test of endurance ... and finally dragged herself to the edge of the pool, exhausted. ‘Stop!’ she implored between huge gulps of air as Rafe lunged for her yet again. ‘Stop it - stop!’

‘
Still
hate me, Miss Robey?’ He reared up like some great sea monster, blocking out the sun with the breadth of his shoulders, flexing the muscles in his arms and back as he reached for her, seal-wet and dangerously laughing.

‘Rafe please!’ she gasped. ‘I’m half drowned!’

‘In that case I must administer the kiss of life ...’

Ellie glanced round for Giovana but she must have gone to water the Madonna lilies by the front door. By now Ellie was getting her second wind. Her eyes danced with temptation. ‘You just dare,’ she teased. ‘You just dare!’

Rafe spun out the tension, inching fractionally closer. But he'd waited too long for Ellie had dived between his legs and was streaking across the pool, lifting herself out of the water and slithering on to the tiled surround. ‘Saved by the skin of my teeth!’ she laughed, gooseflesh roughening her skin as she escaped though the open French doors of her bedroom.

In the distance she thought she heard the faint ring of a cell phone. Rafe would answer it: it was bound to be for him.

She shed her wet bikini and wrapped herself in a bath-towel. Crossing to the bathroom, she blinked and hesitated, a frown creasing her forehead as she saw where someone—and certainly it could not be Rafe — had placed that fateful rose on top of the white chest of drawers. The heat of the day had begun to unfurl the delicate petals protecting its blood-red heart; the tough stem had lost a little of its stiffness and drooped with a graceful air of sadness at its chilly reception into the House of Peace.

Poor thing. With a twinge of compunction, Ellie stroked the velvety petals. Suddenly a tap on the window caused her to start from her reverie. Her head swung round, wet snakes of hair whipping about her bare shoulders. Was he going to make a habit of it, appearing out of nowhere when she was practically naked?

Rafe scanned the room, narrow-eyed. He stepped inside, his eyes flickering down to the two scraps of red cloth discarded on the floor. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’ve moved back down here.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘Your guest is coming.’

‘Oh right. Yes. OK. Look, someone just called. I'm dining out so you’ve got the evening off.’

Ellie put on a big bright uncaring smile.
Omelette again.
‘Lucky old me.’

I saw you, caressing that rose you pretend you didn’t want. But if Schiapa’s playing true to form you’re in for more than a thorn in your finger, my poor Ellie.

As soon as his back was turned she'd be on the phone to her lover. Rafe’s eyes swivelled grimly to the flower she sheltered from his gaze, placing herself defensively in front of it .

Ellie ached for him to leave her room. She couldn’t think straight with him looming over her like Neptune and dripping puddles on her bedroom floor. Eyeing her with such blatant curiosity. What would make him go away?

She reached out for the single red rose and lifted the bloom to her face, inhaled deeply, fingers caressing that satiny softness. Then she opened her eyes in a challenging, defiant stare.

‘Roses are full of earwigs,’ said Rafe unromantically. ‘Give you a nasty nip, earwigs.’ And with a snort of derisive laughter he strode from the room, only the crash of the door behind him equalling the crescendo of his temper.

Next morning Ellie had a call from the Centre. It was Rafe. He had returned late from his dinner date and left before Ellie stirred next morning. ‘Any chance of your driving over here and giving me a hand?’ he was asking. ‘Vivienne Carr’s been admitted and we need to get that ECG done. And I could use your help in my clinic this afternoon. What I need you to do is interview all the new patients and write me up a detailed case history. Mary will sit in with you and do the translating if there’s a language problem.’ He sounded perfectly normal. Yesterday might never have happened.

Business as usual, thought Ellie happily. She hated it when there was bad feeling between them. ‘Of course! I’ll come straight over.’

‘Clinic starts at one-thirty. Drive carefully.’

That was nice of him. Ellie felt a glow of warmth at being needed. Rafe must have arranged for Viv to be transported by ambulance for Rico’s flight wasn’t due till the afternoon. Viv would be dreadfully scared, but the staff were so kind and so understanding. She couldn’t be in better hands, she simply couldn’t.

‘I’ve scheduled Mrs Carr for tomorrow morning’, said Rafe studying the ECG results. ‘Might as well get it over and done with – give her less time to get worked up. Let’s go and tell her.’

As they passed Room Ten, Ellie noted how his eyes moved automatically to look through the observation window. Mary was in there, sitting by the still form on the bed, her head in its white veil bent over the textbook she was studying in readiness for RGN training in London. ‘Rafe, what exactly is wrong with that patient?’ she began, but Rafe was already at Vivienne’s door and looking back to see where Ellie had got to.

‘You have a diseased heart valve, Mrs Carr,’ he explained gently to Vivienne who was lying there in full make-up and a peach silk nightdress. ‘This puts an unsustainable burden on your heart. And you see, that’s why you’ve been feeling so tired recently, and so unwell. With your permission, I would like to operate in the morning so we can get you back to being your old self as soon as possible.’ Rafe was so calm and so reassuring; and he made it sound as if he was going to give the actress a present she was simply going to love … which, thought Ellie, was just what he was going to do, if you thought about it, for he was giving Vivienne back her life!

‘
So
kind,’ whispered Vivienne breathlessly. ‘So very kind.’

‘Then I’ll see you at eight in the morning,’ promised Rafe, putting his warm hand over hers. ‘You’ll be sedated so you probably won’t remember anything about it, but I shall come to your room and say hello.’

‘When you’re ready to convalesce, you’re going to be spoiled five-star style in the Belmira. How does that sound?’ smiled Ellie. ‘I’m really rather jealous.’

I bet you are, thought Rafe, moving on to the next patient. Ellie stayed with Vivienne, reassuring her that she would be there in theatre with her. That this was the most routine sort of surgery for someone like Mr Harland, that she was in the care of a very safe pair of hands.

‘You’ll be there with me,’ said Viv thankfully. ‘You brave girl. I do hope it won’t be a sickening experience for you. Do you do things like mop the surgeon’s brow? I had to do that once in a film, I remember, I wore a sky-blue gown … The surgeon was that
divine
Roger Moore. Our eyes met over our masks and we fell
instantly
in love.’ Ellie gave a shriek of laughter, instantly clapping a hand over her mouth so no one else should hear. ‘That is SO not what goes on in an operating theatre! Look, Viv, I’m afraid I must go … but you’ve given me something to smile about for the rest of the day!’

At the end of his clinic, Rafe came into the office where Ellie was checking through the manila folders in readiness for passing on the patients’ notes to the secretaries who would send out his letters.

‘Well done you,’ he complimented, ‘picking up that man with the white ring around the eye pupils. Speeds things up for me no end if I’ve got a decent case history to go on.’

‘I’ve really enjoyed this afternoon,’ beamed Ellie, stacking the pile of folders on a trolley.

‘Nurses are so highly trained today – in some areas you’re as skilled as medical students.’ He watched her for a moment or two, then asked, ‘Are you scrubbing for me tomorrow?’

‘Sister has asked me to be your runner.’ Sister Cecilia had commented that it would be interesting for Ellie to watch one of Mr Harland’s ops. ‘He’s a lovely man,’ said the cheerful head of theatres, ‘if you don’t let him smell the fear.’ She gave one of her wicked chuckles which demonstrated how these nuns from a nursing order had the measure of Rafe Harland: fearing no man and loving all, surgeon of eminence or down-and-out bottom of the pile. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just take these down to the clerical office.’

‘Well, see you back home,’ he said, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat, his eyes glued to that neat back and tiny waist above the rounded hips. He supposed he could go on ahead since he was finished for the day, but he would make one last visit to Teresa before he left…

Dr Flora was in the office when Ellie and Rafe arrived next morning. And she was not alone. Two local surgeons, themselves cardio-thoracic specialists, were working with Mr Harland while in the process of completing two years of advanced training in heart and lung surgery. Today they were going to observe while Dr Flora assisted, so Rafe began to run through the day’s list, beginning with Vivienne Carr’s case. Both men spoke excellent English and Ellie hung about outside the office for a moment, eavesdropping. ‘Patient with diseased heart valve. Has had bypass surgery – was it …?’

‘Eleven years ago,’ prompted Dr Flora reading from the notes.

‘Can we see the X-rays again?’

There came a brief pause. Rafe didn’t need to point out to these two experienced surgeons the scar tissue showing up as large white patches. ‘Those adhesions are going to give you problems,’ Ellie heard one say.

Ellie tiptoed away, her heart in her boots. When she had questioned him, Rafe had been non-committal. ‘Many of the details of an operation can only be decided once the chest is open. You need to be able to see and touch the problems.’

‘But Viv’s op
is
going to be quite straightforward, isn’t it?’

‘Ellie I know you want me to reassure you, but all I can say is that every case is different. What’s going to work with one mis-shapen mitral valve won’t work with the next, so the surgeon in charge has to be ready with an instant response. It’s high-wire surgery. You’re constantly making life-or-death decisions.’

It sounded so matter-of-fact, so clinical. So terrifying.
So
brave!
Ellie sighed and bit her lip.

Rafe heard that sigh and saw how Ellie couldn’t meet his gaze. Then a shudder ran through her as the enormity of it all took hold. He reached out and took hold of those trembling shoulders. Maybe she thought Rico might marry her. That Vivienne Carr might one day be her mother-in-law. She had grown so fond of the actress. No - he couldn’t say it. Could not say it. Couldn’t warn Ellie she was living a foolish dream. That would just be cruel.

Rafe tightened his grip and gave her a gentle shake to make her look up at him. ‘I never forget,’ he said quietly, ‘that behind each surgery is a human life. With each case I ask myself, ‘If this person was my father, my sister, my child, what would I do? Some surgeons think you should always be detached. But for me it’s the only way I can do my job.’ His hands squeezed her shoulders and Ellie felt tears burning behind her eyes. ‘You going to be okay? Sure you want to be in theatre?’

‘I’ll be fine. Truly,’ she promised. After all, she was only the runner and would be the least important person there. The runner didn’t scrub with the rest of the surgical team but was designated the ‘dirty’ nurse, handling the unsterile and used equipment that the ‘clean’ staff must not touch. And yes – a flicker of a smile – she would indeed be mopping any brow in need of it. She’d be able to watch Rafe operate without playing an intrusive part in the action. And she wouldn’t crack up. Or faint. ‘Absolutely fine,’ she repeated firmly.

V
ivienne lay supine on the black cushions of the operating table, the intense glare of the surgical lights directed upon her unconscious body. Green-clad figures moved purposefully back and forth, shrouding the recumbent form with sterile towels, guiding instrument trolleys into position, while the anaesthetist, a nervy little Portuguese, checked over his patient's level of consciousness.

Ellie in white dress and white theatre clogs was an outward picture of calm but she was horribly aware that her friend was about to undergo a major operation. Just as well that Viv had been heavily sedated before being wheeled into such an alien environment - all shining surfaces and blinking monitors and that bright dead light. Now she lay peacefully amidst a forest of glistening tubes and wires while the anaesthetist and nurses worked busily on her, putting the patient into the right position on the table and preparing her for traumatic surgery.

Ellie waited with bated breath for the surgeons to appear. The anaesthetist was continually darting uneasy glances towards the door Rafe would walk through. Scrub Sister's eyes twinkled kindly at him above her mask as she passed a general comment that Mr Harland seemed in excellent humour. Ellie, in her state of acute awareness, felt a lift in the atmosphere and joined in the evident sigh of relief.

The doors swung open. In strode two figures, capped and gowned, almost comical in juxtaposition, one so tall, the other so short, yet both exuding a tangible sense of confidence that their powerful skills were more than equal to the challenges ahead. Closely following came the two local cardiothoracic surgeons, similarly scrubbed and green-gowned. As lead surgeon Rafe took his place on the right side of the table and the observing surgeons positioned themselves on either side so as to be in perfect position to see the how and the why behind every move he made.

Both he and Dr Flora wore bright headlamps, and goggles with a jeweller’s eyepiece for each eye. Rafe was magnetic yet unrecognisable and Ellie couldn’t take her eyes from him.

The atmosphere was electric with his impatient vitality. Ellie's throat ached with pride. But she forced herself to stop gawping like a raw recruit and concentrate on playing an efficient, if insignificant, part of the action. Would he look at her? Had he seen her? There was no way she could tell…