The Latin Surgeon Read online

  He had joined the partnership at the Roseberry Clinic at the instigation of his friend and partner, Theo McFarlane, with whom he had trained at medical school and who had gone on to work with him for a time in Buenos Aires. But already he was questioning the move, just as right now he was wondering whether he would live to regret agreeing to the locum work here at St Joseph’s. His friends meant well, he knew that, just as he knew that by trying to open up new opportunities for him and presenting him with new challenges, they were trying to help him to move on in his life. What none of them understood was the fact that not only would he never move on from what he’d had with Consuela but that he didn’t even want to.

  A sudden knock at the door jolted him out of his reverie and caused him to turn sharply. ‘Come in,’ he called.

  The door opened and the staff nurse who had nearly killed him earlier that day stood on the threshold. ‘I’ve brought you the reports you wanted,’ she said. Did her chin tilt ever so defiantly or was he imagining it? She’d been quite abrasive toward him when he’d hinted she’d been driving too fast did she intend to keep up this hostile attitude towards him? Well, if so, that was fine by him, he thought almost angrily. He had far more important things on his mind than whether or not some silly little red-haired nurse was hell-bent on waging some ridiculous vendetta. He still thought she’d been driving too fast, especially when entering hospital grounds.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied tersely. ‘Is Mrs Reece back in the ward yet?’

  ‘Yes—will you come and see her before you go?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. She turned to go and he noticed that her hair was caught up in a black velvet band. Earlier, when he’d first seen her in the car when she had all but flattened him, it had been loose—a wild, fiery cloud. He’d never been attracted to red-haired women—never known many, in fact. Most of the women he’d ever known had been dark, with black hair, olive complexions and dark eyes—just like Consuela…

  ‘I’ll be along shortly,’ he said, suddenly feeling he needed to say something else, ‘and I’ll see Mr Freeman as well. Has he come round yet?’

  ‘Yes, I believe so.’ She turned and glanced back at him, and he noticed that her eyes were green and her skin pale—creamy almost. ‘I believe sister wanted to talk to you about pain control.’

  ‘Very well.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you, Nurse.’

  The door clicked shut behind her and with a sigh he turned back to the window. Should he have said something about earlier? She’d accused him of not looking where he’d been going—had that been true? Probably, he told himself reluctantly. No doubt once again he’d been deeply immersed in thoughts of Consuela and had been totally unaware of what had been going on around him. But that didn’t alter the fact that she had been driving too fast in the first place.

  ‘What was all that about on the ward this morning?’

  Lara was nearing the end of her shift when Sue waylaid her. ‘All what?’ she asked with a little sigh, knowing full well what the sister was referring to.

  ‘All that between you and Mr Ricardo—about you nearly running him over. Was it true?’

  ‘Yes, actually, it was.’ Lara nodded. ‘Like I said at the time, he wasn’t looking where he was going.’

  ‘Well, maybe he wasn’t, but did you have to react quite so strongly, and on his first day at that?’ asked Sue.

  ‘He as good as accused me of speeding,’ Lara declared hotly.

  ‘And you weren’t?’ Sue raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Of course not,’ Lara retorted. ‘Well, I might have been,’ she added, catching Sue’s rather sceptical expression. ‘Just a little bit. But I still say he should have looked before stepping onto the road. Let’s face it, Sue, if I’d hit him and he’d been injured or, heaven forbid, killed, I would have got the blame.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t doubt that,’ said Sue, ‘but I just feel it was a shame that you got off to such a bad start with him. After all, he’s going to be around quite a bit if he’s taking Mr Sylvester’s place.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose…’ Lara shrugged.

  ‘And from what I’ve heard about him he’s good—very good. We were actually very lucky to get him.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t doubt it,’ Lara said. ‘All right, Sue,’ she added, when it appeared that the ward sister was waiting for her to say something further, ‘I’ll do my best to get on with him—for the sake of the unit.’

  ‘Right, Lara,’ Sue said briskly. ‘You know how much store I set by the smooth running of this place.’

  ‘Yes, Sue, I know you do.’ Lara glanced up as a tall figure came through the double doors onto the wards. ‘Uh-oh,’ she said, ‘speak of the devil…’

  For a moment it seemed as if he knew they had been talking about him as he glanced from Sue to Lara then back to Sue again.

  ‘Mr Ricardo,’ said Sue, ‘can we help you? I thought you would have gone by now.’

  ‘I would like to take a look at the two skin-graft patients before I go,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, right, very well.’ Sue sounded surprised. It was unusual to say the least for the surgeon to come back onto the ward unless there had been any complications during surgery. ‘Lara…’ she half turned ‘…would you take Mr Ricardo onto the ward, please?’

  Lara wanted to refuse, to say that her shift was all but over, that she was in a hurry, had Callum to pick up from school, but somehow, in the light of their recent conversation, she didn’t quite dare. ‘Of course,’ she heard herself murmur dutifully. ‘If you’d like to come with me, Mr Ricardo.’

  Without a word he fell into step beside her and together they entered one of the ward’s four-bedded bays. Jennifer was recovering in the bed nearest the entrance, her face covered in dressings.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Reece—Jennifer.’ The surgeon went right up to her and leaned over the bed. ‘Are you comfortable?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, realising who her visitor was. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Ricardo.’

  ‘No pain?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Not really. My leg actually feels more tender than my face, if I’m honest.’

  ‘It is very often the case,’ he replied, ‘that the donor site is more painful than the recipient site. But we can give you something for the pain…’ He half turned to Lara but Jennifer interrupted.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘Sister gave me an injection about ten minutes ago—I’m just waiting for it to work.’

  ‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Your operation went very well, Jennifer,’ he said in the same gentle tone. Lara presumed that his faint accent was Spanish—the language spoken in Argentina. ‘I was very satisfied with the graft and I hope you will be also,’ he went on. ‘I am also very optimistic that there will be minimum scarring of both your face and your thigh.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jennifer, and Lara saw tears well up in the eye that was not covered by the gauze dressings that masked the other side of her face. ‘Thank you so much. Mr Ricardo?’ she said, when he would have moved away.

  ‘Yes?’ He paused at the side of the bed and looked down at his patient.

  ‘I’m sorry I caused such a fuss earlier about who was to do my skin graft.’

  ‘Think no more of it,’ he said softly. ‘It was quite understandable that you should feel apprehensive. After all, you had never set eyes on me before in your life—how could you be expected to trust your face to me?’

  Suddenly Lara felt her own emotions rise dangerously close to the surface. Was this apology time? Maybe she, too, should apologise for having nearly killed this man. Maybe, just maybe, she had been driving just a teeny bit faster than she should have been. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to get carried away by the emotional tide that was very often present at the bedside of a patient. And then, before she had the chance to think more on the subject, he had moved away from the bed and she was escorting him to another bay where they found that the second patient to receive a skin graft that day was sleeping.

  ‘Don’
t disturb him,’ Mr Ricardo said quietly. ‘I shall be back here in a couple of days’ time—I’ll see him then.’

  And then it was over. The surgeon returned to his consulting room after solemnly thanking Lara, and she came off her shift and hurried to the changing rooms to change out of her uniform and into her day clothes. An anxious glance at the clock told her that she would have to hurry if she was to be at the school in time to pick up Callum. Pulling the band from her hair, she thankfully shook it free then stepped out of her trousers and tunic and pulled on her sweater and jeans. Within moments she was out of the building and hurrying through the grounds to the car park.

  It was still cold and very windy, and to make matters even worse it had started to rain. Lara didn’t mind wind—in fact, she quite liked a walk when it was windy, enjoying the feel of the wind on her face and through her hair. She didn’t really mind the rain either, providing it was of the soft and gentle variety. What she couldn’t abide was the wind and rain together just as it was now, when it came in great gusts, stinging the face and drenching her in a matter of minutes. Once in her car she gave a sigh of relief and slammed the door behind her then immediately started the engine and switched on the windscreen wipers.

  Her journey through the hospital grounds to the main entrance was uneventful but as she turned onto the road she suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure. Hunched against the rain and battling the wind, dressed once again in the long, black overcoat and with one hand holding on to the black fedora, Andres Ricardo was striding along the pavement by the iron railings that formed the hospital boundary.

  At least he’s on the pavement and not on the road, thought Lara as she passed him. No fear of running him down this time. She glanced in her rear-view mirror. He looked cold and, no doubt, quite soon in this rain he would be wet through as well. But she couldn’t stop—could she? She was in too much of a hurry. He’d be going to the station—she’d heard him telling Sue that he’d come down on the train. And the station was on her way to Callum’s school.

  She indicated and pulled in to the side of the road. Within seconds he’d drawn alongside her. Leaning across, she wound down the window on the passenger side. ‘Are you going to the station?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, his expression one of surprise.

  ‘Would you like a lift?’

  ‘That is most kind.’ Opening the car door, he somehow folded his tall frame into the passenger seat of her car, slammed the door and fastened his seat belt.

  Almost with a sense of disbelief at what she had done, Lara signalled and drew away from the kerb.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ANDRES couldn’t believe Lara had stopped and offered him a lift, not after what had happened that morning. As they drew away from the kerb he threw her a curious sidelong glance. The black velvet band had gone now and once again her hair was loose—that fiery cloud around her head against the rich, creamy texture of her skin. Her colouring, while not of the type that had attracted him in the past, he found somewhat to his surprise fascinated him now, probably because of the strong contrast between her and the women from home.

  ‘This is very good of you,’ he said at last, breaking the silence between them, which was threatening to become embarrassing.

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied crisply. ‘The weather’s dreadful and, besides, I pass the station on the way to the school.’

  ‘You have a child to pick up?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Then half an hour later his brother and sister from another school.’

  ‘I see.’ He paused, finding himself wondering for some reason if she was a single mother. ‘This is a busy life you lead.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it is.’ She fell silent again and quite suddenly he felt compelled to say something, anything, about that morning. After all, she hadn’t had to stop to give him a lift and in the circumstances it was surprising that she had. He would have thought it much more likely for her to have left him to battle it out against the wind and the rain.

  He cleared his throat. ‘About earlier…’ he began.

  ‘What about earlier?’ Her voice was sharper and she half turned her head as if once again she was preparing to go on the defensive.

  ‘I’m willing to admit I may not have been concentrating as much as I should have been,’ he said at last. There, he’d said it now. A second glance in her direction saw her chin tilt in that defiant way it had earlier on the ward, and he braced himself for a fresh onslaught as she berated him anew. To his surprise, however, she drew in her breath sharply.

  ‘And I may have been going a little faster than I should have been,’ she said.

  ‘Shall we call it quits?’ he said lightly.

  ‘If you like.’ She gave a little shrug of her shoulders and he suddenly caught the scent of the perfume she was wearing, not a heavy, expensive scent of the type he was used to, but a light, fresh, floral fragrance which for some reason reminded him of fields of summer flowers beneath blue skies.

  ‘Have you been at the burns unit long?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘Three years,’ she replied. ‘Before that I worked in A and E.’

  ‘At St Joseph’s?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘At a hospital in Sussex.’

  ‘So why the change to burns?’ Suddenly he was curious.

  She seemed to hesitate before answering, as if she was wary of letting him know too much about her. ‘I became interested in the treatment of burns after a member of my own family was badly burnt in an accident,’ she replied at last. Then, almost as if she didn’t want any further questions on that subject, she drew the conversation away from herself and onto him. ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’ It was his turn to be wary as he anticipated questions about his private life, questions he wouldn’t want to answer. Clenching his hands, he attempted to concentrate on the mesmerising movement of the windscreen wipers.

  ‘Have you been in this country long?’ she said.

  He relaxed slightly. ‘No, not really—only about three months.’

  ‘Did I hear you say earlier you were from Argentina?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said almost reluctantly. ‘My home is in a town called Cordoba but I’ve been working in Buenos Aires at a huge hospital where I specialised in plastic surgery and skin grafts.’

  ‘And you now have a clinic here in London?’

  Was there again that tilt of her chin or had he imagined it?

  ‘I am in partnership with two other doctors at the Roseberry Clinic in Chelsea.’

  ‘And this is a private clinic?’ she asked.

  In the distance through the rain he saw the sign for the station and knew they were almost there. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it is. We deal mainly with cosmetic surgery.’

  ‘Rich women wanting to change the way they look?’ she asked. She spoke lightly but Andres detected a slightly mocking edge to her tone.

  ‘Not only that,’ he replied. ‘Sometimes surgery is carried out for deeply psychological reasons.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The correction of a feature which has caused a patient deep, ongoing distress,’ he said, ‘or maybe the removal of tattoos, administered in one’s youth and causing problems in later life.’

  ‘So are you missing Argentina, Mr Ricardo?’ she asked as she brought the car to a halt outside the main entrance to the station.

  ‘I miss the hot sun.’ He pulled a face as he peered through the windscreen. ‘And the blue skies. It only seems to have rained since I’ve been here.’

  ‘Oh, we have blue skies, too,’ she said as he undid his seat belt and opened the car door. ‘Just give it time.’

  ‘Thank you for the lift,’ he said as he stood on the pavement, bending his head and holding the door open.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘And by the way,’ he added, ‘the name is Andres.’

  ‘OK.’ A small smile played around her mouth. ‘Mine’s
Lara.’

  He watched her, as with a brief wave of her hand, she drove away then, lifting the collar of his coat, he turned and walked into the station.

  Callum couldn’t find his coat.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Lara. ‘Look, it was on someone else’s peg.’

  ‘Don’t want it on,’ said Callum, pulling a face.

  ‘I think you’d better,’ Lara replied patiently. ‘It’s pouring with rain.’

  ‘Does that mean we can’t go to the park?’ Callum’s expression grew anxious.

  ‘‘Fraid not.’

  ‘But you promised,’ Callum wailed.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know it was going to rain—did I, now?’ she added as together they left the school building and hurried across the playground to the school gates.

  ‘S’ppose not,’ he said, then added, ‘It’s always raining.’

  ‘I know.’ Lara smiled as she realised that Callum’s words had echoed the sentiments of her previous passenger. Andres. She hadn’t known his first name and it had come as a bit of a surprise when he had told her, almost as if he intended her to use it in future instead of the more formal ‘Mr Ricardo.’ She wondered briefly what Sue would say if she starting calling him Andres. Sue hated any form of familiarity in front of the patients. Lara had been surprised when he had all but apologised for the incident outside the hospital earlier that day, even going so far as to suggest that it had been his fault for not concentrating. She had been so surprised, in fact, that she’d found herself admitting that she too might have been partly at fault. She hadn’t intended saying that, and she didn’t really know where it had come from. It was almost as if neither of them wanted to continue any sort of hostility.