Falling for Her Mediterranean Boss

by Anne Fraser

  ‘I feel fine,’ she said. ‘A little anxious perhaps, but other wise fine.’ Although her words were slurred, Julie could understand her perfectly.

  ‘You know we are planning to operate today?’ Pierre told the woman. ‘And while you might not get a full return of movement to your mouth, I am hoping for a great improvement.’ He traced a gentle finger down her line of her jaw. ‘We should also be able to improve the way the scar is pulling down the right side of your mouth.’

  ‘It’s not so much the way it makes me look,’ Mrs Tulloch said. ‘I know I should be grateful the operation was a success and I am grateful. It’s just that it makes my speech and eating so awkward.’

  Pierre turned to Julie, ‘What do you think, Dr McKenzie?’

  Julie bent over Mrs Tulloch. She asked her a few questions then, with the patient’s permission, gently examined her jaw. The incision had healed well, but the scar tissue puckered the skin, pulling the mouth out of shape.

  ‘Looks like Mrs Tulloch has made a good recovery from her initial surgery,’ she said. Pierre passed her the X-ray, which clearly illuminated the tumour prior to surgery. He then passed her another film, which showed the jaw bone with the tumour removed and the grafted piece of bone.

  ‘You were lucky that this was caught when it was.’ Julie smiled down at the woman. ‘And it looks as if the replaced bone in your jaw has healed well.’

  ‘I do feel lucky. If I hadn’t gone to the dentist that week…I nearly didn’t, you know—too much going on—and if he hadn’t been suspicious, it could have been a different story.’

  ‘But it wasn’t. It was caught it in time, and we’ll soon have you looking as close to how you looked before. I can see you were a very attractive woman.’ Pierre grinned at his patient.

  Goodness! Julie thought. Did he flirt with everyone?

  Mrs Tulloch smiled back crookedly. ‘A long time ago perhaps, Dr Favatier. But it would be nice to look more normal again.’

  With a few more words of reassurance Pierre moved away from the bedside and explained to Julie what they were planning to do in Theatre. ‘Of course, you will just be assisting me, but I need you to do exactly as I tell you. I will be operating very close to one of the major facial nerves. We can’t afford any damage there.’

  They crossed the ward to speak to the second patient on their list. Julie looked at his chart. Mike Simpson was a twenty-three-year-old who had come off his motorbike the day before. He had lost a chunk of his calf in the collision and Pierre planned to graft some skin from his thigh to help the wound heal. Mike was sitting up in bed plugged in to his MP3 player, which he removed as soon as they approached. Pierre talked the patient through what he planned to do later in Theatre.

  ‘How long before I can go biking again?’ Mike asked. ‘It’s pretty boring being cooped up inside while all my mates are out having fun.’

  ‘I’d give it at least four weeks for the graft to heal,’ Pierre replied. ‘But your broken leg will take longer.’

  ‘You haven’t been put off, then?’ Julie asked. She knew from the notes that Mike had been lucky to escape with his life from the accident.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ Mike replied. ‘The insurance has already said they’ll pay out and I’ve decided which new bike to buy. A Kawasaki 750. I’ve always wanted one of those beauties.’

  ‘I’ve got a Harley Davidson. I brought it with me from France.’ Pierre said, and as the men launched into a discussion on the various advantages of different motorbikes, Fiona and Julie exchanged a look. Julie knew how Mike felt. After her accident she couldn’t wait to get back on her skis. Being near death’s door wasn’t what had stopped her from skiing competitively—it had simply been that her accident had meant that she’d had too much time off training to be selected for the Olympic squad. That had been almost the worst thing about the accident. All those years of training, getting up in the small hours of the morning to go to the slopes, leaving her parents from a very young age to go abroad to train—all of it—for nothing. Still, she couldn’t regret everything about it. If she hadn’t had the accident she would never gone in for medicine. And now she couldn’t imagine any other life.

  Their next patient was in the paediatric ward. Shona was a girl of ten who was scheduled for an operation to have her ears pinned back. She was shy and clearly overawed by her surroundings. Her anxious mother sat by her bedside, reading to her from a book.

  ‘Phillip Pullman,’ Julie said reading the title. ‘He used to be one of my favourite writers. Still is.’ She grinned down at the young girl, who smiled back.

  ‘But you’re a grown-up,’ she said.

  ‘I think his books are so good anyone can read them, don’t you?’

  While Julie distracted the young girl, Pierre finished examining Shona’s ears.

  ‘You know what we are going to do, petite?’ he said.

  She nodded.

  ‘And you are certain that this is what you want?’

  The girl glanced at her mother, before nodding. Pierre frowned and looked enquiringly at the mother.

  ‘You know, Shona,’ Julie said gently, ‘you don’t have to have the operation if you don’t want to. It’s not a big operation—not at all—but, still, if you’d rather not…’

  The mother glanced at Julie. ‘I’ve told her so many times,’ she said, ‘that there is nothing wrong with her ears.’ She leaned across and stroked her daughter’s head.

  ‘You are such a pretty girl, no one will even notice your ears,’ Pierre said. ‘We discussed this when I saw you yesterday. You know you can still change your mind?’

  The girl looked at the three adults and folded her arms across her chest, a mutinous line to her mouth.

  ‘I want this operation. They tease me at school. They call me Dumbo!’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be teased because of the way you look.’ As she said the words she looked at Julie and her hand flew to her mouth in horror. ‘I’m sorry…I mean…’ she stumbled.

  It took every ounce of Julie’s willpower not to raise her hand and cover her scar. Instead she sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘No one teases me,’ she said. ‘At least, not to my face. They wouldn’t dare. But I do know what it’s like to feel self-conscious about the way you look. It can hurt when people stare at you.’

  Shona nodded, clearly gratified that someone understood. Pierre was watching Julie closely.

  ‘So if you are sure that this is what you want, that is fine. As I said, it’s not a big operation, but you’ll be sore for a while.’ Julie repeated.

  ‘I want it,’ Shona said.

  ‘Then you shall have it, of course,’ Pierre said. ‘I just wanted you to know that you could still change your mind.’

  Pierre and Julie left Fiona finalising the patients’ prep for theatre.

  ‘Let’s go and see Tom in ITU,’ Pierre suggested. ‘I’ve added him to the end of the list. His operation is the trickiest and most time-consuming.’

  As they made their way towards Intensive Care, Pierre stopped and turned to Julie. He lifted long fingers to her face and gently felt along the ridge of her scar. It was all Julie could do not to flinch, but whether it was from embarrassment or the electric tingle she felt from his fingertips, she didn’t want to hazard a guess.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked softly, dropping his hand to his side.

  ‘Accident at speed. While I was skiing,’ she said

  His mouth relaxed.

  ‘Now, why am I not surprised? It seems to me you are someone who enjoys danger,’ he said. ‘Going too fast, I think?’

  ‘It was part of it. I had to go fast. I was training for the woman’s downhill. For the Winter Olympics.’

  Pierre’s eyebrows shot up. He let out a low whistle. ‘Why did you stop competing? Was it because of the accident?’

  ‘Yes, I had missed too much training so I was dropped from the team. I still ski, although now it’s only for pleasure. I go up
north—usually to the Cairngorms—whenever I get the chance.’

  Together they started walking again. Julie was relieved that they had moved on from discussing her face, although she found talking about her aborted skiing hopes no less distressing.

  ‘I’d heard one could ski in Scotland, but I didn’t really believe it. I didn’t think there was enough snow.’ Pierre said, sounding surprised. ‘I would like to see for myself if it is still possible.’

  ‘Oh, there’s plenty of snow still if that’s what you’re worried about.’ Julie reassured him. ‘We haven’t had much the last few seasons, but this year’s made up for it in spades.’

  Pierre frowned. ‘In spades? What do spades have to do with skiing?’

  Julie laughed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s an idiom. It just means there is plenty of something—in this case snow.’ Amazingly she found herself beginning to relax in his company.

  Pierre stopped outside the door of ITU. He looked down at her, his blue eyes searching her face. ‘I should like to see you ski,’ he said. Something in his tone made Julie’s heart thump. ‘Perhaps you could show me these Scottish mountains of yours one day?’

  Confused at the turn the conversation was taking, Julie could only nod. Was he asking her out?

  ‘I have skied all my life,’ he went on. ‘But I haven’t had much chance recently. I find it’s a good way to relax and I know Caroline would like to learn,’ he said, looking thoughtful. ‘Maybe it could be something she and I could do together.’

  Of course, Julie thought. He was thinking about his niece. Not her. Acutely aware of feeling irrationally disappointed, she was relieved when he turned away towards Tom’s bed.

  The DJ was still sedated, and was being monitored by an intensive care nurse called Linda, whom Julie had met several times before when she’d been on General Surgical.

  ‘He’s pretty strong,’ Linda told Pierre and Julie, sounding pleased. ‘We think he’s got a good chance of pulling through.’

  Julie caught her breath when she looked down at the injured man. Swathed in bandages and with tubes everywhere, he looked in no fit state to be operated on.

  ‘Shouldn’t the grafts wait until he’s recovered?’ she asked Pierre.

  ‘The sooner we start doing the grafts the better, believe me,’ he replied. ‘When so much of the skin has been destroyed, there is nothing left to heal and cover the open tissue. As it is, it will take a number of operations before we replace enough skin.’

  As they were making plans for Tom’s future surgery, a young woman with frantic red eyes underscored with dark circles approached the bedside. She had obviously flung on the first thing that had come to hand—crumpled jogging pants and a T-shirt. She looks out of her mind with worry, Julie thought.

  ‘This is Tom’s girlfriend, Trudi. Trudi, this is Drs Favatier and McKenzie,’ Linda introduced them.

  ‘How is he?’ Trudi whispered. ‘Please, tell me he’s going to be all right.’ She blinked, struggling to hold back the tears.

  ‘Trudi has been here for most of the night,’ Linda explained. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to go and get some rest, but she won’t hear of it.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave him,’ Trudi said. ‘I only went to get some coffee to help me stay awake. I’m petrified something will happen to him while I’m not here.’

  ‘We’re not going to let anything happen to him,’ Pierre said firmly. ‘Not after he’s made it this far.’

  ‘You’re the doctor who saved his life!’ Trudi said. ‘They told me it was the French doctor that pulled him out.’ She looked up at Pierre, her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll never forget what you did.’

  Pierre shuffled his feet. ‘Dr McKenzie was there too,’ he said. ‘She spotted him in trouble, and she would have risked her own life to save him. It’s her you should be thanking, not me.’

  Linda’s gaze swung from Pierre to Julie. Julie sensed that this was the first time she had heard about their involvement in the fire and guessed it would be all over the hospital by lunchtime. Inwardly she cringed. She hated drawing attention to herself.

  Trudi turned to Julie and grasped her hands. ‘I’ll never forget either of you,’ she said fiercely. ‘Never.’

  ‘Please,’ Julie said, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t do very much.’ She looked at Pierre in desperation, and was grateful when he seemed to pick up on her extreme discomfort.

  ‘We will talk again later. After the operation,’ he said gently. ‘In the meantime, Dr McKenzie and I are due in Theatre.’

  ‘So that’s four patients we have in Theatre altogether,’ he said as they headed out of ITU. ‘Although Shona’s operation will be quick, the other two will take up the rest of the session. Then lastly we have Tom.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Theatre starts in an hour, so I suggest if you haven’t had something to eat, you get something now. We could be in Theatre for the rest of the day.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, if you wish, I could operate on that scar for you. I do a lot of cosmetic surgery back in France.’

  Julie raised her hand to cover the scar. ‘I am happy with my face the way it is,’ she said stiffly.

  Pierre reached out and, taking her hand, gently pulled it away. ‘It is a beautiful face,’ he said, looking her directly in her eyes. He was so close she could almost distinguish the individual eyelashes framing his deep blue eyes. Eyelashes like that were wasted on a man, she thought, trying to ignore the way her heart had started galloping. Then what he had said sank in. He had called her beautiful. Her heart beat even faster. Did he really believe that? She gave herself a mental shake. No, of course he didn’t, he was just being kind. It was far more likely that he just couldn’t stop himself from complimenting every woman who crossed his path.

  ‘Your bone structure is perfect,’ he continued, scrutinising her face with a professional eye. ‘You are lucky. No amount of plastic surgery can ever improve on that.’

  So it wasn’t really her he was seeing after all! To him she was just another surgical problem he could solve. ‘I’ll see you in Theatre,’ she said abruptly, wanting nothing more than to get away from him so she could still her pounding heart. Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and left him standing in the corridor looking bemused.

  In Theatre Pierre appeared even more assured and confident than ever. Despite herself Julie was very conscious of the dark hairs on his bronze chest that she could see from the V in his scrub top. Only his eyes were visible as they glittered above his mask, and Julie was beginning to develop the un comfortable feeling, as they drilled into hers, that he could read her thoughts. The thought made her cringe. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she, like every other woman, was not immune to his stunning looks and the charisma enveloped him like a cloak. Kim was right. She needed to get a life, she thought with exasperation, before forcing her attention back to the operation. And she needed to concentrate. Regardless of how Pierre viewed her as a woman, above all else she wanted him to think highly of her as a clinician.

  The operations went well and Julie was surprised when she looked up at the clock on the theatre wall to find it was long past five o’clock. She had to admit that, despite his film-star good looks, Pierre was a highly skilled surgeon. Every stroke of the scalpel was sure and confident and, unlike some of the surgeons Julie had worked with, he never seemed impatient when staff were slow to respond to his instructions.

  Before they’d started, Pierre had asked for a CD of Rachmaninov’s third piano concerto to be played. Of course he wasn’t to know the twentieth-century Russian composer was one of Julie’s favourites. As he’d operated, he’d patiently explained to Julie every step of what he was doing. Even when she had fumbled a little with the retractors, he had smiled and simply corrected the movement of her hands. As Theatre progressed, Julie found herself anticipating what he wanted her to do before he asked her. It Theatre at least it seemed as if they were in synch.

  When it was Shona’s turn to b
e wheeled into Theatre, Pierre replaced the Rachmaninov CD with a favourite of the little girl’s. Shona recognised the music straight away and immediately relaxed, chatting with the theatre staff about her favourite bands. Even when the young girl succumbed to the anaesthetic, Pierre insisted that they leave Shona’s music playing. His thoughtfulness impressed her. Maybe there was more to Pierre Favatier than met the eye.

  Eventually, later that day, when Tom had been wheeled out of Theatre and into Recovery, Pierre stripped off his gloves and gown and tossed them into the bin.

  ‘Well done, everyone,’ he said, before addressing Julie directly. ‘Dr McKenzie, it seems you have the makings of a plastic surgeon.’

  Julie was pleased at his praise, although she hadn’t done much except assist. ‘You can do the next otoplasty if you like,’ Pierre had continued.

  ‘Thank you,’ Julie said simply. But she was secretly delighted to know he had confidence in her ability.

  ‘You should go home to rest,’ he added. ‘There’s another list tomorrow. I’ll see you at rounds?’

  ‘I’ll check on the patients first, make sure they have enough pain relief,’ Julie said.

  ‘There is no need. I am happy to check on them. It’s been a long day and after last night you must be tired.’

  ‘I’d rather,’ Julie said. ‘I like to see my patients settled on the ward before I leave for the day.’

  Pierre flashed his perfect white teeth at her. ‘Stubborn, just as I suspected,’ he said. ‘But don’t you have someone, a boyfriend perhaps, waiting for you at home?’ Julie was annoyed to find herself blushing again. Really, it was about time she grew out of this juvenile habit.

  ‘No, not at the moment,’ she said, resisting the impulse to remind him that whether she had a boyfriend or not was none of his business. ‘All I have is a date with the library and a large number of reference books on plastic surgery.’ Now, why had she said that? It made her sound such a loser.

  Pierre looked at her, seeming unusually indecisive.

  ‘How would you feel about joining Caroline and I for dinner tomorrow evening?’ He held up a hand as Julie started to protest. ‘Please? You would be doing me a big favour,’ he said. He ran a rueful hand through his shock of dark hair and Julie was amused to see a lock stand up like a question mark but dismayed to find that she found him even more attractive looking less than immaculate. Was he asking her for a date? Had his question about boyfriends been more than a casual enquiry? Julie’s heart skipped a beat.