The Proud Italian

by Alison Roberts

  Somehow he had to get the cogs to fit inside each other. To show Abbie that, by doing so, the ‘machine’ of them being together would be stronger. Able to do so much more. Could last for ever, like a beautifully crafted clock.

  But marriage wasn’t a machine, was it? He was thinking about this all the wrong way. And maybe it was that kind of thinking that had caused their problems right from the start.

  Waiting by the lift when he’d left his junior staff to follow up on any new orders for his patients, Rafael couldn’t shake off the disturbing undercurrent his analogy of timepieces had left him with.

  You couldn’t divorce emotion from things that happened to people. He was too good at standing back and seeing the big picture without the emotional layers. The way he had when it had come to making that decision about Ella’s experimental treatment. Perhaps the way he had when he’d voiced that ‘all or nothing’ ultimatum about their marriage? When he looked at the big picture, he saw it in terms of benefit versus suffering for the individual involved from a clinical perspective.

  Abbie was the opposite. She saw the same big picture, but her scales weighed the emotions of everybody involved and not just the patient at the centre of the decision to be made. And the results she came up with were very different sometimes.

  But not wrong.

  Rafael knew that. He also knew that he’d made things much worse while Abbie and Ella had been away in New York. He’d buried himself in his work and when he had thought about his family, the fear that he would never see his daughter again had been easily shrouded in anger and then resentment towards Abbie. He’d been cool and clipped in any communication. No wonder it had trailed away into impersonal emails and text messages.

  But how did you go about changing something that was a part of your personality? How could you learn to feel the things that someone like Abbie could feel?

  By finding someone to teach you?

  The lift doors slid open in front of him but, instead of stepping in, Rafael turned swiftly and headed for the stairs.

  Abbie knew it was Rafael coming into the theatre without even having to turn her head.

  What she didn’t know was why he had come in. The surgery for the grade-three microtia on seven-year-old Annabelle was well under way. Rib cartilage had been harvested and Abbie was sculpting the new ear. She had to look up for a second as Rafael stepped closer, however. Had something happened to Ella?

  The eye contact was reassuring. ‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ Rafael said. ‘I just had the urge to come and watch an artist at work.’

  Abbie blinked. ‘Really? What brought this on?’

  ‘I was checking Lucy. Admiring your needlework. And then I remembered you were doing this today and it’s been a long time since I’ve watched the procedure. Do you mind?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Hardly. He had been admiring her work? Wanted to watch ‘an artist’? How could anyone object to such a professional accolade?

  It put the pressure on a little more, though. Not that Abbie hadn’t been doing her best before but now she was determined to make this perfect.

  ‘This is Annabelle,’ she told Rafael. ‘She’s been waiting a long time for this surgery but I needed her to be old enough to have sufficient rib cartilage to harvest.’

  ‘She could have had the surgery much younger with a Medpor reconstruction, couldn’t she?’

  Was Rafael criticising her choice? Abbie couldn’t help sounding a little defensive.

  ‘Using an artificial framework means that the ear can’t match the other one perfectly. It also doesn’t grow with the child. This creates an ear that’s alive. One that’s going to last a lifetime.’

  ‘But not many surgeons are gifted enough to do it well. Annabelle is lucky to have found you.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the team. Abbie shook off the praise. ‘I think she chose me because I said I’d put an earring in to match her other ear so it’ll be there when the bandage comes off for the first time next week.’

  Happy with the shape of the outer ear she had carved from the cartilage, Abbie turned her attention to the peanut-shaped deformity that had been Annabelle’s right ear until now. She could use the lower part for the ear lobe. The tiny gold stud earring was bathed in disinfectant and waiting in a kidney dish nearby.

  Rafael was watching her examination of the deformed ear tissue.

  ‘She must have been teased a lot at school.’

  ‘Yes. She’s kept it covered pretty well with her hair but she was very self-conscious about it. Her mother said they had all sorts of problems when she was expected to do swimming at school.’

  ‘Has it affected her badly, do you think?’

  ‘Well, she’s very shy. Hard to say whether she would have been more outgoing without the deformity but I’m sure it’s contributed. It would have become progressively more of an issue as she got older, of course.’

  ‘Si… It would be torture for a teenage girl to look so different.’

  ‘Mmm. That’s why I favour the rib graft method. She’ll need a bit more surgery to refine things down the track but by the time Annabelle’s interested in boys, her ear will look and feel as if it’s always been there.’

  This was weird. She might have expected a keen interest from Rafael but Abbie would never have picked that it would focus on the emotional side of the surgery and its aftermath. Why wasn’t he asking about the dimensions of the suture material she was using? Or the technique for elevating a skin flap to preserve all the hair follicles so that Annabelle wouldn’t be left with a bald patch?

  ‘She has conduction deafness, I assume?’

  ‘Yes. There’s no ear canal or eardrum on this side.’ That was more like it. A clinical query.

  ‘Is that causing problems for her? Or her family?’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be.’ He was doing it again. Looking past the clinical picture and considering the bigger, emotional picture. Something was going on in his head, Abbie realised. He was making a deliberate effort. To connect with her way of thinking about patients, perhaps?

  Whatever it was, she liked it.

  ‘They’re under the care of an audiologist to make sure they look after the good side.’ Abbie was peering through the magnifying lenses she wore to make tiny stitches that attached the ear lobe to the new part she had crafted. ‘I think they’re all more concerned about the cosmetic side of it all at the moment, though.’

  She checked again that the lobe was at exactly the same level as Annabelle’s other ear.

  ‘Looking good.’ Her registrar nodded. ‘You ready for the earring?’

  Abbie grinned. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Even when the surgery was completed, the pressure dressing in place and protected with the plastic cup that was taped on, Rafael didn’t seem inclined to talk about anything clinical.

  ‘Were you happy with Lucy’s progress?’

  ‘She’s doing well, isn’t she?’ Abbie stripped off her mask and gloves. ‘I’ll be happier when she can eat again, though. She’s lost quite a lot of weight.’

  ‘I’ve arranged for a physiotherapist who specialises in maxillofacial injuries to start working with her. Her grandmother’s keen to help, too.’

  ‘It’s great that she’s got the family support there.’ But Abbie sighed as she pulled off her gown. ‘Her mother’s still in ICU. It’s not looking hopeful.’

  ‘And the father?’

  ‘Not in the picture.’ Abbie balled up the gown and threw it in the bin. ‘Hasn’t been since she was a baby.’ A broken family. The kind that Abbie didn’t want for Ella. Or for herself or Rafael, for that matter. She forced a smile to her lips.

  ‘On a more positive note, I found a gorgeous dress and shoes for the wedding tomorrow. Did you get your suit cleaned?’

  ‘I have to pick it up at the dry-cleaner’s after work.’

  ‘But you’ll come and see Ella later?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The smile was genuine th
is time. ‘We’ll look forward to that.’

  ‘Me also. And tomorrow…the wedding? It will be another date for us, perhaps?’

  The hopeful expression in Rafael’s eyes almost undid Abbie completely. If they weren’t still standing in Theatre, with staff busy around them cleaning up after Annabelle had been taken to Recovery, she might have thrown her arms around his neck. Stood on tiptoe to provide reassurance with a kiss.

  But all she could do was smile. And offer a quiet word that was only for Rafael.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE PHOTOGRAPHS OF this wedding would grace the pages of any magazine devoted to the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

  As a venue, Claridge’s was simply one of the best London could offer. Intimate tables for the wedding breakfast, which seated only three or four people each, could be seen in an adjoining area, draped in white cloth with centrepieces of trios of white roses in simple vases amidst sparkling crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. Larger arrangements of flowers, also white, were dotted everywhere amongst the pillars.

  The area that Rafael and Abbie were ushered to be seated was also extremely elegant. There would be many more people arriving for the reception but the ceremony itself was more private and a semicircle of comfortably padded chairs for the guests was arranged beneath a spectacular chandelier, giving everybody a clear view of the sweeping staircase that the bride would come down to make her entrance. The seats were mostly filled by the time Abbie and Rafael edged into the back row. She said hello to Lexi Robbins, Head of PR at the Hunter Clinic. Lexi was holding hands with the man on her other side, surgeon Iain McKenzie, and it was almost palpable how much in love these two were. Neither of them was particularly aware of the existence of anybody else and their private, whispered communication was probably about a different wedding. One that they would be starring in themselves in the not-too-distant future.

  It was a very different wedding that Abbie couldn’t help thinking about, too. Sitting here, all dressed up, it felt like she and Rafael were in a silent little bubble amongst the other guests. A tense kind of silence. Was he also thinking about the last wedding he had attended?

  Their wedding?

  The memory of that day was blurry. If it wasn’t for the photograph taken on the steps of the registry office and the ring she still wore on her finger, it would be easy to believe that it had never really happened. They’d done it all too fast, hadn’t they? It was all rather a blur. Falling in love with Rafael, finding out she was pregnant and then buying the apartment and getting married within just a few weeks.

  Would it have all been different if she hadn’t been pregnant?

  Of course it would.

  Would Rafael have even proposed if things had been different?

  Abbie stole a sideways glance at him but Rafael’s line of vision was firmly fixed elsewhere. As the muted buzz of conversation faded around her, Abbie’s head turned as well. Within moments of Lizzie appearing, the only sound around her was the soft classical music of the string quartet in the background. Leo stood near the foot of the staircase with Ethan beside him—Abbie had heard how Lizzie had convinced Ethan to be Leo’s best man after he’d originally refused due to their strained relationship—and, like everyone else now, the groom’s gaze was fixed on Lizzie as she came slowly down, her bridesmaid several steps behind her.

  Her dress was gorgeous. Simple but striking with cap sleeves of the lace that overlaid the rest of the dress and a slim belt with a silver buckle above soft folds of fabric that flowed over the stairs and then grazed the black and white marble of the chequerboard floor. The bouquet she carried was simply a bunch of the same perfect white roses that were the centrepieces on the tables. Leo and Ethan had matching white rosebuds as buttonholes in their classic, dark morning suit jackets over pinstriped grey trousers.

  The wedding vows exchanged were traditional. The same words that Rafael and Abbie had said to each other.

  To have and to hold… For better or for worse… In sickness and in health…

  To love and to cherish, from this day forward, until death us do part…

  Maybe the memories of her own wedding day weren’t that blurry after all. The words echoed in her head but something strange was happening in the rest of her body. Her heart was back in that registry office. Full to bursting with so much love.

  So many hopes and dreams for her future with this wonderful man.

  Her breath must have caught audibly. Not that anyone else would have noticed Rafael’s attention being diverted but his body was suddenly closer. Touching hers. With no conscious thought on her part, Abbie found her hand stealing into Rafael’s. Their fingers laced together and the grip was tight enough to know that she wasn’t the only one being swamped by emotion.

  They had vowed to love each other. In sickness and in health. Did it matter if it was Ella’s health rather than either of theirs?

  Of course it didn’t.

  Had they broken their vows? They were still married, weren’t they?

  Abbie was fighting tears as she watched the tender first kiss of the newlyweds in front of them.

  Yes. She and Rafael had broken their vows because they hadn’t cherished each other. And the fault was on both sides.

  But how could they have given each other what they’d needed when they hadn’t really known each other? They had both wanted the best for Ella. Rafael must be feeling so guilty now, thinking that he had been ready to give up, and here she was, defying the odds.

  Abbie squeezed his hand more tightly and was grateful for the answering pressure. And then they both turned their heads as the clapping around them started and Abbie could have drowned in the depths she saw in Rafael’s eyes. She couldn’t pull her hand free to join in the congratulatory clapping. She couldn’t look away from Rafael’s gaze either.

  This moment took her straight back to their own wedding. To the way Rafael had looked at her in the heartbeat after the celebrant had told him he could kiss his bride.

  It was the most natural thing in the world for him to tilt his head towards her now and for Abbie to raise her face.

  A soft kiss. Nothing like the explosive release of need that had happened in the changing room. This was tender. Too brief but long enough.

  A cherishing kind of kiss…

  ‘You’re crying, cara.’ Rafael studied her face as he raised his head again. He used the pad of his thumb to brush away a tear.

  ‘It’s a wedding.’ Abbie sniffed and dipped her head, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose to force back any more tears. She looked up and tried to smile. ‘You’re allowed to cry.’

  ‘Si…’ Rafael was smiling back at her. ‘You’re lucky we didn’t get married in Italy. The whole village might have been crying.’

  Abbie snorted softly but the sound was poignant. The registry office had only been supposed to be a first wedding—getting the formal paperwork out of the way—because Abbie hadn’t wanted to be a pregnant bride. Rafael had promised he would take her to Italy as soon as the baby could travel and they could do it all again in a village church on his beloved Amalfi Coast. She would have a beautiful dress and their families would be able to share the celebration not only of their union but the start of their family.

  Was it another dream that was nothing but dust now? She had to clear her throat. ‘Happy crying, I hope.’

  ‘Of course. What else?’ But Rafael’s gaze had moved.

  Somebody was turning from a chair in the next row to greet him and conversations were starting again around them as the newlyweds moved on to sign the register. They would disappear for photographs soon and Abbie knew that the gathering would become a glittering social occasion as the wider circle of guests arrived. There were rumours that royalty was expected, even, as some of the Hunter brothers’ clients had been invited to share this celebration.

  Suddenly Abbie didn’t want to be part of it.

  She wanted to be alone somewhere.
>
  With her own husband.

  Maybe he felt the same way. Maybe that was why Rafael kept hold of Abbie’s hand when they were free to move around and mingle.

  Abbie wasn’t complaining.

  It felt better than good. It felt right.

  There was no shortage of people they knew to talk to and groups formed as champagne and canapés were served by an army of waiting staff. Friends and family of the bride and groom drifted into one group and the medical personnel from the Hunter Clinic, the Lighthouse Children’s Hospital and Princess Catherine’s made up another.

  ‘Abbie…what a gorgeous dress.’ The office manager from the clinic, Gwen, was balancing a glass in one hand and what looked like a tiny square of rye bread topped with caviar in the other.

  Rafael nodded his approval of the compliment. The new rose-pink dress was gorgeous but, in his opinion, it only worked because it made Abbie’s skin and hair look irresistibly beautiful. An elegant version of the picnic frock she had worn to the park the other day when she’d taken his breath away.

  ‘Thanks, Gwen. I love your hat, too.’ Abbie was eyeing the froth of flowers and feathers on Gwen’s head. ‘Though it’s more of a fascinator, isn’t it?’

  ‘A hybrid.’ Gwen smiled. ‘I believe it’s called a “hatinator.” Whatever next?’ She looked at the canapé her hand. ‘This is my second one of these. They’re simply delicious.’ She glanced from Abbie to Rafael. ‘You’re not eating?’

  ‘I wanted to hold my wife’s hand,’ Rafael said solemnly. ‘But I couldn’t refuse a glass of champagne. What is a man to do?’

  He could feel an increase of pressure from the fingers entwined with his. Was Abbie privately expressing her approval of this contact?

  He really didn’t want to be here, being sociable, any more. He wanted to be alone somewhere.

  With Abbie.

  Gwen laughed. ‘Now, there’s an idea. A new kind of diet. You could write a book and become famous.’

  ‘He’s already famous.’ Another figure joined their conversation. ‘I hear that they want to make a movie about transforming the lives of Afghan children and Hollywood is demanding Mr Rafael de Luca as the star.’