The Latin Surgeon

by Laura MacDonald

  “I suppose you would not consider repeating the event?”

  “Repeating the event?” She stared at him, wondering if he meant purely to fool his friends again. “I’m not sure we could keep up the pretense for too long—I’m sure someone would suspect.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting keeping up any pretense,” he said softly. “I was thinking more about you and I getting to know one another properly.”

  She stared at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing, then, as an expression of pure tenderness came into his eyes, she felt her pulse begin to race.

  “Would you like that, Lara?” he asked. Reaching out his hand, he gently touched her cheek.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Andres, I would.”

  Dear Reader,

  I had a single image in my mind before writing The Latin Surgeon: that of a tall man wearing a long black overcoat and a black fedora walking briskly beside iron railings, his head down as he battles against a cold winter wind. I had no idea at the time who he was or where he came from but when I allowed my imagination to run free I found that he came from Argentina, he was a plastic surgeon and he bore some deep anguish from his past.

  Once I was in possession of these facts I couldn’t wait to write his story, and once he’d met Lara, a staff nurse on a burns unit in an English hospital who had many problems of her own, and the chemistry flared between them, there was no holding me back.

  I do hope you have as much pleasure in reading Andres and Lara’s story as I had in writing it.

  With best wishes,

  Laura MacDonald

  The Latin Surgeon

  Laura MacDonald

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE first time she saw him was on a cold January day when the wind chill made it feel far colder than the actual temperature. Dressed in a long, black overcoat and wearing a black fedora, he was walking briskly along a stretch of pavement towards the hospital, but at that time, of course, Lara had no idea who he was. She was in her car, also approaching the hospital, and within a matter of seconds had overtaken him. As she signalled to turn right into the hospital grounds, he caught up with her. She turned, imagining he would stop and wait for her, but to her dismay he appeared not to have seen her and, with his head down against the wind, carried on walking. With a muttered expletive Lara slammed on her brakes, bringing the car to a halt with a squeal of tyres only inches away from the man.

  He stopped short, turning towards her and raising his hands, the gesture a mixture of shock, maybe briefly anger, then irritation as he stepped back onto the kerb to allow her to pass. Very briefly her gaze met his, and beneath the brim of the hat she was aware of olive skin, liquid dark eyes and strong, hawk-like features. With a slight inclination of his head he indicated for her to pass him. Afterwards she was to wonder what it had been about him that had attracted her attention in the first place—the way he moved perhaps, the fact that he was a stranger unknown to her, or maybe it had been his attire. There weren’t too many men of her acquaintance who wore black fedoras. But at the time she was more concerned with the fact that she had almost run him over, and that she was slightly late and needed to move smartly if she was to be on time for report.

  By the time she had parked her car in the area assigned to the burns unit of St Joseph’s hospital, locked it and entered the unit by the staff entrance, there was no sign of the stranger. No doubt he was a visitor, or maybe a patient with an appointment. Unwinding her scarf and pulling off her gloves, Lara hurried into the staff changing room where she found her friend and fellow staff nurse Katie Soames, who had already changed into her uniform and was about to leave for the wards.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ said Katie. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

  ‘I know.’ Lara pulled a face. ‘I’m late. Luke wanted some last-minute help with his homework.’

  ‘The kids are OK?’ Katie looked faintly anxious, no doubt remembering the many problems Lara faced.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Lara nodded. ‘They’re fine.’ She looked frantically around then reached out and touched the doorframe. ‘Touch wood,’ she added hastily. ‘Whenever I say something like that, there is another crisis.’ She didn’t mention the two bills that had arrived that morning—the bills they weren’t sure how they were going to pay. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I must get changed—you go on. Cover for me if you can—I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.’ As the door closed behind Katie, Lara quickly pulled off her coat then her jumper and jeans, replacing them with the smart tunic and tapered trousers she wore on the unit. Pausing in front of the mirror just long enough to draw her unruly mass of auburn curls back from her face and twist them into a band, she hurried from the changing rooms.

  Once on the large, open-plan ward with its central nursing station and four-bedded bays, Lara quickly made her way into the ward sister’s office where the morning report had just got under way. Sue Jackman raised her eyebrows at Lara but made no comment about the fact that she was late, while Lara mouthed the single word ‘Sorry’ and slipped as unobtrusively as possible onto a chair at the back of the room. Desperately she tried to focus her mind and concentrate on what the night sister was telling Sister Jackman and the rest of the day staff.

  A patient had been transferred to the burns unit during the night from St Joseph’s accident and emergency unit with severe burns to his chest and arms following a fire at his home started by a smouldering cigarette. Two other patients were scheduled for Theatre that morning for skin grafts following burns, while the remainder of the patients on the ward were in various stages of recovery from burns sustained in accidents.

  ‘What you may not be aware of this morning,’ said Sue, looking round at her staff over the top of her glasses, ‘is that following Mr Sylvester’s heart attack a locum has had to be found at very short notice to take his place.’

  ‘So have they got someone?’ asked Katie.

  ‘Apparently, yes,’ Sue replied. ‘His name…’ she consulted the papers in her hand ‘…is Mr Ricardo and he is a plastic surgeon in a private clinic in London, but he does locum work from time to time.’

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ said Katie. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Sue shook her head. ‘His name sounds Spanish but, no doubt, we’ll find out soon. He’ll be along shortly to see the two patients who are due for grafts today.’

  When report was over Lara made her way onto the ward where she had been assigned the task of preparing one of the two patients who were to have surgery that morning. The patient’s name was Jennifer Reece and she had suffered disfiguring burns to her face in a fire at her home. Her wounds had been treated on the unit following the accident and a skin graft had been discussed and agreed on with John Sylvester, the consultant surgeon attached to the burns unit.

  ‘So are you saying it won’t be Mr Sylvester doing the operation?’ Jennifer Reece looked at Lara in consternation after hearing that Mr Sylvester was not available.

  ‘That’s right.’ Lara nodded. ‘Mr Sylvester unfortunately is sick at the moment but I understand a locum has been found to take his place.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ said Jennifer anxiously. ‘It’s taken a lot of courage for me to agree to this skin graft in the first place.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lara replied sympathetically, ‘I can imagine, and I know you must be very disappointed, but—’

  ‘So
who is this new man?’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘Well,’ Lara admitted, ‘I don’t know anything much at all at the moment except that he works at a clinic in London that specialises in cosmetic surgery.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Jennifer in alarm. ‘I’ve heard about those clinics—there are a lot of cowboys running those places—you hear all sorts of stories about things going wrong…’

  ‘You mustn’t worry about that,’ said Lara, seeking to reassure her patient. ‘If St Joseph’s has engaged the services of this man as a locum, you can rest assured that he is highly qualified and that his work is of the highest standard. St Joseph’s has a reputation to maintain.’

  ‘Even so, I think I would rather wait until Mr Sylvester comes back,’ Jennifer persisted.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jennifer demanded. ‘He is coming back, isn’t he?’

  ‘Well, we certainly hope so,’ Lara replied, ‘but he has been very ill and it will take him some considerable time to recuperate. I honestly think, Jennifer, that you would be well advised to let this operation go ahead as planned.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know…’

  ‘Look, Sister tells me that this new man is coming onto the ward shortly to meet you and another patient who is going to Theatre today. Why don’t you wait until after you have met him before you make any final decision?’

  ‘Well…all right, then.’ Jennifer still sounded extremely doubtful but at least Lara had persuaded her not to discharge herself from the ward. For the next quarter of an hour Lara completed the paperwork necessary before any operation, checking Jennifer’s medication and history of previous illnesses and operations, only stopping short at the actual consent signature.

  ‘I’m sure the surgeon will be here soon,’ she said as she gathered up the papers. Glancing at Jennifer, she realised that she wasn’t listening, that her attention had been taken by something going on at the entrance to the bay. Turning her head to see what Jennifer was looking at, she realised that Sue Jackman had come into the bay and that a man accompanied her.

  ‘Is that him now?’ asked Jennifer.

  ‘I don’t know…’ Lara began, then stopped. ‘Oh,’ she said as something about the man struck a chord. He was tall, and at first glance his head appeared shaven, but a closer look revealed that his dark hair was cropped very, very close to his head. He wore dark clothes, a jacket and trousers over a black polo-neck shirt. The last time she’d seen him he’d been wearing a black fedora and a long overcoat, but there was no mistaking those liquid dark eyes or that hawk-like profile. She had almost run him over, she thought in sudden dismay as it dawned on her that the new locum and the man who had stepped out in front of her car that very morning were one and the same person.

  ‘Mrs Reece.’ Sue was talking and Lara attempted to concentrate, but for some reason found it difficult under the slightly aloof gaze of the surgeon. ‘This is Mr Ricardo. We are extremely fortunate that he has been able to come to St Joseph’s at such short notice to step into Mr Sylvester’s shoes.’

  ‘Mrs Reece.’ The surgeon inclined his head in the patient’s direction then briefly turned to Lara who was still scrabbling with her papers.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Sue continued. ‘This is Staff Nurse Lara Gregory.’

  ‘Actually,’ said the surgeon, his eyes like two black pools, ‘we have already met…’

  ‘Really?’ said Sue in surprise.

  ‘Or rather I should say we have encountered one another,’ he corrected himself. ‘Staff Nurse Gregory almost ran me over this morning even before I had set foot in the hospital—I think it fair to say she was in something of a hurry.’

  The implication was clearly that she had been driving too fast and Lara felt herself flush. ‘I doubt it would have happened had you been looking where you were going,’ she retorted crisply.

  For one moment there was silence then a startled Sue hastened to defuse the sudden tension, which to her must have appeared to erupt out of nowhere. ‘Is all the paperwork completed, Nurse Gregory?’ she asked crisply.

  ‘No,’ Lara replied. ‘Mrs Reece isn’t at all certain that she wants an unknown surgeon to perform her skin graft—she had been counting on it being done by Mr Sylvester.’ She could hardly believe she had said that—under normal circumstances in such a situation she would have been far more discreet, especially in front of a locum surgeon, but there had been something about this man that had antagonised her with his implication that she had been speeding when, in actual fact, it had been entirely his own fault for not looking before he’d stepped into the road. She was aware of Sue’s horrified glance but suddenly she didn’t care.

  ‘Maybe Mrs Reece and myself should have a little talk.’ Mr Ricardo pulled a chair forward so that he could sit beside Jennifer. As Sue and Lara would have moved away, he lifted one hand. ‘Please, stay, Nurse Gregory,’ he said. ‘Maybe you need to hear this as well.’

  For the second time that morning Lara felt the colour rise to her face.

  ‘So what happened?’ It was later in the morning and Katie had waylaid Lara by the nurses’ station. ‘Sue said Jennifer Reece was at the point of refusing surgery.’

  ‘She was,’ Lara agreed. ‘But our new locum charmed her to such an extent that by the time he had finished she was practically eating out of his hand.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well, he started by giving her all the low-down on his qualifications and his background then he talked about her injuries, examined her facial wounds and the donor site on her thigh and gave her a step-by-step guide to the procedure he would use during the actual graft, then he explained what her recovery period would involve and what she can expect in time.’

  ‘And all that swayed her?’

  ‘Must have done.’ Lara shrugged. ‘She’s in Theatre now.’

  ‘So what’s all this about you having a go at him?’ asked Katie curiously.

  ‘I didn’t have a go at him,’ Lara protested. ‘Well, not exactly.’

  ‘Sue said you did—she didn’t sound too happy about it. She said there she was, trying to be helpful to him on his first morning, and you attacked him—and in front of a patient as well.’

  ‘I didn’t attack him!’

  ‘So what was it all about?’ Katie clearly wasn’t going to let the matter drop. ‘Sue said he’d given the impression that the pair of you had already met. I didn’t know you’d met him.’ She sounded faintly accusing. ‘You never said anything.’

  ‘That was because I hadn’t actually met him,’ Lara protested. ‘At least, I didn’t know who he was.’

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Katie. She appeared more curious than ever.

  ‘He stepped out in front of my car, that’s what,’ said Lara. ‘He quite simply wasn’t looking where he was going and then afterwards he had the nerve to suggest it had been my fault—that I had been driving too fast.’

  ‘And were you?’ asked Katie mildly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Driving too fast?’

  ‘No, of course I wasn’t,’ she protested.

  ‘When was this exactly?’

  ‘This morning, before I started my shift.’

  ‘When you were late?’

  Lara stared at her friend. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘whose side are you on?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Katie with a grin. ‘I’m sure you weren’t driving too fast. I’m sure it was all that nasty Mr Ricardo’s fault.’

  ‘Yes, well…’

  ‘Talking of him, where is he from exactly? You said you heard all about his background—is he Spanish?’

  ‘Actually,’ Lara replied, ‘he’s from Buenos Aires—he told Jennifer Reece his mother is English but his father is from Argentina and that’s where he’s been living and working.’

  ‘Hmm, interesting,’ said Katie thoughtfully. ‘What did you think of him?’

  ‘I don’t know enough abo
ut him to form an opinion yet,’ said Lara with a shrug.

  ‘OK, first impressions, then—apart from nearly killing him, of course.’

  ‘He seems rather aloof.’ Lara wrinkled her nose. ‘Almost as if he’s on some lofty pinnacle far removed from the rest of us mere mortals.’

  ‘So you didn’t fancy him, then?’ Katie gave a wicked grin.

  ‘Fancy him? No, of course not. He’s not my type,’ she added lightly. ‘I prefer blond men with blue eyes.’

  ‘I thought he was rather yummy,’ said Katie.

  ‘You would,’ said Lara with a sniff.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Martin, that is looking very neat. I’m sure the lady will be pleased. If I can leave you to finish…’ Andres Ricardo glanced at his assistant then moved away from the operating table after completing Jennifer Reece’s skin graft. The operation had gone well with the new skin taken from her inner thigh and grafted over the site on her face where she had sustained the worst of her burns. After acknowledging the rest of the operating team, he strode from the theatre, pulling off his mask and cap as he did so. Minutes later he had washed and changed out of his theatre greens and boots and into his day clothes. He returned to the consulting room that had been allocated to him.

  Briefly he glanced at a few papers on his desk, then crossed to the window and stared out at the hospital grounds. If he was strictly honest, he still wasn’t sure about this locum post, any more than he was completely sure that coming to London and going into partnership with Theo McFarlane and Arun Chopa at the Roseberry Clinic had been the right decision. Outside in the grounds the wind tossed the bare branches of the trees and the grey banks of cloud threatened even more rain. He missed the wide blue skies and the hot sun of his homeland and wished fervently that he was back there, in spite of the fact that Argentina held so many painful memories.

  Surely now, after five years, the perpetual ache in his heart that constantly reminded him of Consuela should have subsided a little, but instead of time being the great healer it was supposed to be, if anything the ache had grown worse. In some ways time played strange tricks and diffused the memories, so much so that these days he had to work hard to recall certain details—the softness of her skin as she lay beside him, the way her eyes would flash with laughter or anger, the fall of her thick, dark hair against her sun-kissed shoulders or the gentle curve of her cheek. Sometimes he had to work so hard to recall those things that he would break out in sweat, and in anger and frustration be forced to abandon the attempt. But he mustn’t let those memories go, he thought in sudden desperation, they were all he had. Maybe this elusiveness was because he was in a different country. Maybe he shouldn’t have been persuaded into coming here—maybe, even now, it wasn’t too late to go back.