The Latin Surgeon

by Laura MacDonald

  That sounded ominous, Lara thought as she perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. Andres had said his two partners would want to interview her—this sounded as if there was to be a whole board of directors present. Attending interviews was by no means top of Lara’s list of favourite things to do, and as she waited she felt her stomach begin to churn. Maybe they would take one look at her and decide there was no way she was suitable for such an establishment as this and tell her she could go. Then she could high-tail it back to the station—even the Underground was preferable to this.

  ‘Lara Gregory?’

  Lost in the turmoil of her thoughts, she hadn’t seen a young woman approach her table. ‘Oh.’ She looked up sharply. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘I’m Lucinda Scott-Denness,’ the woman replied, ‘the Roseberry’s secretary. Would you like to come with me?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Lara stood up and with her heart thumping followed the woman through a set of glass doors and down a corridor with a rich, ruby-red carpet underfoot. They passed several closed doors until the secretary stopped at a door, which bore a notice stating that it was the boardroom. The woman tapped on the door and when a voice from within bade them enter she opened it, indicating for Lara to follow her.

  Lara was aware of a large, airy room with huge, south-facing windows and a long oak table running its length. Seated at the table were five people—afterwards she was to remember feeling relieved that there weren’t more—three men and two women. Andres was there, of course, and just for one moment his gaze met and held hers. Somehow Lara found this comforting, and the fact that he was there and had acknowledged her did something to ease her tension.

  ‘This is Lara Gregory.’ Lucinda Scott-Denness ushered Lara to a chair and the three men rose to their feet while everyone present murmured a greeting.

  ‘Ms Gregory, welcome to the Roseberry,’ said one of the men, remaining on his feet when the others sat down. Lara noticed he was fairly tall with thick, curly brown hair and rather piercing blue eyes. ‘My name is Theo McFarlane,’ he went on. ‘I’m chairman of the board. These are my partners and co-directors—Andres Ricardo, whom you know, and Arun Chopa.’ He indicted an Asian man seated on his left.

  Lara was pleased that Andres hadn’t concealed the fact that he knew her, and was just digesting this fact when Theo McFarlane indicated one of the women seated at the table. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is Elizabeth Grey, our matron, who is in charge of our nursing staff.’ Lara only had time to register a woman in her fifties, her dark hair streaked with grey and rising from a widow’s peak, her expression inscrutable, before Theo McFarlane carried on talking.

  ‘And this…’ he indicated the other woman at the table ‘…is Helen Poynter, our administration manager. Now, Ms Gregory, or may we call you Lara?’ He raised his eyebrows and when Lara nodded he said, ‘Yes? Thank you. Now, Lara, you come to us for this interview with the highest possible recommendation—that of one of our directors—so in those circumstances I feel we can dispense with many of the questions we would normally ask, those, for example, regarding background and motivation.’

  He paused and Lara found herself feeling thankful that she wasn’t going to be asked to explain her rather complicated domestic situation.

  ‘We also imagine your qualifications and nursing skills are of the high standard we require,’ he went on. ‘Maybe, however…’ he glanced at Lara then at the others around the table ‘…you could tell us a little about the work you do at St Joseph’s.’

  Taking a deep breath and suddenly very aware of Andres, who was sitting directly opposite her and who hadn’t seemed to take his eyes off her since she’d entered the room, Lara began to outline the nature of the work that was carried out on the burns unit and the very satisfying and rewarding nature of the skin grafts that followed so many of these injuries.

  ‘May I ask how you came to work on this burns unit?’ asked Arun Chopa when she had finished.

  ‘A member of my family was involved in a fire,’ she replied quietly, then, aware of the little frisson of interest in the room, she went on, ‘It was my sister, actually, and it was the treatment she received at the time and my constant visits to her on the unit that led me to apply for a job there. Previously, I had been working in Accident and Emergency at a hospital in Sussex.’

  ‘So why the Roseberry?’ It was Elizabeth Grey with her watchful eyes who asked the question, and even as Lara struggled to find the right answer, Andres came to her rescue.

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘it’s safe to say that Lara’s circumstances are such that she needs more hours. She applied to St Joseph’s to extend her hours but there was nothing available. I had just heard that there was a vacancy here and with Lara’s experience with skin grafts I thought she might be suitable to fill that vacancy.’

  ‘And you think you will be able to combine the two?’ asked Elizabeth Grey.

  ‘I believe I could.’ Lara nodded.

  ‘Where do you live?’ Arun frowned at her over the top of his glasses.

  ‘In Surrey—Byfield, actually.’ She paused. ‘I understand the hours here would be late afternoon or evening shifts. I could easily accommodate those hours with the early shifts I work at St Joseph’s.’

  They asked several more questions, mainly about Lara’s nursing qualifications, the different courses she had done in the past and where she had completed her training. Then Theo McFarlane asked her if she would mind waiting outside. Lucinda Scott-Denness escorted her back to the waiting area in Reception where one of the receptionists brought her a cup of tea in a delicate porcelain cup and two tiny macaroon biscuits. Lara smothered a smile as she compared this hospitality to the vending machine on St Joseph’s burns unit, which had a mind of its own, sometimes producing tea when coffee was required and vice versa, and always in stout polystyrene cups.

  As she sipped the delicious tea and nibbled the biscuits, she found herself watching the people who came and went in Reception. For the most part they were expensively dressed, leather, fake fur, cashmere and fine wool being much in evidence, likewise designer jewellery, handbags and items of luggage. Some gave their names at the desk and were then taken to a lift which whisked them away to an upper floor—no doubt to a private suite where they would await the surgery for which they would have paid a fortune. While she was sitting there Lara recognised a well-known star of a television soap opera in spite of the huge dark glasses the woman wore, and by the time Lucinda Scott-Denness returned for her she was convinced that she had stepped into another world.

  ‘Lara, come and sit down,’ said Theo as she entered the boardroom for a second time. ‘We won’t keep you waiting any longer,’ he went on as she sat down. ‘My colleagues and I have decided to offer you the position here. Before you reach your decision as to whether or not you will accept, perhaps you might like to look over the hospital and discuss salary and conditions with Mrs Poynter.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lara, suddenly overcome by the situation and the fact that the board had reached a decision so quickly. ‘Thank you, yes, I would like that.’

  Theo McFarlane glanced at Lucinda and Lara assumed he was about to ask the secretary if she would show her around. Before he could do so, however, Andres rose to his feet. ‘Come on, Lara,’ he said. ‘As it was me who got you into this, the least I can do is be the one to show you around.’

  For some reason she felt her pulse quicken then realised that subconsciously she had been hoping that Andres would be the one to perform that particular task. Moments later she found herself beside him as they walked the length of the ruby-carpeted corridor, which she quickly discovered led to the main part of the hospital.

  ‘First of all,’ he said as they walked, ‘congratulations on being offered the post.’

  ‘I imagine I have you to thank for that.’ She threw him a sidelong glance.

  ‘It was by no means a foregone conclusion,’ he replied, drawing his dark eyebrows together. ‘There were two other applicants
we had to consider.’

  ‘Really?’ For some reason the thought lifted her spirits.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied. ‘Elizabeth Grey had one candidate lined up and there was another who has been trying to secure a position here for a very long time, but in the end you were by far the most suitable candidate for the post in view of your work at St Joseph’s.’

  ‘Even though I think I might find the actual work very different?’ she asked, glancing up at him as they reached a set of doors, which he pushed open, standing back for her to precede him.

  ‘I’m not sure that you will,’ he replied. ‘As I told you before, the actual surgery is very similar to the skin grafts that are carried out on any burns’ unit.’ He paused as they reached another set of doors. ‘Through here are our operating theatres,’ he explained.

  ‘How many do you have?’

  ‘Three,’ he replied. ‘Some of our work is carried out on a day-surgery basis but many clients are admitted the day before surgery then discharged the following day. More involved procedures require a longer stay, of course.’

  ‘Is it just the three of you who operate?’ asked Lara as she peeped into one of the theatres where support staff were cleaning and disinfecting the table and equipment.

  ‘We have one registrar who works with us,’ Andres explained. ‘We also have three doctors who work shifts so that one of them is here at any given time. We also have a full nursing and ancillary staff. Now, we’ll take the lift and I’ll take you up to the clients’ suites.’

  The suites, with their almost hotel-like facilities, were the last word in luxury and a further visit, this time to the kitchens with their first-class chefs, indicated to Lara that the cuisine also left little to be desired.

  Lastly Andres took her to his office and showed her the lists of operations that the clinic carried out. They ranged from face improvements—classical face lifts, nose refinements and ‘bat’ ear corrections—to figure improvements—breast enhancements, liposuction and tummy tucks.

  ‘You quite obviously have some very wealthy clients,’ Lara remarked.

  ‘Yes,’ Andres admitted, ‘we have. We also have some very high-profile and well-known clients, celebrities and the like, which, of course, requires a high degree of confidentiality on our part.’

  ‘But that surely applies to any medical situation.’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘The difference being between, say, St Joseph’s and the Roseberry is that at St Joseph’s you don’t have members of the press camping outside, having got wind that some famous film star has booked in for a face lift, whereas at the Roseberry it happens all the time.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised that,’ Lara said slowly. Glancing out of the window at the neat flower-beds already showing signs of spring bulbs pushing up through the dark earth, she added, ‘Are the initial consultations done here as well?’

  ‘No.’ Andres shook his head. ‘We have other premises for those and for the follow-up appointments after surgery.’

  ‘And where are those premises?’ asked Lara.

  ‘In Harley Street.’

  ‘I should have guessed,’ she replied with a short laugh, but the irony seemed lost on Andres.

  ‘What do you think, Lara?’ he asked at last. ‘Do you think this job might suit you?’

  ‘It’s very different to anything I’ve done before,’ she replied slowly. When he would have said something, she added quickly, ‘Oh, I know you say the actual work is similar to what I do at St Joseph’s, and it well may be, but I’ve never worked in the private sector before.’

  ‘So it will be something of a challenge?’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘I suppose so…’

  ‘I would have thought you might be someone who enjoys a challenge.’ He paused. ‘Or am I mistaken?’ The dark eyebrows rose, questioning, the eyes beneath like black, unfathomable pools. Slightly disconcerted, Lara found herself looking away avoiding that direct gaze.

  ‘No,’ she admitted at last when it became clear he was waiting for some sort of answer. ‘You’re quite right. I do like a challenge.’

  ‘So you’ll be taking on this particular challenge?’ he asked softly.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘I will.’

  ‘Good,’ he said in the same soft tone, and as Lara allowed herself to meet his gaze again, he added, ‘I’m glad about that.’

  After that he took her to the administrator’s office where Helen Poynter gave her forms to fill in and discussed the salary and the hours that needed to be covered at the clinic. She established that she would be starting work there the following weekend. When they left the office, Andres walked back to Reception with her.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Lara,’ he said as he escorted her to the entrance. ‘I’m operating at St Joseph’s in the morning.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she replied. ‘Michael Rowe’s skin grafts.’ She paused. ‘Thank you, Andres,’ she said at last, ‘for everything.’

  ‘I hope you will be able to cope with it all,’ he said uncertainly, as she would have pushed open the door.

  ‘Cope?’ She paused and looked up at him, puzzled by his concern.

  ‘Yes, all your commitments,’ he replied.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve made other arrangements. The only thing I might not be able to cope with,’ she added dryly, ‘is the Underground.’

  ‘The Underground?’ He frowned.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I hate it. I’ve always hated being underground ever since I was a child—pathetic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I shall have to see if there is a bus I can catch from Waterloo,’ she said.

  ‘You could bring your car,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘There would be a parking space reserved for you here at the Roseberry once you are a member of staff.’

  ‘Maybe I will. I would have to leave early to combat the traffic…’

  ‘As most of your shifts are late afternoon, early evening and weekends, you might not find that so much of a problem as you think. Even the evening shift shouldn’t be too bad because the bulk of the traffic will be pouring out of London as you travel in.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied. ‘It’s certainly worth considering.’

  ‘How did you get here today?’

  ‘The train, then the Tube.’ She pulled a face.

  ‘In that case, you must allow me to take you home,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly, horrified that he might think that she had been angling for a lift with her remarks about hating the Tube. ‘I couldn’t possibly let you to do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘I have no engagements this evening—it’s the least I can do, having got you into all this.’ He laughed and Lara realised it was the first time she had seen him really laugh. It transformed his serious, brooding features, revealing perfect, very white teeth and bringing light to his dark eyes. ‘I insist,’ he added, his words leaving no room for argument.

  She waited for him while he returned briefly to his office, appearing a few moments later in a tan-coloured, leather, three-quarter-length coat over his black, roll-necked sweater and dark, beautifully cut trousers. He followed her through the revolving glass doors then with one hand beneath her elbow escorted her to the clinic’s car park. It was kind of him to offer to take her home and really, deep down, she appreciated it, especially as it meant she would not have to do further battle on the Tube, but as he activated a remote control and they approached his car—sleek, black and foreign—she felt a moment’s panic as she wondered what on earth she would do when they reached home. Should she ask him in? Offer him refreshment before his drive back into London? At least, she presumed he would be returning to London, but she had no idea where he lived or for that matter anything else about him at all.

  And if she did ask him in, what would Cassie make of him? Knowing Cassie, she would have him lined up as a prospective boyfriend for her—she
’d already hinted as much—which, when Lara thought about it, could be really embarrassing. And what of the children—what comments would they make? Maybe it would be better if she didn’t say anything about him coming indoors. With that thought uppermost in her mind she sank into the luxurious leather of the passenger seat and fastened her safety belt.

  Andres wasn’t sure why he had offered to take Lara home and he wasn’t certain either why he had instigated her coming for the interview at the Roseberry. There was something about her that attracted him—he’d been forced to admit that fact to himself and he hadn’t really liked it. Andres had always been a man who had prided himself on having total control, over himself, his life, his job and his intentions, and it had never been his intention to allow himself to become attracted to another woman. A fling maybe, but not the sort of attraction that could lead to commitment. This had appeared to come right out of the blue.

  He’d noticed Lara because of the ridiculous incident outside the hospital that first day and she had seemed to take up a sizeable proportion of his thoughts ever since. He didn’t welcome it, because any such attraction inevitably meant a loosening of his attachment to Consuela, a fading of memories and incidents from his past, which was the last thing he wanted to happen. Maybe he should never have offered Lara the interview, but he had felt sorry for her and it was too late now. His colleagues had been impressed, not just with her nursing qualifications and experience with treating burns and skin grafts but also with her personality.

  ‘She’s a stunner,’ Theo had murmured to him when Lara had gone out of the room to await the verdict of the board. ‘No wonder you wanted her here.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ he’d replied coolly.

  ‘What’s that?’ Theo had looked mystified.

  ‘She has a family.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Presumably.’

  ‘Well, no doubt we’ll find out when she fills in her personnel forms,’ Theo had replied.

  His friend’s comments had irritated him, just as his and Annabel’s constant attempts at matchmaking irritated him.