Now as he drove onto the A3 with Lara beside him in her white trench coat, with her auburn hair tumbling onto her shoulders and that light, floral but bewitching fragrance she wore filling the car, he found himself thinking that he was glad she had a family, glad she was married. He’d always drawn the line at married women so, provided he remained true to his own convictions, she should pose no further problem. The attraction would die a natural death, he would be able to treat her purely as a colleague and life would get back to normal.
‘What did you think of the Roseberry?’ he asked at last.
She seemed to give a little start at his words, almost as if she had been miles away. He wondered briefly what she had been thinking, realising as he did so that he knew very little about her. ‘I was very impressed,’ she replied at last. ‘It…it wasn’t quite what I had been expecting, I have to say.’
‘In what way?’ He was suddenly intrigued to know what she meant.
‘Well, for a start, I was expecting an old building—you know, perhaps an old hospital or a converted school or something like that. I was quite surprised to find such a modern establishment.’
‘It was purpose-built,’ he explained. ‘It was very fortunate that planning permission was granted, but I believe the sensitive designs of the architect swung the project in the end.’ He paused and threw her a sidelong glance. ‘What did you think of the nursing side of things?’
‘It seemed very efficient. I like the matron system and I must say I rather liked the nursing uniforms—that dark blue with the white frilly caps. I can’t remember the last time I wore a cap—it was years ago. And now, as you know, we wear trousers and tunics on the burns unit instead of dresses.’
‘I was afraid you wouldn’t like the uniforms,’ he admitted with a chuckle.
‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘I think, however, it might take me a while to get used the private health-care system—suites as opposed to wards and clients instead of patients, and the freedom of choice they have in everything from menus to television channels and unlimited visiting.’
‘You’ll soon get used to it.’
They were silent for a while, Andres concentrating on his driving. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the sun broke through the cloud and Lara turned her head. ‘You see,’ she said, ‘I told you we have blue skies and sunshine sometimes.’
‘You did,’ he agreed.
‘Maybe not quite of the intensity of your Argentinean sun but still very pleasant.’
‘I am familiar with English summers,’ he said. ‘My mother is English and although I have lived primarily in Argentina I was sent over here to school.’
‘Where was that?’ she asked.
‘Eton,’ he replied, ‘and then university at Oxford before returning to Buenos Aires to medical school.’
‘I see…’ She appeared to hesitate. ‘So where are you living now?’ she added at last.
‘In Knightsbridge,’ he said. ‘My mother owns a property there and she is only too pleased for me to make use of it while I am in this country.’
‘Yes, quite,’ she replied faintly. ‘That must also be very handy for the Roseberry.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Are you intending to stay in this country long?’ she asked after a long pause.
‘The initial agreement with my partners is for two years, with the option of extending that time at the end if I wish.’ By this time they had come off the A3 and were approaching the small town of Byfield. ‘You will have to direct me to where you live,’ he said.
‘You could drop me off here near the precinct if you like.’ Just for a moment he thought he detected a note of something like desperation in her voice.
‘Why?’ he said. ‘Do you have shopping to do?’
‘Not really.’
‘In that case, I will take you home.’
‘I just thought it might be easier for you—it’s a bit of a rabbit warren of streets…’
‘Just direct me,’ he said, his tone putting paid to any further argument.
She directed him through a heavily populated residential area, finally indicating a house in a long terrace behind an avenue of trees. He managed to find a parking space and backed the car into it. She seemed nervous and he wondered if her husband was around, and may be the type of man who didn’t take kindly to his wife being brought home by someone he didn’t know. Her next words, however, seemed to put paid to that theory. ‘Would you…would you like to come in for a cup of tea or something?’ she asked.
‘That’s kind of you…that is, if it’s convenient.’ His first instinct was to refuse, but suddenly, in spite of his earlier resolve not to allow himself to become personally involved with this woman any more than was strictly necessary, he found he was curious about her, about where and how she lived and about her family.
‘It might be in a bit of a state—the children, you know…’ she said as she unfastened her seat belt.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. As he turned to open the car door, he added curiously, ‘Who looks after them when you are at work?’
‘My sister,’ she replied.
Her sister. He was surprised. He had expected her to say her husband—then found himself wondering if his earlier assumption had been correct and that Lara was indeed a single mother.
He followed her up to a house with a brightly painted front door and brass knocker and waited while she fumbled in her bag for her keys then inserted one in the lock. As the door swung open a small boy appeared in the hall, a boy with Lara’s pale skin and auburn curls.
‘Guess what I did?’ He rushed headlong to the door then stopped dead when he saw that Lara wasn’t alone and hung back shyly, hands behind his back.
‘Callum,’ Lara said, taking her key out of the lock, ‘this is Mr Ricardo—say hello.’
‘Hello,’ mumbled the boy.
‘Hello, Callum.’ Andres held out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation the boy briefly took it then turned and scampered back down the hall.
‘He’s a bit shy with strangers,’ said Lara, ‘but only to start with. Once he knows you there’s no stopping him, so you have been warned.’
‘He looks very much like you,’ he said, then realised that as he spoke Lara had shut the door behind them with a loud click and hadn’t heard what he had said.
‘Sorry?’ she said, pulling her scarf from around her neck and shaking out the wild mass of her hair.
‘I said he looks like you,’ Andres repeated. ‘Your little boy.’
‘My little boy…?’ For a moment she looked bewildered then she gave a short laugh of realisation. ‘Oh, you mean Callum?’
‘Yes…’ He frowned.
‘Callum isn’t my son,’ she said. ‘I’m not married. Callum is my nephew.’
He stared at her, aware that something had shifted, changed, although for the moment he couldn’t think for the life of him exactly what it was.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘LARA, he’s absolutely gorgeous!’ It was an hour later and Lara had just returned from the front door after seeing Andres drive away in his car. Cassie was seated on the sofa and in front of her on the coffee-table were the remains of the tea and cake they had offered to their visitor.
‘That may well be,’ Lara replied darkly, ‘but there’s no point in you getting any ideas in that direction.’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Cassie paused then, as if it had just occurred to her, she said, ‘He isn’t married, is he?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Lara replied.
‘You mean you haven’t asked him?’ Cassie stared at her.
‘Why in the world would I ask him something like that?’ Lara demanded, as she began stacking the cups and saucers onto the tray—the best cups and saucers, no less.
‘I thought perhaps it might have come out in conversation,’ said Cassie. ‘After all, he seemed to have found out all about you.’
‘Only just,’ said Lara with a grin.
‘What do you mean,
only just?’ Cassie frowned, the expression making the scars on her face stand out even more than usual.
‘He thought I was married and that the children were mine,’ she explained with a chuckle.
‘All of them?’ Cassie’s eyes rounded.
‘Yep, all of them.’
Cassie continued to stare at her then, at last, she said, ‘So let me get this straight—he organised a job for you at his clinic, then went to all the trouble of bringing you home, even though he was under the impression that you were married with three children?’
‘Yes,’ Lara agreed, ‘that’s about it.’
‘Now, why would he go to all that trouble?’
‘I think he just happens to be that sort of man,’ Lara replied with a little shrug.
‘Wow,’ said Cassie softly. ‘He sounds too good to be true.’
‘Exactly,’ said Lara, picking up the tray. ‘Like I say, he’s probably married, and even if he isn’t, well, there’s no point in you reading anything into this.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Cassie began, but Lara cut her short.
‘He lives in a different world, Cass,’ she said, looking down at her sister. ‘He’s a rich, successful surgeon with wealthy parents who have homes in Knightsbridge and in South America. He was educated at Eton and Oxford—’
‘What was the clinic like?’ Cassie interrupted, seeming unimpressed by Lara’s litany of Andres’s background.
‘Again, out of this world,’ Lara replied. ‘The patients are for the most part wealthy women film stars and the like who are prepared to spend any amount to change the way they look. The clinic itself is like some luxurious hotel. Each patient, or client as they call them, has their own suite with bedroom, shower room and sitting room complete with cable television and telephone. They have a sauna, Jacuzzi and gym on the premises and a whole range of alternative treatments available from massage to acupuncture and aromatherapy. The cuisine is out of this world…’
‘Bit like St Joseph’s, then,’ said Cassie with a grin.
‘Yes, exactly like St Joseph’s,’ Lara replied wryly. ‘Why, they even have—’
‘Did you see that car?’
Lara broke off as Luke suddenly flung back the sitting-room door and stood there on the threshold, his face flushed and wearing a look of disbelief.
‘It was fantastic,’ he breathed. ‘An Italian job. I couldn’t quite catch the model—will you find out for me, Lara?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Lara with a short laugh, ‘but right now I’m going to tackle that pile of ironing.’
‘I can do that,’ said Cassie quickly.
‘No, you won’t,’ Lara replied over her shoulder. ‘You look exhausted. I’ll do it.’ Leaving Luke with his mother, she made her way to the kitchen, smiling as she did so at Cassie’s reaction to Andres. Fancy her thinking that the surgeon could ever be interested in her, Lara. Why, even if he wasn’t married, which seemed highly unlikely with his wealth, status and looks, he could probably have his pick of London’s socialites. Cassie meant well, bless her, Lara thought as she stacked the dishwasher then set about the ironing, and she knew that her sister felt guilty that she, Lara, appeared to be wasting her life in devoting so much time to her and her children, but really Lara couldn’t see what else she could do. Cassie was much better now but she still suffered from bouts of depression and Lara doubted she could cope with the children on her own for very long.
She smiled again as she recalled the expression on Andres’s face when he’d realised that Callum wasn’t her son.
‘So you live here with your sister and her children?’ he’d said curiously as she’d shown him into the sitting room.
‘Yes,’ she’d explained. ‘My sister was badly injured in a fire—’
‘Ah, yes,’ he’d said. ‘I remember—this was the reason you became involved on the burns unit?’
‘Yes, it was. Some while after the accident,’ she’d continued when it had become apparent that he had been waiting for further explanation, ‘my sister’s marriage broke up and she wasn’t able to cope, so I moved in here with her and went part time at St Joseph’s in order to help her and the children.’
He’d stared at her, almost as if he hadn’t been able to find words to express what he felt about this situation. In the end she’d come to his rescue by taking his coat, inviting him to sit down then leaving him for a moment in order to put the kettle on for tea. When she’d returned she’d brought Cassie back with her and introduced her to Andres.
He’d met the children, too, briefly, when they’d come into the sitting room on their way to the corner shop to buy sweets. For once the two older children had seemed in awe, lost for words at the overwhelming presence in their sitting room of this tall man with his expressive dark eyes. Only Callum had really chatted, as if in some way he felt superior to the other two in having met this stranger first. Andres had asked him about the football shirt he was wearing and Callum had happily told him all about his favourite team.
And now he’d gone and Lara still found it amusing to think that he had thought she was married and that the children were hers. Once he’d got over his surprise at finding out the truth, she was certain there had been pleasure in those dark eyes. Not that she read anything into that, of course, because as she’d already said to Cassie he was bound to be married himself, and even if for some obscure reason he wasn’t, there was no way there could ever be anything between them. Quite simply, he lived in a different world from the one she inhabited.
In spite of that, as she worked steadily through the huge pile of ironing Lara found herself looking forward to her new job at the Roseberry Clinic with a tingle of excitement, something she hadn’t experienced for a very long time. How much this had to do with the job itself and how much with the fact that she would be working with Andres Ricardo she wasn’t really sure.
Slowly, meticulously, Andres moved the piece of skin a millimetre at a time, easing it into position on the wound on Michael Rowe’s neck. He and the anaesthetist, Max Gunther, had agreed on a general anaesthetic for this particular patient in view of the complexity of the grafts required. He glanced up at the anaesthetist, who nodded slightly in response, indicating that all was well with the patient’s blood pressure.
‘What fixative do you propose using?’ asked Tom Martin, the doctor who was assisting in Theatre that day.
‘I intend using a laser with a dye normally used in ophthalmic operations,’ Andres replied, as with forceps he carefully repositioned the skin, which he had earlier removed from Michael’s inner thigh.
‘Have you had good results with that?’ asked Tom as he leaned closer to the patient for a better look.
‘Yes.’ Andres nodded. ‘I used it first when I was practising in Buenos Aires—we found there was much less risk of further scarring with this method. When the dye is illuminated with a green light, it forms a strong bond with the surrounding tissue. I use it all the time now in my London clinic.’
The atmosphere in Theatre was somehow uplifting with classical music—Andres’s choice—playing throughout the morning’s operating schedule. He had inherited his love of music from his mother, and he found that somehow it always set the right tone, even among some of the younger members of staff who probably would never have thought of playing classical music in any other circumstances but who appeared to work along quite happily to Puccini or Verdi.
Lara was scrub nurse that morning and Andres had found their eyes meeting over their masks at the moment he’d strode into the theatre. She’d lowered her eyes almost as quickly but there had been no denying that spark of familiarity, the type of familiarity that had come from him taking tea with her and her family the previous day. He had been amazed to learn that none of the children were hers and somehow even more amazed that she had never been married—not that that should make any difference to him, of course. He wanted no such involvement, with Lara or with anyone else, not now, or in the foreseeable future. But he had
still been surprised, nevertheless, for he had assumed that a woman like Lara would be bound to have a man in her life.
What had also surprised him had been the degree of selflessness shown by Lara towards her sister and her family. There couldn’t be too many young women who would be prepared to put their personal lives on hold in such a fashion—he admired her for it. Even as the thought crossed his mind he looked up and across the operating table to where Lara was arranging instruments on a trolley. Her eyes were downcast now, the thick lashes sweeping the creamy curve of her cheek while at the nape of her neck two stray tendrils of hair had escaped from the blue theatre cap she wore. It made her appear vulnerable, and for a fleeting moment Andres had to fight the sudden ridiculous urge to cross the room and touch that tender area of skin. Then the moment was gone as Tom began discussing the second of the three skin grafts they were performing on Michael Rowe, this time on his right hand.
They worked on steadily until at last the laser bonding was complete and the theatre sister began applying light dressings to the donor and recipient sites.
‘Thank you, everybody.’ Andres pulled off his mask and gloves then the red cap which he always wore when operating and which had become something of a personal trade mark. Glancing around at his team as the patient was wheeled away into Recovery, he turned to Lara, who had removed her mask and was clearing away the instruments used in the skin grafts. ‘Tell me, Lara,’ he said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear, ‘who carried out your sister’s skin grafts? Was it Mr Sylvester?’
‘No.’ She shook her head and her eyes clouded over. ‘I wish it had been him, but he was apparently away on holiday at the time and the grafts were carried out by a locum.’ She paused and looked up anxiously at him. ‘Why do you ask?’ she said. ‘Don’t you think a satisfactory job was done?’
‘It’s not really for me to query a fellow colleague’s work,’ he replied, ‘but, yes, you’re right—I do think a better job could have been made of it.’ He hesitated. ‘Is Cassie herself happy with the results?’
The Latin Surgeon Page 7