‘No, nothing like that.’ Helen beamed. ‘They had a rush job in so they had to put your car off until tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ Rachael wailed. ‘How come they told you?’
Helen just shrugged. ‘Well, they’re hardly breaking patient confidence. I guess Geoff just figured he’d get less of an earful from me.’
‘Who’s Geoff?’ Hugh enquired, apparently intrigued by the conversation.
‘The mechanic,’ both women answered simultaneously as Hugh listened intently, seemingly enjoying the brief gossip.
‘Looks like you don’t have to rush off now.’
Glancing down at her watch, an impish grin spread across Rachael’s lips. ‘Are you sure I’ve got enough personality for you, Dr Connell? I mean, I’d hate for you to be bored in there.’
‘I guess I’ll just have to put up with you.’ His teasing tone made her grin widen. ‘In the interests of patient care, of course.’
Helen only raised one quizzical eyebrow when Rachael went into the treatment room to check all the equipment. ‘I thought you wanted one of the late staff to take over.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now that my car’s tied up, and Kelvin is pretty anxious. It might be better if I stay with him, given that I admitted him.’ Both eyebrows were near Helen’s hairline now and Rachael busied herself opening suture packs and pouring antiseptic. ‘Anyway, it will be interesting to see first hand if Dr Perfection is as good as he says he is.’
‘Whatever you say, Sister. I’ll just go and fetch your patient for you. By the way, Hugh takes size nine gloves, we had to order them in specially.’ Nudging Rachael as she went past, she gave a saucy laugh. ‘You know what they say about big hands …’
Big hands he might have, but they were as deft and nimble as a pianist’s, and Rachael watched, fascinated, as Hugh set to work, his deep voice soothing as he talked to Kelvin, explaining his work yet sparing Kelvin the more graphic details. The radio playing in the background was a soothing, relaxing diversion.
The room was impossibly hot but it was a small price to pay for witnessing the predicted miracle. With magnifying glasses on and a light attached to his head like a miner’s, anyone else would have looked ridiculous but Hugh, of course, wore it all well.
‘You’ll be able to enjoy a nice cold beer by the weekend, Kelvin,’ Hugh quipped lightly as he worked on. ‘Actually, better make it next weekend—you’ll need a week of antibiotics.’
‘He’s asleep,’ Rachael murmured as Kelvin’s hand unclenched and his breathing deepened.
‘I’ve bored the hell out of him.’ Shifting on the stool, Hugh stretched his arms out and took a well-earned break for a couple of moments, and Rachael took the opportunity to change her mask and gloves. ‘Hell, it’s hot in here,’ Hugh said, circling his neck to release the tension that had built up from concentrating for so long. ‘Can you wipe my forehead?’
OK, so Rachael hadn’t done Theatre in almost a decade, but she had assisted enough doctors and seen enough medical shows on television to know what to do, but as she lifted the small sterile towel used for this basic necessity she was overcome with a shy nervousness, Lifting the glasses slightly, she dabbed gently under the frames, swallowing hard before running the towel along his forehead. Even his eyebrows were perfect, Rachael thought reluctantly, dark blond and beautifully shaped. And despite the lateness of the day and the mask covering half his face, the familiar musky undertones of his aftershave still reached her.
‘You wear too much aftershave.’ The words were out before she’d realised it and, wishing she was still wearing a mask, Rachael struggled to combat the blush that was appearing, stunned by the words that had tumbled out of her mouth.
‘I know,’ Hugh replied easily, apparently not remotely bothered by her rather personal observation. ‘It’s just that I hate the smell of hospitals, all that antiseptic and Betadine.’ He pulled a face behind his mask. ‘Yuck. Though even I admit it’s probably a bit over the top at the moment. I got a massive gift pack for Christmas, you know the type—matching deodorant, soap, body lotion, aftershave.’
And it would have cost a fortune—there was certainly nothing ‘bargain basement’ about him. Tying on her mask, Rachael tried not to think about Hugh at Christmas, exchanging presents, or more pointedly the undoubtedly beautiful woman who would have handed him that particular package. Instead, she tried to concentrate on handing swabs and dabbing the wound, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
‘Here comes the good part.’ For the last hour or so he had been trimming edges, cutting and stitching, but as he removed the clips and pulled on a soluble suture, Rachael watched with undisguised admiration as the lip aligned, slotting together like a complicated jig saw until all that was left was a neat L-shaped wound. ‘Just a few fine sutures and we’ll be done.’
‘That’s amazing,’ Rachael breathed. ‘I can’t believe how good it looks.’ Kelvin was stirring and she moved quickly to reassure him, muttering words of comfort and reassurance as Hugh finished the delicate procedure. As the drapes were finally pulled back, the full scale of what Hugh had achieved only then really became apparent. The face that had been utterly, and to Rachael’s belief, irretrievably impaired by this appalling injury was now restored, perhaps not completely, but way, way beyond what Rachael could ever have imagined. Kelvin, too, for that matter, because when Hugh handed his patient a mirror the tears that Kelvin openly wept were tears of relief and joy. ‘I thought I was going to look …’ He was shaking his head in wonder, his eyes never moving from the mirror as he stared at the small L-shaped scar. ‘I can’t believe what you’ve done.’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ Hugh said, pulling off his gloves. ‘Tomorrow you’ll look at it a bit more critically and you won’t be quite so thrilled with me. Your jaw shape has changed and it will take a bit of getting used to, and there might be a bit of trouble with your speech for a while. Also, once the swelling goes down, your bottom lip’s going to look smaller, but all those problems can be addressed, so remember that when you get a bit down.’
Kelvin nodded, offering a rather shaky hand to Hugh. ‘Thanks, Doctor. You can’t imagine what was going through my mind. I’m not a vain guy but …’
‘You’d rather not walk around with a hole in your face.’ Hugh grinned and shook Kelvin’s hand. ‘Fair enough.’
She had underestimated him, not just his surgical skills but his insight. Already he had anticipated the depression that would surely follow such a terrible accident and his foresight meant that Kelvin would trust his doctor, knowing that the obstacles he faced were normal and merited.
‘How’s it going?’ Trevor popped his head around the door. ‘Sorry—wrong room. I was looking for a Kelvin Adams, the facial injury.’
‘That’s Trevor’s attempt at a joke,’ Rachael explained as a rather groggy Kelvin finally put down the mirror. ‘We’ve just finished. He looks great, doesn’t he?’
‘He does, and I’ve got a bedside full of anxious relatives who would love to admire Dr Connell’s handiwork.’
‘He’s all yours.’ Hugh wrote a few orders into the notes as Trevor and Rachael helped Kelvin into a wheelchair.
‘You push off, Rachael, I’ll take it from here.’
‘Thanks, Trevor. I’ll just get rid of the sharps.’
But Hugh had already beaten her to it, disposing of the needles and blades he had used. Many, less thoughtful doctors left that job for others.
‘Thanks for that.’
‘I think we’ve both seen enough of industrial accidents for one day, don’t you?’
‘I’m sorry if I sounded doubtful,’ Rachael apologised. ‘I honestly didn’t believe it could be fixed so easily.’
‘You call fifteen years of training easy?’
‘I didn’t mean that, I meant—’
‘I know what you meant.’ Hugh was smiling again, but though his smile was familiar the effect it was having on Rachael most certainly wasn’t. ‘So you admit there’s
more to me than just a pretty face.’
‘‘‘Pretty’’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe you, Hugh.’
‘I meant as a doctor.’
‘Oh.’ The newsreader’s voice was droning in the background, warning of speed cameras and rush-hour traffic jams with the news headlines to follow.
‘How about dinner?’ When she didn’t immediately answer, Hugh elaborated further. ‘I promise I’ll take you somewhere that hasn’t even heard of hotpot.’
Thankfully there was a lot of cleaning up to do and she could busy herself stripping the trolley instead of collapsing. She even managed a fairly even, ‘It’s only five o’clock,’ as she tossed the linen into a skip. ‘It’s a bit early to eat.’
‘Well, a drink first, then. It would be nice to unwind.’
‘I don’t come in unwound.’ Turning, she saw that she had confused him. It wasn’t hot in the room now, it was positively stifling, and from the slight lowering of her voice, the tiniest angle of her head, there was no mistaking the obvious—she was flirting. Such was the internal revelation, Rachael half expected the newsreader to announce it as the five o’clock headlines struck up in the background, but the newsreader carried right on talking about the dollar’s performance and indices, whatever they were, and Hugh just stood there patiently awaiting her explanation.
‘I only come in ‘‘highly strung’’.’ Rachael said finally. ‘Believe me, the unwound version wouldn’t be very attractive.’
Hugh laughed, displaying very white, very even teeth, and as he peeled of his theatre gown and tucked in his shirt she caught a glimpse of a far too toned abdomen. ‘I’m willing to risk it. Come on, Rachael, it would be nice.’
Nice.
What did men like Hugh Connell know about nice? Sure, they’d enjoy a meal, a bottle of wine, and maybe it would be so ‘nice’ they’d do it all over again at the weekend. But somewhere down the track, that wouldn’t be enough. Somewhere in the not too distant future the gentle flirting would lead to bigger things, which meant laying yourself on the line, raising the odds of being hurt.
Again.
It was far easier to stop it all right here and now. To brush off his invitation with a smile and a joke.
‘No, thanks, I think I’ll stick with the highly strung version.’
He had loosened his tie for the procedure and now as he undid the length of silk and expertly knotted it again Rachael was suddenly assailed with a vision of him dressing in the morning, standing in the bedroom, getting ready for work. But rather more disturbing was her own guest appearance in the fantasy, lying on the bed, breathing in the seductive, heady smell that was so much Hugh, sharing a secret sexy smile as they silently recalled their love-making.
‘I’m asking you to dinner, Rachael, nothing else.’ His voice dragged her out of her fantasy but reality was just as dangerous. ‘And if you’re very good, I might even throw in a car ride home.’
As will-power went, Rachael had none, and anyway it would have looked pretty stupid to refuse such a casual offer. The only problem was, there was nothing very casual about her feelings at this moment. Nothing casual at all about the military band that had started stomping where her heart had been. ‘A drink,’ Rachael said firmly as the bagpipes made their debut, yet despite the crescendo of her internal nervousness, she kept her voice amazingly even. ‘A quick drink, and don’t worry about the lift—I’ll take a taxi.’
But as his car remote blipped a few minutes later and the lights on his sleek black car winked invitingly, Rachael wondered for the hundredth time since she had agreed to go just what on earth it was she was doing.
The sports car was inevitable, Rachael decided, but the flat-chested brunette with a mole on her cheek didn’t quite fit the picture she’d had in her mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WOULD you like to see the menu?’
Shaking her head, Rachael accepted her gin and tonic from the waiter.
‘No, thanks, the drink’s just fine.’
‘I would.’ With a nod of thanks Hugh accepted the card and with annoying nonchalance proceeded to read it, ignoring the indignant look Rachael was throwing at him.
‘I said just a drink.’
‘And I heard you. I’ll take you home later, but nine nights out of ten I end up here anyway and tonight won’t be any different. I’m just taking it out of the freezer so to speak.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’m deciding what I’m having now and I’ll come back to eat later.’
‘Because I definitely don’t want to eat,’ Rachael reiterated.
‘So you’ve already said.’
Another hefty sip of her drink killed about two seconds flat. ‘I shouldn’t have come out in my uniform. I look stupid.’
Hugh shrugged. ‘You look like a businesswoman in a navy suit—it’s not like you’re wearing your name badge and stethoscope.’ Leaning over he peered under the table as Rachael twitched uncomfortably. ‘A woman in a suit who has terrible taste in shoes.’
‘What’s wrong with my shoes?’
‘Nothing if you’ve got a thing about rubber soles.’
Why on earth had she agreed to this? Why wasn’t she at home, watching television or ringing up her sister for a moan? What the hell was she doing, sitting in a five-star restaurant with this slick demigod?
The silence became interminable, for Rachael at least. Hugh didn’t seem remotely fazed, shelling pistachio nuts and popping them into his mouth as he examined her with undisguised interest.
‘So you come here a lot?’ she said finally, just because she felt she had to at least say something.
‘Yep. Have you been here before?’
Rachael rolled her eyes. ‘Millions of times. It was one of my ex-husband’s favourite places to bring clients.’
‘And there I was, trying to impress you.’ He started to laugh. ‘Hell, I always manage to put my foot in it with you. So, what was he like?’
Rachael shifted in her chair, reaching for a handful of pistachios even though she hated the things. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’
‘OK, you can hear about me.’ He leant back in his chair. ‘Single, no children, not even one traumatic childhood memory that I can blame a single thing on, no priors—’
‘I’m sure there’s been a few speeding tickets,’ Rachael interrupted, grinning despite herself.
‘More than a few,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m almost fully reformed. That’s about it. I’m very boring really.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Well, that about wraps me up. Come on, Rachael, at least tell me a bit about yourself.’
‘I thought this was supposed to be a drink to unwind?’
He shrugged. ‘I love a bit of venom. Come on, I promise I won’t be shocked.’
‘There’s really not much more to tell.’
‘Try me.’
Rachael tossed a mental coin. Hugh was nice, funny and, perhaps more to the point, the gin was loosening her tongue. And best of all, not once had he lowered his voice. Not once had he leant across the table with that meaningful expression and recited the fateful ‘How are you coping, Rachael?’ in the funeral director’s voice that seemed to be reserved for her these days.
It was as refreshing as it was welcome.
‘As I said, I used to come here a lot. The difference was, I wouldn’t have been sitting in my work shoes. If I was on late shift I practically brought a suitcase with me—make-up, heated rollers, a camisole to put on under my suit. I bet if you looked in the boot of my car there’d still be a smart pair of stilettos. I could change from nurse to corporate wife in fifteen minutes flat, the queen of repair jobs. He liked me to look nice,’ she added.
‘You look nice now.’ But Rachael shook her head.
‘Nothing like how I used to. I had a permanent Saturday booking at the hairdresser’s, nails that were almost a health hazard.’ He looked on sympathetically as a bitter note crept into her voice. ‘And the ability to chat to
the most boring of clients and look as if I was interested.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly lost that knack.’ He laughed. ‘You don’t waste any time with social niceties now. How long were you together?’
‘Eight years.’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘That’s a long time to stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy.’
‘He wasn’t always like it. I was only twenty when we got married. Richard wasn’t anything like that back then, but the higher he climbed up the corporate ladder the more he changed and the more he expected me to tow the line and support him, which in Richard’s opinion meant constantly looking the part.’
‘Which wasn’t for you?’
Rachael shook her head. ‘Look, I didn’t want to slob around in leggings and a T-shirt, well, not all the time anyway. I just wanted us to meet somewhere in the middle. I loved dressing up at first, buying clothes without having to look at the price tag, getting my make-up professionally done. It just all wore a bit thin after a while. Sometimes I just wanted to stay home. I’d be exhausted after a shift, or upset about a patient—you know what it’s like.’
Hugh nodded without comment.
‘Richard just didn’t understand. The truth was, he didn’t even like me working. He thought it reflected badly on him, can you believe? His answer was always, ‘‘Give up, then.’’ It was easier not to talk about it in the end, easier just to keep it all in.’
‘He sounds a real charmer.’
‘He wasn’t all bad.’ Why she was defending Richard, Rachael wasn’t sure. Maybe eight years together deserved some loyalty.
But Hugh begged to differ. ‘He sounds horrific. What sort of man would leave his wife after she’d just lost a baby?’ Her eyes finally met his, sparkling, defiant, but touchingly wary.
‘Why do people always assume it was Richard who left me?’
‘I just—’ he started, but he wasn’t going to get a chance to finish.
‘Is it so unfeasible that women might want more, that we’d cling on by our manicured fingernails to a marriage that was going nowhere?’
The Surgeon’s Gift Page 5