Another shock. Still no change. ‘Still VF. Charging to three-sixty.’
‘Mamma?’ Fabiola asked.
‘Um, bene. Soon,’ Eleanor said, trying to remember the Italian phrases she’d learned and hoping that her voice sounded soothing enough for Fabiola to understand what she meant.
She didn’t have time to react to the amusement in Orlando’s eyes. ‘And clear.’
This time, to her relief, Giulietta responded.
‘Sinus rhythm. Can you tell Fabiola that it will be all right? We just need to get her mother to the hospital.’
Orlando nodded, and turned to the flight attendant. ‘Can you ask the captain if he can divert the plane to the nearest airport? And talk to the pronto soccorso at the hospital—we need the paramedics on standby. Autoambulanza,’ he added.
Then he talked to Fabiola again in Italian.
‘I’ve explained that her mother needs to go to hospital,’ he told Eleanor. ‘And we will stay with her until the paramedics can stabilise her.’
It was part and parcel of being a good Samaritan—if there was an emergency and you were present simply as a passer-by and not officially as a doctor, you didn’t charge for your service and you stayed with the patient until he or she was stabilised or a doctor with equivalent or higher training took over. Eleanor had heard horror stories of doctors being sued for good Samaritan acts, but she knew if you kept to the protocol and delivered as near to hospital-standard care as you could, you’d be indemnified by either the travel company or your medical union.
The flight attendant who’d been acting as runner came back. ‘Captain says he’ll land us at Milan. We have clearance, so we should be on the ground in about twenty minutes. The airport’s contacting the hospital for us. Oh, and the supplemental oxygen …?’
‘Excellent work.’ Orlando said with a smile. ‘Thank you, signorina…?’
The flight attendant blushed. ‘Melanie.’
Orlando de Luca was living up to the stereotype, Eleanor thought. Charming every female in the vicinity. Just like Jeremy.
Well, she wasn’t falling for that sort of charm again. Anyway, this relationship was strictly emergency. And strictly medicine. It shouldn’t bother her who Orlando de Luca flirted with. It was nothing to do with her.
She busied herself fitting the mask over Giulietta’s face.
‘Eleanor, your party must be wondering what happened to you.’
Party? Oh. He meant travelling companions. ‘It’s not a problem, Dr de Luca.’ ‘Orlando, please.’
Even his name sounded sexy. Her best friend’s words echoed in her head: Even if this thing doesn’t work out, a week in Italy will do you good. What you need is some Italian glamour … and a fling with a gorgeous man to get that sleazebag Jeremy out of your head.
Tamsin would definitely describe Orlando de Luca as gorgeous. Her exact words would be along the lines of ‘sex on legs’. Eleanor couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
‘My name makes you laugh?’
‘No.’ Though she certainly wasn’t going to explain why she was smiling. What was ‘sorry’, again? ‘Mi dispiace.’ ‘You speak some Italian.’
She needed to turn this back to business. Fast. ‘A little. But not enough to help Fabiola. Thank you for that. Grazie.’ ‘Prego.’ He inclined his head.
At that moment, Giulietta recovered full consciousness and pulled at the mask.
Immediately, Orlando went back into doctor mode, taking her hand and calming her and speaking to her gently in Italian. Eleanor guessed he was telling Giulietta what had happened and where she was going as soon as they reached Milan. She caught the words ‘Inglese’ and ‘dottoressa’—clearly he was explaining who she was, too.
The flight attendants managed to persuade people in the aisle seats to change places with Eleanor and Orlando, so they could continue monitoring Giulietta throughout the descent—both of them were aware that she could easily go back into VF and need shocking again.
But at last they were at the airport. The paramedics boarded the plane with a trolley, and Orlando gave them the full handover details in rapid Italian, pausing every so often to check readings with Eleanor. Fabiola accompanied her mother off the plane, and Eleanor returned to her seat—at the opposite end of the plane to Orlando’s.
She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed when he didn’t suggest changing places and sitting with her. Relieved, because then she wouldn’t have to make polite conversation and her stomach was already in knots with her impending meeting tomorrow. Yet disappointed, because there was something calming about Orlando—the way he’d assessed the situation, acknowledged that she was the one with emergency experience and hadn’t made a fuss about her leading, and had gently turned Fabiola’s reaction from panic to understanding. He was the kind of man who made people feel safe.
But then again, she knew her judgement in men was lousy. Just because he was a good doctor, it didn’t mean he was a good man: Jeremy certainly wasn’t. And Orlando was probably married anyway. A man that good-looking couldn’t possibly be single. Even if Eleanor was going to act on Tamsin’s suggestion of having a holiday fling—which she had no intention of doing—Orlando de Luca wasn’t the one for her.
Their paths would probably never cross again, so there was no point in dwelling on it. Besides, she had something else to think about.
Her meeting tomorrow, with the man who might just turn out to be her real father.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d have a family to belong to again. Wouldn’t be alone any more.
CHAPTER TWO
THEY were two hours late getting to the airport at Naples. And then there was the wait for the luggage to arrive … except Eleanor couldn’t see her suitcase at all.
Maybe she’d just missed it, taken her eye off the conveyor belt during the moment it had passed her, and the suitcase would be there the second time round.
Except it wasn’t. Or the third time.
Oh, great. Not only was she late—tired, and in need of a shower and a cup of decent coffee—now her luggage was missing. Thank God she’d put the most important things in her hand luggage. She still had the original photographs back in England, so she could’ve had replacement copies made, but she’d wanted to hand them over in person.
And although, yes, she could go into the centre of Naples and replace most of her luggage first thing tomorrow morning, she already had plans. A meeting to which she didn’t want to go wearing travel-stained clothes. Even if she rinsed her clothes out in her hotel room tonight, they’d be crumpled and scruffy and.
Oh-h-h.
She could have howled with frustration. The shops were probably closed by now and, even if she got up really early tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t have enough time to find the shops, buy new clothes and be on time to meet Bartolomeo.
First impressions were important. Especially in this case. This really, really wasn’t fair.
‘Problems, Dottoressa Eleanor?’
Orlando’s voice was like melted chocolate. Soothing and comforting and sinful, all at the same time.
And she really shouldn’t give in to the urge to lean on him. She was perfectly capable of sorting things out on her own. She had a phrasebook in her bag—given a little time and effort, she’d be able to make herself understood. Luggage must go missing all the time. It was probably just mislaid, on the wrong carousel or something. And when she got to the hotel, she could talk to someone in the reception area and ask where she should go to buy clothes and shoes tomorrow. She could call Bartolomeo and put back their meeting by an hour, if need be.
‘I’m just waiting for my luggage,’ she said.
‘It hasn’t arrived yet?’
He was carrying a small, stylish case. And there were only three cases left on the conveyor belt—none of which was hers. ‘I was just about to go and ask.’ ‘Let me,’ he said.
Before she could protest, he added, ‘You said on the plane that you didn’t speak much Italian. So
let me help you.’
Italian was his native tongue and he spoke perfect English, too: it made sense to let him interpret for her instead of struggling. ‘Grazie.’ Though she still had reservations. ‘But won’t it make you really late home? Especially as our flight was delayed.’
He shrugged. ‘Non importa. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It’s not fair to your family, to keep them waiting even longer.’
He spread his hands. ‘Nobody’s waiting for me. I live alone.’
Now, that she hadn’t expected. She’d been so sure a man like Orlando de Luca—capable, practical and gorgeous—would be married to a wife who adored him, with several children who adored him even more and a menagerie of dogs and cats he’d rescued over the years.
‘I won’t be long. What does your bag look like?’
‘It’s a trolley suitcase—about so big.’ She described the size with her hands. ‘And it’s, um, bright pink.’
‘Bright pink,’ he echoed. His voice was completely deadpan, but there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes—as if he thought she’d chosen something completely frivolous and un-doctor-like.
She wished now she’d bought her luggage in a neutral colour. Grey, beige or black. She’d just thought that a bright suitcase would be easier to spot at the airport.
He smiled at her and went over to one of the airport staff. During the conversation, the man nodded, looked over at Eleanor with an expression of respect, said something to Orlando, and then strode away.
‘He’s going to check for you,’ Orlando confirmed when he returned. ‘I explained that our flight was late in because of a medical emergency on the plane. You saved the patient’s life and we should be looking after you, not losing your baggage.’
She felt colour flood into her face. ‘I didn’t save Giulietta’s life on my own. You did the chest compressions and got a patient history from her daughter. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘Teamwork, then. We worked well together.’ His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her. ‘You look tired. You’ve had a long journey, plus the stress of dealing with a cardiac arrest in a cramped space without the kind of equipment you’re used to, and now your baggage has disappeared. Come and sit down. I will get you some coffee.’
He was taking over and Eleanor knew she should be standing up for herself, telling him that she appreciated the offer but she really didn’t need looking after. Her feelings must have shown on her face because he said gently, ‘It may be a while until they locate your luggage. Why stand around waiting and getting stressed, when the coffee-shop is just here, to our right, and you can sit down in comfort and relax?’
And he was right. She was tired. Caffeine was just what she needed to get her through the rest of this evening until she got to the hotel.
‘Do you take milk, sugar?’ he asked when he’d settled her at a table.
‘Just milk, please.’
There was something about the English dottoressa. Orlando couldn’t define it or even begin to put his finger on it, but something about her made him want to get to know her better.
Much better.
He’d liked the way she’d been so cool and calm on the plane, got on with her job without barking orders or being rude to the flight attendants, and had even tried speaking the little Italian she knew to help reassure Giulietta’s daughter. There was a warmth to Eleanor Forrest that attracted him.
A warmth that had suddenly shut off when he’d asked her a personal question.
And he wanted to know why.
He ordered coffee and cantuccini, then carried a tray over to their table.
‘Biscuits?’ she asked.
‘Because I missed them in England,’ he said simply. ‘Your English biscuits fall apart when you dip them in coffee. These don’t.’ He smiled at her. ‘They’re nice dipped in vin santo, too, but I think for now coffee is what you need.’
‘Thanks. Odd how just sitting around can make you feel tired.’ ‘Don’t forget you saved a life in the middle of all that,’ he reminded her.
She ignored his comment. ‘How much do I owe you for the coffee?’
An independent woman. One who’d insist on paying her way. He liked that, too: she wouldn’t take anyone for granted. She was the kind of woman who’d want an equal. ‘My suggestion, my bill.’
He caught the expression on her face just before she masked it. Someone had obviously hurt her—hurt her so badly that she wouldn’t even accept a cup of coffee from a man she barely knew, and saw strangers as a potential for hurt instead of a potential friend.
Softly, he added, ‘That puts you under no obligation to me at all, Eleanor. Whatever you might have heard about Italian men, I can assure you I’m not expecting anything from you. I haven’t put anything in your coffee and you’re not going to wake up tomorrow morning in a room you can’t remember seeing before with no clothes, no money and one hell of a headache.’
‘I … I’m sorry. And I didn’t mean to insult you or your countrymen,’ she said, looking awkward and embarrassed.
‘No offence taken. You’re quite right to be wary of strangers offering drinks. But I’m a doctor buying a mug of coffee for a fellow professional. And this really is just coffee.’
‘And it’s appreciated.’
He settled opposite her. ‘So, are you on holiday in Naples?’ ‘Sort of.’
Not a straight yes or no. And she didn’t offer any details, he noticed. He had a feeling she’d clam up completely if he pushed her, so he tried for levity instead. ‘Your mamma told you never to talk to strangers, is that it?’
‘No.’ Her voice went very quiet. ‘Actually, my mother died just before Christmas.’
Six months ago. And the pain was clearly still raw. ‘Mi dispiace, Eleanor,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t intend to hurt you.’
‘You weren’t to know. It’s not a problem.’
But he noticed she didn’t explain any further. And those beautiful brown eyes were filled with sadness. He had a feeling it was more than just grief at losing her mother. Something to do with the man who’d made her wary of strangers, perhaps?
Yet she’d put her feelings aside and gone straight to help a stranger when the flight attendants had asked for a doctor. Eleanor Forrest was an intriguing mixture. And Orlando wanted to know what made her tick.
He switched to a safer topic. ‘You’re an emergency doctor?’
‘Yes.’
OK. He’d try the professional route: say nothing, just smile, and give her space to answer more fully. Just like he did with his shyer patients. If he waited long enough, she’d break the silence.
She did. ‘I work in a London hospital.’
Something else they had in common. Good. ‘London’s a beautiful city. I’ve just spent a few days there with the doctor I used to share a flat with, Max. It was his son’s christening.’
There was the tiniest crinkle round her eyes. ‘I don’t know if I dare ask. Were you the …?’
‘Padrino? The godfather, you mean?’ So under her reserve there was a sense of fun. He liked that. Enough to want to see more of it. He hummed the opening bars of the theme tune to the film. ‘Yes, I was.’
Though seeing the expression on Max’s face when he looked at his wife and baby had made Orlando ache. Orlando had stopped believing in love, long ago, when his mother’s fifth marriage had crumbled: every time she’d thought she’d found The One, she’d been disillusioned. But Max was so happy with Rachel and little Connor, it had made Orlando think again. Wonder if maybe love really did exist.
Except he didn’t have a clue where to start looking for it. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to spend his life searching and yearning and getting more and more disappointed, the way his mother did. So he’d decided to stick to the way he’d lived for the last five years—smile, keep his relationships light, just for fun, and put his energy into his work.
‘You work in London, too?’ she asked.
‘Not any more. I did, for a coup
le of years, on a children’s ward.’ He spread his hands. ‘But then I discovered I wanted to see my patients grow up—not forget about them once they’d left the hospital. I wanted to treat them, just as I’d treated their parents and their grandparents and would treat their children. I wanted to see them with their families.’
Strange, really, when he didn’t have a family of his own. Just his mother, a few ex-stepfathers and ex-stepsiblings he hadn’t kept in touch with. The only way he’d get an extended family now was to get married: and that was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take.
Keep it light, he reminded himself. ‘And I missed the lemon groves. I missed the sea.’
‘And the sunshine,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘I don’t mind London rain. But I admit, although I like visiting London, it’s good to be back under the Italian sun. And I love being a family doctor.’
She smiled, and he caught his breath. Her serious manner masked her beauty—when she smiled, Eleanor Forrest was absolutely stunning. Perfect teeth and a wide smile and those amazing deep brown eyes.
It made him want to touch her. Trace the outline of her face with the tips of his fingers. Rub his thumb against her lower lip. And then dip his head to hers, claiming her mouth.
Then he became aware she was speaking. Oh, lord. He really hoped he hadn’t ignored a question or something. She must think he was a real idiot.
‘My best friend at medical school, Tamsin, did the same thing,’ Eleanor said. ‘She started in paediatrics and became a GP because she wanted to care for the whole family.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for it.’ But they were talking about him. He wanted to know about her. ‘You prefer the buzz of emergency medicine?’
‘I like knowing I’ve made a difference,’ she said simply.
She’d make a difference all right, he thought. Whatever branch of medicine she worked in. But before he could say anything, the man he’d spoken to about Eleanor’s luggage came over, carrying one bright pink case.
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 19