by Ramsay, Anna
By the time they got to Crisp's Kate was wide-awake again, her body quivering with tension. At the sight of the mud-splattered Range Rover she urged Harry to park alongside. 'This is Mr Galvan's car! Stan must have driven him in.'
It couldn't be Tom's hand holding the scalpel. But he would be there in theatre watching over little Ben while Kingsley operated …
She scanned the car park for Stan but he had disappeared. Why didn't he go home to the Manor and come back later? He was in for a long long wait.
'Let's go straight to Mr Galvan's consulting room.' They wasted no time, Kate's long legs leading the way down the wide corridors. 'Tom's room. Here we are,' she whispered. They could hear Olwen, pleading with the neuro-surgeon.
The door was slightly ajar. Harry would have pushed his way in, but Kate put a hand on his arm and held him back, her finger to her lips. Together they listened.
'When they told us about the tumour, all I could think of was to get Ben here to you. Kate's told us – told us all about you –' Olwen Wisdom's voice was broken with misery and fear, her face tear-stained, her huge blue eyes blazing with agony.
'Then you will know about my accident. The injuries.'
Olwen was almost incoherent. 'I didn't think … I I just knew you would save him. Please Mr Galvan, I'm begging you. You can save my son's life. You will do the surgery, say you will, you must.'
'Yes, I will do it. Of course I will.' Tom listened to himself speaking, and his thoughts were sombre at the commitment he'd just made. This would be his first time in theatre since the accident. Would his nerve hold? Would his arm have the strength of muscle to allow that infinite care and control he once took for granted?
In the corridor Kate and Harry looked at each other and gasped.
Olwen was sobbing her thanks and Kate and Harry had to hold themselves back from bursting into the consulting room to try and comfort her. Kate pushed the door a little and it opened just enough for her to see Tom very gently disengage himself Olwen's pleading hands as he made sure the shaking mother was looking directly at him and taking in his careful words:
'My business is neurosurgery,' he said with gentle firmness. 'My task is to give my patients the best that is in me. I do this for every single man, woman or child.'
Now he saw Kate, standing rigid in the doorway. Their eyes met and held, then 'Kate,' he said quickly, 'I've got to alert the team. Look after her.'
Kate rushed in and put her arms round Olwen. The two women hugged each other, Kate's surprised face looking at Tom over Olwen's shoulder. Tom in a dark suit. The plaster gone. And the beard as well.
He gave a small nod of his head and left the room, his face grave and sombre as he headed for Theatres.
A sickening fear gripped Kate. Fear for Ben, for the surgeon bearing the burden of their trust. For them all.
As he rinsed and soaped and scrubbed again, Tom was deep in thought. What he was about to do within this child's head would have huge implications. The space in a child's skull was so small, the area to work in so confined. He was not a specialist consultant paediatric neuro-surgeon.
'The patient's ready for you, Mr Galvan.'
The nurses exchanged nervous glances. This was a different Tom Galvan, stern-faced and reflective. Where was he, their confident amiable hero of old?
Dripping Hibiscrub, Tom pushed through the swing doors, his green theatre gown billowing, hands held aloft. His team was there: Graham at the anaesthetics machine, Kingsley waiting to assist, all of them with eyes fixed on the chief surgeon, the atmosphere, - and Tom was very aware of it - uneasy. He was uneasy himself. The left arm was weakened and thinner than the right. But he was fit and he was rested and he was ready to work again.
His critical eye checked over the field of surgery, arranged with the care he always demanded of his nurses. All concentration now focused on the small anaesthetised shape beneath the sterile drapes, the child's head positioned, the area to be operated on shaved and painted with Betadine.
All eyes turned to the image on the lightbox, the tumour showing clearly towards the back of the child's skull.
Tom nodded to Kingsley to make the first incision.
With the skin flap incised, peeled back, and carefully covered with antiseptic-soaked pads, he began the craniotomy which would allow him to see the extent of the tumour. Then the painstaking care of excision began.
Time passed. Tissue specimens went down to the labs for analysis. More time passed and Tom worked on, his tall frame bent over the child's still form.
There was a subdued silence in the theatre, broken by the clipped exchanges between Tom and the scrub nurses and assisting surgeons. Occasionally he would glance questioningly at his anaesthetist who was 'breathing' for Ben. And Graham would give the 'thumbs-up' that showed the child's vital signs were strong. There were no dramas. It was perfect textbook surgery.
A collective sigh went round the theatre when the verdict came back from pathology: benign. But they weren't out of danger just yet.
Finally Tom was satisfied that he had removed every trace.
The child lay face down in a sea of sterile green cloth, his shaved head clamped motionless, the surgeon peering intently into the wound in the back of the small skull where the scarlet tumour had been.
His tall masked figure straightened up, giving a nod of satisfaction. 'The scan shows the blood's flowing. So – Closure.' He stretched his aching back and walked around the theatre, stepping carefully over trailing cables and flexes, turning his head right and left to free the tense muscles. then when Kingsley had dealt with the bone flap Tom came back to the table. 'Ill finish,' he said quietly.
'You sure Tom? How's the arm?'
'Holding up surprisingly well. Ached at the start but I soon forgot it.'
Tom was now replacing the skin flap, carefully matching up the edges with the small scratches made by Mr Armstrong, using the special curved needle used for sewing scalp tissue, placing the stitches, drawing them tight. Almost enjoying himself now. Glad to be here once more, back in his second home.
'Thank you everyone!' His work done, Tom stepped back from the table, the only part of his face visible—the penetrating grey eyes—saying it all as they ranged round the masked and gowned figures with an appreciation far beyond words.
One neuro-surgeon at the head of his surgical team: one more precious life saved. 'That went pretty well,' he said laconically. There was a buzz of voices now, nurses and surgeons chiming in to say how glad they were he was back at the helm.
'And no dramas, thank heaven. We'll see how this little chap responds in intensive care.'
The anaesthetist had taken charge now and was bending over the unconscious child on the operating table; Sister Calloway, the scrub Sister, was chivvying her wide-eyed nurses into action. The boss was back. And, as ever, on top form.
Tom wanted to be the one to speak to the child's family. To warn them that although Ben was not yet out of the wood, there was reason for cautious optimism.
Pulling off their masks, the surgeons left the operating theatre and went through to the dressing room to shower the sweat off their bodies. No neuro-surgeon could have done a better job on little Ben, mused Kingsley as he rubbed dandruff shampoo into his scalp. That was perfect textbook surgery.
In the next cubicle Tom was soaping his left arm, feeling the muscles tauten beneath his fingers, evidence of their returning strength. He felt quietly satisfied with how things had gone. And the pathology report had confirmed his intuition: high malignancy was not present within the tumour cells.
But the next twenty-four hours were going to be critical. What would happen to the space created when he cut the tumour out of the living brain?
Adrenalin still surged through his bloodstream and he felt reinvigorated, filled with strength and power. But with a new sense of his own frailty, and an even deeper compassion for the patients and their families who put their trust in him.
Under the shower he observed how white his left arm
was, compared to the rest of his body. In spite of all that physiotherapy and exercising, it was noticeably thinner than the left. But that was no problem: muscle tone would soon be restored.
The important thing was that the damaged hand and arm this day had functioned with the same old skill; had done their very best for his dearest Kate's little brother, Ben.
Chapter Fourteen
'But Tom, the curtain doesn't go up till five-thirty. We're much too early.'
'Gives us time to explore then, doesn't it.' Tom took his hand from the steering wheel and gave her clasped fingers a reassuring squeeze. 'Come on now, it's not every night we get the chance to see your stunning stepmother as a Merry Widow.'
That made twice Tom had said 'gorgeous' when describing Olwen's voluptuous blonde looks. And now he thinks she's stunning! Kate's mouth curved in a little pout of chagrin. That was all she needed – Tom falling for her stepmother, just at the time when all seemed more right in Kate's world than it had been for the past four years.
Ben was running around again, full of beans and getting up to mischief. Trudi hadn't the heart to be too stern with him; children returning to health were often a handful, revelling in their new energy.
And here she was, alone for this one evening, with the most exciting man in all the world…
Kate kept stealing glances at him in the driving mirror. Attractive men dominated the fashion world and Kate was no innocent. Yes, there had been brief relationships - but nothing that had ever truly involved her heart. No one had made her feel the way she did about the unattainable Tom Galvan. No man like this one, she sighed to herself as she watched his cool grey eyes in the driving mirror. The one man I can never have, never belong to …
Even without that close-cropped beard which had transformed him into George Clooney's younger brother, he was awesome.
The beard was long gone because Tom said a beard was a potential hazard in theatre and risked introducing infection to the operating field.
Beard or no beard, she knew she loved him with all her being. Just being with him stirred peculiar feelings in the pit of her stomach and set her pulses racing.
'This is it.'
They turned into a long drive with herds of deer grazing beneath ancient oaks and the distant view of a stately home that made the Manor look like a doll's house. Signs directed them to the car park, with more signs for the Opera House which had been built in the acres of parkland, bringing in much-needed revenue for the upkeep of the great estate.
There were only half a dozen cars to be seen. 'There, you see,' she said anxiously, 'we're much too early. And we can't go and find Olwen because she doesn't like to use her voice before a big sing. We'll just have to sit here and wait.' Tom would be bored. He would wish he hadn't come. He'd keep glancing at his watch, knowing there were more important things he should be giving his time to …If Kate had been a nail-biter, she'd have been chewing her nails to bits by now.
Tom was amused by her concern. He had his own agenda. As Kate was going to find out …
'We're going to explore and find ourselves a quiet spot for the interval picnic,' he said calmly as he pulled in alongside a gleaming Bentley sports and switched off the engine. He had put the mud-splattered Range Rover through a car wash so it was at least clean. When Kate had suggested he might need to replace the Lamborghini he'd been dismissive. 'Bought it from a friend who does a lot of private work and changes his cars as frequently as he changes his women. I told him I didn't much like the colour but he wanted to get rid of it and practically twisted my arm. No, I don't want a sports car. A four-wheel drive's more use to me these days.
'Surely you need something a bit nippier for getting to work?'
'Don't see why. Maybe,' had come the disinterested response. This told Kate that Tom planned to hang on to Foxe Manor to the bitter end, whatever Diana felt about it.
A Toyota Yaris came bumping across the grass to join them. It had seen better days and a recent close shave, judging by the large dent in passenger door on Kate's Side. Two elderly ladies beamed happily at them.
'It's very good of you to come with me, Tom,' said Kate apologetically, wondering what on earth he was going to make of this evening.
He looked down at her with one of those lop-sided grins that melted her insides. 'Since Dr Mallory has abandoned you, I'm proud to be your emergency escort.' He stroked her body with his eyes. 'And that's a very pretty dress you're almost wearing.'
Kate frowned and glanced down at her bare chest and shoulders. She tugged at the strapless top with jittery fingers wondering if she was being teased. It wasn't as if she had much cleavage to show off. Tight-waisted and with a short flippy skirt, the raspberry-red evening dress had looked a million dollars in the window of Perdita's shop and she'd just had to have it even though it was pure silk-satin and cost … not that price mattered, she so wanted to wow Tom tonight. Distract him from darling Olwen who was bound to look a million dollars the moment she stepped on stage
Tom was already out of the car, shrugging on his cream dinner jacket. His white dress shirt was open at the neck, the bow tie still in his pocket. He came round to open the Range Rover's passenger door. Kate felt two hands circle her waist, lifting her bodily over the deep step, setting her firmly on level ground and holding her there for a moment or two, his eyes tender as they examined her upturned face. 'You took the sunshine with you when you left,' he said softly, still holding her, not wanting to let her go. 'After you'd gone it rained nonstop for three days.'
Kate blurted out something unromantic about Stan not having to water the kitchen garden.
'But here you are. And you've brought the sun with you.'
He released her. Kate was glad she was wearing flats tonight. Being held in Tom's arms had made her legs go all wobbly. She knew the rich deep colour looked good with her dark hair and pale skin - and the short flippy layers of raspberry silk showed a lot of leg. If he looked down he'd see her knees knocking.
'Come along then, Kate,' he said briskly, 'I'll bring the rug and the coolbox.' He set off at a smart pace and Kate charged after him, wondering what was the hurry but relieved he didn't appear to have noticed anything wrong with her legs. Didn't seem to have noticed her legs at all, she thought ruefully.
'Now tell me – how's the new job? Where have they sent you?' he queried, pretending he hadn't made it his business to find out - especially when the Professor cannily passed on the news that Dr Mallory had been brain-drained by the USA. Leaving behind an apparently unconcerned Staff Nurse Wisdom.
Tom's quick brain had latched onto this and started making plans.
'I'm staffing on Canterbury,' said Kate glumly, not wanting reality to intrude on this one special evening, alone with the man she loved. Who didn't know he was loved. Who was leading her into the unknown with the confidence that was the hallmark of everything he did. The world didn't frighten Tom. But sometimes it frightens me, mused Kate. You never knew what lies in wait to knock happiness out of the picture.
'Men's medical – what you were hoping for, right? Mrs Harris must have thought you'd earned it.'
'That thought had crossed my mind,' agreed Kate with a small smile. And it keeps me so busy I barely have a second to think about you, up in Theatres, not so very far away ….
From over in the rehearsal rooms came the sound of a soprano practising her scales. 'That's the stage door,' pointed out Tom, 'where we're meeting up with the lovely Olwen afterwards. But you and I are going in this direction.'
Rug tossed over one shoulder and swinging the picnic box, Tom strode purposefully on, disturbing the richly perfumed air of flower-filled gardens. Kate let her footsteps fall back a little, her eyes caressing the nape of his strong neck, admiring the breadth of his shoulders emphasised by the cream dinner jacket, the length of his strong back, the shape of his legs outlined with every vigorous stride against smooth black cloth.
In her head, Kate could hear that pure jazz voice sing the words that made her giggle so when s
he was small, so funny and silly she'd thought they were. 'I'll worship the trousers that cling to him!' Now she knew just what it meant. It was all about sex, all about wanting this man for her own.
Dad had been an Ella Fitzgerald fan. He'd heard Ella sing, even met her when she was dining at the Beverley Hills Hotel and he was staying there on business. Over and over he used to play it, his all-time favourite song, till his innocent little daughter knew all the words without having a clue about what they could mean. Bewitched Bothered and Bewildered! That's all about me, that's what I am. Because I'm with Tom I'm with Tom I'm with Tom. Even though it's just this one evening I'll remember every moment …
Tom stopped, looked back and held out his hand to her. 'Hey, grab my hand, you're stumbling.'
Kate's hand nestled into the dry warm strength of his. 'Where are we going?'
'There's a lake over here somewhere.'
He was heading away from the formal gardens, pulling her across a wide expanse of rough lawn through which strips had been mown to preserve the flowering bulbs of spring.
Kate was in a trance, holding hands with Tom Galvan as if they were lovers! She nestled against him, just couldn't help herself. Tom glanced down at her and smiled with satisfaction. He'd checked this place out on the internet. He knew where he was heading, he had it all planned… the secret garden with its lake and grassy glades. Yes. Perfect! Just what the doctor ordered.
'Now how about this.'
Kate's eyes popped. 'Magical!' she gasped. 'Oh Tom, how clever of you …'
There were waterlilies and dragonflies and a small family of coots scudding over the lake's surface, the babies cheeping as they darted after the parents in one neat line.
Tom spread the rug in a bone-dry spot near the water's edge, almost hidden beneath the fresh green fronds of a willow tree, He took off his jacket and flung it carelessly aside. Kate stood watching him, her fingers playing with the warm pearls at her throat. Ella's words rang seductively in her head: Horizontally speaking he's at his very best …