Heart Surgeon in Portugal, page 1
Heart Surgeon
in
Portugal
by
Anna Ramsay
His job is to mend hearts, not break them ...
PARMA MEDICAL ROMANCES
Originally published by MILLS&BOON LTD.
under the title of SURGEON IN PORTUGAL by Anna Ramsay
Heart Surgeon in Portugal
© 2012 by Parma Medical Romances
The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.
The characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. All the incidents are pure invention.
eBook production by Oxford eBooks Ltd.
www.oxford-ebooks.com
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
This is my revised version of the original ‘SURGEON IN PORTUGAL’ published by Harlequin/Mills&Boon Ltd. I have changed the characters’ names and added a new first chapter and an epilogue. Thank you for buying my ebook. I really hope you enjoy reading it.
Coming soon: HEARTBEAT and other titles.
Chapter One
“The percentage of women surgeons is as low as eight,” said the radio interviewer leaning in to the microphone. “Let me emphasise this! Out of every hundred surgeons only eight are women.” Here followed a significant pause so that all listeners could take in such a regrettable state of affairs.
‘Hear that, Eleanor?’ said Mr Robey, peering over the newspaper at his daughter lying there prostrate on the sitting room couch. ‘With those top science grades you could have been a surgeon just like Jonathan.’
Ellie sighed, rubbing her tired eyes, ‘But Dad, I always wanted to be a nurse. It never crossed my mind to do anything else.’
‘I know my darling, and we couldn’t be more proud of you. But to go and get glandular fever right in the middle of your degree finals… such bad luck.’
She shifted the cushion behind her aching head, trying to get into a more comfortable position. Wretched glandular fever. She guessed she’d caught it from that dull doctor she had dated for a couple of months after Christmas. Not for nothing was glandular fever called the kissing disease. Infuriating to have caught it from such a rotten kisser!
“When they qualify, the majority of women doctors choose to go into general practice where they can work part-time and bring up a family,” the radio interviewer was saying. “We’ve heard from Sarah, the paediatric surgeon from Manchester, who thinks the problem lies in society’s attitude. Girls, and even young women medical students, believe you’ve got to be a man to be a surgeon. Now we’ve invited Mr Rafe Harland to come into the studio to give us his views. Good morning and welcome, Mr Harland.”
“Good morning, Katy,” responded a deep voice, warm but brisk.
“Mr Harland, you’re the senior cardiology consultant at one of our leading teaching hospitals here in London and you’re a very busy man so thank you for making time to talk to us today.”
‘Listen Dad!’ Ellie sat up and the rug slid from her knees. ‘It’s Rafe Harland from Jon’s hospital. You remember? Jon was an SHO on Mr Harland’s team.’
‘Good lord!’ exclaimed her father. ‘Margot? Margot - you might want to hear this.’
Mrs Robey came hurrying in clutching a red pen, half-way through marking a batch of mock A level exam papers.
‘Rafe Harland,’ whispered her husband, ‘on the radio.’
Ellie hitched up her legs so her mother could plump down on the couch beside her.
“I understand,” the interviewer said smoothly, “that there’s an on-going university project studying the psychology of a surgeon.”
“First I’ve heard of it,” said Mr Harland, sounding as if it was a matter of small interest to him and a waste of a research grant to boot.
“Typically we find that a surgeon is someone who is assertive, forceful and makes strong decisions. Is that how you would describe yourself, Mr Harland?”
“You wouldn’t be any good at the job if you dithered about.”
‘Nice voice,’ murmured Hugh Robey, a professional violinist with the orchestra of Welsh National Opera and accustomed to listening to voices all day long. ‘Like rich dark sherry.’
‘Medics are often musically gifted,’ mused his wife who taught French and German in the nearby sixth form college.
‘Hush you two. Please!’ shushed Ellie.
“There is no glass ceiling,” Harland was saying. “My senior registrar is a woman and a highly skilled and gifted surgeon. If I myself needed heart surgery, I would be very happy to have her operate on me.”
“How old is she?”
“Age is irrelevant. She is a highly experienced cardiac surgeon and that is what’s important.”
The interviewer was tenacious. “Well okay. Is she married? Has she a family?”
“I am not going to answer personal questions about any of my colleagues,” came the uncompromising response.
‘And there speaks a typical Alpha male surgeon,’ chuckled Hugh Robey, glancing at his watch. ‘Must be off - Traviata in Oxford tonight. Don’t wait up for me, my darlings.’
* * *
Dr Jon Robey was working nights as junior registrar in A&E. He rang that evening for a progress report on his young sister. Mrs Robey said Ellie was still very pale and weary. What did Jon think?
‘Mum, you know I can’t treat family members. Ask Dr Sykes to write her up for blood tests. She may still be anaemic. Remember, the hospital won’t give her a staff job till she’s completely clear.’
Sue Robey sighed. ‘It’s most unfortunate for poor Eleanor. Such bad timing.’
‘I know, Mum,’ comforted her son. ‘But this is just a blip in her career. Ellie will soon catch up - she’s very focused.’
‘The Director of Nurse Education told your father and me that for a student nurse to be so ill and pull off a good upper second was - ’
‘An absolutely valiant performance,’ interrupted Jon putting on a Scottish accent. ‘Mum, dear, you’ve told me. Many many times.’
They both laughed. But all the same it was perfectly true. Determined to get her B.Sc. Nursing degree, the third-year student nurse had stayed stubbornly on her feet right up until the virus surged to an acute stage of infection and she could fight it no longer, collapsing dramatically as she left the Examination Hall.
‘So difficult as a teenager,’ Margot Robey was reminiscing. ‘That Goth phase she went through, Dad and I were in despair.’
‘The black lipstick wasn’t a great look,’ agreed Jon, humouring her while keeping it to himself that it could be some while until Ellie was fit to cope with the pressures of a staff job. Infectious mononucleosis could persist for months, especially in young adults. Not that he was about to remind his mother, who had been poring over the internet finding out more than was good for her to know.
Margot Robey rang the surgery first thing. The receptionist said that in view of the patient’s condition, Dr Sykes would make a home visit later that morning.
Busy and brisk as ever, the GP warned that Ellie would feel better one day, not so well the next. Normal pattern for this illness. Not a cause for concern. ‘Convalescence can be not unlike that required after surgery. Multi-vitamin preparation and a strong dose of sunshine. Best prescription I can give you.’
Ellie sent an ironic text to her brother. ‘Sunshine? Wot’s that?!!
In the morning post came a letter of congratulations from the School of Nurse Education, hoping Eleanor Robey would be able to attend the Presentation of Degree Certificates in three weeks’ time. The senior tutor in Clinical Studies had added a personal note wishing her a full recovery and asking if Ellie would be interested in applying for a specialist course in Critical Care. Starting in September. The only problem was that she would have to go to St Botolph’s because due to budget cuts, the London hospitals were taking it in turns to run the Critical Care course. Ellie didn’t mind, of course she didn’t. To be at Jon’s hospital would be the icing on the cake.
‘Result!’ texted her doctor brother in response to another excited message from Ellie. ‘Must think v highly of u!!! Found u sum sunshine medicine.’
‘What u mean?’
‘Home Sunday tell u then Jon x’
Jon’s ‘sunshine medicine’ turned out to be a two-month holiday in Portugal. But it came with strings attached, or rather one particular string he knew Ellie wasn’t going to be thrilled about. On a snatched visit home he explained all. ‘Country villa with a swimming pool. And a hire car for your own use.’
Ellie’s hazel eyes widened. ‘In return for a little light cooking,’ he added casually. ‘Just for this one man.’
‘
Cooking!’ Ellie reeled back as if she had just received a slap in the face. ‘I’m a graduate nurse not a cordon bleu chef!’
Jon was whacked after a week of nights and longing for some uninterrupted sleep in his own comfy bed. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, El, someone of your intelligence can surely mug up a few pukka recipes.’
She stared thoughtfully into the fireplace, twiddling a tendril that had escaped from the tortoiseshell clasp which held her fair wavy hair back from her too-pale face. On the wards she kept it to a length that could just be tied neatly back, but it was now way overdue for a cut. ‘When does he want to interview me?’ she said at last. ‘This guy I’ve got to cook for.’
Jon was grinning. ‘This guy is a surgeon. My old boss. You heard him on the radio.’
Ellie gaped at her brother. Silently her mouth shaped the words. Rafe. Harland.
‘Eleanor Robey lost for words - hallelujah!’ teased Jon, his grin stretching into a huge yawn. ‘I’m off to my bed. You think about it and tell me what you’ve decided in the morning.’
Jon came down late and made himself a black coffee before resuming the fray. Ellie wasn’t yet strong enough to feel ready for an adventure, but given another three weeks of Mum’s TLC she should be well up for it.
But right now, he had to have an answer.
‘Rafe Harland’s got a two-month sabbatical to write up his research project. And he’ll be going to a specialist Cardiac Centre - ’
‘Why?’ interrupted Ellie looking puzzled.
‘Allow me to finish! - to train local cardiac surgeons in complex surgical techniques. It’s no rest cure for him, but you’ll get a lot of time to yourself.’
Ellie bit her lip. ‘How do you know all this?’ she said cautiously. ‘It’s ages since you were his houseman.’
‘Harland asked his secretary to put out feelers. I picked it up on the grapevine, went along to Jean’s office, got the details and said my sister had some time free and might be interested. And the upshot is – we’ve got twenty-four hours and first refusal.’
His sister was still not convinced. ‘Why can’t his wife go with him? Why does he need me?’
Jon ground his teeth in despair. ‘RH is not married, OK?’
Ellie raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me. Even my own brother can’t commit to a serious relationship.’
‘So many women – so little time,’ grinned Jon, dodging a sharp elbow. ‘Hey, watch it - you’ll spill my coffee.’
‘Is he attractive? He sounded it on the radio. Extremely attractive. And forceful - I do like that in a man.’
Hazel eyes were twinkling at him and Jon thought how good it was to see Ellie getting back to her warm and lively self.
‘Is this woman registrar of his a very close friend?’ teased Ellie.
Jon hesitated. It was only right to put his pretty sister on her guard – even though she had her head screwed on and would never do anything so silly: ‘Don’t go falling for Harland,’ he warned, ‘they say he’s a heartbreaker.’
‘His job is to mend hearts, not break them!’ said Ellie loftily, assuming this was one of Jon’s weedy jokes. The very idea was ridiculous … a newly-qualified RGN falling for a cardiac surgeon with an international reputation? Why, that was simply ridiculous. She burst into a gale of laughter.
‘You do realise,’ said Jon seriously, ‘it’s quite an honour to get the chance to go to Portugal with a man like Rafe Harland.’
Ellie grabbed a cushion and buried her face in it.
She really shouldn’t take this on. Proper cooking wasn’t her thing at all - after being on her feet all day, back in the nurses’ home it was the quick and easy option of salads, nuts and fruit …
And Jon wasn’t helping matters either …
‘Cardiac surgeons like Rafe Harland,’ he was declaiming, ‘are little short of heroes. Every day they’re making life and death decisions and believe me that takes a hell of a lot of courage. They’ve got skill, determination and stamina.’
He sounded as if he was addressing a lecture theatre full of first-year medical students.
‘Yes Jon, I do get the picture. If I poison the man I shall hold you responsible. And if he breaks my heart, I’ll sue you both for damages.’
‘Now Ellie! The guy doesn’t ask women to fall in love with him. He would never hurt anyone deliberately – no doctor would, you know that perfectly well. All I’m saying is, be careful.’
‘Yeah yeah yeah, I hear you, brother dear. I’m hungry. I’m going to make some toast. Want some?’
‘Yes, please. Try not to burn it this time. And I want a yes to Portugal and it’s got to be today … Come on, El, it’s the perfect opportunity for you to convalesce. Go for it, girl – it’s your sunshine medicine. You’ll have a wicked time!’
Over the next fortnight as her health and energy improved, Ellie found herself growing more enthusiastic. The only fly in the ointment was turning out to be Harland himself. She had found out more via the hospital gossip-vine: Lucky you – check with his theatre team, RH is well buff! .. Doesn’t suffer fools gladly… mustn’t get under his feet … never dates hospital staff … women always giving him the green light. A real heartbreaker! That word again! Well - here’s one heart that won’t be his for the taking, vowed Ellie confidently.
Mrs Robey suggested some useful recipes which Ellie filed in a yellow folder and packed into her hand luggage for safe-keeping. She had practised one or two and they seemed easy enough so she was confident now that she would cope – even though cooking was never going to be big in her life.
Well, not till she was married with children of her own, and that wasn’t going to be for a good ten years or more. Sister in Charge of a Critical Care Unit was Ellie’s goal …
Margot Robey had made one proviso about which both her children felt uncomfortable. RH must be told Miss Robey had some free time because she was recuperating from glandular fever. He was not to be told Jon’s sister was a qualified nurse. ‘I don’t want Eleanor getting roped in to work at this clinic place. She’s still convalescent and if her own hospital says my daughter is not yet fit to be back on the wards then so be it. No need for any fibs.’
Well, RH hadn’t asked. And an interview was out of the question since Mr Harland was in the States at a conference. ‘So long as someone turns up to keep him fed and watered,’ said Ellie with a wry smile. ‘I could look like the back of a bus for all he cares.’
On a rainy June day Ellie left England. Checking out the cosmetics area of the duty-free she stared doubtfully at her reflection in the wall of mirrored glass. A couple of months of Mum’s home cooking and TLC and her size eight was now a generous ten. Her jeans looked as if they’d been sprayed on and her cherry-red tee-shirt clung to every contour. And as for that neglected hair tumbling down her narrow back - frankly it was a mess. Ellie bundled it all up into a twist which she anchored with a big tortoiseshell clip, moving away to the perfume section where she wouldn’t have to look at herself any longer in that harsh artificial light.
‘Can I help you, dear?’ said a voice at her side. ‘Looking for anything special?’
‘Magic In A Bottle if you’ve got it,’ said Ellie wryly.
‘Haven’t come across that one, dear, do you know who makes it?’
‘Harry Potter?’ suggested Ellie sotto voce.
The woman sprayed a card, ‘Try this, dear, it’s French - very new and on special offer. Half-price, today only. Go on, have a good sniff.’
‘Well … yes, it is – er - rather nice. But maybe …’
‘Warm and very sophisticated – an amber base with top-notes of powdery jasmine and a very graceful die-down. Here, let me spray your wrist. There’s a tester over there if you want to try the eau-de-parfum.’
Ellie wandered around for a few more minutes wondering what the hell a graceful die-down was supposed to be. Drifts of scent came from her wrist and the more she sniffed her skin the more she thought she liked it. Specially as the saleswoman had described it as ‘sophisticated.’ She sprayed herself lavishly with the tester, selected the smallest size of the ‘eau de parfum,’ and debit card at the ready, hurried to the duty-free tills.
‘Boarding pass please,’ intoned a bored cashier, an unexpected demand which had Ellie scrabbling in her shoulder-bag while a queue built up behind her. Why hadn’t Jon warned her flying was so complicated?
