Heart Surgeon in Portugal, page 8
‘Amber-based with topnotes of powdery jasmine and a very graceful die-down.’
This was too much for Rafe. He spluttered coffee all over his shirt - damn! - then gave a bark of laughter. ‘And what’s that in plain English?’
Ellie had been trying to look offended but his laughter was such a great sound and so infectious that she joined in .
‘That’s what the sales lady told me at the airport but I hadn’t a clue what she was on about. Very sophisticated, she said it was.’ And very seductive?.. some hope!
Rafe scrubbed at his shirt with his napkin. ‘Smells like paint stripper to me. Hope you’re not wearing it for my benefit!’
‘Course not,’ lied Ellie, thinking fast on her feet. ‘I’m meeting Vivienne this morning and we - we’re going back to her son’s hotel. She’s going to introduce me to Ricardo and I want to make a good impression. The Belmira’s a five-star hotel.’
Rafe’s face turned stony. He seemed about to make some comment, thought better of it, pushed back his chair and said abruptly that it was time he was gone. Ellie called after him as he strode into the house, ‘You‘ll be here for supper?’ ‘Probably,’ he said vaguely, not looking back, already distracted, not even a goodbye. ‘There’ll be sardines,’ shouted Ellie but there was no reply and moments later the Renault’s engines revved angrily and he was gone.
‘Ellie darling,’ said Vivienne anxiously, ‘are you sure you can afford all this? I don’t like to think I’ve led you into temptation.’
‘I’m using my savings,’ said Ellie happily. ‘I just can’t thank you enough, Vivienne - I feel fabulous.’
‘Such fun!’ cried Vivienne in her beautiful theatrical voice. ‘Haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ages.’
‘I’d better move the sardines,’ said Ellie, opening up the boot of her little blue car and lifting out the cool box. ‘Don’t want my lovely new clothes smelling of fish.’ She crammed armfuls of carrier bags with smart dress shop labels into the dark space inside, surreptitiously sniffing her wrists to make sure that troublesome perfume was well and truly scrubbed away.
Ten minutes later they were driving in through the gates of the Belmira, the first five-star hotel Ellie had ever clapped eyes upon. But instead of sweeping to a halt in front of the Belmira’s imposing façade and having the Seat borne away by liveried flunkeys, she was urged to turn off to the left and drive away from the grandeur of the building and on through immaculately tended grounds. Further and further away from the hotel itself, past the green velvet stretch of an undulating golf course, and back down to the seashore where rows of pink-tipped tamarisk trees shaded the length of a quiet sandy beach. Dotted here and there were several bungalows, intimate and private, discreetly landscaped with flowering shrubs and what Ellie now recognised as pink and white oleander bushes. A solitary waiter came toward them wheeling a trolley laden with silver-coloured dishes.
‘Perfect timing, Manuel,’ cried Vivienne, ‘now if you would just bring our lunch round to the terrace - thank you my darling.’
‘Oh wow!’ exclaimed Ellie. ‘Oh this is just - wow!’
‘And it all belongs to the Belmira.’ With an elegant sweep of her arm Vivienne indicated the wide private beach and as she did so the loose sleeve of her gauzy white dress fell back revealing a very skinny arm. Ellie bit her lip. Had she been so mesmerised by the older woman’s glamour that she hadn’t noticed how thin the actress was? There was thin and there was too thin …
‘And when I’m tired of my own company,’ Vivienne was saying, ‘I pop over in the car for cocktails and dinner with Ricardo and some of the guests. Best of both worlds, you see! Peace and quiet during the day for reading scripts. Then at night I have fun!’
She poured two glasses of chilled sparkling water and the two women perched on the garden wall and gazed down on the pristine beach and the tranquil sea. Ellie could see marks in the sand where it had been raked early that morning. ‘Is Ricardo married?’ she asked.
‘No darling,’ Vivienne sighed. ‘Rico’s a very charming boy and I long for grandchildren. But these days -’ with a shrug of bony shoulders, ‘men don’t seem to want to settle down, do they.’
Ellie looked thoughtful, her gaze focused on the turquoise sea. One day Jon wanted children; he was definite about that. But not yet, oh no, not for another ten years at least. As for Rafe Harland, the man was an enigma. Heaven only knew what Mr Harland wanted, outside of an operating theatre. What was the matter with him this morning? Quite back to his grouchy old self. Or pretending to be!
‘Dearest Rico - he’s very fond of the ladies - that’s his Italian blood, of course!’ Vivienne gave a tinkling laugh that was more sound effect than genuine amusement. ‘Italian blood?’ prompted Ellie with gentle curiosity.
‘My only child - from my relationship with Lorenzo Schiapa - yes darling, that Lorenzo, the film director. We were together for eight years but I couldn’t live permanently in Italy. I missed London so much. But we’re still very good friends even though we both met other people.’ Vivienne’s ring-covered fingers were playing with the stem of her water glass. There was a pause. Then, ‘Plenty of time. Hasn’t met the right girl yet. He’s only just thirty-five. As usual, his birthday party was at the hotel - such fun! You’d have enjoyed it, Ellie dear. Now,’ she said briskly, ‘Lunch! If you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand.’
Thirty-five, mused Ellie. Not that much younger than Mr Big. Two Alpha men. One managing a five-star hotel. The other holding the human heart in his two clever hands …
‘I prefer to eat in the shade, Ellie, how about you.’
At the press of a button a green-and-cream striped awning slid smoothly out from the wall of the bungalow, covering the wrought-iron table and the waiter’s trolley in cool shadow. Ellie helped set out plates and glasses and cutlery. And then with a theatrical flourish the silver covers were lifted to reveal a cold consommé, salmon mousseline with a cucumber salad fine as crisps and sprinkled with sesame seeds, and a bowl of perfect peaches.
‘The food’s wonderful at the Belmira. You must get your employer to bring you here for a treat - Rico will see you’re very well looked after. And we have dancing every night.’
‘Oh what a wonderful idea - I should love that,’ breathed Ellie, her hazel eyes shining. Imagine dancing in the arms of Rafe Harland. It was almost too shivering to contemplate.
‘Not that I eat much myself.’ Sharp collarbones showed above the shallow neck of her loose white dress. She chattered on about her career, but Ellie was acutely aware that her companion was eating next to nothing of this superb meal.
‘Mmm,’ said Ellie encouragingly, ‘this salmon is truly delicious – I can taste some kind of herb … mmm what can it be?’
‘It’s dill, darling.’
‘I must ask Giovana if we’ve got any in the garden.’ Ellie’s imagination began to run away with her … she was back in the kitchen at the Casa, whipping up an identical mousseline for Rafe’s supper… ‘What have you put in this wonderful food?’ he would ask. ‘It’s just dill, darling!’ she would reply, and Rafe would say, ‘It’s inspired! You’re a marvel, Ellie, what would I do without you.’
Smothering a giggle at such an improbable scenario, she shook her silly head and gave herself up to enjoying such a treat of a meal. To her consternation, Vivienne was refusing even to share a perfect ripe peach. ‘Full of sugars, darling. I have to watch my weight. I’m playing Madame Ranevskaya in a new production of The Cherry Orchard. Chekhov, you know. At the Aldwych. I hope you’ll come backstage and say hello to me.’
‘I certainly will!’ Ellie did know the play and wondered if her hostess wasn’t a little old to be mother of a seventeen-year old daughter. But Vivienne was in full flow now, describing the production – the director, the rest of the cast. It looked good, said the actress, to be slim onstage, especially in period costume…
Ellie listened intently. Appearance meant little in her own world and it was difficult to identify with what she was being told. Thank goodness for uniforms. And for not having to worry about being other than clean and neat and tidy. The daily dilemma on the wards was always how to snatch a moment to grab a cup of tea or a glass of water and stave off total dehydration. All the same, Vivienne’s self-discipline was making her feel guilty. She feared she must have eaten three times as much as her hostess, who must think her downright greedy. ‘I suppose I should be watching my weight too,’ she said despondently.
‘Nonsense!’ came the surprising response. ‘You’re a lovely girl and perfect as you are. Wait till my Rico sees you - oh dear, it’s such a shame he’s not around today, I so wanted you two to meet. He dropped me in town and then went on to this hoteliers’ meeting in Silves and I don’t suppose he’ll be back till late afternoon. Come to the drawing room and I will show you a photograph of my darling boy …’
‘Just five minutes,’ smiled Ellie, ‘then I must leave you to your siesta. It’s getting really hot now and you’ve had such a busy morning helping me.’ And I don’t think you look well, she mused, You’re short of breath and your colour’s not good. You need to get some rest …
Vivienne didn’t put up any resistance. ‘I’m going to see you settled,’ insisted Ellie, lifting the actress’s slender legs onto the covers and tucking a cashmere rug around her. The older woman sank back into her nest of pillows, her eyelids already closing. Ellie leaned over and lightly kissed the pale forehead, so translucent she could see the tracing of veins beneath the skin. ‘You take care of yourself,’ she whispered. ‘Now have a lovely sleep.’
Softly she closed the doors and went back to the terrace where she tidied away the lunch things and then, tempted by the sparkling sea kicked off her espadrilles and ran down to paddle along the shallows. She hadn’t brought a hat but there was a nice breeze and splashing along she walked quite a way down the beach and back again, shoals of tiny fish darting around her ankles, lost in her own thoughts… those photos … Ricardo Schiapa was drop-dead gorgeous. The square jaw, the Roman nose and the way his black hair covered that perfect head in little licks of curl. And that smile! Those Hollywood teeth!
By comparison Mr Big looked very Grown-Up. Mature and formidable, that was her Mr Big.
Past experience had put Ellie off extremely good-looking men, especially if they were medics. Anyway, Viv was just being kind and flattering her: Rico Schiapa was so way out of her league. As beautiful and intelligent as his mother - and no doubt with that same charm and warmth; perfect for heading up a luxury hotel and schmoozing rich and famous clients. It would be interesting to meet him in the flesh for he clearly was no playboy. But Ellie just knew she would not be falling at his manicured feet.
The time! What was the time! Wrestling her mobile phone from the pocket of her sprayed-on pink cotton capris, Ellie was in for a shock. Almost a quarter to three! Those iceblocks would melt if she didn’t get a move on. The sardines would be cooking in their own juices and then she really would poison the two of them…
Chapter Six
As soon as he arrived back at the Casa, Rafe threw off his working clothes, showered, changed into shorts and tee shirt and went in search of Ellie. Driving back from the centre, he had been preoccupied with thoughts of her, scarcely aware of the countryside he was driving through on the descent from the lovely Monchique hills. It was deeply regrettable that a man who had been the cause of such tragedy should turn out to be the son of a respected actress like Vivienne Carr. A deep frown etched itself between Rafe’s black eyebrows. The guy didn’t have an English surname. Schiapa. Where did that come from?
Although Rafe had never clapped eyes on Ricardo, he’d got a very strong reason for not wanting Ellie getting involved with the man. She seemed so star-struck by the actress that he feared sweet Ellie would be only too ready to fall for the woman’s son. Another name in the guy’s little black book; another notch in his belt. Rafe glowered into the dazzling sunlight. What if she was with him right now…!
It was with some relief that he saw the little blue Seat parked in its usual place in the shade, the barbecue coals glowing nicely on the barbecue. Sardines again. Dear Ellie, he had asked for sardines and she was trying so hard to please. There was salad in the fridge too, all ready for supper. She couldn’t be far away.
‘Have you seen Ellie?’ he asked Giovana who was doing the evening watering. ‘El-lie,’ repeated Rafe, indicating with his hand somewhere just above waist-level as if Ellie was knee-high to a grasshopper. ‘Onde Ellie?’
‘El-lie,’ chuckled Giovana, whipping the snaking hosepipe around his ankles as she moved on to water the next lemon tree. Rafe leapt smartly out of her way. ‘Si si!’ Giovana pointed in the direction of the distant pasture where her goats grazed. ‘Pretty Ellie. Bonita!’
‘Yes yes,’ muttered Rafe grimly, ‘I don’t need reminding, thank you very much.’ Giovana screwed up her face to indicate incomprehension. ‘Qual?’
‘Oh nothing,’ said Rafe, at which she flapped a hand as if to say go find Ellie and let me get on with my work.
No, he definitely didn’t want Ellie getting entangled with the likes of Ricardo. Not that Ellie was a naïve little innocent. No indeed. Not from what he knew about Ellie Robey … Quite the little actress when she wanted to be! Carrying his glass of chilled lemonade, Rafe climbed the outside staircase leading to the bedroom balconies. From a height, he examined the horizon. No sign of Ellie. He drained the glass to the last drop and left it on the balustrade, his right hand exploring his newly-cropped head as he stared out over the garden. The sky above was streaked with peach and apricot and lavender. It was a lovely evening, warm and soft and peaceful.
Where the hell was Ellie? Why had she wandered off like this when she must have known he’d be back soon. He hoped she wasn’t daydreaming about that son of Vivienne Carr’s. Perish the thought!
‘I need a proper drink,’ he exclaimed, but just as he turned to go there she was in the far distance making her way slowly towards the Casa. No hat, of course, silly girl. Rafe watched as she drew closer and his face darkened with concern. Even from this distance he could tell she looked ready to collapse …
Rafe raced down the garden and vaulted the stone wall, just in time to see Ellie’s knees fold under her …
Waiting for Rafe … to make the time pass more quickly, Ellie had gone for a ten-minute stroll. But there was so much on her mind that she’d wandered further than she meant to. For some peculiar reason, putting one foot in front of the other was becoming a curious effort. Her head started to pound and her mouth was parched and dry with a tickle that felt ominously like the beginnings of a sore throat. She felt like lying down right here among the wild vines and the goats and the seedpods of the little blue lupins. Just a ten-minute nap and she'd be her old self again - damn this wretched glandular fever, why wouldn’t it leave her alone and let her get back into hospital, where she belonged. Her knees melted under her and an unconscious Ellie dropped softly down onto the sunbaked earth among the little droppings of goat shit and dry husks of lupin pods.
Suddenly - there was Rafe beside her, his Mr Big shadow blocking out the sun, his cool fingers firm on her pulse. Ellie’s first thought was one of huge relief. Rafe … the one person she needed … the one she most wanted to … wanted to … He was kneeling beside her, his hands feeling for her pulse, his head now pressing against her chest, listening for her heartbeat. She wanted to put her arms around his head and hold him there against her, but for some reason there was no strength in them and they refused to obey, lying limply as they had fallen when she hit the ground.
And anyway, there was something wrong … maybe it wasn’t Rafe after all … He was shaking her, not roughly, but trying to get her to sit up, to stand, to get back on to her feet. ‘Come on, Ellie,’ he was saying and his voice sounded strange, kind of shocked; but yes, that was definitely his voice. He pulled her arm round his neck and hoisted her to her feet, the solid warmth of him cradling her exhausted body.
‘I can walk,’ she murmured groggily as her feet left the ground. ‘No, you can’t.’ She was lifted over the stone wall and stood swaying there till he joined her on the other side. Ellie felt herself swept off her feet once more and the next thing she remembered was coming to on a wicker chaise-longue in the verandah’s shade.
Giovana came running, uttering exclamations of dismay. ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Rafe. ‘No hat!’ he said to Giovana, pantomiming putting on a hat and then shrugging his shoulders to demonstrate the stupidity of not wearing one.
Giovana brought a glass of water and Ellie downed it greedily. ‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered dopily, looking gratefully up at the two of them bending over her. The chilled water cleared her blurred vision and her rescuer came into focus.
‘Your hair!’ she gasped, dismay written all over her upturned face.
‘A buzz-cut, Rafe, how could you!’
‘Much cooler.’ Rafe grinned and looked mighty pleased with himself.
Giovana laughed and nodded as if she understood every word. She touched her own head which was as ever covered with a triangle of red printed cotton tied at the nape of her neck.
‘Stay right where you are, I’m going to see to the supper.’
‘Oh but I –’ she struggled to sit up only to feel hands on her shoulders pushing her down again.
‘Doctor’s orders. Stay there or I shall put you to bed.’
Giovana went back to the watering and Rafe headed off to the kitchen, leaving Ellie fuming weakly. Put me to bed indeed …
When all was ready, she refused instructions to stay where she was and took her usual place at the verandah table, looking pale and vulnerable, but determined. If there was going to be an inquisition about her supposed meeting with Ricardo, she would be ready for it.
It came sooner than anticipated.
‘Stick with water tonight,’ he ordered, putting a jug of iced water at her elbow and filling his own glass with a fine red wine. ‘You’ve probably had quite enough already today.’
